gotmefeelinsoright

[piss-stained-jorts]

BABYGIRL YOUR SMILE GIV ES ME LIFE I LOVE YOU

[tenmillionwhumperflies]

Cloudwalker Series Part 24

Alright, more Avizon backstory and some Ro whump. I hope I’ve written this alright ^^’

Warnings: Grieving characters, healing wounds, possessive whumper, unconscious characters, head injury, stab wounds.

Masterlist Here

Approx WC: 2000

Taglist: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

Orrien knew Avizon had been lost in thought when he’d left him to check on the birds. That was nothing new, he often would zone out so Orrien left him to his peace. He was a grown man, Orrien couldn't always butt in like he did when Avizon was younger. However when he came back downstairs from finding Blue and Dyan fast asleep to see him staring blankly at his hand with tears slipping down his cheek, he knew Avizon was having a very bad day. His grief for Ro was making itself known more so than usual.

Avizon stood up quickly and made his way out of the cottage. "Be careful!" he called after him. Orrien knew better than pursuing him. He watched him head over to the stables and a few minutes later return with Secret. Though he’d put her reins on, he hadn’t brought a saddle. He used a fence to get onto her back and he set her off walking. 

“Avizon?” he said softly. “Would you like to talk to me?”

It was enough to break him out of his trance. He shook his head and wiped his eye. “I… I need to go. I need to ride somewhere and clear my thoughts.”

(Flashback Continued)

Orrien sighed, feeling his little dragon biting his earlobe. Orrien brought a hand up to his ear and let the enchanted metal climb on. “I can’t stop him every time he does something he shouldn’t, Mouse. He can take care of himself…”

Orrien sat at the table, letting Mouse weave through his fingers, making loops for them to crawl through and letting them nibble on his ring. It was a nicer image to think about than the memories that ran through his mind...

Sleeping spells never worked on Avizon for long. But Orrien was glad he held on long enough to wake in Ro’s arms, nestled in pillows, to be safe. But Orrien had only just put his hands on Avizon's chest to heal him. Avizon cried out when the pain got to him again. He tried to get up, to get away from it, but Ro managed to hug him and hold him still. Orrien moved his hands from his chest to his back and managed to keep him there. 

Avizon sobbed against him as Orrien worked. He pushed more and more healing magic into him, hoping he’d have enough in him. Orrien’s magic didn’t cause the pain, it was the muscles moving, the skin sealing, bones fusing. There was so much pain that came with healing quickly. “Shhh. I know, lad, I know… It’ll be over soon,” he soothed.

Ro rubbed Avizon’s back while he held him, stroking the back of his head, mumbling softly into his ear. Ro looked up at Orrien with worried eyes. Orrien was glad to see that Avizon had someone to hold, to trust in awful times like this. They loved each other dearly and it gave Avizon a reason to fight and survive. Ro struggled to restrain his weak frame when Orrien set his dislocated shoulder. It drew a hoarse cry from him that squeezed at his heart. He didn’t want to have to hurt him so much, but magic was the only way to heal these wounds. 

Avizon couldn’t stop himself from clawing at Ro’s back when he held him, sobbing, screaming, choking because he couldn’t get enough breath. The begging for mercy started before Avizon could stop it and he wouldn’t stop. Orrien tried to block it out but his pleas hit him hard. He took his hands away, letting Ro cradle him and stroke his hair, trying to get him to draw deep breaths. He wheezed for a moment without Orrien pumping him full of magic and adjusting broken bones and flesh. Avizon sobbed into Ro’s shoulder, clinging to him with white knuckles.

“Father, please, give him some time. This is too much for him!” Ro pleaded.

Orrien grimaced, "Stopping will make the last few breakages fuse together incorrectly. I know it’s awful, but I have to keep going. Get him to drink some herb water if you can.“

"Deep breaths, Avizon, we need to get these healed right. Deep breaths."

Ro quickly brought the bottle to Avizon’s bluish lips with a shaking hand. “Drink, please. Find the strength to drink.”

Orrien paused for a few seconds, only while Avizon drank so he didn’t choke himself, but then he was off again, tearing a raw scream from Avizon’s throat as the bones in his ribs fused together again. 

Avizon was too used to having to breathe through the pain. He managed deep but shaky breaths and tried to focus on holding Ro. He whimpered when Orrien's hand finally came away. He shrunk back down into Ro's arms. He looked so small and broken, but Orrien had learned long ago not to feel guilty for it. Despite it all, he was helping him.

"I swear I'll kill her for this one day," Ro ground out.

"T.there are... fates worse than death," Avizon mumbled. Orrien looked at him sadly. He should know, he was living one and Orrien pitied him greatly. He wished there was more he could do to keep him safe. "But I'd be happy t.to just… leave," Avizon whispered. "I just want to get far away…"

Ro kissed the side of his head. "Soon, love. Promise. We just need an opening. I will take you away from here soon."

"Provided we don't get hunted down…"

Orrien was determined to help them escape. He didn't care what it cost him. His son and his apprentice deserved to be happy and safe. 

Avizon probably knew better, he knew that the princess and her parents could do whatever they wanted. Orrien couldn’t protect him. No one could. But every time they hurt him, Orrien saw the fire in Avizon's eyes grow. Every day, he got closer to snapping. If he didn’t get out of this nightmarish place soon, then either he was going to tear this place to shreds or he was going to break. Orrien had to get him out before then.

Orrien offered him more herb water and helped him out of his clothes before wrapping him up in a blanket.

"You need to rest, lad. I will not let anyone disturb you," Orrien promised.

“Two fucking chickens is not payment for a man that’s as wonderful as him. How can that hold? Father, it just isn’t fair.”

Orrien sat beside Avizon’s sleeping body, guarding him, watching him closely while Ro lay beside him, holding him close, helping him to drink more.

“This can’t continue,” Ro mumbled. “It’s just not fair. He’s meant to be here to protect them, how can they hurt him like this? How can they expect him to just stay in the castle and accept this level of pain so often?”

“Because they are in charge. Power is a dangerous thing, Ro, make no mistake. Besides, unfortunately he is technically theirs. They bought him. There's nothing we can do about that."

The door opened without anyone knocking and Orrien bolted up to his feet. His eyes grew wide. “Your majesty,” he bowed.

King Halve was not a small man. He was big, burly, and had an unkempt face for a king. It was greasy, large, and his large chin and jaw made him look all the more intimidating. He was dressed in the finest clothes, with large heavy rings adorning his fat fingers. Ro hid his hatred well behind false respect.

Ro reluctantly climbed off the bed, peeling himself away from Avizon and kneeled at the King's feet.

Ro didn't move from the bed as he was helping Avizon to drink but he bowed his head. "Your majesty," he answered, his voice cold and dead.

"Here," Halve ordered him, narrowing his eyes now. 

Orrien's stomach twisted in dread. Avizon groaned in his sleep, as if he knew what was going to happen.

"Better. Back where you belong." He suddenly grabbed Ro by the hair and hurled him up, throwing him into the wall and forcing his head up. Orrien stepped forward but managed to catch himself. As much as he wanted to rip his heart out while it still beat for hurting his son, he couldn't. He could only watch. The consequences over his head were too great. He had to wait, bide his time until they could escape.

Orrien clenched his fists. Ro was so much more than that, so much more than the king would have them believe. 

Ro hissed in pain, but he fought the urge to bring his hands up to try to get him off.

"It seems you think that you get an opinion on how things are run in my abode?" Halve snarled.

Ro struggled not to clench his jaw. "No, your majesty."

"That's right, because what are you?"

"A lowly soldier, your majesty."

Orrien knew Ro knew it wasn't the right answer, he knew saying it would lead to pain and consequences but in that moment, he just didn't seem to care. Orrien's worry for his son spiked. It was right to.

The King's grip increased as he slammed Ro's head off the wall. Orrien winced on Ro's behalf.

"And what is he?" he said, pointing to Avizon's weak form.

"He's suffering. He was dying after the princesses most recent punishment. A punishment he received because we informed you of the stab wound he had received."

Another slam into the wall. "I don't care! What is he?!"

Ro probably had so many answers in the tip of his tongue but none of them were the answer the king wanted. Orrien hated this. Having to watch his own son suffer so. He felt like a failure of a father. He should have been able to protect him. Why couldn’t he do anything?!

Another slam, hard enough to draw a hiss from the back of Ro's throat.

Orrien flinched badly but looked away, his body tense. He was the castle's sorcerer, a massive defense they relied upon, yet he was powerless to stop it, to stop him hurting his own son.

The king suddenly punched Ro in the gut, or so Orrien thought until he heard Ro cry out. 

"He is MINE. And so are you, my pretty little soldier boy. I expect to see you tonight. Your loose tongue has earned your far more punishment than this." Orrien felt sick to the stomach at his words, knowing his only son, the joy of his life would have to willingly go and suffer more.

But then he saw it, the small hilt protruding from his body, the knife that was buried in his side. Orrien struggled to hold back the magic that sprung to his hands on instinct. This wasn't right! Why couldn't he do anything?!

“Ro!“ he cried.

The king hit his head off the wall behind him for a fifth time, and that was enough to steal away his consciousness. He slid down the wall and slumped on the floor.

Ro wheezed as the knife was yanked out of his body. Tears obscured his vision.

"Y.yes, your majesty," he gulped.

The king turned to look at Orrien's pale face, the horror etched into his features. "Teach your son, scum, or I will do it for you."

Orrien bit back a storm of screams and spells he longed to use on the man. "Yes, your majesty, please forgive my incompetence."

The king scoffed. "Had he not said such things, I would have come here to offer help. Remind him of that when he wakes, will you?"

And just like that he was gone, finally allowing Orrien to rush to his boy, to save him.

Don't lie to my face, scum, Orrien thought but he kept those thoughts to himself.

"Yes, your majesty."

[imnotwolverine]

The Monster’s Lair - Thorns and Thistles

Vampire!Henry x Belle - multi-chapter

< Chap 2 | Chapter 3 - Thorns and Thistles | Chap 4 >

Disclaimer: Dark adult fairytale - injury, references of stalking, possessiveness, kidnapping

Author’s note: I just want to let you know that I won’t be posting next week since I’ll be out on a (much deserved and long overdue) holiday. It’s going to be one week of good food, sleeping in and long, long walks. UGH..I just can’t wait! In the meantime, one more chapter to keep you entertained. Take care dear readers!

Word count: 2.923

Reading music: Le Quintet à Claques - Le diable aux fesses rouges  (“the devil with the red buttocks”)

(Link to my Masterlist)

--

Violins, hurdy gurdy’s and drums strung another delightful tune through the dancing hall, new dance partners quickly rushing to the centre to join in.

‘Sweet Belle, would you care for a dance?’ Tomlin, the baker’s boy stepped in, making Belle nervously look around herself in hope she’d find a good excuse.

‘Oh ..eh..’ Her eye fell on her father who stood but a few feet away, his head bandaged but his spirits high as he discussed some horse-related stuff with his stable boy.

‘..I am afraid not. You see, my father..’ She bit her lip as Tomlin nodded in understanding, hurrying to find himself a new dance partner.

The little interaction didn’t go unnoticed, Arthur pausing mid-story to give Belle a warning look. She quickly looked away, knowing full well what he was thinking; “Go have fun silly girl!”

But it just didn't sit right with Belle. All this. This dance. The party. The happy people. It had been just two weeks since half the town’s centre had burned down, leaving naught but ash where families used to keep their shops, lived their lives.

The mere fact that the beast had been chased off, had been deemed enough of a reason to celebrate. People had pulled out their Sunday best, their joy not lessened by the sight of those who had been harmed that night. The butcher’s wife and their children - minor burns. The clergyman - serious burns, though mostly because he had climbed back in the fire to save his fineries. And papa.

With a somber eye Belle watched her father, his face looking even older now as half of it was bandaged up. He had brushed it off as just a silly incident, but Belle couldn’t help but feel bitter. Bitter about the foolishness that blinded the people here. The beast had become another tool that the Le Comtes used to manipulate the people into dancing to their strings - literally.

The many buildings that had burned down were partially or entirely owned by them, and they would surely raise the taxes to pay for it all, even if the country-wide tax payments already swallowed most of the people their incomes. The Les Comtes held such power over the towns folk that if they said left, all would go..

‘Your dancing partner left?’ A familiar voice awoke Belle from her pensive stare, her eyes meeting those of a smirking Ismael le Comte.

‘Sir.’ Belle curtsied, then looked back at the dancing crowd, not feeling like conversing with the handsome but obnoxious man. Ismael followed her gaze and shrugged. ‘I do understand. The boy’s barely a capable dancing partner, dare I say.’

‘Oh no. No no. Tomlin’s a fine dancing partner, Sir le Comte.’ Belle corrected before quickly lowering her lashes. ‘It’s just that I wish to not leave my fa..’ She looked to her side and noted that her father and the stable boy had disappeared into the crowd, leaving her alone with Ismael.

Oh darn..

She bit her lip and looked back at an amused Ismael.

‘Now Belle.’ He stepped closer, making her step back, closer to the wall where heavy curtains hung before high windows, the fabric gathered and tied to a hook with rope and a thorny wild flower bouquet. Ismael grinned, squaring his shoulders to make himself look even more imposing and broad.

‘I dare say I could make a fine match..’

The dance in the hall ended and with an exaggerated bow he offered his hand, making sure that all were there to see.

‘..for a dance.’ He smiled near devilishly, the spark in his eyes falling in distaste with Belle.

Swallowing harshly she stumbled even further back, her hands catching herself before she bumped into a bench she had not seen, her fall broken on the snarling edges of that same thorny bouquet.

Whimpering in shock and pain, Belle flopped down to the bench, her eyes blinking away tears as she looked at her palms, red and scratched with pillowing drops of blood.

In that foolish tumble into the flower bouquet she had not noticed how Ismael had made no effort to “save her”, as he had so often promised, his head only twitching slightly, as if bewitched, before blinkingly returning to the land of the living, his mouth turning out in a dramatic little gasp.

‘Oh dear! Sweet Belle. Your hands!’ He wrapped his large hands around her shaking wrists and pulled her up without so much as a question. ‘You are bleeding!’ He exclaimed, watching with fascination as the blood started to drip down from her palms. Looking up into her eyes, his next words were resolute; ‘Come now. We must see to that at once!’

And before Belle could stammer a protest she was all but dragged out of the hall, Ismael’s hand pushing at the back of her corset, her feet hastily following his large strides.

‘Wait..where..SIR..where are you taking me?’ She whispered nervously, watching people step aside, their heads dutifully bowing at the sight of the dark haired, handsome Le Comte.

‘Don’t fret.’ He chuckled darkly, his deep brown eyes looking like pools of evil lust.

There was something about Ismael Le Comte that made Belle’s neck hair rise. No matter how kind and handsome and wonderful everyone thought him to be..there was just something..off about him. Belle couldn’t quite place her finger on it, but she wasn’t often wrong about people.

Besides. It was a bit weird that a man of his position was so committed to her well-being, right? Didn’t he have more important matters to attend to? Ladies to woo? Dances to dance? Belle looked over her shoulder, seeing some people follow her and Ismael with their gossip-glistening lips. Oh, stories were abound to be told, she knew that much.

--

‘I can..see to this myself. Truly. I thank you for your..OH.’ The hand that rested on her lower back eagerly pulled her closer now they were alone in a long and spacious hallway. On the walls more prickly bouquets adorned deep blue curtains that reached ceiling high, a watery moon light trickling through the clear glass panes behind them.

‘Oh Belle. Do you not see?’ Ismael purred, his mead heavy breath warming the shell of her ear. He chuckled, amused by his own thoughts, Belle swallowing harshly again as she clenched her bleeding hands before her. Oh she was making a mess of the carpet!

Ismael didn’t seem to see her discomfort.

‘In fact. Do you see all this?’ He used his free hand to point at the gardens, the meadows, the village in the far distance, little lanterns flickering behind the windows of the cots and barns, dusk falling. Slowly Belle nodded, looking back at Ismael with a sense of worry.

Why was he so..so close to her. What was it with this..beast..no not beast..he was far too handsome for that..no..a..an evil excuse for a man!

Ismael smirked and returned his attention to Belle, his arm still keeping her close to his chest. ‘You want your father to keep his job, keep the safety we provide? Hmm…?’ He hummed. ‘You are in no position to deny him a nice life, are you now?’ He raised a wicked eyebrow, making worried tingles run up Belle’s spine, his lips now moving so very close to her neck.

And before she knew it herself, realised it herself, she had started to run. Away, away from this spiteful, hideous man.

Had he no decency?!

With great haste in her long skirts Belle ran and ran, further down the long hallway, her ears pricking as she heard Ismael’s amused laugh.

‘I DO LIKE TO HUNT!’ He roared, his hands playfully clawing at her speeding off silhouette. And with that he started the chase, his attire far less restricting and his strides far stronger and longer, making it an uneven match from the get go.

--

Where to go next? Belle looked around, not knowing the estate quite well enough, whereas her predatorial suitor most definitely knew every nook and corner.

And then she noticed a door, leading out to the terraces.

Without a second thought she ran out, into the light trickle of another rain shower, the blood from her scratched open hands mingling with the clear heaven water as she ran and ran, blue skirts soaking.

The gardens of the Les Comtes were immaculate. Sharp shorn bushes, straight lines, everything neatly trimmed to angular perfection - following courtly fashions to a tee. But the problems with such a garden was that hiding there was just about impossible. And thus Belle continued to run, her heart thundering in her chest and the ache in her hands near forgotten as she made a beeline for the forest.

Ever her safe hide-out when she so needed, she knew the forest paths so well that the low light of the evening fall caused her no trouble.

Unfortunately for her though, the chase didn’t end there, her eye catching the silhouette of Ismael behind her as she had made it to the tree line. And from the looks of it he wasn’t stopping, his gruesome laughter hackling in the rainy wind.

Why was this idiot of a man laughing so?

Belle continued to run. Further, deeper, faster, her breath tight in her corseted chest. Her hands were bleeding so profusely that she sure was leaving a perfect track for any true predator, her blood staining the leaves and branches she swept aside in her flight. But she couldn’t care. She didn’t even dare to think of what the forest had to hide at this late hour of the day, the daylight faded away and her eyes barely managing to see a thing now.

It was then she felt her skirts snag into something, her bleeding hands instinctively pulling at the fabric, making it rip to shreds.

And.. on she ran, the sound of Ismael’s laughter slowly dying away in the ink black darkness, her skirts continuing to brush against invisible bushes and branches.

Was he still there? Oh, how could she always get into such trouble?!

Scolding herself she refused to slow down, her feet stumbling over tree roots, hands skinned open from the rough bark of the trees, her breath panicked and short. She couldn’t see a thing, but she surely must have looked a mess.

And then she got stuck again, this time much worse, her ankle crunching angrily as she sank through a rabbit hole of sorts, falling sideways in another thorny bush. The prickly plant cut like angry knives into her skin, her hands, arms, legs and face fighting in bitter despair to get out. But like a drowning sailor at sea, she simply didn’t know what was up and down anymore, her wild thrashing only making things worse, getting her more stuck.

It was then the tears finally came. Hot and angry in the veil of night.

Belle was a tough cookie, but this? This was just too much.

As she slowly halted her attempts to free herself, she came to the bitter conclusion that this may very well be it. Stuck in a dark forest, bleeding profusely and with a dull pain wrecking her terrified, trembling body.

This may just be it. Her end. Perhaps she would become a snack for that evil monster, or, as she suspected to be far more likely; a pack of wolves or a bear.  

Quiet sobs escaped her rosy lips as she tugged a few more times, her body not managing to move, her torn skirts evilly twisted like a cocoon around her limbs and her arms caught in the embrace of the brambles.

Yes. This was it. Run from one problem..and get into an even bigger one. Classic Belle.

‘Forgive me papa.’ She trembled, angry tears billowing down her cheeks. OH she was such a fool! How could she leave him alone like that?! She should have never left his side. She should have never trusted that Ismael. She had known it! ARGHH!

--

He could have known.

Watching himself in the tall gilded mirror he watched the flurry of scars that marred his porcelain skin. All healed. And within a few months they would be completely gone again. It was always like that. But before then he tended to watch those tiny lines and ripples in his perfect skin, reminding himself of what a fool he had been.

Again.

Could he do any good at all? It was a question that rang in the back of his skull like a tolling bell. Bell. Belle. Hmm. And there was the second thing he couldn’t stop thinking about. That night, seeing Belle so up close, had awoken something in him. And seeing that she saw him - albeit in the lingering dark - made the hungry thoughts in his mind even wilder. His still heart was once again beating with a certain excitement. Life resetting anew in his veins.

In fact. That night the hunt for his hide had been but an afterthought, the burn of his skin but an inconvenience and the sorrow for the villagers’ rejection but another mild disappointment.

She had seen him.

And no, she had not screamed, or chased him off. She had just stood there. As if she knew who he was. As if she had known all along. It was that mere idea that made his empty stomach flutter with a certain giddy excitement.

Argh yes. The empty stomach. It was time to hunt, his beastly belly growling with a need for getting his fill. And as always, blood was on the menu.

Taking his sweet time he dressed himself, hiding every bit of his pale, marred skin. A long sleeved white blouse with high neck, dark high waisted pants and, last but not least, a slightly worn but ever his favourite, burgundy red velvet vest.

Walking down the grand staircase he busied himself with buttoning his cuffs, the small coppery roses pricking awkwardly in his claw-like finger tips. The cuffs had once belonged to his father. Centuries ago, that is. But now they were slowly decaying beneath his fingertips until at some point they would break.

It was like most discomforts in life; they proved terribly hard to die easily. And his rose-shaped cuffs? They were definitely one of them.

Arriving in the main hall he picked a long coat with a hooded mantle on top. A gentleman’s getup for a gentleman that was long past his due date. Centuries past his due date. The monster peered in the mirror next to the heavy doors, his lips curling up to show two pearly white fangs, the clearest reminder of what he was.

No gentleman indeed.

--

The winds were picking up again, sweltering summer nights but a distant memory now as new rain clouds drifted in on the starless sky.

Walking through the unruly path of the unkempt castle garden he sniffed his nose, pricked his ears, peered into the dark. The first drops were starting to fall into his dark chocolate curls when he felt a tremor not far from the castle gardens. A strange tremor. Not like the mice that were hiding in their hollows. Not like the squirrels that were hamstering their winter’s stashes.

No, this was not an animal. But a man. Or woman in fact. Yes. A woman. Pricking his ears even more, the wind making it slightly difficult to discern what he heard, he listened closely.

Indeed, a woman, agonised whimpers escaping her trembling lips, branches crunching as she despaired.

Should he...go?

Frowning at the very idea that he was contemplating whether or not this woman deserved his attention, made him shiver. He was a monster indeed! How could he even think of leaving the poor woman out here in this stormy weather, left to her own devices and obviously being no match to the many predators that loomed in the thicket of the forest.

With his cape flying out behind him he speeded with great haste to the tiny tremor he picked up, following its echo until he could hear her whimpers more clearly. Blinking in the stark darkness he could define her body as it lay there, entrapped in an evil looking bramble. Wild roses.

Those darn roses again. How could something so beautiful be so painful, too?

Stepping in closer he studied the pale limbs, the...blue..dress. Oh no, oh no. Panicking ever so slightly he started to use his beastly strength to rip away the thorny branches, finding beneath them a bloody body.

Belle.

Her breath was shallow, but finally calm. Most probably she had lost consciousness only moments ago, her fight with the thicket having exhausted her. The monster swallowed at the sight. The pretty woman all scratched and bruised, blood crusting on her pale skin. Her blood. Her sweet, sweet blood.

His nostrils flared at the intoxicating smell, but he quickly pushed the temptation aside, his eyes flitting out to watch the darkness around him, seeing and hearing if anyone was there. If anyone was following her perhaps. But for miles he couldn’t find a single soul, all townsfolk dancing at the Les Comtes, or safe in their beds.

Oh, sweet Belle, why are you here? Alone?

Looking back at the disheveled mess of brown locks, rosy lips and snowwhite skin, he came to the fast, though uneasy conclusion that he couldn’t leave her here. Pulling the rest of the branches aside he got an even better look at the state she was in. No state to just be dropped off at home.

She needed care.

And thus he picked her up, her weight light like a feather in his log-sized arms, his cold blue eyes taking in her face now she was here, so close to him, his legs carrying them back to the castle without a slip of the foot.

For years he had watched Belle from a distance. Growing up from this quiet little girl to a caring, curious young woman, her large brown eyes taking in the world around her with such marvel that he couldn’t help but marvel at it all the same.

Here she was. Belle.

His Belle.

--

Chap 4 >

--

General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss​ @tumblnewby @magdelen69​ @thereisa8ella​ @mary-ann84​ @darkbooksarwin​ @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly​

Vampire!Henry Tagsquad: @elinesama​ @i-cant-remember-my-old-login

If you want to be added to or removed from my tag lists, shoot me a message!

[what-big-teeth]

Slumber (Male Sandman, pt. 2)

Female Reader (POV) x Male Monster [Part 1]

tw: body horror, mentions of death

“Order for Robin!” 

You bend and flex your stiff fingers, hearing a few satisfying pops over the bustle of the bakery. After all the countless memes, sand sculpture photos, and elaborate costumes that have graced your laptop screen, you’re more than ready for a break.

Robin takes their seat and doles out your respective treats and drinks. Pain au chocolat with a cup of English breakfast tea for them. For you, the bakery’s famed turnover and a cup of your favorite fruit tea sweetened with honey. Your teeth sink into the warm pastry with a soft crunch. You hum as the buttery layers melt on your tongue, mingling with the fruit filling. Robin chuckles at you, but you’re too enraptured in baked good heaven to care.

“Find anything?” they ask, pointing at your laptop.

“Nothing useful,” you say around another bite. “Just the usual stuff that comes with a weirdly worded Internet search.”

Then again, it was too hopeful to expect much from the search term “man with sand and feathers”.

Robin angles the laptop to better see the screen. Their eyes scan the image results as they sip at their steaming cup.

“Was there anything else you saw this morning? Besides the sand and feather, I mean.” 

You pop one of the golden-brown corners of your turnover into your mouth and shake your head.

“That was it. And I doubt knowing what his voice sounds like will help us any.”

They prop their chin in the palm of their hand and grin mischievously.

“Mind telling me how his voice sounded again?”

Your mind easily recalls the soothing, deep cadence of your late-night visitor’s voice. The memory easily sends a rush of heat flooding your cheeks. You grumble into your mug and take a large gulp, almost scalding the inside of your mouth.

“Anyway,” you begin, “do you have any other ideas?”

They brush the pad of their thumb across their fingertips, dusting away a few crumbs and bits of chocolate.

“It’s true you didn’t see anything,” they say, “but you felt him touch your cheek and heard him approaching. Was there something different about those instances?”

Your hands slowly curl against the warm ceramic of your mug. Now that you think about it, the sound of flowing sand pelting against your bedroom floor did take some time to reach your bedside. And the amount of sand left in your visitor’s wake was enough to fill a dustpan. If he wanted to be in and out of your room in a hurry, why leave so much evidence? Or any at all?

“Penny for your thoughts?” Robin asks.

Your lips sink into a small frown.

“When he first appeared, I heard the rush of falling sand. And it kept falling steadily as he came closer to my bed. But his approach was so really slow. Almost as if something was holding him back...”

You think back to the black, brittle feather. To its ragged appearance and how it disintegrated with a light touch. It may be a stretch, but you have a hunch about last night.

“Maybe,” you say, “We don’t have to do anything drastic.”

Robin places their mug onto their small, crumb-riddled plate.

“What do you mean?”

You take one last sip from your mug and place it on the table.

“We should wait,” you say, “and let him come to us.”

————————————————

Yours and Robin’s plan is simple enough. If your guess is correct, then you’ll both come face to face with your mysterious visitor from last night. At least, you hope you will. But nightfall is still hours away; and even then, your odd guest didn’t appear until you were at your wits end.

Waiting for the time to pass by isn’t difficult, not with Robin by your side. After returning home, you both tackle the clutter and dust that’s gathered in your room since your insomnia began. Once that’s handled, Robin decides to reward you both with a quick, homemade lunch. Your favorite, in fact.

As you eat in the living room while watching re-runs of The Golden Girls, a part of you can’t help but marvel. With just a few hours of sleep, you feel refreshed and calm. Like a brand-new person, or rather, the old you. You feel a sense of normalcy, just like you wanted. And it’s all thanks to your visitor.

So when your cheeks fill with a pleasant warmth this time around, you welcome it wholeheartedly and smile. You swear to thank him for his help once everything is over.

The show’s laugh track pulls you from your thoughts and you enjoy the rest of the marathon beside Robin.

Night falls, and after cooking dinner to thank Robin for their help, it’s time to implement your plan. You complete your bedtime ritual as Robin sets up their foldable cot in the darkest corner of your room. Without a brilliant light source, they won’t be seen. And you have a strong inkling your visitor won’t have one on hand.

“Ready?” you ask.

Dressed in their pajamas, Robin sits on their cot, folding their legs and leaning back against the wall.

“Ready.”

You climb into bed and tuck yourself under the covers in the same manner as last night. Like before, the drowsiness of sleep doesn’t claim you. In fact, no matter how patiently you wait, it doesn’t come. You shift in bed, turning towards your door. The roadway noise from outside your bedroom window serves as a makeshift clock. But as the sound begins to die down, almost vanishing entirely, doubt begins to creep into your mind.

What if your visitor didn’t come back? What if you misheard the relief in his voice? Was the mistake a byproduct of your own exhaustion?

You bite your bottom lip to the point of pain as pinpricks of heat gather behind your eyes. This isn’t fair to Robin, not when they have their art exhibit to prepare for. You shift your head against your pillow to tell them the plan’s off.

The sound of flowing sand pelting against the floor stops you. It’s what you and Robin expected. The pained, ragged breathing, however, is not.

You scramble into a seated position and yank off your bedsheets. Light floods your room courtesy of Robin flipping the switch and you get a clear look at your hooded visitor. Your stomach drops.

The face you hoped to see is moon-pale with a hooked nose and riddled with cracks. The majority of them are concentrated around the skin near his eyes, which are covered with a thin, tattered blindfold. Even worse, one of his black feathered hands, human-like in appearance and tipped with sharp talons, clutches his side. You almost miss the dark stain steadily spreading across his black, tattered robes. His legs, bird-like and ending with sharp talons, tremble under his own weight and that of his shredded, broken wings. Wings that shed their feathers and fall to the floor as black sand.

You barely catch him as his legs give out and take the brunt of his fall, your back hitting the floor. Robin yells your name and, in a few moments, your visitor’s limp, heavy weight shifts to the side. Just enough so you can slip out from under him and kneel by his side. With Robin’s help, you heft him into a seated position so he leans against the side of your bed. His chest barely rises as he draws in air and you feel panic squeezing at your chest like a vice. But a strong grip on your shoulder lessens it.

“Stay here with him,” Robin says calmly but firmly. “I’ll grab the first aid kit from the kitchen.”

You nod, then listen as Robin’s rushed footsteps grow softer with the growing distance. Your nighttime visitor’s face twists with pain and the cracks in his face deepen.

He’s getting worse, you realize. You reach out your hand, hoping to adjust his position so you can alleviate some of his immense discomfort. He shifts before you can touch him, and something gleams in near his uninjured hip. It’s a sharpened dagger with a silver hilt, engraved with strange lettering you can’t understand. The words are soon covered by his trembling hand; it squeezes the hilt.

“F-forgive me…” he breathes.

Before you can ask him what he means, you hear a scream from the kitchen.

“The bogle…followed me to this realm,” he says, failing to unsheathe the weapon. “Take this…before it can kill—”

A violent crash slams against your ears. Taking the dagger, you swallow down your fear and race toward the kitchen. Robin slides across the tiled floor and stops at your feet, teeth gritted in a wince. Your eyes flit around the room and find the source of the chaos.

A shadowy, bipedal beast rips its clawed hands away from the splintered dining room table. Wisps of darkness rise from its body as its head swivels back and forth. It turns towards you, but its blood-red eyes and erect ears focused on Robin. You immediately step in front of them as they scramble back towards the hallway and brandish the dagger.

“O-over here!”

The beast’s eyes zero in on you and it unleashes an ear-splitting roar. But you stand firm as it charges towards you. In between a single breath, it hurls itself at you. Your eyes screw shut as it collides with your body and sends you flying. But before the impact, you hear a strangled cry.

The air in your lungs rushes out in a strong gust, leaving you winded and your back stinging. You immediately draw in a fresh breath and almost choke on the inhale. A sweat-drenched grip hauls you to your feet mid-breath. Thankfully, you’re able to breathe normally as Robin frantically pats their hands against your arms, neck, and sides.

“Are you hurt? Anything broken?”

You shake your head, just as surprised as they are.

“What about you?” you ask.

“It didn’t touch me,” they say. “I just landed weird while dodging it.”

You pull Robin into a tight hug, one that they readily return. Once their racing pulse calms into a steady rhythm, you pull away and inch into the kitchen. The reason for your unharmed state is soon made clear.

The beast lays on the kitchen floor, the dagger piercing its middle. In its haste to attack you, it fell onto the blade and sealed its own fate. Amazingly, the beast’s body starts to evaporate. The shadowy wisps of its form rise into the air and vanish into nothing. And after a few tense moments, the only thing left is the dagger that saved your life.

You pick up the weapon while Robin grabs the first aid kit. They hurry back to your room and you follow, careful of the sharp blade you carry.

Your visitor’s cracked lips stretch into a small smile when you both enter.

“I’m glad…you both are unharmed.”

Robin settles down by his injured side while you sit on the opposite side. They put on a pair of medical gloves and reach out to pull away his robes.

“Don’t,” he says. “While I…appreciate your aid, it won’t work. We Sandmen…can only heal in our realm.”

And just like that, everything clicks into place. The sand; his one word to you last night; why he touched your eyelids. But his revelation still leaves you with more questions.

Robin breathes through their nose and purses their lips, but they withdraw their hands. They remove their gloves and set aside the first aid kit.

“I assume you…have questions,” your Sandman says. His body tenses and he grits his sharp teeth. “Allow me to answer them. As recompense…for putting you in danger.”

Robin looks at you with an uncertain gaze. You both know his condition is worsening and he may not last much longer. But who are you to deny what may be his final wish? So you steel yourself and ask your questions.

“Who are you? And what happened to you?”

“To understand that,” he says softly, “I must tell you…how we Sandmen came to be.”

Your Sandman, who has no name, speaks of the first of his kind: the Elder. Just as all Sandmen are born from human dreams, so was she. From the first dream, in fact. But just as there are dreams, there are nightmares. And from the first nightmare came the Mother Bogle, the creature who birthed the beast you slew. Just as there are many nightmares, that one bogle was one of many.

To battle the Mother Bogle and her growing number of spawn, the Elder enters newer human dreams, where she helps birth new Sandmen. The Elder cares for and trains them, then assigns them as guardians to humans when they’re ready. All to protect the sleep and dreams of humans, lest the bogles conquer the Dream Realm and find a way into the Human Realm.

The bogle that you defeated ambushed your Sandman nearly a month ago, when his guard was down. It gouged out his eyes and left him for dead, which is why he couldn’t find his way to you. It took time and a great deal of concentration, but he managed to track you down using your deep desire to fall asleep. He explains the past sensation as a sharp, painful tug on his heart. One that’s now dulled due to being near you.

“It’s an honor for any Sandman…to die in the line of duty,” he says. “My death will not be in vain. And you…will gain a more competent guardian.”

Your lips thin out to the point of pain and your fingers dig into the palms of your hand.

“Is that what you really want?” you ask, your voice laced with frustration. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

Your Sandman’s brows suddenly lift up, but he doesn’t reply.

“If you wanted to die, you would’ve given up after being attacked. But you got up and found me, even after losing your sight. Then you tried to come back, despite the state you’re in now.”

You reach out and gently coax your Sandman to turn his face towards you with a soft touch.

“You found me again just as I was losing hope. So now, I’ll do the same for you. Please be honest with me. Do you really want to give in?”

He reaches up and holds your hand in his. The feathers covering his palm tickle  your skin.

“No,” he breathes. “If I did…then I wouldn’t be able to guard your beautiful dreams.”

You smile against the growing fluttering in your stomach and ignore the urge to look down. Your bedroom floor creaks as Robin stands to their feet.

“So then,” they begin, “what do we need to do?”

Your Sandman gives your hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

“We stay vigilant and wait. We…will soon have a visitor. One I will call for.”

So you all do. Robin takes up their old post on their cot while you sit by your Sandman’s side. As the night grows longer, your hand and his find one another again. His fingers lace with yours, the tips of his claws skimming your skin. The sensation sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. And you swear, just for a moment, that your Sandman smiles, as if knowing the effect he has on you.

The calm between the three of you doesn’t last. A soft gust of wind blow through your bedroom, raising goosebumps along your arms. You realize the impossibility of it as your window is closed and locked tight. You blink once and see a new, winged figure standing in the middle of your room. Their face, obscured by their own black hood, turns towards your Sandman.

“Well I’ll be damned.” The new Sandman’s voice is feminine but loud and clear. “You’re still alive!”

“Just barely,” your Sandman says. “It’s all thanks to my charge and her friend. She was the one to land the final blow on the bogle.”

You aren’t sure if its pride you hear in his tone, but the sound makes your heart race all the same. He squeezes your hand in his once more and you return the gesture. Then, you let go and stand up, ignoring the tingling in your stiff legs.

“Please,” you say approaching her, “can you help him?”

A bright grin stretches the female Sandman’s pale lips. “Gladly! He’ll have to claim your kill so the Elder will allow him to return home to heal. That won’t be an issue, will it?”

Beating back your disgust at the Elder, you shake your head. Robin hops off their cot and joins you, bumping their shoulder against yours with a happy gleam in their eyes. It’s contagious enough that you can’t help but smile. The female Sandman nears your Sandman and squats down beside him. Just like him, her legs are also bird-like and end with sharp talons.

“Mind helping me?” she asks, glancing up at Robin. “My brother’s ass hasn’t gotten any lighter in recent years.”

“I see you haven’t lost your way with words and human euphemisms, dear sister,” your Sandman grouses.

“Of course not, dear brother. If I did, how else would I have fun?”

“By tormenting me, no doubt.”

“Correct~!”

With Robin’s help, your Sandman is supported upright by his sister, his arm around her shoulders and his uninjured side pressed against hers. He grunts in pain as she carefully adjusts her grip, then mutters something to her under his breath. She glances your way and you finally see her eyes. They’re vast and deep, utterly black but dotted with slowly shifting pinpoints of lights that look like stars. You wonder if your Sandman’s eyes looked similar, before he was attacked.

“Mind coming over here for a moment?” she asks.

You shake your head and do so.

“I’ll trade you that dagger for something that’ll tide you over until my brother recovers fully.”

You give her the weapon and in turn, she places a black pouch with drawstrings in your open palm.

“It’s sleeping sand,” your Sandman says. “Use your fingertips to anoint your eyes so you can fall asleep.”

You thought your heart was already full from what happened so far, but another rush of warmth overtakes your cheeks.

“Thank you,” you tell him softly. “In return, I’ll have something for you when you get back.”

Your Sandman looks at you quizzically, almost as if he can guess what your gift will be by staring at you. You just shake your head with a chuckle.

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out, alright?”

“Ohhh, I like her,” the female Sandman says. “Try and keep her around, will you?”

Your Sandman sputters in reply as his sister grins.

“Thanks for your help,” she says, looking at both you and Robin. “My brother will be back before you know it.”

“We look forward to it,” you say.

She smiles. When you blink, she and your Sandman have vanished. The only traces of them are a soft rush of wind and the mess of black sand on your bedroom floor.

————————————————

Soon enough, things start to return to normal.

With your sleep cycle partially restored, your visit to the doctor’s office confirms the end of your insomnia. You return to your job with a medical note explaining your past situation, one that your boss is more than willing to accept. The next day, your coworkers throw you a small, surprise celebration with treats from your favorite bakery.

Even Robin’s art exhibit goes off without a hitch. A handful of clients offer them their cards to hire them at a later date, which is the start your best friend always wanted. They even mention that they already have the theme for their next collection in mind, thanks to your shared adventure.

You’re grateful for the calm and the much needed sleep that’s returned to your life. But there’s still one thing missing.

Having wished Robin a good night, you sit on your bed with your bedside lamp turned on, looking up at the night sky and the bright full moon. You close your eyes and send up a wish for your Sandman’s full recovery. Even if it takes months, you promise to be patient. If he was able to endure during his ordeal, then you can handle some time away from him.

“I hope you’re doing well,” you whisper.

A soft sensation brushes against your cheek.

“More than, I would say.”

You gasp and turn away from your window. There, in the middle of your bedroom, stands your Sandman. His black robes are no longer stained, but look new and regal. His wings, once horribly tattered and broken, are healed and as dark as the night. And his face, still moon-pale, is now whole, revealing his handsome features. His eyes are still blindfolded, but the black cloth obscuring them is newer, thicker, and of better quality.

He pulls down his hood and cards a hand through the black feathers that make up his short hair with a smile.

“I hope I didn’t keep you—!”

You press your face against his chest and embrace him, nuzzling against his warmth. He returns your hug and buries his nose into your hair, inhaling your scent.

“It’s strange,” he says. “At first, I found you through your desperate need for sleep. But this time was different.”

“How so?”

“Even though I am without my sight, a sweet sound like a clear bell guided my way here. It’s one I hope to keep hearing. That is, if you wish it?”

The backs of his claws skim the curve of your cheek, pulling a shiver from you. He chuckles as your fingers clench at his robes.

“Of course I do. You’re my Sandman, after all.”

He hums, pressing his nose against your hair once more. You wonder if this will become a habit of his; but it’s one you wouldn’t mind at all.

“If I remember correctly, there was something you wished to give me?”

You nod against him and pull back slightly. Your hands reach up and cup his face, your thumbs gently rubbing against his high cheekbones. He leans down towards you, but stops just a short distance away from your lips. His warm breath hits your skin and you bite your bottom lip.

“Two things, actually. The first is a name, if you want it.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Nocturne,” you say.

Your heart pounds as his smile softens.

“I’ll treasure it,” he says. “And what about the second?”

You slowly close the distance between the two of you. And as your lips meet his, you wonder what other sweet things the nights to come will have in store.

[mars-barssss]

you aren't alone anymore: Roman (2/6)

Chapters

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

Trigger warnings: Remus mention, General lack of self-care, Low self-worth/bad thoughts, Minimal swears,

Characters: Virgil, Patton, Roman, Logan, Remus

Pairings: Platonic LAMP; Platonic Analogical, Platonic Moxiety, Platonic/Romantic Prinxiety

Word Count: 2.5k Words

Summary: Virgil’s need to protect others goes beyond physical protection. He does a good job of looking after each of the others in his famILY, but he doesn’t have the time to take care of himself. Lucky for him, he’s got someone looking after him too. More than one actually, to his surprise.

--- --- ---

    Roman questions himself and self worth after Logan had to work overtime on the couch because of him, as well as an audition that is coming up fast. Virgil is not impressed.

...

Patton has been talking about tomorrow for a long time now.

It was originally just a passing comment, or maybe an energized speech, but now he was literally jumping up and down, much like a puppy, and Logan was growing tired of witnessing it.

"We are going to get the role, I’m so excited-!” His whole body was jittering, and if Virgil was honest, he was sure Patton was going to faint. “They are going to love Roman’s audition tomorrow! I know it!”

Virgil himself was removed from the living room. His own pulse was jumping around, almost matching the moral side. And yes, he knew that they had accepted him recently, but something felt strange about stepping willingly into the living room. So he was fine with sitting here. If he could, he might mention his problems, which he didn’t want to bother them with.

So Virgil remained at the top of the staircase, witnessing the upset teacher slowly being driven insane. He knew everyone was indeed on edge right now. Logan was probably just trying to make sure everything made sense of this. Roman himself had tons of practicing to do. Patton, well, he was just excited for the audience that would one day see it. And of course, Virgil was doing as he always did, worry.

Just earlier today, he had to shove so many thoughts back into his room. Even now, they seemed to creep under the doorway of his room, echoing thoughts that ran around his head.

What if Thomas failed? What if the director wasn’t impressed? What if he tries to be confident and doesn’t notice a hazard? He could trip, maybe slip. What if he misplaces something? What if he forgets the notes, the lyrics? He could sing a note wrong, or lose a prop! 

It was his job, after all. Make sure Thomas doesn’t get hurt. The other sides always disagreed with his actions to make Thomas safer.

What if he was late? Would the director think he’s lazy? Maybe something he said in a previous conversation came up to haunt him. Maybe it’s already too late!

Shadows like hands crawled across the floor beside him, reaching as if to catch the anxious side. He placed his head in his hands and clawed at his hair.

What if it’s perfectly fine, and you ruin it? Maybe you’ll overreact on stage, and ruin everything. Patton would be upset. Logan, a bit confused, but frustrated. And Roman…

A shadow that had gotten close had gently taken his hand.

Roman would be furious.

What if?... What if?... What if?...

Virgil raised his head, shaking the intrusive thoughts away. Slowly, he started his trusted breathing exercises. His hands shaking slightly as they were pressed into each other. A tense grip was formed as he closed his eyes.

This was not the time for some panic attack. Any other night but tonight. Not tomorrow either.

Eventually, the shadow melted away from him, and his breathing gathered itself. A stray tear managed its way down his cheek for a moment. Focus. From here he could already feel the tense feeling he had spread across the mindscape.

He definitely wasn’t looking forward to the repercussions. He swore heard Roman yell in anger down the hallway.

That was the problem with him. His anxiety was sometimes just, contagious. He definitely caused a few problems, which can’t really be afforded tonight with the audition. Great. Time to be prepared for the Logan express train and a freaking lecture from Princey. Glad I ruined today as well.

He’s already used to it, if he was being honest. Letting his neck fall slack, his head hid beneath his arms, preparing himself for the inevitable heaving footsteps on the staircase and a monotone voice.

Except, he didn’t get the sudden reaction he was used to. The next thing he knew, there were hesitant, quiet footsteps climbing the stairs, which was new. He didn’t know Logan as the careful, or nervous type. Nervously, his eyes flinched upwards upon feeling a footstep beside him. But instead of a tie-cladded side arriving, there stood a very concerned Patton.

“Virge? Are you okay?” He knelt down in front of Virgil. Patton reached a hand towards Virgil's messy locks. In a quick movement, Virgil shrunk back from the touch and sank into his room. Well, probably not what he should have done, but he didn’t think too much in that moment.

"... Shit." Virgil backed up from where he appeared next to his bed. His room in the mindscape was right beside where he previously was. He could practically hear Patton let out a sigh, and shuffling from where he stood.

Virgil knew it was only going to be moments before the paternal side would be knocking on his door. He was in danger of a very strongly worded lecture from the father figure. His eyes locked into his room's door, his body frozen.

Patton is finally going to end this charade of yours, Virgil. You've done it now. You avoided the one who loved you. It will go right back to where everything was-

No. Virgil looked away from the shadows that grew with in his room. Patton wouldn't hate him.

Don't test my patience. Maybe if he knew what you really are, he wouldn't last. He doesn't like things like you.

Shut it. Virgil took a step back, closing his eyes tightly. He kept staring at the door, his hands digging into his own hair. A vague conversation could be heard from outside, as what sounded like Patton and Logan were about confront him.

"Virgil? Are you in there? We need to have a conversation. We're coming in." Logan began, growing louder.

But a moment before the door opened, Virgil felt a pair of hands grabbed his arm, before pulling him to sink down and into a bright light. Virgil flinched away from the contact as the world spun, his eyes scrunched up tightly. He stumbled backwards into a stiff object.

His voice died in the shock of the moment. His body immediately curled up after managing its way out of the intruder's grip. As sudden as the moment was, he didn't hear his door creaking open anymore, or Logan's voice, or anything. Actually, he couldn't even feel the shadows that used to surround him or the voice.

Virgil sat for a few more mere moments curled up, before deciding to open his eyes. One, he was not in his room anymore. Two, his head slammed into what appeared to be a bookshelf. Three, someone was looking beside him silently.

After blinking a few times, and a few shaky breaths later, his vision cleared to reveal what side just took him out of his room.

"Roman…?"

The side that had rescued him looked nothing like the valiant prince he knew and loved. In fact, he barely had any ounce of confidence he usually has. His hair rivaled Virgil's untamed hair, and his eyes held a numb, drained look to them.

"Welcome to my room, Prince of Doom and Gloom!" Roman attempted to bow towards Virgil, but he could see his jolting posture and a small, but stubborn waver in his voice. "Be glad that I have saved you from that incoming lecture, it would have been a travesty, surely!"

"Roman?"

"I have solved everything, no Logan necessary! And he says I'm reckless, I am NOT reckless!" Roman began to rant as he usually did, but something felt missing from the prince. His voice felt worn, and tired. Frustrated even. "I can solve problems too, and not just make 'a questionable pile of nonsensical words'! I mean, heck, send me to some dungeon if I'm so bad!"

As Roman moved away, pacing in his rant, Virgil finally got a glimpse of Roman's room. The bookshelf he hit his head on was empty, aside from a few torn shreds of paper. The floor was covered and cluttered in books and half-thought out scripts. Some were personal journals, others were vents. There was hardly a section of floor not covered in them. His walls which once held beautiful paintings and colors were now faint, and his bed was nearly cleared of any sheets or blankets. The pillows didn't have pillowcases, and the blanket remained abandoned on the floor. One thing that caught Virgil's attention was that Roman's mirror on his dresser was cracked, a large split ripping reflections in half. Beneath the dresser were slivers and pieces of royal red material. With a bit more thought, he recognized the article as Roman's prized sash, which he wore everyday, was in ripped in pieces before him. That didn't settle right with the anxious side at all.

"ROMAN!" Virgil blurted out with force this time, catching the attention of Roman, who turned to him with wide eyes. Virgil quickly steadied himself on the bookshelf and approached the creative side, who took a step back at the movement.

One look at his face was all Virgil needed. He saw Roman's red-rimmed eyes and dark eye bags. Two tear streaks lined his pink cheeks. His cheeks looked like they were rubbed to remove any sign of sadness at all.

"What is it Surly Temple? Can't you see I'm ranting?!" He snapped at Virgil, but soon his face fell again after he said it.

"What… what happened here?" Virgil's voice was barely audible, but he held his ground as he saw more pages on the ground.

"The creative process, of course! Now along you get, the others have surely gone to their rooms." Roman nudged Virgil towards his door, his smile forced wide. If he was any other side, maybe he'd believe it. But Virgil noticed everything, from his voice, all of the way to the way his smile just didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Sure, just keep on lying and keep me worrying, see if I care, Princey!" Virgil pushed back, looking Roman right in the eyes. Or at least, attempted to. Roman clearly was avoiding the anxious side's gaze. "Roman, look at me!"

"I shall let you know I'm perfectly fine!" He turned further away, his voice strong with false confidence of what he used to have.

"Look at me." He reached up at Roman's face, placing his cheek in his hand and nudging his face into view. "What happened?"

Virgil flinched slightly at Roman's hand that had come to meet his own. When Roman backed off at the flinch, Virgil reached back.

"Virgil… I… fine." Roman's forced grin dropped, and his voice began anew, being softer than Virgil has ever heard before. "The… the play… everything's been so ridiculously hard recently. I can't even think straight, and Logan's been pestering me and complaining and complaining! I… I'm terrified. I'm scared, Virgil. I can't seem to control anything, every thought of mine has ended in flames! It's like I'm not able to make it to his expectations, like I'm never enough!"

"I feel like I'm not good enough. Like I'm not doing my job. For Thomas. And, heck, I want to be enough for even at least you guys! But everything I do fails. The audition is what I have to prove myself, to show I'm strong, and not weak, to all of you! That I'm not worthless or less than you all and-"

"Princey, you can stop-!" Virgil extends his voice for a moment, before dropping his volume, guilt biting into his neck. He knew what Roman meant. Ever since he was split, he knew this bothered Roman. Even when he wasn't allowed into the light common room.

"Sorry, but look Roman, you need to take a break or something. Like, I don't know, take a nap, maybe a walk or something! Here." Virgil approached the only other door in Roman's room besides the exit. The entrance to the imagination, and opened it.

Bright light poured into the disheveled room, glaring into the broken mirror. Clouds swirled around the sunlight that entered, causing an almost troubling weather to enter. Rain sounded like it was pouring nearby, but not where they were. The grass was both light and dark, a distinct line was formed from the shadows of clouds. Roman looked almost distraught from it.

"The audition is tomorrow, Virgil! I can't adventure tonight, you know this!" Desperation bled through his voice, choking him up as he held back a sob.

"You won't do well if you're like this on stage. Come on." Virgil's mouth pulled into a tight frown. "You'll be back before practice today, but you need to get yourself situated."

Virgil frowned, as he raised a hand to Roman, who was staring sadly into the mirror shards. He remained patient, although for a moment he wasn't sure where he learned it from. This kind, forgiving patience.

Patton.

Virgil didn't want to think of how he was going to have to apologise to him for his actions. It was inevitable though, and Virgil felt bad for what he did.

Patton was the first one to accept him and he got that treatment.

You are truly the worst. What's worse than that? Hurting the kindest one here? I mean, really what is-

"Why are you helping me?"

Virgil's gaze jumped up to Roman, who had now dragged his eyes from the broken glass. It was a simple question, really. One that Virgil didn't believe needed asking. "What…?"

"You know what I mean. I was all but rude to you. I don't understand."

His eyes landed on his raised hand, then to Roman. Determined, and focused. "That's all in the past. You know this." Roman's face lit up in surprise for a moment. "You're my friend Roman. Besides, I won't leave you while you're like this. I care about you To, you just need to believe it at some point."

Silence engulfed them, but it wasn't an unpleasant silence. A small smile eased its way onto Roman's face. Virgil's hand remained raised, unmoved. Eventually, he felt Roman's hand enter his own.

"Right. Come on Princey, let's relax." He gently guided him to the door, where clouds have shifted, seemingly from his own words. Sunlight poured onto Roman.

They walked together, sometimes in silence, sometimes in playful banter. Virgil recognized some areas of the imagination that didn't quite change from their childhood. A certain carved tree or a hill, he remembers before the sides were split, they'd play here all of the time. Before dark and light.

Before Roman and Remus. When Creativity was still together and happy. When bad and good didn't matter.

He knew by Roman's grip, that he remembered too.

"Roman…" Virgil pulled Roman off of the dirt path, surprising the creative side. Little pieces of memories returned to Virgil, allowing him to find the old cliff they used to run around.

It was also a wonderful view of the imagination.

He pulled Roman's arm, encouraging him with a small smile to lie down and cloud gaze. Although with hesitance, Roman laid down beside him, looking at the partially cloudy day.

After a few minutes of silence, Roman's voice grew in willpower, soon rising just above a whisper.

"Do you think I'm good enough?"

…

"I think you're perfect."

There were no clouds in the imagination today.

[bespectacledbun]

Across Time - Sasuke

So......this happened. I'm sorry. Words: 2800+ Rating: T Tagging: @impracticaldemon​​ ⚠️ Trigger Warnings: Mentions of suicide, major character death, mentions of alcohol, blood. ⚠️ You can read this work on ao3.

He had loved her-- Sasuke knew this sad truth-- and he had loved her for as long as he knew how to love. She was the sun to his moon, the pull to his push, the one light shining in his life. She was as important to him as breathing, the sun that the earth of his life revolved around.

In the first life, their roles were reversed; ‘she’ was the crown prince of some kingdom long forgotten. ‘He’, meanwhile, was the caretaker who toiled away in the palace gardens, the girl buzzing around the flowers as a bee might, creating beautiful blooms for the nobles to enjoy.

They had been childhood friends. She had found him hiding under one of the camellia bushes, pouting and dirty and covered in bruises. Too many hits in swordplay, he’d told her. Her little six year old self had blinked at the absurdity of the crown prince hiding under a flower bush, his brilliant silk trousers covered in dirt and shredded petals. And then she’d laughed at him. His pout deepened. Come on, she pulled him out from under the shrub. I have a salve that can help the bruises. From that day forward, they were inseparable; everyday, without fail, he’d sneak out from practice (archery or swordplay or horseback riding) and come to visit her in the gardens; she would just shake her head at his recklessness and smile.

Days passed. Weeks. Months.  

She began looking forward to his daily visits; he was an excellent conversationalist and she was an excellent listener. And she stared off into the roses and hydrangeas, imagining a world where she was the daughter of a noble, too, and she could join him inside the imperial palace. And her heart sped up when he gave that adorably stupid grin, the one that spoke of mischief and pranks. And she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes, those eyes that could command her heart to do anything and make her feel like she owned the world. Memories bloomed in her little garden paradise: eating mooncakes at New Year’s; watching the fireworks during festival nights; sharing honey-sweetened persimmons for his birthday.

But of course, he was the crown prince, and already betrothed to another. When she heard the news, everything went numb. She should have expected it, after all. He was the crown prince, heir to an empire of thousands. She was heir to beautiful blossoms that would wilt before the year was over. Why? Why, of all the people that lived in the palace, had she chosen to prince to pin her secret hopes on, to pine over and carry a torch for?

A few weeks later, the petals came up. She stared at them in horror, the innocent bright pink petals lying in the palm of her hand. No, no no no no. It couldn't be. But it was, she could feel the faint ticklish sensation at the back of her throat, and instantly knew what it was.

Fate was so cruel, indeed. Day after day, he talked about her and her only, the beautiful princess he was destined to marry. She saw how his face lit up in excitement and the lovestruck expression that crossed his face whenever he talked about her. Did you know, he asked her one day as she was pruning the gardenias, that she chopped off her hair and dressed like a boy to learn archery with her brothers? All she had done was nod blithely and continue her work; her throat was choked with the ticklish sensation. She still couldn't look him in the eye, but this time for a different reason. Coughing quietly into her sleeve, she brushed off the butchered flowers that came up, shoving them deep inside the bush to hide them from the prince.

She ignored the streaks of blood that lined the outermost petals and thorns and the rawness aching in her throat.

Seasons passed, flowers germinated and bloomed and withered, and they were reborn into another life.

This time, he was the son of the local priest, adopted after being left at the steps of the iglesia; she was the only daughter of the wealthy marqués. She only knew him as the parish helper who led the church choir every Sunday at mass. But still, every week, without fail, she would come and visit the churchyard to see the Spanish roses and honeysuckle that climbed over the trellises. They're so beautiful, she’d said one day, running her hands over the deep red and white blooms, did you grow these? He had only nodded, unable to speak his mind. That she was the more beautiful than any of the flowers in that garden.

Evenings after mass were spent strolling in the garden with her (her maid hung behind at a safe distance, hiding a knowing smile on her face) and aimlessly making conversation: about the revolution; about the expeditions set by His Majesty for the New World; about the booming trade in the west. And she was always his princesa, or his lady. Why don't you ever refer to me by name? She asked him, giggling at his titles for her. You are too magnificent for me to treat you as anything other than a princess, he’d murmured back.

His father- ironically, everyone’s ‘Father’- caught him by the arm one day, murmuring a warning: Do not get too attached to her, my child. You are only inviting in your doom. He’d simply smiled and shaken his head. It's not like that. But he couldn't deny that he dreamt of her, of her musical laughter and her fiery passion for adventure and the blaze that flared under his skin when she said his name. She drew him like a moth to a flame, and he couldn't help but be swept along in her passion.

She came to him one day with her eyes sparkling and euphoria etched into her face. She was to be married before the month was out, to a son of a rich aristocrat who was to leave for the New World soon.

He expressed his best wishes for her engagement, doggedly ignoring the pressure on his lungs. When she was safely out of sight he stumbled through the door of the iglesia, clawing at his throat. Dark red petals came up, splashing on the floor in a sticky mess of blood and bile. He sagged against the wall, his father rushing over to help him, holding him upright in concern. The sobs spilled out, unchecked, a tidal wave of grief and pain washing over everything. The thorns scratched his throat, his heart, his soul. He’d lost her again.

And then they were in another lifetime.

She was from a well-to-do nouveau riche family, the kind that had connections in the underworld and in Wall Street. He was the owner of a speakeasy that was fairly quiet, the kind that attracted unwanted attention from the city gangsters. She frequented the bar almost as much as any other flapper, drunk on spirits and life. He watched her blossom into a fine young woman, and nearly half the boys in the Big Apple were just as infatuated with her as he was. She was a mystery to others, and enigma to her friends, and a goddess to him. She was the living embodiment of freedom, sweeping along everyone with her into wild adventures. She came and went like a spring wind, the first breath of cool air, refreshing everyone who was fortunate enough to meet her.

He had dreams, dreams of marrying her and moving to the country (or maybe they could go overseas), of traveling the world. Dreams of raising children with her--they’d have her sparkling eyes and maybe his cautious personality--and they would grow up and run around the house and laugh and play together. Dreams of waking up every day to her face beside him on the pillow, peaceful and relaxed and he’d lean over and kiss her brow to wake her. And she would open her eyes and gaze at him and he would be overcome by such adoration that he couldn't express it in any way other than I love you. I love you, my beautiful princess.

The accident took it all away from him.

The driver hadn't been paying attention to the road and had skidded on the ice buildup on the corners. The vehicle spun wildly, crashing against some brownstone downtown. She had been standing at the crosswalk, waiting for the signal. The car had crushed her against the wall. The wounds were too severe; she was gone before the paramedics could arrive.

The glass he was wiping fell, shattering on the floor and breaking into a thousand knife-sharp pieces. His dreams blurred and faded before his eyes, replaced by visions of her, gashes littering her broken body as she lay there all alone. Someone directed him to a chair, had him sit down and down a glass of water. He couldn't remember anything except her cheerful grin directed at him.

And he wept and wept and wept, salty tears running down his face and mingling with carnelian blood, staining the front of his suit. He didn't care. He couldn't care anymore. Not when his princess was gone. Again. After the bar was emptied and the last customer had stumbled out thoroughly inebriated, he sat back on the counter, head hung in his hands, numbness burrowing into his nerves and every inch of him. He moved automatically, finding the small tin containers hidden in the corner of the pantry. Rat poison.

C’mon! What's the point of staying behind the counter all day long? She giggled and pulled him along the pier. Let's go on an adventure!

His fingers poured the contents of the tin into the uncorked bottle on the bar table, shaking and deadened. He drained the bottle in one gulp. He would follow his princess ot the ends of the earth if he had to. He couldn't lose her, not again, not this time.

And then they were in this life.

When he'd first seen her at the Honno-Ji monument he'd instantly known who she was. Memories crowded into his brain, ghostly glimpses of lifetimes past, and he'd gasped at the flood of emotion that overcame him. It’s you. You've come back to me, princess.

The wormhole had struck, before he could reach her, and he was ripped apart from her again. Four years. Four years he traveled the length and breadth of the country, searching, always on the lookout for any sign of his princess. Finally, finally, he found her at Honno-ji, still bright and beautiful amidst the smoke and ash and flames of the burning temple. He introduced himself to her, watching over her as she went to Azuchi and stayed with the Oda forces.

He couldn't have predicted that she would try to escape, though.

She had almost made it out of Azuchi when she was caught and brought back. Nobunaga had her put under the charge of Tokugawa Ieyasu. Sasuke’s idol. He was nearly ecstatic. If anyone could help protect her, it was Ieyasu. Right? He saw as she followed Ieyasu around, with unfailing optimism, trying to get him to open up to her. She got archery lessons from him, and became increasingly closer to him.

Sasuke watched as Tokugawa Ieyasu fell in love with his princess.

He had visited her after two months (he woke up that morning with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach) and set out to Mikawa immediately. Sneaking into the castle grounds had been easy. He’d looked up into the windows of the castle-

-to see Ieyasu kissing her. Pain seared through his lungs. Sharp, hacking coughs came from him. He doubled over in the tree, nearly falling out. Bloody cherry petals spilled past his lips. Sasuke stared at them in horror, head spinning dizzyingly. No. Not again. I have to see her.

The thought spurred him forward and he neatly infiltrated the castle. Entering her room, he waited there quietly for her to come back. Iron bands tightened around his chest.

She came in, and her face lit up at the sight of him. The question burned on his tongue.

Are you in love with Ieyasu?

Her blush was all the confirmation he needed. He bid her a good day and quietly left the castle, riding back to Echigo, her flushed face still on his mind.

When he stumbled in through the doors of Kasugayama Castle, Yuki looked up from his lunch. Sasuke where were- whoa, what's wrong? Sasuke staggered past him, out into the garden, collapsing on the grass. His head was still spinning; he felt so light. Like his soul might burst from his body and float away Everything was muffled, like he was underwater. Colors and shadows shifted around him, blurring and breaking apart. My princess….

The first wave of petals scratched his throat, bruised and shredded. His lungs heaved, searching desperately for air. His chest burned, the lack of oxygen making him feel lightheaded. He choked on the leaves and flowers that came up, clawing at his throat. Tears spilled, trickling down his cheeks, hot and furious amidst the pain.

He fell.

Yuki shouted his name, rushing over to holding him upright by the shoulders.

“She lo-loves some- someone else-” He choked out. Yukimura rubbed his back, unable to do anything to soothe his friend. The cherry blossoms came up in another wave,  filling up his throat and mouth with petals and leaves and blood. He spat them out weakly, blood dribbling down his chin; Sasuke’s vision grew hazy. Vaguely, he was aware of being lifted and carried inside, cleaned up, examined by a doctor. Being told that he couldn't be saved, that it was too late and the disease had been left untreated far too long. It didn't matter, though. His princess was- in someone else’s arms- happy where she was.

Sasuke could rest.

He lay there on the futon, weak breaths rasping in and out of his lungs. Darkness crept at the edges of his vision. Before the exhaustion overtook him, a flicker of a memory came back to him, like an old film reel.

“Of all days to be stuck on gate duty,” Sasuke grumbled to himself. It was freezing out here, and he hadn't thought to bring an extra jacket to wear over the wool blazer. He rubbed his palms together to get some semblance of warmth into his fingers. The warning bell rang out over the school grounds, signalling that there were only five minutes left to get to class. Might as well close the gate now and go back inside, he thought to himself. No point in staying out here and freezing my ass off. But apparently the Great Almighty had other plans for him that day.

“Wait up!” His head jerked up; a girl wearing the second year uniform and blazer was running full speed towards the gates. She tumbled over the strip of metal the gates swung on, crashing into Sasuke and sending them both to the ground. Her books landed on the cobblestones; she wasn't so lucky. “Oh my gosh! I am so, SO sorry!” She gasped and sat back up. He sat up and groaned, rubbing his head where it had hit the stones. She put an arm on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Sasuke glanced up into her face peering at him in concern. She’s extraordinarily pretty. He quashed that thought. She smells like cinnamon and apples. He quashed that thought too. He didn't have time to be getting doe-eyed over a second-year girl. He nodded quickly, not trusting his voice to work properly. She broke out into a relieved smile.

“Oh thank goodness!” His heart thumped erratically against his ribcage; he told it to calm down. The relieved smile slipped off her face as she realized exactly where she was. “I'm gonna be late!” She set about gathering up all her fallen books. He helped her, fingers accidentally brushing hers as he handed her a rather heavy textbook on calculus; electricity sparked where he’d touched her. Sasuke stared at his hand. I'm dreaming. He blinked back into the present and stood up, brushing himself off.

The strange girl yelled a hasty “Thanks!” over her shoulder and turned to leave. On instinct, he reached out and grabbed her shoulder. She twisted to look at him; internally he cursed himself. “Um- name?” He winced. Really? That's the best you could do, Sasuke? The awkwardness hung thick in the air.

The girl blinked, then grinned in understanding. His heart skipped another beat. Normally he didn't think this much about girls, but…… She really was beautiful; he swallowed hard.

“My name is Mai.”

[xiumin-on-this-shit]

I Am An Alpha Ch 13: Who Is The Alpha Here?(M)

I snap up when I hear the door open. My eyes are opened wide, scanning the room for an intruder but only find Kris peeking his head in. He has a small smile on his face, I can tell he is unsure on how to proceed. With a deep breath I give him a small smile, “I’m sorry for earlier.”

“Me too. I didn’t mean to get so upset, we should have handled it better. You told me and you told Yixing that you are not really in control of your wolf and we still got upset, we are assholes.”

“Yea you were,” I must back. “But understand why you are scared. I am not the typical omega so you can’t scare me into submission, it must be weird to have something so out of your control.”

He nods, “So are we forgiven?”

“You are yes, but I’m still upset with Yixing and I am absolutely pissed at Jongin.”

“Insoo please-“

I cut him off, not caring if I’m upsetting the two boys you can hear out conversation, “I don’t give a single fuck about the excuses you guys thought of while I was sleeping. Jongin attacked my pup and almost ripped his throat out. Yixing stood by and watched, knowing how much that pup means to me, he was just going to let him die because he was fucking jealous.”

I can see that he wants to defend his pack but doesn’t have any more excuses.

I sigh, “You look stressed.”

He runs his hand through his hair and lets out a sigh of his own, “I have eleven wolfs down stairs dealing with rejection and a mate who basically hates us at the moment.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t like us.”

“At the moment, yes.”

“What can I do to make this up to you? I will do anything except take you back to your pack. I can’t handle you being away from me right now.”

“I just want to lay here a bit longer, I don’t want to face them right now.”

He nods, “Take all the time you need.” He turns to leave but I find myself stopping him.

“Hyung.”

He freezes, “Yes?”

“Could you stay? Jin would always tell me that nothing would make you feel better than being with your mate. I think we could both feel better right now.”

“You want me to stay?” He is completely dumbstruck by my words.

I nod, “If you are still mad I understand.”

“No!” He rushes forward eagerly, his sudden movement making me jump back against the headboard. Again, he freezes, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’ just that you came up so fast.”

“I’ll take it slow.”

He very slowly climbs up the bed so he is lying next to me. His hands rest on his chest when he finds a comfortable position on his back. I move to my side to stare at him, my hands tucked between my cheek and the pillow. We sit there for a moment, feeling more tense now than before.

“This isn’t really helping,” I mumble.

“I’m sorry, I can go.”

Again, he tries to leave, and again I stop him, rolling on top of him, surprising both of us. His hands catch my hips as I straddle his waist, both of us frozen. My face is burning with embarrassment; I look away and slowly begin to move away. He suddenly rolls us over so he is on top, his massive body locking me underneath him. I usually panic in situations like this but right now I just want him closer. My small fists cling to the back of his shirt as I burry my face in the crook of his delicious smelling neck. He eagerly does the same to me, taking deep breaths of my scent. This is what I wanted.

A tingle runs down my spine when I feel something sharp poking my neck followed by the short caress of his tongue. I can’t hold in the whimper my omega makes, wishing for him to continue, to just mark me and mate me right now. Just the thought has my body buzzing. I’m so caught up in my own feelings that I don’t notice Kris’s body getting warmer and his grip on me tightening.

He ruts against me.

It’s only once but it’s enough to make him tense and pull away. He isn’t able to get very far with my hands gripping his shirt but it’s enough for me to see his face, and his golden eyes. “I’m sorry,” He mumbles out, again trying to pull away.

“Stop apologizing and come closer,” I groan. “I want you closer.”

“But Insoo, I don’t think I can control myself right now, I just want to…” His eyes are fixated on my neck. I throw my head back, baring it to him completely.

“Mark me,” I demand. I want it so bad, I need it. I feel like if he doesn’t mark me I am going to die.

“Insoo, you can’t just say things like that. You might not be ready-“

I snarl and flip us back over so I’m on top, “I’m not a fan of being prepared. I much more enjoy living in the moment and in this moment all I want is for you to mark me like my alpha is supposed to. Come on,” I tease, “Or maybe you aren’t man enough to.”

That is all it takes to bring out his alpha instincts to flip me back over and pin my hands to the bed, “What was that omega?”

“I said maybe you aren’t man enough to mark me.”

He chuckles, “You are a brave little omega.”

“I’m no fucking omega, and you know that.”

“I don’t know that. I’m waiting for you to prove it to me.”

I grin, “Shall we see who the stronger alpha is?”

“How will we do that?”

“First to cum looses.”

I see the battle on his face, he wants to sit back and talk, still worried that I’m not ready, but his alpha isn’t backing down from the challenge. I honestly don’t know if I am ready but I don’t care right now, I want him to mark me, I want him closer, I want this more than anything. My wolf is crying inside for more of his scent, for more of his touches, I crave it. I see the want in his eyes too, his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he decides.

“You know once we start I won’t be able to stop,” He snarls in my ear, rutting against my unclothed core again, making me tense. “The second your delicious heat sucks me in I will not be letting you get away.”

“Kris,” I whine softly.

“What is it little wolf? Scared already?” He mocks with a smirk.

“No, I’m tired of your warning and apologies, if you don’t mark me I swear to god I’m going to top you.”

He chuckles darkly before licking a strip up my neck, “So sweet.”

I groan, “You take forever!” I snatch my hands back and grab him by the collar of his t-shirt. Without any hesitation I smash our lips together in an aggressive kiss that has my bones tingling and my toes curling. His arms are under me, bringing me closer to deepen the kiss. I nibble on his bottom lip, earning a deep moan from the giant, earning me access to his hot cavern. I’m not surprised when he tries to fight for dominance in the kiss but I don’t give in.

I jump when the back of my shirt rips open, earning him the upper hand in all of this. He makes quick work of the shirt, shredding it to pieces so his massive hands are flat against my back. I know what he is doing, his rough callused hands feel a long my scars down my spine. Returning the favor of ruining my shirt I tear his a part, he leans away, glaring down at me.

“I know I have more but that doesn’t mean you can do that,” He teases.

“You started it.” I give him a cheeky grin, with a quick swing of my hips I manage to get on top again, catching sight of the scar on his chest. My fingers skim over the spider like mark. It isn’t very big, just a tiny bit smaller than my hand. “I did quite a number on you didn’t I?”

“I did it to myself. I attacked you, I deserve it 100 times over.”

I shake my head, “We are getting off track.”

He sits up, his arms wrap around my shoulders, holding us chest to chest, “I’m sorry for not saving you.”

“You did in a way.”

“I mean before you even got in that situation, I should have known you were hurting. I was running around while you were getting beaten,” His hands caress my back, soft lips run down my neck to my shoulder. “I want to be closer to you.”

“All you have to do is pop that button.”

He chuckles, “That challenge is still on you know.”

“I’m waiting.”

His hand slips in between us and pops open his pants and watches my face as he pulls himself out of his pants. I gulp at the sight of his massive rock hard member. He chuckles, “Are you ready for me little wolf?”

I puff out my chest and put on a brave face, “Bring it on.”  

“Go ahead ms. Alpha.”

I place my hands on his shoulders, letting my nails dig into his skin as I prepare myself. With a deep breath I position myself over him before closing my eyes and sinking down slowly on his manhood. I can feel him staring at me but I don’t open my eyes. My mouth forms a perfect O at the filling sensation, it burns to my core, it would be a lie to say it doesn’t hurt but the throbbing pleasure rocking through me keeps me going. My head drops to his shoulder for a minute, mumbling a string of curse words to keep myself from screaming.

“How do I feel little wolf?” He purrs in my ear. “Because you feel absolutely amazing. I don’t want to rush you because I don’t want to hurt you but it is taking all of my self control not to pin you down and fuck you so hard I break this bed. So please-“

“Is that begging I hear?” I chuckle once I can actually speak.

“No it’s a warning. You have a minute to adjust before I win.”

I rock my hips a few times, moaning softly, “Fuck.”

“Your time is shrinking fast,” He warns through grit teeth. As promised with one last teasing rut I flipped on to my back where I see golden eyes staring down at me, his teeth bared ready to mark me, I could have came right then and there if not for my pride. He slams into my hard making me honestly scream, my face burns bright pink in the crook of his neck.

“You are going to pay for this,” I snarl as he thrust again. My claws dig into his back, ready to return the pain of him stretching me. I can feel his member throbbing as my walls constrict around him.

“You are so fucking tight, how did I live this long without you?”

“How long do I have to wait for you to fuck me like to promise?”

“I love this dirty mouth of yours, such a brave girl,” He purrs. He rests on his elbows, his face buried in the crook of my neck, and nibbles there softly. “I can’t wait to mark you as mine.”

Suddenly his slams into me again, but he doesn’t stop this time, he continues to pump into me like the animal beneath his skin. He groans fill my ears adding to knot forming in the pit of my stomach. This is so much more than I was ever expecting, the pleasure grips me and turns my world upside down. I can’t contain my moans as my orgasm begins in my toes, not yet! But as his knot begins to form and it becomes harder and harder for him to pump in and out I’m getting stretched more. My nails drag down his back, drawing blood, and making him cry out.

I jump when his teeth sink into my neck, sending us both over the edge, locking his knot in place deep inside me. My trembling legs wrap around his waist, my arms around his neck. My wolf is screaming at me, with Kris’s teeth still in my neck she commands me to respond to the action. I cave to my wolf and mirror Kris’s actions, marking him as mine. But the moment I do it we both freeze.

Oh my god, I just marked him. I can’t even run away for the next twenty minutes until his knot returns to it’s normal size. I pull away and stare at the wound with wide eyes. Kris releases me stares at me with a shocked expression. Panic begins to fill me and my heart races, I just marked an actual alpha. That’s not what’s supposed to happen. Omega’s do not mark their alphas, he’s going to be furious. I close my eyes and pull him back so I’m back in the crook of his neck. I run my tongue against the broken skin getting rid of the blood revealing the clear bite mark. As mad as I know he will be it’s satisfying to see it there. It tells everyone he is mine and I am his. I bite my lip to hold back my smile.

Mine.

So sorry for not posting at all yesterday! I worked until midnight and hand to work again at seven so I went straight to bed! I hope you understand and have a good night!

Xoxo