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lalalychee-x · 8 months ago

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"Bad Idea!" Boothill x Reader ft. his hat

CW: NSFW! MDNI! fem!reader; sex where ur on a window sill; squirting + licking it off again lol; slight exhibitionism (the door's open); biting; Boothill's tongue has its own warning; clothes ripping; fingering; robo-dick and cyborg fingers lmao; creampie; blood from biting is mentioned like twice and barely; teasing; braless; begging; edging; sweet and soft Boothill bc he's a cutie; empty warnings; he can't breathe since he doesn't have lungs?? word count: 3415 oopsie

song4this Bad Idea by Ariana Grande

♡ Whenever Boothill's hat goes missing, he knows you're responsible, so it ends up with him hunting around for you. You run away with his hat on to tease him, and he runs after you, playfully nibbling at your cheek. It's all fun and games until the hat is the only thing you have on.. ♡ Basically, you steal his hat to tease him, but end up getting fucked silly until you apologise to him. With the hat on. And only the hat on. "Ya wanted to wear it so badly, darlin', so ya got it."

inspo post from @madamofthestars (psst, check them out! They super cool!) art creds: skoukax on insta

"C'mon now, sugar, ya know that ain't yours…!" Boothill called out behind out, his voice a mixture of frustration and amusement.

You rolled your eyes, quickly glancing back through a spin on your heel; the hat wobbling slightly as you held it in place with one hand.

You look back at him, sticking your tongue out, before giggling and darting off. You sharply turned a corner, your heart racing as you waited for the perfect moment to lead him down a wilder chase.

Boothill scoffs, an amused smirk tugging at his lips, "Oh, gettin' smart now, are we?"

You spin back around, your heart racing as the clicking of his boots gets closer and quicker, "I am smart!" You taunted him a little, the brim of the hat bobbing as you picked up speed.

"Ya little fudgin' minx," Boothill muttered under his breath, his curses amusingly censored as they reached your ears. "I swear, when I get my hands on ya…"

"You can't even swear properly!" You call out again, turning your head as you ran, setting the hat askew.

You catch a glimpse of him running towards you, the sight beyond amusing to see when running at such speed. You attempt to call back, but your voice dissolves into a fit of giggles and gasps for air as you ran.

You snapped your head back, facing forward to drag out the chase. It was all fun and games until you realised you'd diverted your attention for too long and cornered yourself in a dead-end room. Boothill's imposing figure filled the doorway, a smirk playing on his lips as he took in the sight of you. You were panting but your index and thumb firmly gripped the brim of the hat, assuring it stayed on your head.

A room was an overstatement; a storage room, just maybe, with a singular horizontal window panel that stretched about a meter wide at most. It let in a few spells of moonlight.

Boothill leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed over the metal plates of his chest, "Gotcha now," He laughed, the star-shaped insignia on his jacket clicking against the metal of his torso as he did so. "My hat looks mighty fine on ya, but I think it's time ya give it back."

You adjusted the hat, spining it on your low on your brow.

"Come on, just a little longer—?" You teased, batting your eyelashes in a futile attempt to charm him.

"No can do, darlin'," He chuckled again, pushing the door shut behind him. The room dimmed as the light from outside blocked out. "But if ya apologise, I'ma let you have it a bit longer."

"Ok ok, sorry!" You smile sheepishly, reaching a hand to the hat. "There, can I keep it for longer?"

Boothill looked at you with a raised eyebrow, as if you were joking. "That it?"

"Well, else do you want me to say?" You stood there, a bit dumbfounded.

He stared for a second longer before edging himself closer, his face close to yours, bionic fingers tracing up and down your neck. "C'mon, apologise properly."

He tipped the hat up by the brim to expose your eyes better to him. He leaned down, the sharp edges of his teeth latching onto the soft skin of your cheek, pressing hard enough that they'd definitely leave jagged crescent-shaped scars in the morning.

He moved some hair away from your neck, his voice low against your ear as he nibbled across your jaw, "C'mon sweetcheeks, I know ya can work that mouth better than tha't. What happened to all tha't smart talk from before, hm?"

A flushed heat crawled up your neck, dusting your cheeks a rosy pink even in the dim light. It took a moment, before your quickening gasps dissolved into stutters, "A-ah, that was a j-joke…"

"A j-j-joke?" He laughed low against your ear, playfully mocking your stutter, "But you look to be takin' it real serious, sweetheart."

He paused, before licking a long stipe down from your jaw down to your collar bone. "M'still wanting that pretty lil' apology. C'mon."

God, his tongue was going to drive you insane-

You let out a shaky breath, lowering your hand from the hat on your head to place comfortably on his metal shoulder plates. "Hey hey, sorry sorry, I won't steal your hat again, ah—!"

You gasped, almost buckling over as Boothill planted a particularly mean bite through the thin skin of your collarbone.

Glancing down through hazy eyes, you watched as he swiped his tongue over his teeth, licking away the small beads of blood across his jagged dentures. "Ya said that last time too, darlin'."

Your grip tightened on his shoulders, "C'mon, I mean it this… t-time-!"

Your eyes widened, watching Boothill's teeth latch onto the neckline of your dress, yanking it roughly until it ripped. You yelped at the sudden rush of cool air against your bare chest, nipples hardening under the sudden exposure.

"Boothill!" Your arms snapped around the obnoxious tear in your clothes. "The door's practically still open!"

He chuckled, tracing a line with his sharp teeth along your breast.

He raised an eyebrow, "No bra? Yer askin' for it now, sweetheart."

Your face felt really warm again, excuses coming out nothing more than mutters, "I-It… was really warm, today…"

"Aight then, darlin'," he cupped his metal palms under your thighs, hoisting you up until you sat on the window sill, your back pressed against the pane of the window. "Besides, if we get caught, then they jus' gonna havet' give us some privacy…"

You gulped away any nervousness as he shyed away your arms from your chest. He trailed his mouth down your teared bodice, ripping fabric as he went, until he reached the waistline of your dress. He paused for a moment, before ripping a tear down it, right to the hem of the skirt, the sliced fabric falling either side of your thighs.

Goosebumps raced up the exposed skin of your thighs, eyeing when he knelt down, two loud clanks as the metal joints of his knees hit the floor.

He grinned at the sight of the thin fabric of your underwear, running his teeth along his teeth again.

"What pretty panties, hm? Was half expectin' yer to be bare down here too, sweetheart." He lifted your right leg over his shoulder. "Shame 'm gonna rip 'em so soon."

"Hey—! Come on, c-careful!" You shivered slightly as his canines hooked around the stretchy fabric, piercing a hole in them.

"Right darlin'. It's ya punishment for not apologisin'."

"H-huh—?"

There was a staggered ripping sound as your underwear ripped from top corner to bottom corner, the material coming off with the dragging of his teeth.

You yelp, gripping his hair, "You—! Are you going to fucking shred everything I'm wearing—?!"

"Yeah, am plannin' on it, darlin'." He chuckled before trailing his tongue up your slit, already a drooling mess between your legs.

You shiver, your fingers gripping his hair tighter, the door cracked open only making your heart race faster. Oh Aeons, if someone were to see you exposed to him like this, pressed up against the window—

"Shh, relax sweetheart. The thrill's the best part. Jus' breathe for me, ok?" He began to rub up and down your slit, his voice soothing and his thumb lingering at your clit for a moment too long just to force a whine out of you. "But if I were ya, I'd start apologisin' if you wanna cum this time."

"H-haah—?!"

He didn't respond to your breathless protest, but circled two fingers around your entrance, watching amused as slick pooled on his fingertips. "Stubborn? Y'need some encouragement, do ya?"

He licked a long stripe up again letting tongue swirl around your clit before slipping a finger in, his mouth still hot against your folds.

He grinned and looked up at your nervous expression melting into pleasure, his head leaning against the inside of your thigh. "There y'go, sweetheart, ain't that feel good?"

"Hnngh—!" You desperately tried to roll your hips on his finger, only to fail and your body halt into a series stutters.

"Really fudgin' desperate, are we?" He laughed a little, sucking in a breath. "Hol' on, darlin', I'll find it."

He slid his finger in and out tantalisingly slow, his tongue brushing over your clit; you could feel the steel of his teeth occasionally that irked your body with shocks of pleasure. Content with your faltering ego, he slipped another finger in, the stretch making you wince before whining.

"B-boothill, 'm sorry, please-let-me-just, a-ah—!" Your eyes widen, one hand curved over and gripping the window sill and the other firmly on his hair.

"Hm, what's that darlin'?" He stupidly grins, his bottom lip glossed over with spit and your arousal. "Didn't quite hear ya…"

He curled his two fingers upwards, the rubber pads on his fingertips pressing firmly against that sweet spot deep inside you.

"F-fuckkknngh…" Your eyes roll out of focus, hips subcounciously rocking against his bent fingers and your back arched until your head pressed against the window pane — with the hat still on.

He clicked his tongue. "There. 'M found it. Now where are my sorries and Iwontdoitagain's?" He began to pump the two fingers in and out, roughly pressing against that sweet spot every thrust of them. "Still want a proper apology, sweetheart—"

He stays substantially quiet — amiss a few amused hums and chuckles — listening to your flurry of apologies and letting you listen to the sloppy squelches of your cunt.

"God, I'm sorry— I won't—"

"Oh, is that so, darlin'?"

"H-hn, god, I won't do it again—!"

"Sure ya won't, darlin'…" He sucked in a breath, voice shaky between your legs, before picking up the pace with a stupid grin on his face, flashing his shark teeth. You whine, rocking your hips in helpless stutters, your pussy openly accepting the change in pace and clenching around his digits while he curls them deeper and quicker inside of you. "Fuckfuckfuckk— I'm sorry, sorrysorry— pleasejust—"

Boothill grinned at your mush of words. Your mouth hung open, chewing at your bottom lip in a desperate attempt to muffle the drunk blabbles that spilled out of your mouth.

He mutters, his voice low between your trembling thighs, "C'mon sweetheart, y'mouth can beg better than that." He rolls his tongue over your clit again, pumping his fingers in and out, sticky threads leaking from your cunt and sprawling between his fingers and the sides of your thighs.

You clenched your eyes shut, tears pricking at your eyes, "Boothill, c'mon, 'm sorryyy— w-won't do it again— promise—!"He lets out a low hum, gently flicking at your clit with the tip of his tongue— oh god, his damned tongue. A flash of panic spread across your face, feeling him begin to slow down.

"Or what, sweetheart?" He experimentally twisted his hand agonisingly slow as he pumped in and out, pistoning your cunt with his fingers at deeper angles, rubbing your clit with his thumb.

"Please, 'm gonna — hic — c-cum—!" Tears began pricking at your eyes, "God, please, fuck, I've learned my lesson —!" Your pleas come out in choked sobs, "Please don't — hic — slow down—!"

"Attagirl," He grinned, the flat steel of his teeth pressed up against your slit as his tongue flit over that bundle of nerves at the tip that drove you insane, quicker this time, "Jus' a bit more, yeah?"

He slid in for a final time and jerked his hand upwards, settling his fingers into you, firmly hooking repeatedly into that sweet spot. His voice and laugh were teasing, vibrations low and tempting between the plush of your thighs. "C'mon — make a real fudgin' mess on m'face, sweetheart."

"B-boothill, 'm gonna—!"

Your fingers grip the smooth locks of his hair, head pushed against the glass, his name shamelessly spilling out of your mouth. Specks of white flash from behind your eyes, vision going hazy and choked moans straggering from your throat.

You hear him chuckle lightly underneath you, cooing at the clench around his fingers and the gushes of viscid liquid coating his tongue, lips and fingers so well.

He slowly pulled away after rubbing strangely vexing circles a few more times inside you. He glances up at you with a satisfied grin, his mouth and chin glossy with your fluids.

Lowering your thigh from his shoulder, he let it dangle back over the window sill before standing up with a loud scrape of his metal joints against the floor.

He cleaned his fingers clean of the sheeny, pretty slick with his tongue and making sure to roll them around in his mouth before taking them out with a 'pop—!'

"Real mess y'made, sweetcheeks." He grinned, flashing his teeth at you, as he used the back of his hand to wipe away any remnants. "Tastes real good, though."

"H-hnn…" Your voice came out rough and croaky, your head lolling to one side, setting the hat to tumble off your head.

He snapped a hand to the hat, placing it back on your head with a mischievious smile, "No no, keep it on. Ya wanted to wear it so badly, darlin', so y'got it."

You blink for a few moments, regaining your breath, "Oh, fuck you—!"

"With pleasure—"

"What am I going to wear when getting out of here?! At least you're clothed!" You motion to the sliced fabric on either side of your legs, and the ripped bodice of your dress hanging on dear threads.

With your comment, he slipped off and discarded his jacket that didn't even cover much anyway.

"Ya won't need anythin' for a while now, darlin'. Think of it when we get there." Boothill laughed, flicking away the torn rags. "Besides, y'look good with just the hat on. Think I've put your mouth to enough good use too."

You lick your lips, opening your mouth to say something but quickly shutting it again at the swift unbuckling of his belt; it heaves down to his thighs from the weight of the cartridges hung on it.

His fingers travel, hitching onto a cock of metal plates, the edges of them encased in thick black rubber right from the girth until reaching a swollen tip of black rubber.

You sharply breathe, eyeing the scale-like texture, taking note of every rib on it as it lined up against you. You suddenly blush at the realisation of mouth almost salivating, muttering, "You so owe me a new dress after this—"

Boothill let out an amused hum, one hand wiping a line of drool from your lip then trailing down to your tits, cupping the flesh with cold metal fingers. You shiver, the skin on your chest pebbled with goosebumps before gasping at a sudden bite along the sensitive skin.

"—?!"

The quick spike of pain quickly subsided into a tingly sort of pleasure as Boothill's tongue drove around the swelling mark, peppering a few more as he went until he was so bent over into you that his cock pushed up against your pussy, the metal cool against your puffy and swollen clit.

"Ah, fudge, darlin'—" He grits his teeth, feeling the warmness of you just on his tip. He huffs a little, barely fitting it in voice raspy as his face is buried into your neck. "Open up a bit, sweetheart will ya—?"

He backs away for a moment to grab both of your legs, hooking them firmly over his shoulders. You groaned at the stretch, keeping both hands on the window sill in desperation. He grinned at your pussy spread wider over his tip now, clenching around it and sheening the bulb of rubber with slick. "There y'go…"

He groaned, breathing shaky as he slid it slowly. "A-ah, God—"

"A-ah, God—" Your eyes widen, rolling out of focus from feeling every metal rib of his cock push into you, forcing it thick and hard into your cunt until it reached the base. You tense, locking your legs around his neck. "Fuck, I told you to be careful—!"

He let out a shaky laugh, "Sorry 'bout that darlin'—"

He places one hand on the window sill for leverage, the other coming to press the hat down on your head. With a sharp breath in, he begins to move, deep long strokes at first to make sure you felt every bump along the scale-plating of his cock against your walls.

And, god, did it drive you insane; the texture was too much, almost sending your sending your already-sensitive pussy into overstimulation. "Hnn, t-too much —! Boothillholdon, itsgonnahmph—!"

"Jus' relax, darlin', you've taken it before…" He whispers low into your ear, stressing the pace of his movements, losing himself in the warmth of your cunt and grinning at your indecipherable mush of words spilling from your mouth again. Muffled groans escape as he listens to your moans, picking up the pace.

You subconciously roll your hips against the thrusting of his cock, every metal plate rubbing smooth and hard against your walls, the thick rubber of his tip hitting hard against your g-spot.

"Killer hips y'got there, baby—" He cooes breathlessly in your ear, his own voice breaking as he thrust in and out of your sopping cunt. You flush a deep red, your face now hot and bothered when you realise how desperate you were against his cock.

You open your mouth to reply, probably with something smart but your lips are greeted with the stark taste of iron and your own slick on his tongue as his mouth kisses yours shut. You whine through his lips, feeling his tongue deep in your mouth until your whole body shivered and tingled. You tried to keep your eyes open, only to end up crossing them over in a fucked-out haze.

Your legs trembled over his shoulders, locking him tighter in place to bully his cock deeper into your cunt. His eyes widened at the lock, then he grinnned.

"Fudge, y'not lettin' m'get away, are ya—?" He groaned before huffing out a laugh, finally lowering his hand from the hat on your head to place them both on your hips, roughly slamming them onto him to target that sweet spot inside you.

"Hnn — hic — god, m'gonna—" Your words come out slobbery, your lips glossed over and drooling.

"C'mon, pretty, cum f'me…" He dug the metal of his fingers into your hips, his own beginning to stutter and shake as he moved. He rubbed the pad of his thumb against your clit in uneven circles to drag the orgasm out of you. "Make a real mess, sweetheart—"

Patches of white and yellow flash behind your eyes, your hips buckling forward. You let out a long choked moan that stuttered with every slackening thrust of his hips that gummed your insides with thick ropey spills of cum.

Gently, he slowed until the stimulation against your slit burned off, leaving you tingly and weak. Weak enough to finally let go of the leg lock you had on his neck.

The grip on your hips slackened as he pulled away, whistling at the mess between you both. He took a moment to watch the white slick drip between your legs. "Feel full as a tick yet, darlin'?"

You tried to respond, but your whole body almost lolled to the side, only stopped quickly by his arm. He gazed down at you, stupidly grinning and laughing at the sight. "What'd I say, darlin'? I did shut up that smart mouth of yours." He clicked his tongue in thought, "Even got m'self the cutest little apologies—"

With any remaining energy you had, you playfully whacked him on the arm and cut him off, to which he faked a wince. He had forgotten the bodily difference in stamina between you two.

"Ouch— fudge, darlin', at least you got some spark left in ya. Fine, 'ma buy you a… no, ten dresses in turn, 'kay?" He pressed a small kiss on your forehead then eyed the dimly lit room, catching sight of the hat that had tumbled off your head at some point and the jacket he had teasingly thrown off. "For now, 'm jacket and that hat are gonna have to do."

"Oh, fuck you—" You scoff, your head in the curl of his elbow.

He smiled, running his hand through your hair. "C'mon, y'wanted to wear that hat so badly. Y'looked real good in it…"

♡ Please do not modify, steal, plagarise or post on other platforms without asking. Thank you!

#lychee<3 #lychee's sillies #boothill #boothill x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr boothill #smut #hsr smut #Boothill's tongue my GOD.#oopsie it a bit long

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that-one-malereader-enthusiast · 3 months ago

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𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞

╰┈➤ 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐎𝐟𝐟 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 || 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐨 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐉𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚 𝐑𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

⟩ Part One | » Part Two « ⟨

cw : MDNI - s1 Lestat, top male reader, sub Lestat, jealous Lestat, i bagged a baddie by being autistic aesthetic, nsfw, mentions of alcohol, mentions of blood and gore, mentions of death, mentions of homophobia, inappropriate use of lipstick, lestat crashes out bad, y'all are on your own with the french translations, goodluck, anon request. wc : 12.8k

Lestat adored you as much as you worshiped him on bended knee. In your mind, you knew you threaded a line that could lead to a prosperous life, or one that would end in an instance. You were more than knowledge about the mans’ power and true nature, but your heart—your heart was his completely.

The vampire was more than familiar with those who'd been enthralled with him. Wanting to occupy his space, his life, his bed, his lips even, but you? He had such a sick fascination to keep you around and in his current immortal life, and then some. He did not proclaim love, even though it was obvious with the affection he smothered you in and vice versa.

What he couldn't stand, was the eyes of others roaming your body, thoughts wild and with hunger for you. Strangers ready to take you away from him, to indulge in sweet whispers and rough touches throughout the night. No one deserved your praise, your love, your adoration. To take his sun away, the shining star in his seemingly everlasting life?

Any man or woman who so much as gazed upon your divine form would meet with the cold hands of death much sooner than fate designed.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

“Ma bien-aimée, could you carry me to my coffin?”

You could barely register the words Lestat spoke as his lips pressed against the top of your head. Sitting up from your current position, you tilted your head up to meet the others' gaze. His eyes seduced you entirely without even trying, your half lidded eyes holding nothing but love and adoration for the man below you. “Ain't ya’ got legs? I've been much rougher than this before Les.” Your voice rumbled in a slightly deeper pitch seeing as you'd just woken up.

Your nude bodies seemed to shift and brush over each other as you moved. The couches weren't the best places to have such intimate moments, but you knew Lestat didn't have a bed, even for show. You knew of a guest room not too far off from his own, and that maybe he could have one there, but you never got the chance to mention it to him.

Lestat made a choked sound as you pulled away from his body, a ripple of warmth shooting up his spine. You'd gently chewed against your bottom lip as you pulled out and away from Lestat, feeling him cling onto what he could before the connection was broken. “Bien-aimé, tu es grand même quand tu dors,” he muttered to himself.

“Want me to run ya’ a bath Les?”

“It is too close to sunrise, I will take one later.”

“You sure? Wouldn't want to get your coffin all dirty.” You managed to find undergarments which had nearly been ripped to shreds with how eager Lestat had been. He'd vented out his frustrations, how Louis seemed to be avoiding him for some time now after — what he described as — having a blissful night of exotic wonders in each other's embrace. Not that you minded Lestat laying with others, just as he didn't judge you for being as queer as you were.

Ever since Lestat pulled you in, Louis had grown uneasy around you, almost as if he disliked you. You'd spoken to him before, but he dismissed you or ignored you most times — caring not for how you looked, how you acted, nor where you were from. It was truly as if he didn't want anything to do with you.

“I can always buy a new one, but if it is your mess, I don't mind it reeking of you for a while.”

You couldn't tell if that was an insult or a compliment, but you didn't take it to heart. “Well Les, was wonder’n if you wanted to see a show tomorrow, or maybe perform tonight. Haven't heard you play on stage in a while now!” Your arms maneuvered themselves under Lestats' legs and back before he proceeded to hook his arms around your neck.

“I would love to, really, but I have pressing matters to get to tomorrow.”

“Oh.” You almost seemed sad at that moment as you carried Lestat up the stairs, and apparently it was shown on your face as well.

“Stop that, you look like a kicked puppy when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“That…that face. You pout, you give me those eyes, almost begging for something. I will spare time to perform, I promise, but...I have plans at the moment.”

That was the last conversation you could remember having with the vampire before he seemed to disappear like smoke. He stopped visiting, stopped showing around, and suddenly you were alone. It almost seemed wrong, to go out into town by yourself, running your business without seeing him flaunt around you or sit on his lap. It was odd. But you knew what he was, what he truly was. A creature of the night. A God compared to the mortal you were.

And all you could do is wish longingly for his return.

For his touch.

For his voice.

For his love.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

You looked down at yourself, feeling a little overdressed for the occasion – even though it was a wedding – suits and ties never truly felt like you. Lestat was the fashionista, so to speak. One who loved to dress you up like a doll, having dragged you from tailor to tailor after one glance at your wardrobe. Though he never really complained with the way your suspenders seemed to shape your ass perfectly – perfectly enough that he felt the need to cop a feel whenever you dawned them.

In your hand you fiddled the RSVP that had been recently slipped through your mailslot, thumb running over the engraving on the card and your heart throbbing within your ears. Yes, Louis had a very caring sister that adored you, but you felt odd appearing at the wedding after Louis made every attempt to cut you out of his life. “Grace invited you,” you muttered to yourself, hearing the yard flood with noise, now realizing just how many people occupied said space. “If they didn’t want you here, they wouldn't have invited you…” You tried to coach yourself as nervousness wracked the entirety of your body, but it only seemed to worsen with every passing minute.

Your normal social butterfly self seemed to turn into more of a wallflower. Most of the people there knew the family and the couple – whether they be relatives or childhood friends – but you felt like a stranger within it all. Just the oddball bumpkin who’d started running the club down the lane. Nothing special. The sun was still out, and at that moment you had doubts that Lestat would be around. It almost felt like you needed him to hold your hand, at least to settle your buzzing nerves. Unfortunately, last you heard was that Lestat left a rather unsavory impression on the family, or so they say.

Sitting in the farthest seat you could, you sat and waited, watching the couple say their vows and declare their love for eachother. You could almost hear the nagging of your Ma and Memaw now, asking when you were going to bring some pretty girl around one day rather than a sack of potatoes over your shoulder. Wondering when they’ll get grandchildren from you. Your eyes left the couple as they jumped the broom, clapping your hands in a celebratory fashion with a sad smile appearing on your lips. Would marriage even be a chance in your future? Children even?

As you reminisced on your somber past, the evening seemed to turn into night and with the night came blaring music, laughter, and talk. Everyone seemed so happy, yet you'd kept your eye out for the blonde man who'd yet to crash said wedding. You could only assume that the two men didn’t end up on a good note, at least on Louis' side, seeing as Lestat spoke of him often to you. He always spoke of what was troubling him, his woes and worries as you two would share the couch and sometimes even your own bed.

“There you are! Been lookin’ all over for you!” Your shoulders jumped in surprise, the wine you were sipping on hitting the back of your throat as you tried your best to clear it. Grace made her way over with her now newly wedded husband in tow, holding the hem of her dress so as to not drag it on the ground. “Oh don’t try to hide yourself now country boy, where have you been?” She gave a playful pinch against your arm, none too painful, but she seemed much stronger than she looked.

Rubbing against the area on you arm after placing down the glass, you offered a shy smile in return. “Well, I assumed I wasn’t…welcome here. Family is a joy to be around, but I wasn’t sure all of you enjoyed being around me, is all.” You made a small pained noise as the smaller woman called you out by your name and you were pinched once again – in the same spot no less. You glanced down and then to the female, head tilted to the side in a questionable fashion, as if wondering why she was beating you up so badly.

“Boy, don’t let Mamaw hear that! She loved having your company, much better than that French White Louis is doin…business with, something about him just don’t sit right with me. But you? You’re sweeter than a pot of honey, and Paul seems to have taken a liking to you!”

“More than what most could say.” Levi gestured to himself, knowing that Paul cared not for him or the fact that Levi seemed to have married with his sister.

“Paul’ll warm up…one day, though I think he is just be’n protective is all. His darling sister being carried away with someone he barely knows, I could understand his worries,” you chided. You knew all too well how that felt, the protectiveness and all. A fleeting memory if anything. “Not to mention he certainly doesn’t like the fact that you are not wholly faithful to the name of the Lord and Christ. You know how he is Levi, just be happy he didn’t do anything rash during the vows…” As you spoke to the married couple you could feel eyes practically piercing through the side of your head. Your gaze slowly drifted, flickering past guests and family friends that seemed to mingle between each other.

You blinked almost feverishly as you came to see Louis staring directly at you, bewildered and almost unsure if you were really there. He didn’t come to confront you – no – but instead saw your gaze match his before going back to the slice of cake he was indulging himself in while with his brother. Though that didn’t stop him from glancing over every now and then. “And please, Ma du lac doesn’t need to know what I thought. I was just worried is all. Louis doesn’t seem to like me all too much at the moment. I can’t find what needle got stuck in his ass, but the moment I do, I’ll yank that grumpy mug completely. That way he won’t be runnin around frown’n all the damn time.”

Grace practically cackled as such a thought, wiping away a stray tear before gently touching against the spot she pinched, though now you were on high alert in case she decided to bruise you anymore than she’s already done. “Well, know that you’re welcome here and that I’m very happy you came. Enjoy yourself country boy. Looks like you may have needed a day out anyways. You look like a lost puppy over here at the table! For someone who runs a club, I didn’t take you as the shy type of man. I can introduce you to some people if you’d like.”

“No need!” You quickly held your hands up and laughed it off. “I’m just not used to gatherings like this I guess. I’ve only been here for a few months, so being invited to your wedding – it wasn’t what I was expect’n. Anyhow, I can mingle by myself, I assure you. You two enjoy your night, Grace,” giving a short nod as a farewell to the female, you did the same to her partner. “– Levi.”

It wasn’t long before you found yourself far from most of the commotion, picking at the plate of chocolate cake that you happened to pick up.

“Didn’t expect you to be here…”

What was it with the Du lacs’ and their ability to scare you, while compromised with food or a drink no less? You cleared your throat before turning to Louis who didn’t look none too pleased to see your face. “Well, I said this before, I’ll say it again. I didn’t expect to be here neither. Your…Your sister invited me last minute. I was hesitant to even come, I didn’t want to…upset you more than I already have bein’ around here and all.”

Louis had always been a wildcard to you. He was a smart man, you knew that, but he was always shot down and put under the boot of the white man because of the color of his skin. You found it insulting that the world today would treat those with different colors and tints to their skin like stray dogs – tossing them scraps when they feel sorry, a sliver of a bone when they do something that pleases them, a collar…when they want someone loyal to work for them. But if they grew tired of them, found even the slightest bit of fight or defiance? They’d dispose of them or throw them in a hole they wouldn’t be able to dig themselves out of.

You knew discrimination when you saw it, heard it even. And you knew first hand how it felt, even with your own family looking down on you, not because of the way you looked, but because of what you presented yourself as. Louis had a name for himself, but respect was rarely a two way street when someone of a higher status spoke to him. But you saw yourself as equals, human beings. There was no ill will you bore towards him, but you couldn’t understand the ill will he held towards you.

Seeing as Louis hadn’t responded, you found yourself a bit awkward and out of place. “Seems I’ve…overstayed my welcome. Tell Paul I said hello, I'll get out of your hair.”

“Wait–” Suddenly you felt a hand grip against your arm, tugging you gently before a sigh came from the other. “Look, I…I don’t hate you man. Grace chewed me out good when I told her I didn’t care to see your face around. I guess I just – I don’t know, I haven’t been myself lately is all. I’ve been a little unfair to you. Hell, even Paul says you're a walking angel…or something like that? What I’m saying is, I judged you too harshly before gettin’ to know you.” In that moment, Louis spoke with sincerity in his voice, though all you could hope is that it came from the heart as well.

“If that’s your way of apologizing, I ain’t complaining.” There was a cheeky smile that appeared on your face before you gave the other a knowing look. “If you wanted to really say you’re sorry, I’d love to see an encore of – what did you call it? The ‘ABCDEFGs’, was it?”

“Oh god, now don’t you go start’n nothin man!” Louis playfully punched your shoulder and flashed his brilliant white teeth as a smile appeared against his face. A much better look than him always running around with a frown, is what you thought.

“Well, I ain’t never seen nobody tap their feet like that, ain’t had a clue that the Louis du lac knew how to put on a show!” You joked on.

“Yeah, and it’s a first – and the last time you see’n any of that. You lucky it’s Graces wedding, I’d have been halfway down the quarter the moment those shoes came out if it wasn’t.” Louis let out a bit of laughter as you two seemed to go back and forth. He assumed that maybe he just had a little too much wine or maybe one too many slices of cake, that the sugar and the alcohol was getting to him. How did he not notice how much of a joy it was to be around you?

You didn’t bring anything dreary or depressing to the table, nor did you try to flex wealth or name to him, even upon meeting him. Maybe he’d invite you around more, for dinners, maybe an outing if he had time between handling his own work. It was a moment between you two before both your laughters died down and the voices of others clambering about reached your ears. The space between the two of you was impregnated by a comfortable silence shared, though it seemed as if something was being held back.

“So how has–”

“So how have you–”

You both stopped and chuckled before you nodded your head towards Louis. “Go ahead, and don’t fight me on it. If you do, I’ll forget what I was tryin to tell ya in the first place. It happens a lot, believe me. I got it in my head, so–” You then gestured for him to continue as you had started a quick ramble, trying to keep your question at bay and at the forefront of your mind before it disappeared.

“Right…?” He spoke, squinting at you for a moment before shaking his head. “Was just wondering, how you and Lestat was doin’ is all. Curious.” It seemed as if he was just as uncomfortable as he was eager for an answer when saying his name. You couldn’t blame him. Lestat was on Louis like a tick on a dog before you appeared, and after? It seemed like you were his new attraction, though after whatever disagreement or argument they last had, Louis seemed to have given him the cold shoulder.

“Honestly?...I’m not much sure myself. Figure he done got tired of lil old me is all. Haven’t seen him in some time now, a few weeks or so. Nothing to get all down about really. Flaunted about how I made him laugh and..a little more, but nothin special Louis. Last I heard, Les was looking for you. Kept wondering why it seemed like you were hidin’ from him.” You spoke truthfully as Louis’ brows furrowed together in thought before he swatted his hand.

“I stopped doing business with him. I figured I’m good on my own as is. It just wasn’t a right fit is all. Better that he’s not around no more. I can actually focus for once.” Picking up the wine glass he once abandoned while speaking to you, he took a sip before continuing, pointing a finger at you with the same hand that held said drink.. “So, what was it that you wanted to ask me?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but clearly the thought had already gone like the wind. Louis took that silence into consideration before sighing.

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you forgot?”

“Slipped my mind a bit, yeah,” you say sheepishly, rubbing the back of your head as you watched Louis smile behind his cup, shaking his head at your antics. “If I can’t remember, it couldn’t have been that important!” Though truth be told, you had another question now rolling about in your mind. Did he know about what Lestat truly was under the guise of being this charming foreigner who stumbled across such a place?

“Anyways, besides still handling the club right now, I’ve been enjoying the daylight hours much more. Sometimes…club gets boring. Same band playing twice that week? Pass. Place won’t burn down or go under if I leave for a night or two to sleep. Been visiting, though everyone said you’d been busy or asleep for the most part. Guess stopin to smell the roses every once in a while ain’t too bad.”

Louis returned a small smile to you. “You seem like you’re doing alright for yourself,” he praised, patting you on the shoulder. “If you ever need any help, I’m around. And from what I know so far, Grace ain’t gon’ leave you alone no way. If she had it her way, you’d be another brother I’d have to take care of.”

“Take care of? Me? I think that would be my job if anything. And look, Levi is already lookin at me like I’mma steal his wife away. It ain’t my fault she likes my company so much! Well that and she’s been craving those sugar cookies I brought some months ago. Promised I’d share the recipe at one point or another.” Suddenly you made a pained face as Louis slapped your arm in the exact spot that Grace pinched you, twice.

“Those were yours?!”

Rubbing against your poor sore arm, you nodded.“Yeah? Look, I can’t cook actual meals without damn near burning down half the block. I’m more useless than a pair of tits on a horse in the kitchen! Baking, that’s when you can be messy on purpose and try all sorts of stuff in the kitchen.”

Louis sighed with a grin on his lips before looking at you, this time having claimed the knowing look. “Well, now you’ll have me pounding at your door whenever I have a sweet tooth. Could have sworn they were some sort of imported sweets or somethin like that. Grace nearly took my hand for the last one.”

“I don’t doubt that, but she’ll take more than just your hand iffen she hears you getting the recipe before her.”

“Oh you know she wouldn’t do anything that crazy…”

The two of you paused and then glanced at each other for a split second before bursting out into laughter. Louis was half kneeled over while holding an arm against his stomach all while you tried to keep your balance with one hand on the table directly behind you. It took about a minute or two for the both of you to calm down, Louis wiping a stray tear from his eye. “Didn’t mean to have you all tickled t..tonight,” you stated as you proceeded to calm yourself down.

“I think they put something in the wine, I’m telling you.” Louis held up his nearly finished glass before turning and hearing you yawn. It was getting late, but for him, this was most likely going to be an all night event.

“I should be headin back to my place. Been up all day as nervous as a bull in a nursery. Not a wink of sleep either. Was worried I’d be out of place or that I was overdressed, or that the invite slipped through the wrong mailslot.” You never normally had anxiety play such a big part in your life, but it had you running rampant all morning.

Unable to think properly, your room was still a mess after throwing clothes out of the closet and stressing about what looks best with your favorite pair of boots. Lestat would have known how to dress you accordingly – now that was something that you truly missed. He refused to let you go out looking like a hot mess, though he didn’t mind dragging that hot mess around a corner and doing whatever came to mind when he felt like it.

“I take the blame for that. Shouldn’t have made you feel like I hated you so much. You’re pretty alright…’country boy’.” There was once again a grin on Louis face at the teasing name, noticing the eye roll as you soon said your goodbyes. As Grace called for her brother and you snuck another swig of wine on your way out, your exit was cut short by someone stepping right in front of you. And to your surprise, it was Paul.

Paul.

A sweet boy, his mother calling him fragile while others outside the family called in delusional. You weren’t one to ever judge, and you weren’t starting either. You were one of the few people who listened to Paul truly, not from being a patron of the church, not being paid in anyway. You knew his mind was different from others, but he was still flesh and blood, still human.

He never hurt anyone, and to call him crazy was more of an insult to him, and would do no good. You never thought he was crazy, not once. Just blessed in a different way, though you couldn’t help but to have your concerns. When he spoke to himself, knowing he’s been in and out of the institution, and how everyone seemed to worry – it would keep anyone on edge. But everytime he spoke to you, he never gave you any trouble. He was loved, and you could only hope that he kept a good head on his shoulders.

“Paul! It’s nice to see you again! I was just askin–” Suddenly he grabbed both your arms, a worried look appearing on your face as you looked back at his own concerned form.

“Are you still talking to him? That..”

“Les? No..I ain’t spoke to him in sometime. Is everything…okay Paul?”

“Keep away from him.” He spoke in urgency. “Louis is being dragged by that man – no – that devil. He ain’t got his claws in you yet, he’s tryin. Don’t let him take your wings, your light, please.” Paul warned, though his grip was as if you were going to disappear if he even thought to let you go. “Are you faring well? The birds asked about you, about your mind.”

“I’ve been alright, I assure you Paul. I want to put your uneasiness to rest, I’m takin’ good care of myself and can only hope that you are too.” You placed your hands against his own arms, giving him a reassuring squeeze before seeing him nod slightly, letting his grip slide and hands fall to his sides. “Been thinkin about what I’mma do with myself. Only job I have is running the club currently, I’ve started taking breaks though. Feels good, clearing my mind a much as my body. Sometimes you need a break from the loud music and attention, it gets to be too much for some people – for me. Being in the company of a good book at the end of the day can sometimes cleanse the soul.”

It wasn’t until then that a thought came to mind and you dug in your pocket, pulling out a silver chain necklace with a dove and a cross charm dangling from it. “Meant to give you this a while ago. Was from my own. I thought that maybe you’d find better use in it than me.”

Paul blinked for a moment, looking at the necklace in slight awe and confusion as it puddled into his hand, the chiliness of the metal bringing slight goosebumps. He looked at the piece of jewelry before rapidly shaking his head, balling his hand around it before trying to stuff it back in your hands, “I can’t – I couldn’t, you need them. Close to your heart.”

“Paul, please...I don’t mind. They would probably want it this way anyhow, not like any of my family’s gon ask about it anyhow.” As Paul opened his hand to drop the necklace in your palms, he could no longer feel it as your hands wrapped around his one. When you pulled away, none of you had it in your hands. Instead, it was somewhat wrapped around his wrist, a little trick you learned some time ago.

“I have to go, Paul, but I’ll see you soon, alright? Tell Ma du Lac I said hello, and make sure that brother of yours behaves!” You called out as you started making your way out of the yard, having eaten and drank your fill, and knowing Paul had yet to realize the necklace was on his wrist. When he did, he’d do his best to give it back to you, but you’d be too far gone for that to happen.

As you finally made your escape, you listened to the band play and as the music got further and further as you walked your way home. It was some distance away, but you couldn’t trust yourself to drive – not like many people trusted you behind the wheel anyways. You assumed that you would simply resume the life you lived before Lestat – thinking that he may have left the city, found some other enjoyment elsewhere, but he didn’t seem like the type to do so. That didn’t sound like your Lestat.

Your thoughts paused for a moment and a frown appeared on your lips. He wasn’t truly yours. You didn’t know what relationship the two of you shared, though his sweet words always seemed to seduce you back into his arms.

But you could say the same, how whenever you swooned over him, he seemed to melt right into your arms, begging you to tell him what he may have missed from being busy the days prior, or to simply know what thoughts were running through your head. And you knew his tricks – that he was more than fully capable of reading your mind, yet he would ask you. He would sprawl across your body like a common house cat while you’d yammer on, combing your fingers through his blonde locks while he cooed in his french tongue.

Shaking your head and trying to rid of the bittersweet memory that left an odd taste in your mouth, instead savoring the night you spent speaking with Louis and his family, not knowing what sort of darkness would soon befall them once the sun rose.

The rest of your night was spent in the comforts of your room, spending a few hours cleaning, biding time, too exhausted to manage a club and too caught in your own thoughts to go chasing after Lestat like a dog. You knew where he stayed, but he was free spirited. Did what he want when he wanted. Did as he pleased. Who were you, a small country boy who stumbled upon a vampire – who would you be to try and stop him? You could have prowled in the nighttime to try and look for him, but at the end of the day, he was the vampire, and you?

Human.

Your days and nights turned normal, more than you really wanted. There was no thrill, no real spark other than the new people that appeared every now and then at the club, new faces, new performances. And as the name of your club spread throughout the south, your name grew in popularity. There was a time where you’d presented yourself on stage after weeks of new encounters, introducing yourself before the main performance came on. Apparently your pre-show talk had the audience in tears, laughing, clapping, and asking for more.

You had a way about yourself to somehow make the room that much brighter. Comedy was now your limelight, though it didn’t take a genius to know that things came to you naturally. It wasn’t normal for cubs at the time, but it was your business after all.

Outside the club, a few weeks after the wedding, you learned of Pauls’ passing. You stopped by to state your condolences to the family, and even happened to ask where Louis went. When you finally got in touch with Grace – seeing as his Mama had nothing good to say about him – she said he’d done ran off. Whether it be the guilt of not being able to protect his brother from themself or because of all the sudden burdens he felt collapse onto him all at once. You knew Louis was probably devastated, but his sudden disappearance? It had Lestat written all over it, though you had once again heard nothing from one or the other, so what was the point in chasing after a ghost?

The next few months, Lestat seemed to fade into the back of your mind, nearly forgotten. Your days grew busier and the months grew bitter. Life went on as if the vampire never existed. Grace and yourself wrote weekly when you didn’t have time to visit and vice versa. She’d attended one of your shows when she had the time, with Levi in tow and the two even agreed that you were quite the comedian, though they weren’t much club goers.

Of course it wasn’t an every night thing and you had most definitely started to enjoy the mornings where you could occupy yourself and destress from the night before. Having to be around people, entertain, greet, drink, talk with others everyday got tiring real fast. If you didn’t catch a break or have a little ‘you’ time, people would start seeing a not-so friendly side of you that only showed up if you were woken up rudely. Overstimulated, if you will.

There were nights where you grew lonely, where the words on a page couldn’t serve much as companions. Not that Shakespere was the best partner in crime, but it did some to escape the dry and plain days that left you bored itching for something new. You weren’t one to walk the strip, not with the people that normally ran past those parts. You had no problem with the girls, but at the moment, none seemed to fit your taste, and none too many men were as open as you were.

You got the occasional gossip from one Jane to the other John – how people questioned the way you dressed, the way you spoke, how you acted between man and woman and who’s attention you’d seek out the most. You didn’t let such a thing get to your head, whether it was discrimination for which way your pendulum swung or otherwise.

But it didn’t seem to stop trouble from coming your way.

Occasional threats in the mail, rocks thrown at your windows in the dead of night, your car tires being slashed and car scratched to hell, yet no one ever knew how it happened or who did it. None of your neighbors knew, turning a blind eye and moving on. Typical. Getting replacements weren’t much of a problem, not when the club paid most of the bills, but it was a constant reminder of how people saw you, and how they would treat you like any other they found to be different.

The worst of it happened when you were stuck walking home one night, all by your lonesome and of course you just happened to stumble upon a group of soldiers, sailors – whoever they were – who’d either heard about you or seen one of your shows. A quiet walk turned into a limp home, bruises adorning your body and a soreness coming from your ribs. You knew better, knew how to defend yourself and de-escalate things when the heat rose.

Unfortunately you’d been dealt the shit hand. Having been up against two, you may have had better chances, but five men that were drunk off their asses? There was no chance for you, and at that rate, it was better to cover your head and tuck while they dealt whatever repressed rage onto your body. Nearly gave you a shiner — instead delivering you a rather nasty gash through your left brow. Thankfully your body took more blows, but the soreness would just be another thing to sleep off.

After all, it was just another Friday night for you – and another one-liner for your comedy act.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

“Another champagne for you Mr…”

“Nah, not right now, but thank you Miss Rosey, though I think the boys in booth four might need another round. And if they are giving you any trouble–”

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll know if they’ll cause trouble for me!” The server gave you a mischievous smile and a wink before she made her way over to the designated booth while you were left to your lonesome in your own private booth. You’d been listening to the band play for about half an hour before you started to tune it out, the noise fading into the background as you inked paper on folded knee. You’d started writing after some time, whether it was your thoughts or not, you weren’t quite sure. The words flowed like music, maybe more, but it was hard to decipher yourself. They were just words after all, blurbs, word vomit that you needed to get out before the thoughts left you. As you were feverishly writing, line after line, you heard your name in an almost questionable fashion. The first time it seemed to be a blur in between the music, maybe just a buzzing in the back of your head.

The second time seemed to focus you back to reality, the music coming back as loud and as blaring as it was before. Your head turned up, brows furrowing as a man stood in front of the circular table that separated the half circle booth and themselves. “Sorry, I…I was a little too focused on myself, need something?” The paper on which you wrote on was slipped and closed into a small booklet that you now settled on the table. The man that called out your name was not someone you’d seen before or even met – and you were damn good with names and faces, a little quirk that always kept people on their toes.

“I was just wondering if you were the owner of said establishment, heard a bunch of people yapping about it so I came over to chat was all!” He held a hand out to you before finally introducing himself. “Name’s Viktor Sawyer, new around here.”

“I can tell,” you replied, gripping his hand before shaking it. “You don’t sound like you’re from here no way. Where’d you hightail it from kiddo?”

“Kiddo?” He laughed, “You look just as young as me, maybe younger. But me? I’m from upstate. Took a heap load of train rides, boat down the Mississippi, ended up here after an all day ride in the back of a box car after my last ticket was stolen.” The man seemed to joke at the end of his sentence, but it was all too real for how easy it was for some people to get pickpocketed. “Mind if I?...” Viktor then gestured to the booth in which you rolled your head and patted against the booth.

“Oh, I don’t mind, but the ghost might find it pretty rude if you give them an unwanted lapdance.” As you shrugged and looked at the young man, they stared back at you with confusion before a small chuckle left their lips, understanding that you were simply poking fun at the moment.

“I’m sure the ‘ghost’ wouldn’t mind it at all. Probably the most action than they’ve had in some years, yeah?” He joked right back, sending a quirky smile of your own onto your face. It'd been sometime since someone tended to match your energy, not that you were complaining.

“Champagne?” You offered up, tilting your glass towards the side. “And you can't just say you’re from upstate and expect me not to be curious. Down here, we ain't much for keeping secrets, and I ain't got no ill will towards strangers, so don't be shy.” Gesturing for one of the server girls, you two would be sharing words for the majority of the night.

Now, your club was as thriving as all get up, but there was always a drawback as it was back in the days. Only certain people could get in, people with money, people with a name. No old Sam on the street could just waltz their way in, it was almost prestigious in a way. Not like you cared much for the highlights, seeing as you came to New Orleans a simple man with ideas of starting new. Of making your name for yourself. It almost happened overnight – it did happen overnight.

It wasn’t to be expected, but it was a pleasant surprise. The thought of the blonde vampire, creature of darkness, the man who seduced you with not only words, but his entirety…he’d done so much for you. And all you did was make him laugh. A joyful, boyish, carefree laugh as if he hadn’t laughed in centuries. True laughter, pure, not from a cruel dead or joke – not to spite someone – it was simply the joy he amounted by being with you.

Beyond the past thoughts of Lestat, you indulge yourself in Viktor Sawyer, a businessman from New York. After getting a few drinks in him, he spoke about his travels and the unsavory events that came with it. He was a workaholic as much as he was an alcoholic. He was looking for work, a partnership more like but he didn’t specify what. He had been twice divorced, let slip out that he seemed to dance to a different tune – not that you minded – but three hours passed and he was drunk on booze and wine.

He was a good six foot tall man, granted, he was a handsome fellow. Piercing green eyes, slick, short blonde hair, the suit he wore looked too tight on him. At one point the two of you were laughing at nonsense yet you were still somewhat sober, having only sipped through a glass or two while Viktor had ordered something a little stronger – had enough money to pay past the bill and even laid out a grand tip for the waitress.

Which led you to where you were now, roaming the streets of the quarter with a drunk businessman on your shoulder. It wasn't a great look for you as allegations and rumors were soon to spread, but at such a late time in the night others would probably be as drunk as Viktor was. His words were slurred but it seemed he was trying to flirt with you, hand running down the side of your neck and down your chest, doing his best to fiddle with the buttons on your white dress shirt.

And with him unable to tell you where he was staying, your only other option was to either leave him to some mugger or – to be a gentleman and let him sleep off the drinks for the night under a roof.

You just wished that it didn’t have to be yours.

By the time you’d gotten through the front door, Viktor draped over your own body like he was trying to be worn, you sighed heavily. “Alright Vik, gonna get you some water, let ya rest till the morn.” You were somewhat tired, seeing as your nights and days blurred and your body always needed a good 12 hours before it could get used to your odd schedule. You watched as the businessman seemed to flop himself on the couch with a bit of your guidance as well, reaching up to try and tug you down with him, “Vik–”

“Ain’t gotta be like that sweetheart, just returning the favor!” Viktor had already stripped off whatever overcoat was on his body, his breath reeking of alcohol as it wafted against your face. It caused you to inwardly cringe at the smell, but you knew the man was drunk off his ass. You weren’t much in the mood either, not like you’d seen much action in some time. But the man was intoxicated as hell and you weren’t interested. He leaned in close, trying to hold your face before you snatched yourself away.

“Viktor, come on buddy. I can’t do this, believe me. You’re a…nice guy and all but uh…”

“Oh baby please, you were lookin’ at me like I was a damn meal back at the club. Don’t tell me ya’ kept me laughing just for kicks?” He slurred, leaning in once more and almost placing his entire body weight onto you. Is that what he thought? That you wanted to get him into bed, even though it simply seemed like you two were just having a good time as newly acquainted friends. “Come on babes, you know how to have a fun time, right?”

Your eyes rolled as you helped Viktor onto his feet once more, watching as he stumbled to try and finger your shirt off. Even as you led him into your room and pushed him onto the bed, he sat back with a cocky grin upon his face. “Nuff with the nicknames ‘Slick’. Imma get you some water, now lay ya’ ass down. I brought you here because you could barely tell me where you were stay’n. Now, cool down before I do what my ma would do and beat the sense out and back into ya’.”

It was only then that when you turned around to walk away, your arm was grabbed and suddenly you were pulled into his lap. Yes, you could handle yourself against the man, not afraid of him at the least. You’d dealt with much scarier than a horny, boozed up businessman.

Scoffing, you felt his sloppy movements of his arm wrapping around your waist and a hand at the front of your throat. No wonder he was twice divorced with such a limp wrist on him. You didn’t care about how he seemed to whisper in your ear or try to kiss against your neck. It only made you retract, snatching yourself away again before hearing Viktor almost whine out. “Baby–”

“I ain’t ya’ baby, Viktor,” you stated plainly, back towards the man before continuing. “And don’t make me regret doing the right thing.”

“Taking me home?”

“Taking you in rather than leave’n you out of the street!” It was then that you felt Viktor cop a feel, in which case something in you turned. You whipped around, quick movements before your hands pinned Viktors against the bed, staring him down as you hovered over his body, straddling his waist as you kept him from moving or trying to make another move on you. Staring him down, you did your best to show some sort of intimidation, but the sudden actions seemed to spur the drunkard on, biting his bottom lip in amusement.

“Got no problem with you being on top either, I can play that game with you!”

You groaned out in annoyance, feeling the mans’ growing arousal as he tried to roll his hips up into yours. “Tired of your shit Viktor, get it together.” Pushing him back onto the bed with no sympathy for his drunken stupor you made your way out of the room, leaving the man to call your name as he sprawled upon the bed. You could hear him calling as you slipped into the kitchen and instead of fixing him anything to help him sober up, you splashed your own face. When did you get so strict, so antsy? You hadn’t had a night to yourself in some time. And for someone to be in your bed, to want to indulge in filthy pleasure, who were you to deny him? He was good looking, but drunk off his ass. And from the sounds of it, he wanted to be the one to lay you out for the night. You definitely weren’t interested.

Couldn’t seem to figure out if something was wrong with you at the time. Not to say you weren’t flattered by the other advances, before and after he was sloshed, but you felt nothing in retaliation. You simply had a good laugh, a few drinks, you hadn’t meant to charm him or give off that you wanted to sleep with him. Or did you? Lonely nights in an empty bed, an empty home no less. You weren’t the least bit interested in the whorehouse, not as if you didn’t care for the ladies themselves – calling you sweetheart and whatnot – but it wasn’t your current taste.

Splashing water onto your face, you calmed your racing thoughts down. Maybe one night wouldn’t hurt. Maybe something like this would help your mood from the normal drag. You were afraid you’d end up all mugfaced and mopey like Louis if you didn’t have time to truly enjoy yourself without it being a job or forcing yourself to do so. As water dripped down your face, your thoughts were split between “what would change in one night,” and “I don’t even like him like that! I’ll just sleep it off on the couch”.

Your mind seemed to go quiet just as Viktors calls for you went silent. Only then did you thank the higher powers that he finally passed out or gave up on his attempts to get you back there. Stripping off your own overcoat and walking back into the main room of your home, you dropped said cloth on the floor only to stand there frozen, stiff as a board once your head moved to look up rather than at your feet.

“Lestat?”

Your lungs seemed to lose air as you stared at him, confused as much as you were shocked. You questioned yourself, not knowing if you made him up in your fit of loneliness or if he was actually there, in the dim lighting of the room. He stood there, at the bottom of the steps that lead to your room but also against the wall that was directly across from the doorway of the kitchen.

That flawless face, chiseled jaw, god given face, wavy blonde hair you ran your fingers through more times than you could remember, his broad yet sculpturesque physic, those blue pools you’d get lost in no matter the time of day – it was him. In all his glory. It was only then that you finally came to your senses and realized that there was red dripping from his hands, not only coating his fingers, but it was dragged over his mouth – smeared – and slung across his shirt like a work of art. There was an almost unreadable look in his grey-blue hues, ones that could and did challenge the most beautiful of days, shaming the sky in comparison.

He didn’t move, almost like a statue, but with – what you could only assume was blood – slowly dripping down his fingers and onto the floor, it reminded you that you were not frozen in time. That he was there in all his glory, missing his normal presten overcoat that would go beautifully with whatever suit or undershirt he chose to wear, his blonde wavy hair let down, a bit unkempt compared to how neat and groomed he normally kept himself, but his body was still as water, as unmoving as a statue.

Almost.

You could barely tell if he was breathing, the stillness of his body startling you as you trekked carefully but moved in closer to him. It was only then when you inched towards the vampire did you notice the small trembles, the minute quivering of his hands that slowly clenched into bloody fist, nails digging into his palms. His chest rose and expanded as he took a breath in through his nose, jaw tightening as he stared you down. A sliver of fear seemed to jump up your spine at the subtle movement, but it didn’t stop you from slowly closing in. You were a mere stride away from standing directly in front of him, but before you could call out his name again, like a ticking time bomb – he exploded.

“You fool!” He roared out, causing you to nearly stumble back onto your ass. There was a look of anger written all over his face that was once completely unreadable. “You! You are pathetic! Ungrateful! Rien qu'une plaisanterie vivante, affamée d'amour et d'attention!” A loud crash could be heard as he used his strength to knock over a display, the power behind his hand flinging the rather sturdy and wooden case into the wall across the room as it caught air. Wood chips splintered every which way, glass shattering and sprinkling onto the floor. Your eyes flicked from the damage to the man who stood before you, chest now heaving as he started spewing curses in his french tongue and pointing at you.

You could barely understand him, though a few curses here and there from what he taught you, but you were more confused than scared at the moment. Fear was in the back of your mind, not as present as the sudden concern. “Les! What are you on about?”

“Espèce d'idiot! Espèce d'idiot de campagne, de petit ver de terre! Do not play dumb with me!” Lestat proceeded to call you out by your name as he spewed what you could only depict as insults.

Suddenly he started laughing.

His seemingly harmless chuckles escalated into full blood cackles, the man laughing harder and harder till it seemed almost hysterical. His pupils were dilated, fangs bared with blood dripping slowly down his chin, and his hand shaking as he continued to spew fire in your direction. “You think that you can replace me? De copier quelque chose qui ne peut pas être remplacé! Do you know who I am chéri?” Lestat questioned, almost softly before his tone roared out once again. “Do you know what I am!?”

“Lestat, what happened? You come in here all covered in blood after being away for this long, yelling at me?”

The vampire could not hear you, not over his constant ranting and yelling and french tongue that seemed to go on, venom seeming to be laced in every consonant and syllable. “After everything that I have given you! Comme mon cœur bat pour toi! Et pourtant tu essaies de faire en sorte qu'un salaud blond essaie d'être moi?! HA! Your funniest attempt at a joke yet! To stoop so low!”

“Les…” You were now more concerned than ever, watching as he stared pacing as if to restrain himself at the moment, his nails having swiped at the wall, ripping up the wallpaper and digging into the bricks that were settled underneath, carving into the harsh material while his hand remained unscathed.

“You are just like any other! Pitoyable! L'excuse la plus triste pour un homme! Rien qu'un chien qui a soif et aboie pour en savoir plus! Tellement impatient que vous ayez essayé de trouver quelque chose dont il n'y en a qu'un!” Lestat cackled as he seemed to move back and forth, looking towards you with a predatory gaze before looking at the floor, shaking his head and almost growling. Restraining himself.

“Les!” You tried again to call out for him, but he did not waver.

“Humans, you are all the same…! You are all ungrateful, insatiable pests! Meat for the slaughter and lambs for wolves! Je devrais vous vider et regarder la vie pitoyable que je vous ai fournie clignoter brièvement dans votre cerveau idiot..what was I thinking! You! You?!” He pointed at you once again, the manic grin never leaving his face. “J'ai eu pitié d'un chien qui n'a aucune loyauté!”

“Lestat! Calm–”

“Good for nothing! A dull piece of entertainment! A clown above all clowns! Une pitoyable excuse de fils! No wonder your kin left you high and dry!”

“Lestat!–”

“Une pitoyable excuse pour un humain! Who would ever want you anyways! Laper goulûment ce qui reste d'une bonne chose! An ungrateful mutt!” His voice came out raw, almost hurt as he overwhelmed your own voice, giving you no space to speak.

“Les–”

“N'étais-je pas assez bien pour toi?! Je ne te suffisais pas! Too boring for the great comedian you came to be?! Est-ce pour cela que vous avez choisi de vous coucher avec une excuse pathétique pour un remplacement!?”

“Le–”

“Je ne suis pas assez bien pour toi!? Assez bon pour garder seul votre amour seul?! Is that too much to ask for!?”

“LESTAT!”

Your voice seemed to boom with sudden authority, your hands finding his wrist before pushing his body back into the wall, practically sandwiching him between that and your own body. The room that was once filled with the rampant yelling and swears of French from Lestat and your desperate attempts to call out for him were now silenced. It was now only the pants between the both of you as his was from his outburst, you, from the sudden burst of adrenaline that seemed to flow through your veins. The two of you stared each other down, getting lost in one another's gaze.

Lestat had never heard you so demanding, never having raised your voice in such a way, not even in a playful manner towards him. You’d never been rough with him, and even in bed he would have to coax you to handle him with something other than tenderness in the mix. Your grip on his wrist was enough to bruise any other human, but the strength you’d projected was enough to stun the vampire out of pure shock.

The once tense and chaotic air calmed as the two of you stood in silence, you waiting for him to calm down and get he was waiting on you to yell at him, attempt to hit him, hurt him for the destruction and his outburst. His temper was unruly, unpredictable like the weather sometimes, but he'd never flared up in front of you in such a way.

But instead of harsh words or screams back in his face after all he said and done – most you could barely understand – you'd slowly shifted your hands. Moving from holding his wrist, up his arms and shoulders and to his face, cupping it gently, while the same concerned look lingered in your loving gaze. “Les…speak to me. Here I was, worried sick about you for weeks on end, and now you come here? Covered in blood and yellin who knows what?”

You did not scold him or respond with hatred. You spoke in a soft tone he almost didn’t recognize, as if trying to coax a scared and wounded animal.

He didn't respond, instead staring at you with mild confusion. Why were you treating him so kindly, even as he looked and acted as if he was two seconds away from ripping your throat out and tearing apart your innards.

Lestats' form looked disheveled, his blood coated dress shirt now somewhat torn, the collar ripped and stretched down, exposing the skin on his right shoulder and arm as the cloth dangled pitifully. A mess he was and yet you held him so gently, spoke to him so kindly, so sickeningly sweet in his eyes.

Your foreheads touched as you leaned in, noses brushing as you claimed his attention yet again, seeing the dazed expression, almost as if he couldn't believe what was happening. You knew the blood on him was from upstairs, that your guest was most likely dead from the bloody footsteps that lead down the main room.

Suddenly his lips lifted in a snarl. “You smell of him, that drunkard—”

“I helped him for the night. Was bein’ kind and all. We had a drink, but I didn't feel anything for him Les.” It was your turn to interrupt him, thumb brushing against his cheekbone as blood stuck to your own palms. You could tell that he was angry, possessive even, but you'd never seen it to this existent. Only then, after holding him for so long did you realize his face was ice cold, blood on his mouth but his body void of warmth.

“Did you not feed on him Les? You're colder than a bare ass in winter.”

Even that seemed to keep him shocked, how you noticed the little things, that the warmth of fresh blood did not flow through him. Only you would pick up such minute details at that moment, only you paid him that much attention. “I cared not for his putrid blood.” He muttered, your gaze holding his own as he wished to look away. He wasn't embarrassed, but it seemed as if he was almost flustered, confused even as his brows pinched.

“You haven't changed much. Still the magnificent…unpredictable Lestat.” You knew now why his anger flared up, the sudden appearance and unprecedented feelings. He didn't like the idea of someone else in your bed, someone who seemed to resemble him – even though you didn't see the two looking any more similar than a black and a white horse. “Lovely, I wasn't gonna lay with him if that's what ya’ think. He wasn't my type anyways,” you attempted to laugh, though it came out as more of a sad half winded chuckle.

“I apparently only have space in my heart for the man who always laughs at my jokes…no matter how bad they are.” Your own gaze lingered towards his stained lips before glancing back up. “For the French man who came to me at the bar, listening to me yap up a storm. Who lied with me in the field and gave me hope for a future…one I thought I would never be worthy of, just as I feel unworthy of the love that man gives me and shows…" As corny as you normally were, this was something you wanted the vampire to understand. That as a human, fragile being that could be killed by his hands, you still loved him. Even now. Even as you tried to forget about him, to think of him as nothing but a dream for as long as he was gone, your heart yearned for him dearly.

As those last words tumbled from your mouth, your lips crashed into each other. It would be humorous to say that sparks flew, but there was a sudden fire that seemed to flare inside of you. It was bound to the both of you, the further in you two got, the hotter and brighter that flame got until it was a raging inferno. The kiss went from being one of longing to a much sloppier, needy entanglement. The metallic taste didn’t bother you, barely phasing you. Your hands went from cradling his face to holding him, threading through his hair and one lowering to his waist to keep his body close. In retaliation, Lestat held your own face, the sticky blood smearing onto the side of his face. You didn’t dare pull away as you felt the nips at your bottom lip, his tongue wrestling with your as your lungs were slowly deprived of oxygen. You mumbled his name against his lips, subtly pulling away to find air, but Lestat refused to let you. He almost let out a possessive growl that rumbled in his chest, almost unnoticeably as he didn’t need air and wanted to soak you up in every way, shape, and form.

By the time you’d been let go, he barely let you move away, foreheads touching yet again as your lungs did their best to regain what was lost. You were panting and lightheaded, a thin string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his, swept away with his tongue. There were no words shared at that moment, lost in each other's loving gazes as your hearts were racing, thundering like wild horses and unruly storms. There was a twister of emotions swirling within the both of you, and yet you simply couldn’t put them into words.

Your lips pressed against his briefly, only to start peppering kisses onto his skin. Against the side of his lips and down his jaw, against his bloody throat, down to his collar and shoulder. You left a trail, admiring him, pampering him, spoiling him with your love and adoration like you normally did. Something you never strayed from. Your kisses kept, from his shoulder down his exposed arm, all the way down to his blooded knuckles in which you pressed your lips to as if he was royalty. “Les,” you muttered against his hand, watching as he seemed to shudder.

The look in your eyes had shifted to something more, a desire, a hunger. He could feel your sudden desire, blazing like the fire that roared within you.

You both wanted each other, needed each other.

Bad.

“Lestat–” The vampire in question hushed you with his finger, tilting you chin before pressing a kiss against your lips yet again. When he pulled away, he practically purred out.

“One moment mon chéri..” His voice was barely above a whisper as you chased after his lips, whining as he slipped away from your hold and moved up the stairs. When he was suddenly out of sight, you were left standing alone and wishing for him to come back in your arms, but you would be patient, just one last time. But now that you were here, you were like an excited puppy who’d just been told to sit.

“Course he done got me all riled up, then just…” You gestured towards the stairs as you spoke to yourself, sighing and wiping the blood away from your mouth with the back of your hand. You could only imagine the mess in the room if Lestat had dealt with Viktor. The amount of blood and the fact that he didn’t drink from him was rare, to say he had a distaste for someone's blood when you knew he fed upon others and sapped their life away as easy as a snap of your fingers. And yet he was careful every time he drank from you. Tender, making sure you didn’t pass out or lose consciousness, listening to your heart rate and showing much restraint to not be as greedy as he wanted with you.

Even he knew that if you egged him on, it would be that much harder to contain himself. Fortunately you didn’t have to wait long before your name was called, which caused you to scurry up the stairs so fast that you almost face planted by the time you got to the top, grabbing onto the railing before turning into your room.

It wasn’t as bad as you first thought, the bed looked perfectly fine beside the covers being pulled here and there, but you could see the blood seeping through the carpet on the opposite side of the bed. It was only then that you heard a small whistle, looking over towards the side where the bathroom was. Lestat stood in the doorway, shirtless, the blood on his face and down his neck having been rinsed and wiped off, beside the obvious smudges still left on his skin. Though there was one thing that stood out rather boldly against his skin.

Perfectly painted onto his lips was a rather glossy – oily even – rich scarlet color that popped in comparison to his pale skin.

Not blood.

No.

Lipstick.

He chuckled as he watched your head tilt to the side rather curiously, thankful that he couldn’t feel the heat that traveled to your face. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you mon chéri,” Lestat started as he slowly made his way over to you, almost as if he was prowling. Before you knew it, he’d pushed you back onto the bed, straddling your lap with your face now in his hands. You melted at the feeling, almost as touch starved as he was for you. Your hands now placed on his own waist you pulled him closer, both of your bodies buzzing with a newfound arousal.

Lestat leaned closer to your face once more, head tilting as he captured your lips once more. A hum escaped you as you could taste him yet again, letting out an audible groan as your groins rolled into one another. You wanted him badly. You were smitten with the man, his voice, his touch, the need to have him in your arms and in your bed, it was a greed you wanted to give into.

Another whine left you as his lips left your own, moving to kiss the corner of your mouth and then your cheek. Your jaw was next, his lips pressing against every inch or your jawline and even underneath. He’d kissed down your throat as you tilted your head up, exposing more of yourself to him as he continued his path. Lestat had to stop himself from wanting to prick your throat. He could hear the blood just below your skin, feeling the heat it gave off as it ran, how good it would taste after straying away for so long.

You couldn’t control the moan that left your lips as he showered your throat in almost endless kisses, down your collar and against the crooks of your neck. By the time he’d finished and met with your dazed face again, he seemed very proud of his work.

As your half lidded eyes glanced down at Lestats face, you could see him practically glowing, as radiant as ever, even with the smudged lipstick on his lips.

Though it was your appearance that seemed to get him even more eager to take what was his.

In a flash, you two were on each other, magnetized as your hands groped and felt against one another. Clothes were ripped off, shredded, torn, thrown in this direction and another, but neither of you cared for the mess. You only cared for each other, like you were the only two left in the world. Rolling around on the bed, you ended up locking your arms under Lestat, keeping him in place as you leaned down and assaulted his throat, marking him up the best you could.

You knew he liked it rough, but it was hard to do so when you practically worshiped him. It wasn’t an act, did. But you missed him like the stars and the moon and you wanted him to know that deep down. That you loved him, whether he reciprocated or not. You wanted to be selfish, keep him in your arms forever. And as selfish as it was for you, you only hoped that he wanted the same, even as you were weaker than the vampire himself.

The guttural noises left Lestat as you bit down near the crook of his neck, hands slipping down to his bare thighs as it hooked onto your hips. His head was thrown back into the pillow that rested under his head, blonde hair sprawled out behind his head as he called your name once more, feeling as needy as ever. “Don’t tease me mon chéri, I’ve been too long without you…”

Grunting out, you felt his fingers against the back of your head as you proceeded to leave marks against his throat, hickies and dark bruises, but not deep enough to break or to draw blood like you wished. When you pulled away to look at your work, his hand caressed the side of your face and he watched as you leaned into the feeling pressing your lips against the side of his palm before looking down at him with a sense of yearning. A longing that’s been stirring inside you since the first week you missed him.

“Normally you are the chatterbox instead mon garçon de la campagne. Why the sudden silence?” Even after the intrusion, outburst and overall assault that happened not too long ago, he enjoyed your voice. How you praised him and cared for him so. It was unorthodox that you weren’t speaking, even now. Not to say that he didn’t like your brutish noises as you indulged yourself, but it was one of the qualities that made him attracted to you.

It wasn’t until that statement did you look Lestat dead in the eyes and spoke. “Doll face, I love you to the ends of the world and back, but right now I just want to hear you scream my name.” That seemed to stun the blonde once again. “And I got better uses for ma’ mouth right now. Not enough time to talk.” Your voice shifted towards a lower town as you dipped down to assault Lestat's chest, one of your favorite places to spoil.

As the vampire's voice rang within the room, his back arching off the bed as you did your best to mark up his chest in bite marks of all sorts. You found great joy in seeing his body react in such a way as your mouth enveloped one of his nipples, tracing your tongue around the sensitive nub before using the edge of your teeth to tug, his body pressing up against yours and nearly lifting off the bed itself.

But Lestat wanted more. He’d been away for too long and was tired of the foreplay. “I…I am not a virgin,” he panted out. “I can handle myself just fine.”

“Let me treat ya’ like it anyways baby doll…”

And as his eyes rolled to the back of head, your mouth loved on and against every part of his body, your fingers finding spots that made his body curl and mewl in weakness as he wanted more. The slow and tender you fed him lit his entire body up in the best way imaginable, his voice loud enough for anyone in the quarter to hear.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

Your back ached as you sat up from the bed, the stinging sensation of Lestat’s nails running down skin lingered even hours after wearing him down the best you could. The beauty in question rested right beside you, curled up in the sheet and his head nuzzled up against your side.

You knew that he wasn’t asleep, but simply closed his eyes to briefly rest. He’d have to return home soon, to rest inside his coffin and to dispose of the body that was unfortunately still slumped against the side of the bed. In the heat of things, you barely cared that there was a dead person mere feet away from you as Lestat was the only thing in your mind through the night. As you made your way off the bed and into the bathroom, your lower waist was just as roughed up from the rather crushing gripped Lestat had with his legs clinging onto you with such force.

You could barely remember how many times you made him cum that night, but it was enough that your own hips were starting to bruise. His voice calling out your own was like a symphony of its own, causing a cheeky smile to appear on your lips. By the time you’d gotten into the bathroom and stepped in front of the mirror, you were shocked. On not only your lips but splayed all over your cheek, neck, and even covering the majority of your collarbone was lipstick stains from Lestat.

It hadn’t registered back then how much he’d done, but now it was clear as day, he marked you. You could remember him muttering how he would erase any trace of that drunk businessman, especially if there were any traces of him on you. Your neck itself was sensitive as all getup, especially after Lestat fed off you that night. No wonder you felt light headed and weak on your feet. “God, I hope this can wash off,” you muttered to yourself, though you weren’t opposed to the idea of Lestat doing this more often.

“I doubt it will…” Lestat stepped in behind you in all his nude glory before hugging against your waist and placing his chin against your shoulder. “And if it does…I’ll do much worse than this.” A grin appeared on his face as his looked at you through the mirror, watching as you replicated the same grin. For the moment, the two of you stayed there, swaying in one another arms before the vampire spoke up. “I..I am cursed with my maker's temper…I meant no harm. I saw that man in your bed when I came to surprise you and–”

“No need for an apology Les…I missed you too.” Turning your head, you kissed against his hair before sighing. “You were gone for so long..thought you’d up and left. Wasn’t gonna bother you no way if you didn’t wanna see me.”

Lestat stared at you in silence for the longest before shifting his gaze elsewhere. “I have a good reason for why I was gone. I did not merely abandon you…but there is someone I have to speak with you about.”

“Who?” There was only one other person that you could think of at the top of your head, especially with the series of events that had happened in the past.

“Louis…”

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

a/n : who let me cook?? Anyways, thank you for reading so far! Replies and repost are appreciated! Thank you for reading!

please do not repost my work on other sites! thank you! - @that-one-malereader-enthusiast

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b0ther · 11 months ago

Text

ain't even jealousy

you fucking hate the basketball team, but there's no one you hate more than aomine.

pairing : aomine daiki x reader (feminine pronouns. afab) rating : explicit, not safe for work (sexual content) type : chaptered tags : aomine is a bully im not even kidding he is quite cruel, porn with PLOT, reader is besties with satsuki, reader also has a crush on imayoshi, reader also was wakamatsu's ex, hate sex, semi-public sex, manhandling, vaginal penetration, thigh fucking, semi-clothed sex, some slutshaming going on here, reader has big tits, slight dubcon. word count : 4,323

author's note : title from 'want u back' by cher lloyd. this is comissioned by a dear friend. hope you enjoy mwah. this first chapter (and whole fic im ngl) is centered around the onsen episode.

( masterlist │ ask/request │ ao3 )

After a long and hard day at school, all that you ever really want to do is to quickly get to your part-time job and finish up your shift. Perhaps you can get some convenient store food after that, or go straight home to shower and rest.

Whatever it is that you daydreamed of, it wasn't this.

Satsuki calls out to you, her voice soft against the bristling wind with her lithe arms circle around yours as you try to walk away, dragging her body forcefully with you. She whines your name over and over again, over the beating speaker against your ears before you finally had enough, ripping your headphones off your head, turning to face her.

“Satsuki!” You try to sound stern, but you end up whining in the same tone that she used. You can only be so serious as a high school girl, after all.

Her pink strands fall against her face messily; you use your other hand to tuck them behind her ear as she elongates the way she enunciates your name and begs, begs, begs you to listen to her. “Please! Just—”

“Satsuki!” You groan, shaking her off your body. “I’m busy. I have a part-time job, I’m failing maths, I have club activities. I can’t just… ditch everything and go !”

“You can!” It’s like she was not listening to a single word that you uttered. “It’s a month away and on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday—which you can begin asking for a leave day starting today , they will definitely let you if you do it a month in advance!—and maths!? That’s easy! I’ll teach you!”

You slant your eyes at her, arms crossing on your chest. “Alright. What about my club activities?”

“You mean your journalist club? One that encourages their members to leave their comfort zone in order to bring back interesting stories? One that basically has a crush on the basketball team?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, don’t be dramatic.”

She gasps. “Don’t you love me!?”

“Don’t do this to me…”

“If you love me at all, you wouldn’t even think twice about going with me. Imagine me, a girl, going alone on an all-boys’ trip to some secluded place—”

“You’re being dramatic—” You tried reiterating your point.

“I’m not!” She whines, even louder this time, attracting attention from all the other Touou students around you. “You literally have nothing to lose by coming along! Give me five reasons—five good reasons—and I will literally stop bothering you.”

You shake her off again, and this time, Satsuki lets go and stumbles back a couple of steps as the mischief on her eye continues to shimmer. You have never lost an argument to Satsuki—but there is a first for everything, and you have a feeling that you are going to break some personal records today.

“First,” you take a deep breath as you hold up a finger. “Aomine’s gonna be there—”

“Perfect!” Not giving you a chance to speak, she cuts you off, eyes glimmering like starlight. “You like him!”

She strikes a nerve with this one.

One of your eyes twitches as you cross your arms under your chest. The excited smile on her face fades in an instant, recognizing in an instant that something is wrong.

Recognizing in an instant that something she should have known about is wrong.

She blinks a couple of times, trying to use all that intelligence in her head to analyse the error in what she said (which turns out pretty useless—guess all that she is good for is basketball).

“Have you been paying attention at all?” You begin to blabber after letting out a huge gasp, arms waving around in the air. “We’ve been friends for years— years ! Since the first year of middle school, and you know nothing of my strong, burning opinion of Aomine!? Flash news, Satsuki, it’s not love!”

“You—” She stammers, “You talk about him a lot!”

“I complain about him a lot!” You correct her, blowing out air in frustration, feeling somewhat betrayed that your best friend had just accused you of liking your archnemesis… your enemy… your… your rival.

The point is! You hate him!

You would rather live in a world without television and the internet and good music if it means that you will have to never hear him say another word.

Aomine.

You shiver in annoyance.

Just saying his name irks the hell out of you. Imagining his face causes a feeling close to that of an explosion in your chest. You just wanna grab him by his face and shove him down a flight of stairs.

You cannot even count all the shitty things he did to you in high school: revealing your crush on Nijimura Shuuzou not just to the then-basketball team captain, but the entire student body; tripping you in the cafeteria multiple times; stealing your undergarments during P.E. and commenting crassly about how you were two sizes under his favourite adult model. Granted, you never told Satsuki about the last thing. That shit was just too embarrassing—you were glad that no one else was in the room when he threw your bra back at you.

Still, your frustration remains at her. Jogging down memory lane boils your wrath, and you close your eyes to calm yourself down.

He’s just a bully.

A damned bully.

And you would be damned if you are going to willingly spend your weekends in the same vicinity as him.

“Well… Dai-chan likes you!”

You roll your eyes.

Yeah, right.

You would agree if she had claimed that he found you attractive, or he thinks you’re hot. But liking you? Highly improbable—impossible, even.

Aomine Daiki does not seem like he is capable of feeling any emotion aside from boredom and mischief. The only thing he loves, or even likes, is probably his beloved Aya-chan from his gravure magazines.

You’re not even sure if he still likes basketball.

Which is a shame—seeing someone so tall gradually shrinking to the size of nothing, even if you despise the guy, the whole ordeal with whatever-the-fuck Satsuki’s basketball team went through still managed to extract some sympathy from the bottom of your heart. You’ve been paying attention to Aomine, after all, albeit not under any positive light.

“Whatever,” from past experiences, you know better than to argue against Satsuki. “I don’t care anymore. And you know what? Aomine himself and your blatant disregard of your best friend’s feelings—me!—should be enough to fit all five criterias!”

You know that look in her eyes, the way her lips press against each other and how one of her hands is clenched into a fist.

“I’ve been friends with him for 16 years, (Y/N),” she bumps her fist against her chest in pride. “Best friends, even! I know him better than you do!”

You scoff. “People who like someone don’t bully them, Satsuki. Open your eyes.”

“He isn’t bullying you!” She groans.

“Oh, so now not only are you attempting to kidnap me, but you’re also defending my bully?”

“Argh!” Satsuki hugs your arm again, earning her a groan from you. She calls out your name again, enunciating each and every syllable. “ Pleeeaaaaseeee? You don’t have to pay a single dime! You don’t even have to see Dai-chan if you want to. Imayoshi-san will be there—you like him, right?”

You slant your eyes at her in suspicion, not buying anything she just told you. You just know that you will have to see Aomine sooner or later if you come with her to the onsen.

“No man is ever worth that much headache, Satsuki.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, still shaking you ferociously. “But it’s Imayoshi-san!”

You decided to come along. Because of course you did.

It’s either that, or Satsuki pestering you for the rest of the month, bringing either Imayoshi or Aomine or whoever she thinks will get your attention.

And Imayoshi Shouichi? Sure. He’s hot as hell.

But is he worth dealing with Aomine?

You like to think not.

Satsuki dragged you along to a basketball team meeting—the one that would be discussing the practice trip and the whole onsen ordeal.

It wasn’t like you needed to be there at all. You know just a little more than the average person about basketball. All that you were preparing for the onsen was your clothes and deciding whether it’s you or Satsuki who should be bringing her hairdryer.

“Why me?” You said, crossing your arms when the attention of the entire basketball team was redirected towards you, and Imayoshi laughed. The only problem they were facing was convincing Aomine to come along.

And you were happy with not being the babysitter. You were happy with twiddling your skirt as you sat on the edge of the stage of the hall, scrolling down your social media timeline as the team argued on how to get that blue-haired freak into coming.

That was until Satsuki ruined your afternoon by offering up your name.

To your surprise, everyone in the team seemingly agreed almost immediately to offer you as a sacrificial lamb to feed Aomine’s ego and coax him to at least come to the trip.

“He likes you,” Wakamatsu scoffed when you asked why, and you glared at him, but said nothing. Out of respect, you guess, to the upperclassman. It’s not like you respect him, though. You’re on bad terms with a lot of the basketball team, but no matter your disagreements with Wakamatsu, you will never dislike him the way you loathe Aomine.

“He does have a soft spot for you,” Imaoyshi mused as he flashed you a smile—and lord , you cannot say no to Imayoshi. Especially when he’s being so nice.

You saw Satsuki smirking from the corner of your eyes and internally cursed her.

That was how you found yourself climbing the ladder leading to the rooftop.

And that was how you found Aomine with one hand between his backpack and head, and the other holding an obscene magazine.

He doesn’t even spare you a single glance—probably thought you were another manager or even worse: Satsuki again. But the moment you open your mouth to call out to him, his head snaps in your direction, an eyebrow raised in amusement as he pushes himself to rest his body against his elbows.

“What are you doing here?”

You try not to let your rage spill. You try to keep the boiling water down. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and continue to climb the ladder before approaching him.

Think rational, you think to yourself, he hadn’t even said anything yet.

“The Captain wants to see you,” you manage to say between your gritted teeth, staring down at him before looking away. Imayoshi didn’t ask you to make Aomine see him, but Aomine probably respects Imayoshi more than you, so you try to throw him under the bus just to get out of the situation quicker.

“Imayoshi-san?” He frowns before repeating his initial question: “What the fuck are you doing here?”

I want to punch him.

“You own this roof or something?”

“Calm down,” he scoffs, tilting his head before eyeing your body up and down. You shift your weight into your other leg, ignoring the uneasy feeling on the pit of your stomach. “I just wanted to know.”

Sighing, you glance up at the sunny sky, sweat starting to form on the base of your neck and you are dying to leave at that very moment. You shelter your eyes from the sunlight, despite finding it more appealing than Aomine’s face.

“We’re discussing the practice trip thing—whatever, and also the onsen trip,” you lazily explain, not bothering to hide your disinterest. “Imayoshi-senpai wants you to be present for the meeting. Obviously.”

You cannot fathom the fact that you were explaining his basic responsibilities as a club member to him. What a fucking child.

“You coming with us?”

His focus seems to be misplaced, and you glare at the sky, imagining it was his stupid face.

“I’m going with Satsuki,” you correct, still not willing to look at him. “I don’t give two shits about you or the basketball team.”

“Hey,” he sits up, wrapping his fingers around your wrist before tugging your body towards him. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

You scoff, finally letting your gazes meet before pulling your hand away. “Fuck off.”

He, in fact, does not fuck off.

Aomine pulls on your wrist again, this time hard enough for you to lose your balance and fall, your knees landing on the coarse floor as the bottom of your skirt rides up your thighs. The skin of your knees scraping against the gravelled surface and you curse, jerking your hand away only to immediately shove his shoulder.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” You shriek, annoyed at how he remains unmoving even as you push him again.

He towers you, even when sitting, and keeps his eyes peering down at you.

Maybe it’s the heat that day; summer has just ended, but even the soft Autumn breeze cannot conceal the searing flare creeping up the skin of your cheeks. Aomine slants his eyes and grabs your wrist yet again—you weren’t quick enough to retract away from his athletic instincts, and so, you fall again when he pulls you in closer.

You hiss in pain as your knees drag more against the floor, desperate to find your balance only to grab on his shoulders.

“Hey,” He calls out to you, a lame attempt for your attention. “Look,” he says again, and your dumb ass looks.

He grabs the magazine on his lap and tautens the pages together, showing you the spread where he left off before you interrupted his peaceful afternoon. “(Y/N), remember Aya-chan?”

The girl that ruined your life?

How can you forget?

You cannot hide the distaste in your eyes as your eyes scan her beautiful, black hair falling against the sheer material of her white uniform top. The black lace bra she was wearing underneath is apparent as she pushes her two tits against each other, legs spread to reveal an equally seductive pattern on her panties.

Before you even realise, Aomine’s arm begins to wrap itself around your waist as he holds you up, fingers creeping up the side of your torso, tracing invisible lines before resting on one of your breasts. Your stomach begins to churn in excitement, embarrassingly enough, and you press your legs instinctively when the muscle between your thighs tighten as he continues fondling you.

You circle your arm around his neck under the pretence of keeping your balance.

“Mhmm…” He clicks his tongue, resting his face on the side of your upper arm—his nose touching the side of your tit as his hand palms your other one. “I feel like you’re no longer two sizes under Aya-chan. Maybe a size under? Maybe the same size?”

You grit your teeth. “You talk big. Have you ever seen her outside your magazine? She probably edits her photos.”

He grins, gaze shifting to drink in your frustration. “No, but you’re real, and I’m groping you right now. Isn’t that better?”

“Better than your pretty Aya-chan?”

Aomine raises an eyebrow, humming knowingly. You can’t even believe the word escaping your mouth.

“You have a cute side to you after all,” He muses after a short, mocking whistle. “What do you want me to say? Want me to tell you how much better you are than her?”

“Want you to shut the fuck up.”

“Calm down, tiger.” He laughs, pulling away from your arm. He tosses the magazine to the side, straightening his back to press a short kiss to the peak of your cheekbone. His hand begins to work; he slowly kneads your breast while continuously trailing kisses down to your ears. Your nipples brush against the fabric of your damned lace bra, and he stops for a moment only to tug on where your bud is protruding.

A whimper leaves your mouth.

“Excited are we?” He whispers, voice dropping lower as he presses his lips against your ears. “I like hearing you like that.”

“Shut up,” you run out of words, turning your head to the other side, exposing your neck to him. Which turns out to be a bad idea, as he takes it as a sign to sweep his tongue over the skin of your neck.

“A–Aomine—”

“God,” he chuckles. “Who would’ve guessed that you can be this sexy?”

He pulls away from your neck, and drags his hand from your tits to rub against your torso, feeling the material of your uniform. He presses one hand on the small of your back, pressing his forehead against yours. In a swift motion, he pulls on your body, drawing out a squeak as he lays you down against the concrete floor.

“What if…” he trails, rubbing a thumb under your eye as he hovers over rested body. Your cheeks sear with heat, alongside your chest and the pulsating on your cunt. “...I just fuck you right here?”

“W-what?” You whimper.

He laughs. “I’m hard as hell. You made me this way.”

“You were the one groping my tits!”

“You liked it,” he shrugs, pushing himself off of you, forcing both your legs open as he moves between them. His fingers begin to unbutton your uniform, unravelling the bra you are wearing underneath. Sucking in a deep breath, he stops midway down your torso, and without taking his eyes off your chest, he asks, “Want me to stop?”

Your cheeks flare, and you don’t answer him. You don;t even look at him.

He takes a quick glance at your expression.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”

“...Whatever.”

A wide smirk forms on his face, fingers continuing to unbutton your uniform all the way down.

“Do me a favour and get up for a bit,” he murmurs, pressing one of his hands against your back once again to get you to sit up. The feeling of his palm against your bare skin sends you to shivers, coupled with the soft wind whistling between the two of you.

“What’re you—”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as his fingers fumble with the hook of your bra. It took him two wrong moves before getting it right with the third—the fabric loosens around your body, and you pull him closer to conceal your humiliated expression.

“See,” Aomine chuckles after some awkward motion, tossing your stupid bra to the side when he finally gets it off. “You’re so pretty like this.”

“Shut up,” you groan, nails digging into his skin deeper and deeper.

He pulls himself away from your grip, taking a nice hold on your torso to pull your ass up his lap, letting you fall against the hard floor again.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, roaming his touches against your legs. His eyes cannot leave the heaves of your jugs.

“Stop fucking staring,” your hiss, trying to pull your uniform together, hiding your chest away from him.

Aomine scoffs, using one hand to unbuckle his pants. Your eyes travelled from his face to the loose button on his collar to the wet stain on the grey briefs around his hips to the bulge underneath them.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He tilts his head at your question, furrowing his eyebrows as he takes his cock out from under his briefs. “Fucking you?”

The precum leaks from the tip of his cock, little drops of white strings rolling down his length. He pulls your hips closer to his body and presses it flat against your soaked panties.

He groans at the contact. Your warm slick welcomes him entirely as he presses more against the fabric, rubbing his tip along the length of your pussy.

“S’that feel good?” He whispers, hastily hooking his fingers on your panties, pulling it up your legs, then tossing it to go with your bra. He presses his arm on the side of your head, leaning into you again.

“Don’t put it in,” you whine, trying to hold back your hips from rolling. “You’re gonna get me pregnant.”

“You can’t say shit like that,” he groans against your neck. He positions the tip of his cock against your cunt, and even with your sopping lips, you aren’t sure if you are ready to accommodate his size at all.

“You don’t want to be a teen dad,” you bite your lower lip, hand going to rub his neck.

“I wanna fuck you, though,” he breathes, using his thumb to run along your wet slit. “Wanna fuck you raw, wanna cum inside’a you.”

You tremble with his words, feeling two of his fingers now circling your pussy. “D— don’t be stupid.”

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers, making your cunt wish it has something to tighten around. “D’you know how long I’ve been wanting to get you like this?”

He pushes himself off of you, and holds your wounded knees as he watches your chest heaves, heavy tits rolling with every staggered breath. He flips your skirt over, exposing even more of your cunt to the chill.

He rubs his length against your slick, his tip now pushing against your swelling clit. “I’d jack off and wonder if you were tighter than my fist,” he wraps his cock with his hand and places it again on your entrance, pushing in a slow, deliberate motion.

Between your drooping eyelids, you saw him inaudibly mutter a curse.

“Used to wanna fight Wakamatsu ‘cus he’d stuff this pussy all he wanted. Right?” He scoffs with a stupid, satisfied smile that you wish you could wipe off his face. “Shame that you broke it off, huh? Did he dump you when he realised how much of a whore you are?”

“Shut up…”

“Well, I don’t care. More fun for me.”

“Aomine—“

“Who else have you fucked in the basketball team?” He grunts. “In Touou?”

“Shut— shut the…”

You slap the back of your hand against your mouth—not willing at all to let him hear you be satisfied with his size—biting down on the flesh as he pushes his cock in. All of his cock in.

“Aomine—”

His cock is dragging against your wall, kissing every possible inch of your insides. Your hole continues to burn as he stretches you wide open, draining every last bit of energy from inside of you.

“ F-fuck…”

Your hand goes to fondle your own tit, rolling your hard nipple between your fingers, sloppily trying to garner more and more pleasure. His dick fills you more and more, stuffing you full, before finally stopping.

“Don’t act all reserved now,” he raises an eyebrow as you mewl out his name. He stays still for a moment, a bud of sweat rolling down his temple before pulling out of your homey cunt. “You don’t have to lie.”

Aomine bites his lips, letting his cock rest between your pussy lips. He sees the way they engulf his dick, moving his hips to rub against your core.

“Letting me fuck you on the school rooftop,” he murmurs, “where’s your fucking self-respect? Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if this isn’t your first time getting dicked down up here.”

Your eyes slant up at him, but he quickly shuts down any of your retaliation by pressing his thumb flat against your clit, slowly circling the nub. Your teeth press down hard on your bottom lips.

“We aren’t— we are not …” You babble, putting a thumb between your teeth to stop yourself from moaning, “...having sex.”

He scoffs, drinking in how your eyes roll with your head turned to the side.

“I was inside you just a moment ago.”

Filthy noise of his cock squelching against your cunt filled the air—if someone were to come after you, they would hear Aomine’s dick fucking your pussy lips.

“Fuck,”Aomine spits, pressing your legs tightly against each other then down on your lips.

“A-ah,” You gasp as he drills into your thighs, the tip of his cock rubbing quick and hard against your swollen clit. “Oh my God—”

“Are you cummin’?” He breathes, one hand reaching to roll your tit on his hand. “Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, and you whine at the nickname. He snickers, “You’re so sexy like this, y’know that?”

Your back arches, little whimpers of encouragement swallow your pride whole as you fall completely into him. Aomine grunts at the expression, seeing the lewd expression on your face. He picks up the pace, slamming his hips against your ass.

“M’gonna cum,” he hisses. “Fuck. Wish I could shoot my load into your tight little cunt.”

“Fuck it,” you manage to spit between your groans, “F-fuck it. Just— oh God, just don’t stop—”

Your words rile him up even more—he tightens his grip on your leg, his fingers bruising your fragile skin. Your head begins to spin. Your slam your fists against the ground and your mind numbing orgasm comes the moment strings of Aomine’s thick, white cum comes flying down your skirt and stomach.

“Shit,” he loosens the grip on your legs, letting them fall even with your still convulsing ass and core. His gaze stays on the tip of his dick, the white cum oozing from it, then to your face—your parted lips, dumb eyes, and the sweat dripping down the side of your head down your neck.

He feels himself getting harder as he watches your plump lips whine, wondering how they would wrap around his thick length, if the colour of your lipstick would stain the veins of his cock.

“You coming to the onsen trip?” Aomine tries to distract himself.

You roll over, blindly reaching out for the bra that he tossed God knows where.

“Fuck you.”

#knb #one-shot #chaptered: ain't even jealousy #commissioned #aomine #aomine daiki #kuroko no basuke #kuroko no basket #kuroko's basketball #smut #aomine smut #aomine x reader #aomine x you #knb smut #aomine x reader smut

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multi-fandom-imagine · 11 months ago

Note

Hi! I don't know if you are open to requests and if you're not completely ignore this request!!

Could I get a drabble/one-shot of Husk or Alastor finding their wife from the living world has come to the hotel? Like this is their first time seeing her after many years? Thank you and I Hope you have a good day/night!!

A/n: I'm gonna do both!

Husk:

It was that stupid fucking smirk that pissed him off, why did that prick look so fucking smug?! "What the fuck are you looking at?"

Alastor hummed turning his back to the cat demon as he waved him off. "I know something you don't know."

"What the fu-."

His name, his real name that he hadn't heard in years from a voice that still remains in his mind echoed through out the bar. His eyes went wide taking in the appearance of the new inhabitant of the Hotel.

Expect she wasn't new, oh god she wasn't new. Taking a hesitant step forward, he never thought he would see you again. His wife, his lovely wife.

It did not take long for him to pull you in his arms, his chest heaving as he desperately clung to you. Even with your broken wings you were still beautiful.

Pulling back slightly, Husk's ears flattened on his head. A deep purr leaving his chest as he looked into your eyes. "I know I ain't much to look at."

Shaking your head, you didn't care. After living in Heaven for so long you finally found the love of your life. "Who are you kidding, you still handsome." Sighing you buried your face into his chest to listen to his heart beat. "Know matter what you are I will always love you."

"I never stopped loving you...my angel."

Alastor:

He was trying to ignore what ever Charlie was blabbering about, something about a new inhabitant to the hotel....someone for him to exploit? Well lets just see how naive they really are.

Though the moment he spotted them, he felt his smile twitch. This had to be some cruel joke, a punishment. You did not belong here! you were to pure for hell, to kind!

It was a mistake, it had to be a mistake. "I don't know who you are but go back to where you came from! I should just rip you apart for taking the visage of my wife!"

You could feel the tears sliding down your cheeks as you took a step forward. But with every step you took forward he took on back and soon his back hit the wall. Ears twitching back and forth, you could see his hand gripping that cane tight in his grasp.

You had to make him see it was you, so you hummed, you hummed that song he sang to you on your wedding night, the song he would sing to to your anniversary, the one he sang the night you were killed.

You let your hand glide across his cheek, you could see the smile wavering as he finally took you into his arms.

"You came back to me." He whispered into your neck.

Nuzzling your face into his chest, you smiled as your eyes closed. "And I will never leave you again."

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sturnlsstuff · 1 month ago

Text

FAMILIAR STRANGER | chapter five

what's gonna happen when you find out about your enemy's biggest secret?

ghostface!chris x enemy!reader

chapter four | chapter six

— warnings; smut with plot, dom!chris, sub!reader, unprotected p in v, rough, choking, kinda size kink, creampie, squirting, dirty talk, pet names, bratty reader, cursing, - english isn't my first language.

~~~

you remember the first realization that chris is turning you on and how you felt afterwards. it was less than two weeks after you had met him and his brothers for the first time, and you overheard chris bragging about what a good fuck he had yesterday, and how loud the girl he was with was. the way he talked about it irritated you, you thought he was just an idiot who objectified women. not even ten seconds later, your thoughts drifted off, wondering if his lips were soft or not, if his long fingers would be able to reach places inside of you that even you couldn't reach. and then you became aware of your thoughts, feeling the wetness between your legs, embarrassment and annoyance overpowering your other senses. you couldn’t look him in the eye for a whole day after that.

you never thought you could even get close to him and not for almost slapping him in the face after some stupid comment he'd say. because there were moments when you wanted to hit him after he said too much. whenever his words were too disrespectful even for him, chris would mutter a quiet, annoyed 'that's not what i meant', which was almost like an apology in his style. It's only happened about four times over the years, but it did.

so sitting on his desk, with your jacket and crop top somewhere on the floor and chris standing between your legs, attacking your lips with his, it felt like a fever dream. everything was happening so fast, it was barely possible to process things. all you could feel is his kisses down your jaw and neck, fingers moving to unclip your bra, two seconds later throwing it somewhere aside.

when he realized you'd finally let him rip off your clothes, he practically threw himself at you, things getting more heated with each passing second since then.

"isn't it funny...?" he mutters, tongue tracing over your hard nipple, your fingers tangling into his hair. "claimin' to hate me, but cravin' my cock?"

"shut up," you breathe out, feeling his hands spreading your legs more and yanking your skirt up to your waist. "i can hate you, but never said anything bad about your dick."

"good," he smirks against your skin, lifting his head up. "'cause you gonna feel every inch of me. and i ain't stoppin' until all you can remember is my name."

with that, he just rips your red tights off with such force that you have to grab the edge of the desk, pulling your panties aside and looking at your dripping pussy. his bottom lip between his teeth, as he stares mesmerized, his fingers tracing over your folds, feeling the wetness, "look at you, all soaked f'me again..."

chris's thumb rubbed circles against your clit as he pushes two fingers inside you, a quiet gasp escaping your lips, "who would've thought you're gonna be a little slut f'me, huh?"

he was clearly having the time of his life, pumping his fingers painfully slowly, curling them up to brush against your g-spot. you saw stars.

"chris," breathing heavily, you look at his cocky expression through half-open eyes. "don't tease."

"but is so fun," he grins and continues to explore your needy cunt with his fingers. "i wan' you to remember every second of this..."

he'd torture you, barely giving you any friction, enjoying the neediness written all over your face. he already knew he's gonna have you at his mercy tonight.

he absolutely loved the way you reacted to him, the way you tried to hold back your little noises, but he was going to make you completely lose control, not wanting you to still be holding back. this was his goal for tonight, to ruin you for anyone else. even since he met you, he wanted to know what it would be like to have your body against his, hearing your moans and cries. it got to the point where many times while fucking other girls, chris would imagine you when he was close. it was like forbidden fruit, his brother's bestfriend who was constantly showing how much she couldn't stand him. this need, growing over the years, to finally get his way with you, made him hate you so much like no one else ever before. chris was used to always getting what he wanted, but after realizing he couldn't have you, it was easier to keep you at a distance, which definitely didn't help him forget or crave you less. though tonight he was going to satisfy all his hidden desires, also showing you how bad he needed you.

"tryin' to keep quiet this time, huh? you wanna piss me off or what?" he finally starts moving his fingers faster, the wet noises filling the room, causing a wave of heat wash over you from embarrassment and arousal. not being able to even say a word, you desperately shake your head. a low chuckle leaves his lips, "no?"

"n-no, oh! fuck—" finally a loud, pornographic moan escapes you when he perfectly curled his fingers up, hitting that sweet spot of yours which was making your toes curl.

he grins, "there she is..." moving his head forward to suck at your nipple again, it feels like he's going to explode, just from pleasuring you.

"chris," your breath hitching in your throat at the feeling of him grinding his hardness against your thigh. "i need you, please."

never in your life you thought you'd be begging a guy for anything. you were rather the type who would never stoop to this level, considering it a weakness or something embarrassing, giving a guy this much power over you. obviously, you had had sex many times before, but you never really felt much pleasure from it or got as aroused as you did with chris. you were both surprised to hear that word come out of your mouth, but you didn't care. you loved and hated how much he was turning you on.

he groans, letting go off your nipple, a string of saliva connecting his lips with your breast as he looks at you, "say it again."

though, even in such needy state, you were still being yourself and shaked your head, refusing to repeat the pleases.

"oh, of course you gonna keep actin' all tough," he rolls his eyes, pulling his fingers out of you, hearing a little moan in protest. he forces you to lock your eyes with his by gripping your chin tightly, "m'not gonna fuck you 'til you start beggin'."

that was such a cruel thing, not only for you, but for chris as well, his cock so painfully hard, he was barely holding himself back from giving in and just fucking you senseless.

you narrow your eyes annoyed, arousal dripping down your legs, "i hate you."

"good," his tongue clicking against his upper teeth. "means that the sex s'gonna be good, if you quit pretendin' like you don' want to feel my dick deep inside you."

it was stupid to think it couldn't get any worse and you realize that when he spreads your legs even further, running the tip of his dick along your wet folds, the sensation making you fall back, having to prop yourself on your elbows, knocking the things off his desk.

"beg," he demands, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your skirt sliding it down your legs and tossing aside, quickly followed by the rest of your clothing, leaving you completely bare now. his eyes traveling intensely up and down your entire body, this sight etching in his memory and he knows he won't forget it for a long time. his hands run over your body, wanting to touch every inch of your skin, remembering every curve, shivers appear under his touch.

his tip prodding against you teasingly while he waists for you to give in, seeing how hard you're chewing on your bottom lip. "stop holding back," his voice a low rumble, eyes glistening with mischief. he flexes his hips, pushing in just the smallest bit before pulling back out again, tantalizing and torturing, not only you but himself as well.

you whine, meeting with his intense gaze as he adds, "jus' tell me you want this and i'll make you feel so good."

"i do," you manage to choke out, followed by a moan when he pushes in a little more this time, but again pulling back before you can wrap around him. his body convulsing as if it wants to lunge forward but he still holds himself back, savoring the control he always wanted to have over your body, "you do what?"

"fuck you, you know what i mean," your tone clearly annoyed with desire.

"nah, i think you gotta say it," he smirks. knowing you don't have any other option and wanting to finally feel him, you mutter quietly, "i need you to fuck me."

chris's eyes darken with lust at your admission, his cock throbbing with the need to burry himself inside you. he grips your hips, moving you closer to the edge of the desk, "yeah? how bad?"

"so bad that i'm gonna punch you in the face in a second if you keep teasing me," at your words he slowly slides in a little more this time, his breath hitching in his throat when you clench around just the tip of his dick. it already felt so good that your mind go blank and you add, "please, chris."

he shivers at the desperation in your voice, a thrill running through him, "good girl." finally giving in, he buries himself to the hilt with one hard snap of his hips, groaning at the tight heat enveloping him. the moan that escapes your lips is so loud that it's sure that if anyone was standing outside the door right now, would be able to hear it even with the loud music blasting in the house and other party noises.

"oh, you feel fucking..." chris snarls and withdraws almost all the way before slamming back in again, stealing another scream from you. "--amazing."

he sets fast pace, neither of you cared about your need to adjust to him. you both wanted each other so bad, the slight pain you'd feel quickly started turning into pleasure. "oh my g-god... chris, mmhph—"

"yeah, let me hear those sexy sounds," he pants, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks as he rails you, the wet slap of skin filling the room. "this what you needed so bad, huh?

you desperately nod, trying to grab onto literally anything he had on his desk, making a bigger mess. wrapping your legs around his hips, you lay down flat now, not being able to keep propping yourself on your elbows.

"eyes on me, pretty," he moves your legs to his shoulders, letting himself to go deeper. hearing your loud moan, he smirks, "theree is that spot, hm?"

"you... you're s-so..." the new angle makes you see stars, almost unable to even put a sentence together. "m'so what?" his voice thick with desire, one hand moves between your legs, finding your clit and rubbing firmly as he continues to pound into you. "fuckkk," your walls squeezing him so tight, it almost throws him over the edge.

"--big..." you finally choke out, back arching up. "you're big, chris— oh god..."

he makes a sound that's more like a whimper than the previous groans you've heard, his movements become more erratic, causing the knot in your stomach starting to grow. "say it again."

"so big..." you were a moaning mess now, eyes rolling back, squirming on his desk.

"stay fuckin' still," he groans again, his grip on your thighs tightened. "ya feel me? feel me deep, yeah? look at that... m'here—" he growls, his eyes glued to the visible bulge in your gut. seeing you being so full of him makes him lose all the control. "thaaaaat's it... cum on my cock like the slut you are..." he moves his hips even faster, wanting to be even deeper if it's possible, his pelvis slapping against yours as you reach your high with a loud moan of his name.

chris watches hypnotized as the pleasure and euphoria consume you, your back arching upward, desperately gripping the edge of the desk. "f-fuck, squeezing me so good," he praises, throwing his head back. you felt the overwhelming pleasure pulsing through your veins as he continues sliding in and out of your tight walls.

"fuck," he groans, pulling out of you and moving your legs off his shoulders, watching as your swollen pussy glistened with arousal and your release. "on the bed. now."

you almost stumble over your own feet, getting on his bed, while chris kicks his pants and boxers from his ankles, one hand pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere in the room. you're clenching around nothing after noticing that he picked up the ghostface mask from the floor and towering over you, waved the thing in front of your face.

"let's see if you gonna cum harder when i have this on," a smirk appears on his face as you swallow thickly, feeling your cheeks heating up more.

"chris..." your voice weak while watching how he puts the mask on, a shiver going down your spine straight to your core.

"always knew you're a crazy bitch," he lines himself up with your entrance again and thrusts back into you with one swift motion, starting pumping into you hard and fast just like before, your moans filling the room.

"oh my... fucking..." you're not even able to look at him now too intimidated and embarrassed how his ghostface mask works on you, but chris wasn't having any of that. he grabs your jaw, your cheeks squeezed as he forced you to glare at him again. his vivienne westwood necklace dangling in front of your face.

"don' you fuckin' dare look away," his voice low and gravelly, and he lets go off your chin, leaning back to look at where your bodies join, groaning at the sight. he watches as his dick slides in and out of your soaked pussy, his pace relentless. his jaw clenches, breath shallow as you start already tightening around him again. "oh, gonna cum so fast? damn," he moves his hand to wrap around your throat, squeezing slightly, not hard to take your breath away but enough to make you choke on your moans.

"look at you, all desperate and drunk off my cock," he groans, his hips snapping against yours. you feel him hitting your g-spot with each thrust, which makes you to come again, gripping his sheets so hard that you feel your nail breaking. "fuccccckkk.... yeaaah, here you go," he hisses, letting you ride out your high, slowing down before slowly pulling out, just to move his tip along your sticky folds. he smirks under the mask when you whimper not being able to stay still, "ah, what's that? too sensitive?"

your eyes finally open again, seeing him between your legs like that with head tilted to the side. and the mask. oh, this was making your head spin more than it already did. he looked so hot with only that fabric covering his face, the bracelet sparkling on his wrist as he moved his fingers up your inner thigh.

"i asked you once..." he towers over you again, his cock prodding against your entrance. "what is it turning you on so much, hm?"

you barely manage to choke out, "i don't know.."

of course you knew the answer already, but his ego would be boosted and you didn't want this. however, this time he needed to hear your response.

"you do know," his tongue clicks against the inside of his cheek, you were able to feel his intense stare even through the mask. "so? what is it exactly?" he moves his tip against your clit, the sensation caused you to let out another moan.

"i don't... fuck, i don't know, like, everything!"

"be specific, princess," he retorts. his curiosity overpowering all of his other senses, so he adds, "what 'bout this guy downstairs wearin' the ghostface mask, hm? was that makin' you wet?"

a frown appears between your eyebrows, "no."

"no?"

"no," you repeat, shaking your head. the next words were so quiet, chris barely heard them, "it's like... only working with you."

"fuck," he groans and in one smooth motion flips you over. his voice demanding, "ass up, face down."

you obligated immediately, arching your back, cheek pressed against his pillow. his cock painfully pulsing, begging for a release while he admires the view, your ass on full display. he smacks one cheek, relishing the sound echoing in the room.

"so..." he presses the tip against your entrance, teasing you with shallow thrusts, barely penetrating. "you're only a whore f'me? that's pretty interesting." he grips your hips tightly and eases back into you again with a low groan as you immediately suck him in. he was addicted. "bet you'd let me fuck you anywhere i wanted, huh?"

you're completely out of your mind when you nod, pathetic whines leaving your lips as he starts slamming into you again. "oh... c-chris.. so good— please..." you cry out, pressing your whole face into the pillows, wanting to muffle the noises that were constantly escaping you.

he smirks at your blatant neediness, "mhmm, so responsive..." he purrs, sliding in and out of your cunt at a leisurely pace, savoring the sensation. "you'd let me take you anywhere, anytime, hm?"

"mhm, y-yeah... fu-- oh, fuck—" you mewled, his fingers tangling into your hair and tugging your head up roughly, wanting to hear your moans clearly.

the room now filled with your whines and wet slapping sounds. "already had you on my desk, so what'd be next?" he pants. "in the shower? some empty class at uni? matt's car in the backseat? that's a little naughty, huh?"

you answer with a moan and a nod, eyes rolling back as you start coming again. "c-chris... too mu— fuckk..." a few tears going down your face. "m'cumming— chris, oh my... cu-cumming--"

"fuckin' dirty slut, cumming to the idea of me fuckin' you in public? jesus..." his hips stutter as he feels your body shook and tremble as you reach your peak. "that's righttt, come all over this big dick... mhmm, greedy girl, holy fuck-- milking me so well..."

chris continued his deep and fast pace, not caring about how sensitive you were. his hand left your hair, letting your head fall down onto his pillows as he focused on keeping your body still, since you clearly weren't able to do it. your pussy was clenching around him so hard, it was almost painful and he was closer to the edge now, knowing you're about to reach your another orgasm once again. so his hand sneaks under your body, finding your clit, the stimulation on your swollen bud and his hard thrusts was your last straw. letting out another high pitched moans as the pleasure washes over you, this time so much more intensely. your whole body is shaking when his dick twitches inside you, panting your walls with his seed with a guttural moan. but he can't even really focus on his own release, when the pressure in your stomach becomes too much and both of you feel the liquid squirting out of you in waves.

"fuck," he looks down, riding out your and his high, the sight makes his cock throb inside you, but the way your body looked just spent let him know you probably wouldn't be able to handle another orgasm.

his breathing ragged matched with yours when he pulls out of you with a pop, letting go off your hips which made you fully fall down onto the mattress. he takes off his mask, putting it aside and mesmerized looks at how his cum leaks out of your used hole. his sheets soaked with your release, he's in full shock that he made you do that.

he runs his hand through his messy hair, looking back up at you trying to catch your breath. "damn, kid, squirtin' all over me now?" he rasps, collapsing on the bed beside you, while you barely are able to shift on your side to see him. your tangled hair all over your face, sticking to your forehead, the makeup... well, there was like half of it left. he hated himself for thinking how good you looked fucked out of your mind like that.

"so you that type, huh? could've tell me i'd make you do it sooner."

"i didn't know..." you mutter, voice raspy from the amount of noises you'd et out tonight.

something flickers in his eyes, possessiveness, perhaps? satisfaction? you don't know, but he for sure felt proud, hearing he was the first one to make you squirt.

a little awkward silence falls between you two. your cheeks flush with embarrassment while he feels something strange in his chest. chris wasn't good at aftercare, he actually never even do it. the girls he slept with were always quick to clean themselves up and leave. that's what it looked like. and he also wasn't sure what you expected or if you already regretted what happened. because he regrets, but only the fact that you two did it so late. he was missing out on you a lot and now he knew that.

"uh, don' worry 'bout all that..." he mutters, sitting up and looking at his covered in your release sheets. and how his cum was dripping down your thighs. fuck. "it was hot as fuck, if m'bein' honest..." he runs his tongue across his teeth, meeting your eyes. "you good, yeah?"

your nod makes him feel slightly better and he gets up, grabbing a towel from the dryer and walking towards the bed, handing it over to you. he had no fucking clue how to act right now.

you finally sit up as well, moving the hair out of your face and taking the towel from him, silently starting to clean yourself up, avoiding to look at the mess you made on his bed. chris does the same and puts on his boxers and pants on, taking glances at you every two seconds.

"what?" not being able to take it anymore and pretend like you're unaware he's looking, you question him, staring back.

he just opens his mouth to speak when both of you get disturbed by a phone buzzing. he checks his and shakes his head, "not mine."

with a sigh, you point at your skirt laying on the floor. he quickly throws it in your direction and after you caught it, you pull your phone out of the pocket, seeing nick's name disappearing from the screen and adding itself to the multiple notifications you had from him, emma and matt. you hadn't heard their calls before at all for obvious reasons. you didn't think of it before, but now you realize that the last time your friends saw you downstairs, was with this random guy in the main room. then you disappeared without a word for who knows how long.

"nick was calling, they all texted asking where am i," you look up at chris, his blue eyes not leaving your form for even a second which makes you feel exposed as fuck. ignoring the wave of heat washing over your body, you quickly finish cleaning yourself up and puts on a skirt, after finding your panties and thighs ripped on the floor. "it, like, costed money, by the way."

he smirks, buckling his belt and putting on a shirt, "you weren't complainin' before."

"couldn't really think before," your tone dripping with sarcasm while you put on the other clothes, now standing up, grimacing at the big, wet stain on chris's bed.

"then don' think now either," he takes a step closer, grabbing your chin to force your eyes back at him. "i told you is fine."

"yeah, fine," you nod, slightly smacking his hand away. his eyes narrow at that, but expression stays unbothered, "your makeup is practically gone by the way, you might wanna fix that."

with a curse under your breath, you unlock your phone to check in the camera how you look and it was awful. no matter how drunk your friends already were, they're gonna immediately know that you fucked with someone.

chris sighs, "m'gonna go back downstairs first, in case they noticed that i'm gone too. you do your thing here or whatever the fuck."

with that he walks towards the door, looking over his shoulders as you desperately try to fix your makeup with your fingers as much as you were able to.

"'cause we're on the same page, yeah? to keep it a secret?"

another secret you've gotten yourself into. damn it. damn him.

"obviously," you respond and he nods, leaving you alone in his room with your overthinking.

a/n; someone needs to slap the shit out of him cause why can't he just cuddle her after 😪

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thirtysomethingloser92 · 5 months ago

Text

It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.

Requested by my darling anon. Warnings: Smut. Assault. Tags: @anukulee

It was supposed to be a regular night—just a quick stop at the corner store after work. You hadn't thought much about the usual route; it was familiar, the kind of path you could navigate half-asleep. But tonight, the shadows felt longer, and the streetlights flickered as if struggling to stay awake. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, the chill biting more sharply than you remembered.

You heard them before you saw them: footsteps that were too close, voices that were too low and deliberate. You picked up your pace, hoping it was just your imagination, but the sound followed. Then, a hand grabbed your arm. Your breath hitched as you spun around, only to face a smirking face too close for comfort. Panic surged, adrenaline making your thoughts blur.

Your pulse quickened as you took in the scene—a group of three men, their grins twisted with cruel amusement, eyes scanning you like you were prey. The one holding your arm had a grip like iron, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises. His breath reeked of alcohol, and his eyes held a leering confidence that made your stomach turn. You tried to wrench your arm free, but his hold only tightened, pulling you closer.

"Hey now, don't be so cold," he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery as his friends moved to close in on either side of you. The alley felt narrower, darker, as if the walls were closing in, trapping you. You glanced around frantically, but there was no one in sight—just rows of empty buildings, closed shops, and flickering streetlights that offered no real safety.

"Let go of me," you demanded, trying to sound firm, but your voice wavered, betraying the fear clawing at your chest. The man just laughed, a harsh sound that echoed off the brick walls.

"Ain't no one comin' to save ya," another one said, stepping closer until you could smell the stale cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes. "Why don’t you play nice, huh?"

You pulled harder against the man’s grip, panic rising as you twisted your arm, but it only made him laugh louder. He pushed you backwards and you stumbled, your back hitting the cold, rough surface of the alley wall. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, your head spinning as you tried to get your bearings. Hands were everywhere—grabbing, pushing, pinning you against the wall as your mind raced to find an escape.

"Stop—" you gasped, trying to shove one of them away, but it was like fighting against a brick wall. One of them leaned in, his hand rough as it grazed your cheek, his thumb tracing your jaw in a mockery of tenderness. You jerked your head away, disgust boiling in your throat, but he just laughed, the sound sending a chill down your spine.

"Feisty, huh? I like that," he taunted, his grip shifting to your throat, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch in your chest. You clawed at his hand, desperate for air, but he just smirked, his friends watching with sick amusement.

In that moment, time seemed to stretch, every second dragging as you struggled, fear and adrenaline making your vision blur. The laughter, the taunts, the pressure at your throat—it all blended into a nightmarish haze, your senses overwhelmed by the sheer terror of being completely out of control. You wanted to scream, to call for help, but your voice was trapped, strangled by the hand at your throat and the icy grip of panic.

Then, without warning, the man was ripped away from you, his grip disappearing so suddenly that you nearly fell forward. You gasped, stumbling back, your hands flying to your throat as you coughed, desperate to fill your lungs. You looked up, disoriented, your vision still swimming, and saw the blur of movement—a figure in a dark coat, moving like a shadow through the alley.

As the grip on your throat vanished, you fell forward, coughing and gasping for air. Your vision was still blurry, your thoughts disoriented, but you saw flashes of motion—The person who saved you was already in the thick of it, moving with a deadly precision that left no room for doubt. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a dark coat that flowed around him like a shadow as he moved. A bandana covered the lower half of his face, leaving only his eyes visible—eyes that glowed with an unsettling red light that seemed to cut through the darkness.

The first man charged at him with a growl, throwing a wild punch. The vigilante sidestepped easily, his movements fluid, like water flowing around a rock. He caught the man’s arm and twisted it sharply, sending him crashing into the wall with a bone-jarring thud. The thug crumpled to the ground, clutching his arm, his face twisted in pain.

Before the others could react, The vigilante was on them, a card in his hand that suddenly glowed with an ominous purple energy. He flicked it with a casual flick of his wrist, and it sailed through the air like a razor-sharp blade. It exploded on impact, sending the second thug sprawling, his shirt singed and his expression one of dazed shock. The third guy, the leader, hesitated, his earlier bravado gone as he eyed the stranger with a mixture of anger and fear.

"You think you’re some kinda hero?" the leader spat, wiping blood from his mouth. He lunged at the vigilante with a knife, the blade gleaming under the flickering streetlights. The vigilante didn’t even flinch. He caught the leader’s wrist with one hand, and with the other, he struck—one, two, three rapid blows to the ribs, quick and brutal. The leader gasped, his knife clattering to the ground as the vigilante’s grip tightened, the glowing red in his eyes intensifying.

"Tryin’ to play tough, but y’ain’t got what it takes," He said, his voice a low, dangerous growl. He twisted the man’s wrist until the thug cried out in pain, then let go, shoving him back so hard that he stumbled and fell, scrambling to get away. The alley was filled with the sound of pained groans and the scuffle of retreating footsteps as the men fled, beaten and humiliated.

The vigilante stood there, breathing heavily but otherwise unscathed, his eyes following the men until they disappeared into the night. He turned his attention to you then, his gaze softening as he approached. He crouched down in front of you, his expression concerned, his gloved hands hovering just inches from your shoulders, not touching but close enough to offer reassurance.

"Y’ hurt?" he asked, his voice gentler now, still edged with that Cajun drawl but tempered with genuine concern.

You shook your head, trying to find your voice. "I… I think I’m okay," you whispered, though you couldn’t stop shaking. Your hands were trembling as you pushed yourself up, your legs feeling like jelly beneath you. The vigilante’s hand finally settled on your arm, steadying you as you wobbled, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone who had just fought off three men without breaking a sweat.

"Take it easy, chère," he murmured, scanning your face for any signs of injury. "You took a scare, but you’ll be alright."

You stared at him, taking in the masked face, the strange, otherworldly glow of his eyes that had started to dim. He looked like something out of a dream—or a nightmare—standing there with that coat that seemed to swallow the light. "Who are you?" you asked, your voice still shaking. The question hung between you like a fragile thread.

The vigilante shook his head, the bandana hiding his expression, but his eyes told you enough—this wasn’t about recognition or fame. "It doesn’t matter," he said simply, his voice calm, like he was used to not being known, used to fading into the background.

He straightened up, turning as if to leave, the brief moment of connection severed too quickly for your liking. Panic flared in your chest—he couldn’t just walk away, not after what he’d done. Not after he’d saved you from something that could’ve gone so much worse.

"Wait," you called after him, your voice stronger now, fueled by something you couldn’t quite name—maybe gratitude, maybe desperation. He paused, looking over his shoulder at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, unreadable.

"Don't. Just go home," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. He gave a slight nod, a silent reassurance, before turning away once more, his coat flaring out behind him like wings.

You stood there, watching as he disappeared into the darkness, the flickering streetlights doing little to illuminate the path he took. He was gone as quickly as he’d appeared, leaving you alone in the quiet aftermath of the fight, the echoes of his warning still lingering in the air. You wrapped your arms around yourself, the chill biting at your skin again, but this time, it felt different—less oppressive, more like a reminder that you were still here, still standing.

As you made your way home, every step felt heavier, laden with thoughts of the vigilante who had stepped in when no one else had. You didn’t even know his name, but something about him had lodged itself in your mind, refusing to let go. The city was full of strangers, but none of them had ever looked at you the way he did—with that strange mix of detachment and care, like he knew what it meant to walk through the dark and come out on the other side.

Maybe it didn’t matter who he was, but as you reached your door, you couldn’t help but hope that somehow, someday, your paths would cross again. <><><><><><><> The next morning, you tried to push the events of the previous night out of your mind, telling yourself it was a one-time thing, a strange twist of fate that wouldn’t repeat. You went through the motions—coffee, shower, getting ready for work—but everything felt off-kilter, like the world had shifted just slightly out of focus. You couldn’t stop thinking about him—the vigilante who had saved you. He moved through your thoughts like smoke, impossible to grasp but impossible to ignore.

After your shower, you wrapped a towel around yourself and stepped into the living room, still dripping, when something on the TV caught your eye. You grabbed the remote, turning up the volume. The local news anchor was talking, her voice smooth and measured, recounting last night’s events.

"—another appearance of the vigilante some are calling 'The Gambit.' Reports say he stopped an assault in a downtown alley, leaving the perpetrators injured but alive. Police arrived on the scene too late to apprehend him, and there are no clear leads on his identity. Witnesses describe a man in a dark coat, with red eyes and an uncanny ability to move like the wind. Authorities are urging the public to remain cautious and not to engage if they see him. The Gambit is considered dangerous—"

You bit your lip, the news anchor’s voice fading into the background as you processed what you’d just heard. The Gambit. So he had a name—or at least, that’s what people were calling him. But the details felt all wrong; dangerous wasn’t the word you’d use. He’d saved you. And while his methods were… unorthodox, you couldn’t shake the sense that there was more to him than the headlines suggested.

You turned off the TV, your reflection in the black screen staring back at you with a mixture of determination and something else—hope, maybe. You couldn’t just let it go. He’d helped you, and you needed to know why. Needed to understand what drove him to intervene, to be out there risking his life for strangers. For you.

Before you knew it, you were dressed and grabbing your coat, your decision made in the blink of an eye. You had to find him. Maybe it was foolish—maybe even reckless—but you couldn’t ignore the pull that drew you back to the scene of the assault. You needed answers, or maybe just closure. You weren’t sure which.

The city felt different in the daylight, the familiar hustle and bustle of people moving through their routines masking the dangers that lurked in the shadows. But as you retraced your steps to the alley, a cold knot of anxiety settled in your stomach, memories of last night still fresh and raw. The street looked ordinary enough—just a stretch of pavement lined with old buildings, graffiti, and the occasional piece of litter. But you knew better now. You knew what kind of danger could hide in plain sight.

You slowed as you approached the alley, your steps tentative, scanning the walls and ground for any sign of him. There were scuff marks on the pavement where the fight had taken place, a few drops of dried blood that made your skin crawl with the memory of rough hands and mocking voices. But otherwise, it was as if nothing had happened. No sign of him. No trace that he’d ever been there.

Frustration bubbled up inside you, mixing with a bitter sense of disappointment. You’d hoped, maybe irrationally, that you’d find something—anything—that would lead you to him. But the alley was empty, the echoes of the night before lost in the daylight.

You sighed, leaning against the cold brick wall, your breath misting in the cool air. Part of you wanted to give up, to go home and try to put it behind you. But the other part—the part that had felt the weight of his gaze and heard the calm reassurance in his voice—refused to let go. You wanted to see him again. Needed to understand why he’d stepped in when no one else had.

As you stood there, lost in thought, you heard the faintest shuffle of footsteps behind you. You turned quickly, your heart leaping into your throat, but there was no one there—just the empty street and the distant hum of traffic. Still, the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, a strange sense of being watched that you couldn’t quite shake.

"Lookin’ for someone?" a voice drawled from above, soft and laced with that familiar Cajun accent. Your head snapped up, and there he was—perched on the fire escape above you, half-hidden in the shadows. The Gambit, or whatever you wanted to call him, looked down at you with a wry smile, his eyes still glowing faintly in the dim light.

"How did you—" you started, but he just shook his head, swinging down from the fire escape with an ease that made it look effortless. He landed lightly in front of you, his coat settling around him like a dark shroud.

"I told y’ t’ go home," he said, his voice firm but not unkind, as if this was all just a minor inconvenience rather than the culmination of your desperate search. "Ain’t no good gonna come from you pokin’ around where you don’t belong."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his presence more overwhelming now that you weren’t in the midst of a crisis. He was intimidating up close, taller than you’d remembered, with a sense of quiet power that radiated off him like heat. But there was something else there, too—something that told you he wasn’t just a vigilante; he was a man who had seen more than his fair share of darkness.

"I had to find you," you said, meeting his gaze even though it made your pulse quicken. "You saved my life. I just—I couldn’t let it go. Not something like that.”

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment with those unnerving red eyes, and for a second, you thought he might just turn and walk away again. But then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if weighing his options.

"Y’ found me," he said simply, though there was a weariness in his tone that hadn’t been there last night. "But that don’t change nothin’. This ain’t your fight, and you don’t want it to be." He turned, starting to walk back toward the alley’s exit.

"Wait!" you called, your voice cracking with urgency. "You can’t just—why are you doing this? Who are you, really?"

He stopped, glancing back at you over his shoulder. For a moment, he looked like he might answer, like he might let you in on the secret of why he was out here risking his life for strangers in dark alleys. But then his expression hardened, and he shook his head.

"It doesn’t matter," he said, the finality in his voice like a door slamming shut. He gave you one last look—something unreadable flickering in his eyes—before turning away again.

"Go home, chère," he repeated, his tone softening slightly. "Ain’t no good can come from tryin’ to find someone like me." And with that, he disappeared into the shadows once more, leaving you standing there with more questions than answers, your heart aching with the strange, inexplicable pull of a man you barely knew but couldn’t forget. The following days became a blur of restless energy and impulsive decisions. You couldn’t get him out of your mind—the vigilante who had appeared out of nowhere to save you, only to vanish just as quickly. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the red glow of his eyes, heard the low rumble of his voice telling you to go home. But home didn’t feel safe anymore; it felt like a prison, filled with unanswered questions that buzzed around your head like angry bees.

So, you started going out at night. It wasn’t the smartest decision, and you knew that. Your friends would’ve called you reckless, maybe even self-destructive, but you couldn’t help yourself. You wandered into sketchy neighborhoods, lingered on dimly lit streets, and loitered near places that practically screamed danger. At first, you told yourself it was just a coincidence, that you were simply taking the long way home. But deep down, you knew better—you were looking for him.

You saw him more often than not. Sometimes, it was just a fleeting shadow in your peripheral vision, a whisper of movement on a rooftop or in an alleyway. Other times, he would swoop in just as things were about to go sideways—an arm grabbing you roughly, a voice hissing threats in your ear—only for him to appear, cutting through the danger like a knife. His methods were swift, brutal, and efficient, leaving your would-be assailants sprawled on the ground, dazed and groaning.

But every time, he would say the same thing: "Go home." And every time, you would bite your tongue, frustration simmering under your skin. This wasn’t just about gratitude anymore; it was about answers. You needed to know why he was doing this, why he kept helping you but refused to let you in.

One night, you found yourself in a part of town that even seasoned cab drivers avoided—a strip of abandoned warehouses that loomed like skeletons against the night sky. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, only that the familiar prickling sensation on the back of your neck told you he was near. You pulled your jacket tighter, glancing around nervously as you walked deeper into the maze of crumbling concrete and rusted metal.

It didn’t take long for trouble to find you. A group of men emerged from the shadows, their faces half-hidden under hoods, their voices low and unfriendly. They circled you, their leering expressions making your skin crawl. You tensed, bracing yourself for the inevitable—part of you was terrified, but another part, the part that had driven you out here in the first place, was almost...expectant.

"Hey there, sweetheart," one of them sneered, stepping closer. "Lookin' for company?"

You tried to back away, your heart hammering in your chest, but the circle closed in, cutting off your escape routes. Fear spiked through you, sharp and paralyzing. For a split second, you wondered if this had been a colossal mistake, if maybe this time, he wouldn’t come. But then, as if summoned by your thoughts, he was there.

The Gambit moved like a force of nature, swift and unyielding. He dropped down from above, landing between you and the men with a grace that was almost inhuman. His coat billowed around him as he spun, disarming one thug with a quick, brutal twist of the wrist before driving an elbow into another’s gut. A charged card sailed through the air, exploding against the pavement with a blinding flash, sending the men scrambling back in panic.

The remaining thugs didn’t even bother trying to fight—they ran, stumbling over each other in their haste to get away from the red-eyed figure that seemed to glide through the darkness with ease. The Gambit stood still for a moment, watching them disappear, his shoulders heaving slightly from exertion. Then he turned to you, his expression hidden behind the bandana but his eyes blazing with an intensity that made you shiver. "This is gettin' old, chère," he said, his voice tinged with irritation as he looked you over, checking for injuries. "You know the damsel in distress look don’t suit you." You bristled at his tone, crossing your arms defensively. "Maybe I wouldn’t have to play the damsel if you’d just tell me who you are and why you’re doing this!" you shot back, your frustration finally boiling over. "You keep saving me, but you never say why. You won’t even tell me your name. You just swoop in, tell me to go home, and vanish like some kind of ghost. I’m sick of it!"

Gambit's eyes narrowed slightly, and he let out a sharp breath, clearly not amused by your words. "Cher, you call this savin' you? Lookin' like you got a death wish, more like." He took a step closer, his gaze flickering over you, searching for any sign of injury, but also sizing you up as if trying to decide how much trouble you were about to cause him. "And maybe if you stopped runnin' headfirst into danger, I wouldn’t have to keep pullin' you out."

You clenched your fists, matching his stare with equal fire. "I’m not runnin' into danger! I’m just trying to figure out what's going on, and maybe if you didn’t keep playing the mysterious vigilante, I wouldn’t have to!"

"Figure it out? By throwin' yourself into the lion's den?" Gambit shook his head, frustration clear in his voice. "You got guts, I’ll give you that, but you ain’t invincible. Next time, I might not be there to catch you."

"Maybe I don’t need you to!" you snapped, the heat of the argument making you forget your fear for a moment. "You just need to tell me who you are!"

Gambit’s jaw tightened, and for a second, his eyes flashed with something darker, a hint of something he was holding back. "Fine, then," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "but don’t come cryin' to me when you find yourself over your head. You don’t wanna be saved? Be my guest. But know this, chère—I ain’t doin' this for fun. You think I like riskin' my neck for someone who don’t wanna be helped?" He watched you for a moment, knowingly avoiding your request.

You faltered, the anger in his voice catching you off guard. "Then why do you?" you asked, quieter this time, genuinely curious. "If I’m such a pain in the ass why do you keep saving me? And why won’t you tell me who you are?"

He looked at you for a long moment, the tension between you thick enough to cut. Finally, he sighed, the fight draining out of him. "Because someone’s got to," he said softly, almost to himself. "And maybe—just maybe—I see a little too much of myself in you. Someone who don’t know when to quit, even when they should."

His words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you were both silent, the night closing in around you like a shroud.

He stared at you, his eyes narrowing as he listened. For a long, tense moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city. Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair as if debating whether to answer. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, tinged with something that might have been regret. “Who are you?” You asked again, knowing you were probably pushing a boundary with your continuous bombardment. Knowing he didn’t owe you anything at all, let alone a request of his name.

"It ain’t that simple," he said, his accent thicker, like the effort of explaining was costing him. "You don’t wanna know me, chère. Trust me on that. I do what I do because someone’s gotta. And if you keep stickin' your neck out, hopin’ I’ll show up, you’re gonna end up hurt worse than any of these lowlifes can manage."

"But why you?" you insisted, stepping closer, refusing to let it go. "Out of everyone in this city, why are you the one out here doing this? What are you trying to prove?"

His eyes softened, the red glow dimming slightly as he regarded you. "Ain’t about proving nothin’. I got my reasons. Ain’t no one’s business but mine."

You shook your head, anger bubbling up again, not at him but at the sheer stubbornness of the situation. "I’m not just going to forget about this," you said, your voice wavering slightly. "I’m not going to stop looking for you, not when you keep putting yourself in harm’s way for people you don’t even know. I can’t just let it go."

He clenched his jaw, frustration flashing in his eyes, but there was something else there too—something that looked like understanding, or maybe even guilt. He took a step back, distancing himself as if trying to put a wall between you.

"Look, you ain’t gonna find what you’re lookin' for," he said, his tone firm but edged with a strange kind of gentleness. "I’m doin’ this 'cause it’s the only thing I know how to do. Ain’t no glory in it, no happy endings. Just a lotta dark nights and busted knuckles. So do us both a favor and stop lookin’. Go home, live your life. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be."

You opened your mouth to argue, to say something that might convince him to stay, to let you in, but the words caught in your throat. He was already turning away, his silhouette blending into the shadows as if he were part of them.

"Gambit wait!" you called, the name slipping out before you even realized what you’d said. He paused, just for a moment, his back still to you. But he didn’t turn around.

Without another word, he disappeared into the night, leaving you alone in the alley with nothing but the echoes of your own determination and the quiet realization that, for better or worse, this wasn’t over. You were in too deep now, and walking away wasn’t an option—not when every instinct told you that the man who called himself The Gambit needed saving just as much as you did. After that night, the tension inside you grew, a coil wound so tight it felt like it could snap at any moment. You kept replaying the scene in your mind, searching for any sign that you’d reached him, any hint that he might change his mind. But the streets stayed quiet, and the city carried on as if nothing had happened. Each time you turned on the news, your pulse quickened, hoping for some new mention of him—a sighting, a save, anything. But he was like smoke, impossible to grasp and always slipping through your fingers.

Days turned into weeks, and the frustration only mounted. You found yourself wandering the same routes, a mixture of hope and desperation driving you back to the spots where you’d seen him before. But this time, it wasn’t so easy. He was making himself scarce, like he was actively avoiding you, and it left you with a gnawing sense of loss you couldn’t shake.

You knew it was risky, reckless even, but you pushed further into the underbelly of the city. The people there were different—harder, colder, their eyes tracking you with a kind of predatory curiosity that sent shivers down your spine. You wore your bravado like a shield, striding down the alleys with your head held high, but inside, the uncertainty churned. If he didn’t come this time, if you pushed too far, you weren’t sure you’d be able to talk your way out of it. You needed to know about him, to unravel the enigma that was The Gambit. It gnawed at you, the not knowing. His presence was like a shadow that clung to the corners of your mind, refusing to let go. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when curiosity turned into something more consuming—when your fascination with the red-eyed vigilante became an obsession. But somewhere along the line, it did.

Maybe it was the way he moved, with a dangerous grace that made him seem almost untouchable, or the way his voice, laced with that Cajun drawl, could make even a warning sound like a promise. Or perhaps it was the way he kept appearing, always when you least expected it, pulling you back from the edge with a flick of his wrist and a flash of kinetic energy that seemed to light up the night. He was always just close enough to save you but never close enough to reach.

You didn’t just want answers—you needed them. Who was this man who seemed to glide through the darkness like he was born to it? Why did he keep saving you, night after night, without asking for anything in return, without ever revealing his own secrets? Each encounter left you with more questions than answers, like pieces of a puzzle scattered in the dark. And each time, it drove you a little closer to the edge of desperation, the need to understand him growing stronger, more insistent.

You tried to find him on your own, scouring the city’s underbelly, asking questions in places where shadows thrived, and danger lurked around every corner. But every lead was a dead end, every whisper just another layer of mystery. He was a ghost, a myth, slipping through your fingers no matter how tightly you tried to hold on.

It was maddening—the way he slipped into your thoughts at the most inconvenient times, during quiet moments when you should have been focused on anything but him. His image haunted your dreams, his red eyes piercing through the darkness, always watching, always out of reach. You would lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, replaying every encounter in your mind, searching for clues in his cryptic words, trying to make sense of the way he looked at you, like he saw something you didn’t even see in yourself.

Why did he care? Why did he keep coming back? And why, despite all your frustration, could you not stop wanting to see him again, to hear his voice cutting through the night like a knife? You told yourself it was about answers, about knowing who he was, but deep down, you knew it was more than that. It was about connection, about understanding the man behind the mask—and maybe, just maybe, about finding a piece of yourself that you’d lost along the way.

It happened on a rainy Tuesday night, the sky pouring sheets of water that drenched you to the bone and blurred the streetlights into hazy orbs of yellow. You were soaked, shivering in your thin jacket, and you knew you looked out of place. The neighborhood was run-down, the kind of place where even the rats scurried with a sense of purpose. You shouldn’t have been there—every instinct screamed at you to turn back, but you kept going, every step dragging you deeper into trouble.

That’s when you heard it—a low whistle, followed by a chorus of laughs that echoed off the brick walls. Your heart lurched, but you didn’t break stride, keeping your eyes forward even as your pulse thundered in your ears. The group stepped into your path, blocking the way forward, their postures lazy but their eyes sharp. You recognized the look; you’d seen it a hundred times on the streets, that blend of boredom and malice that spelled nothing but trouble.

“Look at this, boys,” one of them drawled, a sneer curling his lips. “Out for a stroll in the rain, huh? Ain’t you just the picture of bad decisions.”

You swallowed hard, glancing over your shoulder only to see another figure stepping out of the shadows behind you. You were boxed in, and the reality of the situation slammed into you with all the subtlety of a freight train. There was no escaping this one; you were caught, and you had no one to blame but yourself.

Still, you couldn’t let them see the fear. You lifted your chin, trying to inject confidence into your voice even as it wavered. “I’m not looking for any trouble,” you said, your breath puffing out in white clouds in the cold air. “Just passing through.”

“Oh, you’ll be passin’ through, alright,” another one said, his grin wide and mean. “Through our hands, that is.”

They advanced, closing in with a deliberate slowness that made your skin crawl. You took a step back, heart racing as you scanned the dimly lit street for any sign of him. Any second now, you thought, clinging to that hope like a lifeline. He’ll come. He has to.

But the seconds dragged on, and the men were almost within arm’s reach, their laughter grating on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Panic clawed at your throat, and you wondered if this was it, if you’d finally pushed too far.

Then, like a thunderclap, he was there.

Gambit came out of the darkness with a speed and ferocity that took even the thugs by surprise. He moved like a streak of lightning, his movements a blur of kicks, punches, and charged cards that exploded in brilliant flashes of pink. He didn’t hold back this time; every strike was precise and punishing, a display of raw power that sent the men reeling. One of them lunged at him with a knife, but The Gambit disarmed him with a swift twist of the wrist, the blade clattering uselessly to the ground. He knocked the guy out cold with a single, well-aimed punch.

The rest tried to scatter, but The Gambit wasn’t having it. He grabbed the last one by the collar, slamming him against the wall with enough force to rattle the bricks. “Tell your friends,” He growled, his voice low and dangerous, “next time, they won’t be so lucky.”

The man nodded frantically, too terrified to speak, and Gambit let him go with a shove, watching as he scrambled away. The alley fell silent again, save for the steady patter of rain and your own ragged breathing. Gambit turned to you, his face unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood, and for a moment, you couldn’t find your voice.

“Thanks,” you finally managed, your voice small in the cold night air.

He didn’t answer, just looked at you with a mix of exasperation and something that might have been concern. “What the hell were you thinkin’, chère?” he demanded, his accent thicker in his anger. “You tryin’ to get yourself killed?”

You bristled at his tone, your own frustration boiling over. “Maybe if you’d stop playing the mysterious vigilante and just talk to me, I wouldn’t have to!”

He let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You think I’m doin’ this for fun? This ain’t a game. You’re gonna get yourself hurt, and I won’t always be there to pull you outta the fire. It was bad enough that I almos’ wasn’ here tonight.”

“I don’t care about that!” you snapped, stepping closer, rain dripping off your face as you looked up at him. “I care about you. I see you risking your life night after night for people who don’t even know your name, and I can’t just walk away. I won’t. Not this time.”

His expression softened, just for a moment, and you caught a glimpse of the man behind the mask—the one who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and didn’t know how to set it down. He reached out, his fingers brushing your cheek in a gesture that was more comforting than any words could have been. But then he pulled back, the distance returning as quickly as it had vanished.

“You care about me, huh?” he said, his voice quiet and resigned. “You don’t even know me, chère. Not really.”

You took a breath, steadying yourself. “Then let me,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “Let me see who you are when you’re not out here fighting battles you don’t have to fight.”

For a long moment, he just looked at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge the truth in your words. Then he turned away, his shoulders tense under his coat. “This is all I know,” he said, and the sadness in his voice made your chest ache. “This is all I got.”

He started to walk away, and you took a step after him, your heart pounding. “Wait—”

“Go home,” he said over his shoulder, his tone final. “Go home and stay there. You’re playin’ with fire, chère, and one day you’re gonna get burned.”

And just like that, he was gone again, swallowed by the night. You stood there, the rain soaking through your clothes, feeling the sting of his words like a slap. But you also felt something else—a flicker of hope, a small, stubborn belief that maybe, just maybe, you’d gotten through to him, even if only a little.

You weren’t ready to give up. Not yet. Because for the first time in a long while, you had something worth fighting for. And if it took a hundred more nights of chasing shadows and dodging danger, you’d do it. You’d find him again, and this time, you’d make him see that he wasn’t alone—that he didn’t have to be. <><><><><><><><><> The rain beat against your window like a relentless drum, a constant, soothing noise that filled the quiet of your apartment. The heating hummed softly, filling the room with warmth that contrasted sharply with the storm raging outside. You were curled up on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in your lap, the TV casting flickering light across the room as it played some mindless show you weren’t really paying attention to. The day had been long, and you were grateful for the simple comfort of being home, safe from the elements.

But then, there was a sound—a clatter from the fire escape that cut through the monotony of the rain. It was faint, almost drowned out by the storm, but unmistakable. Your heart skipped a beat, your hand freezing in mid-air as you reached for another handful of popcorn. For a moment, you considered ignoring it, chalking it up to the wind or a stray branch, but something in your gut told you otherwise.

Slowly, you put the bowl aside and stood up, your eyes darting to the window. The curtains were drawn, shielding you from whatever was outside, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was there, just beyond the glass. You hesitated, nerves prickling under your skin as you approached the window. The rain pounded harder, the wind howling like a wild beast, making the walls of your apartment creak.

When you reached the window, your breath caught in your throat. Your fingers trembled as you pulled back the curtain, peering out into the darkness. The first thing you saw was the rain, a sheet of water that obscured your view, but then your eyes focused, and you saw him.

Gambit.

He was slumped against the metal railing of the fire escape, his usually confident posture replaced by one of exhaustion. His hood was pulled low over his face, but it couldn’t hide the cuts and bruises that marred his skin. Blood stained his clothes, mixing with the rainwater that dripped off him in rivulets. He looked like he’d been through hell and seeing him like that sent a jolt of fear and concern straight to your core.

You didn’t think twice. You fumbled with the window latch, yanking it open and letting the cold, wet air rush into the room. “Hey,” you called out, your voice a mix of shock and worry.

He looked up at you, his eyes dull with pain and fatigue. “Hey, chère,” he rasped, a weak smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Didn’t mean to drop in like this.”

“Get inside,” you urged, your hand reaching out to help him. He hesitated for a moment, as if considering whether he should, but the next gust of wind made the decision for him. With a groan, he pushed himself up, gripping the railing for support as he stepped through the window and into your apartment.

The warmth hit him immediately, and you saw the way he shivered, his body reacting to the sudden change in temperature. He was drenched, his clothes sticking to him like a second skin, and the sight of his injuries made your stomach twist. He’d always been so strong, so invincible in your eyes, but seeing him like this made it clear—he was human, just as vulnerable as anyone else.

“You’re hurt,” you said, your voice softer now, filled with concern as you guided him toward the couch. “Sit down, let me help you.”

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered, though he didn’t resist as you eased him onto the cushions. His usual bravado was gone, replaced by a weariness that made your heart ache.

“Fine, my ass,” you retorted, already heading to the bathroom to grab your first-aid kit. “You’re bleeding all over my floor and it’s gross.”

When you returned, he was leaning back against the couch, his eyes closed as if the effort to stay awake was too much. You knelt beside him, opening the kit and pulling out antiseptic wipes, bandages, and anything else you could find. “You need to take off your coat,” you instructed gently, trying not to think about how close you’d come to losing him tonight.

He cracked an eye open, looking at you with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Bossy, aren’t ya?”

“Do I have to do it for you?” you shot back, not missing the way his hand trembled as he reached for the zipper.

With a sigh, he relented, shrugging out of the coat with a wince that told you just how much pain he was in. Beneath it, his shirt was torn and soaked with rain and blood, the fabric clinging to his skin. You bit your lip, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the way your heart pounded in your chest. “This might sting,” you warned as you started cleaning the cuts on his arm.

He didn’t flinch, but his jaw tightened, the only sign of discomfort. “I’ve had worse.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you murmured, your fingers moving quickly and efficiently as you patched him up. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic patter of rain against the window and the occasional hiss of pain that slipped past his lips as you cleaned the cuts and bruises that marred his skin. It was a strange, intimate moment—one that felt almost out of place in the small, dimly lit space you found yourselves in.

As you worked, the air between you was thick with unspoken words, the silence pressing in like a third presence, heavy and unavoidable. You were painfully aware of how close you were to him, how the warmth of his body seemed to radiate against yours, even though you were careful to keep your distance. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the metallic tang of blood, creating a sensory imprint that you knew would linger long after this night was over.

Each time your fingers brushed against his skin, a jolt of something electric shot through you, making your heart stutter in your chest. You tried to ignore it, to focus on the task at hand, but it was impossible not to feel the weight of what was happening—the way this man, who so often seemed untouchable, was now sitting before you, vulnerable and human in a way you hadn’t seen before.

He winced as you pressed a little too hard, his sharp intake of breath breaking the silence. Your hand hesitated, hovering just above the wound, guilt flooding through you. "Sorry," you whispered, your voice softer now, almost tender. He met your gaze, and for a moment, you were caught in the intensity of his eyes—those burning red irises that had haunted your thoughts for so long. There was something in his expression, something raw and unguarded that made your breath hitch.

“It’s fine, chère,” he said quietly, his voice rough but steady. “Seen worse.”

You nodded, but the truth was, it wasn’t fine. None of this was. The sight of him hurt, bleeding because he’d taken hits meant for you, tore at something deep inside you. It wasn’t just gratitude or even guilt—it was something more complicated, a tangled mess of emotions that you hadn’t fully confronted until now.

With each bandage you applied, each wound you tended to, the reality of it all settled deeper into your bones: you cared about him. Not just because he’d saved you, not just because he was an enigma you were desperate to understand, but because somewhere along the line, you’d let him in. You’d let him become more than just the mysterious figure in the night, more than just the red-eyed vigilante who always seemed to be there when you needed him most.

You couldn’t deny the way your hands trembled slightly as you worked, the way your heart ached with every pained breath he took. You wanted to reach out, to close the distance between you, to offer something more than just the makeshift care you could provide with antiseptic and gauze. But you held back, swallowing down the urge because you didn’t know where it would lead, or if it was even what he wanted.

Still, the silence stretched, and as you finished the last of the stitches, you sat back, your hands falling to your lap as you took him in. His expression was unreadable, the bandana that usually hid his features now discarded, leaving him bare before you. His eyes flickered over your face, lingering on the concern you knew was written there, and you wondered if he could see the turmoil that roiled just beneath the surface.

When you were done, you sat back on your heels, surveying your work. “There,” you said softly. “You should be okay now.”

He looked down at the bandages, then back up at you, his expression unreadable. “Why are you doin’ this, chère?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost vulnerable. “Why do you keep comin’ back?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to answer. But then you realized the truth had been there all along, simmering beneath the surface of every encounter, every look you’d shared. “Because, weirdly enough, I care about you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know you. I know nothing about you, but I care.”

He stared at you for a long time, something flickering in his eyes—something that looked like hope, buried deep beneath layers of pain and doubt. “You shouldn’t,” he finally said, his voice thick with emotion. “You should stay far away from me.”

“Too late for that,” you replied, your hand reaching out to touch his, your fingers brushing over the rough skin of his knuckles as you picked up another swab and cleaned the dirt out of the wounds. You could feel his eyes on you, as if he was trying to figure out, to see into the depths of your soul. “Remy,” he suddenly spoke, the name falling from his lips with a careful deliberation, as if saying it out loud broke some unspoken rule between you. His voice was softer now, almost hesitant, a stark contrast to the confident drawl that usually laced his words. “My name’s Remy LeBeau.”

Hearing his name, finally knowing this piece of him, felt like a tiny victory, but it also brought with it a rush of emotions that caught you off guard. You looked up at him, searching his face for answers, but his expression remained guarded, even as his eyes told a different story.

For Remy, the admission wasn’t just about giving you a name; it was about letting you in, dropping the mask he’d worn for so long. It was a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself, especially with someone he couldn’t keep at arm’s length. He’d been careful, too careful, to keep a distance from you—saving you, protecting you, but never crossing that line. Yet, here he was, stripped down to his most human form, offering you the one piece of himself he’d kept hidden.

He studied you carefully, taking in the way your eyes widened with the revelation. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, a fear of what might come next. Because Remy knew better than most that once you gave someone a piece of your truth, there was no taking it back. And with you, he wasn’t sure what that truth might cost him.

For all the walls he’d built, all the carefully crafted distance he maintained with everyone else, he couldn’t quite manage the same with you. From the first time he’d laid eyes on you, something about you had pulled at him in a way he couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t just the way you stumbled into danger, though that was certainly part of it; it was the fire in your eyes, the defiance that matched his own. You were a puzzle he couldn’t solve, a question that lingered long after you’d walked away, and it frustrated him as much as it intrigued him.

But it was more than intrigue that kept him coming back. It was the way you made him feel seen—really seen—in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. He’d spent years playing roles, hiding behind charm and bravado, always keeping people at a safe distance. But with you, those defenses faltered, the masks slipping just enough for him to remember what it felt like to be real. To be human.

He could see the concern etched on your face as you patched him up, the careful way your fingers worked, not just with skill but with care. And in those moments, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to let you in completely, to drop the charade and let you see him for who he really was. The thought terrified him.

Remy wasn’t used to letting people in—he’d learned long ago that closeness came with risks, with pain. But with you, it felt different. It felt like maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk. And as much as he tried to tell himself otherwise, he couldn’t deny the way his heart beat just a little faster whenever he was near you, the way his breath caught in his throat when you looked at him like he mattered.

So, when he finally said his name, it wasn’t just a name. It was a confession, a quiet surrender of the barriers he’d kept so carefully in place. It was his way of saying that maybe, despite everything, he wanted you to know him. To see him. And maybe—just maybe—he wanted to see where that could lead.

“Remy LeBeau,” he repeated, the weight of his name settling between you like a fragile truce. His gaze didn’t waver as he watched you, waiting, hoping that you would understand what it meant—that this wasn’t just a casual exchange. It was his way of saying that he trusted you, that he was willing to let you in, even if just a little.

Because for Remy, this wasn’t just another night, and you weren’t just another person. You were the one who made him want to be more than just the shadow in the dark, more than the vigilante who disappeared into the night. With you, he wanted to be real. And that scared him more than anything else ever had. You finished cleaning up his knuckles, your hands steady even as your heart felt anything but. The sight of him—so stubbornly trying to keep himself together, bleeding and bruised yet holding on to his composure—tugged at something deep inside you. You placed the swab on the floor, the tiny act feeling heavier than it should, as if it symbolized letting go of something more than just the makeshift bandage.

Before he could fully rise, you reached out, catching his hand in yours. Your grip was firm, almost desperate, as if you could anchor him in place with that one touch. “Remy, wait,” you pleaded, your voice carrying the weight of all the questions you’d never dared to ask. “Why did you come here?”

For a moment, he hesitated, his eyes darting anywhere but at you. They flickered to the rain-soaked window, then to the shadows pooling in the corners of the room, as if he was searching for an escape route that wasn’t there. The silence between you was thick and heavy, filled with the tension of unspoken words and the palpable sting of vulnerability. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way his jaw tightened and relaxed, like he was fighting an internal battle you weren’t privy to.

You tightened your grip, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “Why?” you repeated, your voice more insistent now, laced with the hurt of being kept in the dark. “Why did you come here tonight? Out of all the places you could have gone, why did you choose to come to me?”

He flinched, your words cutting through the defenses he’d so carefully maintained. For a second, you thought he might pull away again, retreat behind that impenetrable wall of indifference that he wielded so skillfully. But then, you saw it—a flicker of something in his eyes, a crack in the armor that had always seemed so unbreakable.

He looked at you, really looked at you, and in that gaze, you saw the vulnerability he’d been hiding, the part of him that he kept so carefully guarded. His eyes, usually so full of mischief or shrouded in mystery, were now dark and stormy with emotions you couldn’t quite name. His jaw clenched and unclenched as if he were wrestling with the words, his throat working like he was choking on something that refused to be said. Finally, he let out a breath, shaky and uneven, his shoulders slumping under the invisible weight he carried.

“Because,” he said, his voice rough and raw, as if it hurt to get the words out, “despite everything, I trust you.”

The confession hung in the air between you, fragile and bare. It was more than just a statement—it was an offering, a piece of himself laid out in the open, unprotected. You’d seen him face down danger without a second thought, dive headfirst into fights that should have scared him away, but this was different. This was him, unmasked, standing in front of you without the armor, without the bravado, admitting something that cost him far more than any physical wound.

You swallowed, your throat tight with the weight of his words. Trust. It was such a simple word, yet it felt monumental coming from him, like he was handing you a key to a part of himself he’d never shown anyone. In that moment, you realized just how much it meant—that despite all the walls he’d built, all the times he’d pushed you away, he’d chosen to be here. With you. Because you were the one person he felt he could trust when everything else seemed uncertain.

Your hand, still holding his, squeezed just a little tighter, as if you could convey all the things you wanted to say through that simple touch. “Remy…” you began, your voice catching on the rawness of it all. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond to something so honest and vulnerable. But you didn’t have to, because the way you held his gaze, the way you didn’t let go, spoke louder than any words could.

His eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of relief in his expression. Maybe it wasn’t much, maybe it wasn’t everything, but it was a start. A small crack in the walls he’d built so high, and for now, that was enough. He nodded slightly, as if to acknowledge the silent understanding that had passed between you.

You felt your heart skip, the realization sinking in. He didn’t just trust you in the way someone might trust a friend or a passing acquaintance. He trusted you with the parts of himself that he kept hidden, the scars that ran deeper than skin and the fears that chased him through every dark alley. It was a trust born not from necessity, but from choice—a choice that he made to let you in, even when it went against every instinct he had.

“You can fall down my fire escape any time,” You joked as you let go of his hand, allowing him to stand to his full height, “You can stay here if you need to. There’s a couch, I mean it’s not the Hilton but it’s okay.”

He shook his head again, but this time it wasn’t in defiance—it was in resignation, a slow acknowledgment of a truth he couldn’t ignore any longer. “Ain’t that easy, chère,” he muttered, his accent thickening as the weight of his emotions slipped through. “I got too many people after me, too many things I done that I can’t take back. You don’t deserve to be dragged into that.” You watched as he moved towards the window without another word and opened it, stepping through it and closing it behind you. The silence which filled the room made you wonder if he had been here at all.

Over the next few weeks, a peculiar routine began to form between you and Remy. It started with the sound of a gentle knock on your window late at night, a rhythm that became as familiar as the patter of rain against the glass. Each time, you would find yourself startled awake by the soft, rhythmic knock, your heart racing as you made your way to the window. There he would be, standing in the shadows with his usual air of mystery and just a hint of something else—a weariness that seemed to grow with each passing night.

You’d open the window, letting him in with a mix of relief and apprehension, and he’d step inside with a tired nod, his wounds ranging from fresh cuts to bruises that needed tending. There was an unspoken agreement between you: you’d patch him up, and he’d leave before the first light of dawn.

Each night, you followed the same routine. You’d lead him to the small area you’d set up as a makeshift first-aid station—an old, comfortable armchair covered with clean bandages, antiseptic, and gauze. As you cleaned and dressed his wounds, the silence between you grew more comfortable, though it was always punctuated by the occasional hiss of pain from him. The process became almost ritualistic; you knew exactly how much pressure to apply, how to wrap the bandages just right to avoid further discomfort.

And every night, after you finished, he’d nod his thanks, pull his coat tightly around him, and slip out into the night before you had a chance to ask him anything more. He never stayed long, never lingered, always disappearing into the darkness as if he were a phantom who could only exist in the shadows.

But the nights turned into weeks, and despite the seemingly routine nature of these encounters, there was a growing sense of familiarity and intimacy between you. Each time he showed up, you could sense that he was carrying more than just physical wounds—there was an emotional toll, an unspoken sadness that seemed to deepen with each passing night.

One night, as you finished tending to a particularly nasty gash on his arm, you felt a shift in the atmosphere. There was something different in the way he moved, a heaviness in his posture that seemed out of place. For the first time, he didn’t immediately head for the window when you were done. Instead, he lingered for a moment, his gaze wandering around the room as if he were weighing whether to say something he’d been holding back.

You watched him with a mix of curiosity and concern, the silence stretching between you, thick with the weight of unspoken words. You knew this wasn’t just about physical injuries anymore; there was something deeper, something that went beyond the nightly visits and the ritual of bandages and antiseptic.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low and hesitant. “Chère,” he began, the usual confidence in his tone replaced by a vulnerable edge, “there’s somethin’ I’ve been meaning to tell ya.”

You turned to face him fully, your heart skipping a beat at the seriousness in his voice. “What is it?” you asked softly, your hands still lingering with the bandages as if they could offer comfort beyond their intended use.

He looked down, his gaze falling to the floor as if the words were too heavy to hold. “I… I know I ain’t been the most open person,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “But there’s a reason why I keep comin’ back here. A reason I haven’t been able to tell ya until now.”

You nodded, waiting, sensing that this was something important, something that might finally shed light on the enigma that had been haunting your nights.

He took a deep breath, the sound almost like a shudder, and began to speak. “My wife, Anna… she was killed a just over a year ago.” His voice cracked on the name, the weight of it hanging heavy in the air. “It was a random act of violence—nothing more than a bad stroke of luck. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

The words felt like a punch to the gut, the shock of them making your breath catch. You knew there was pain behind his eyes, but hearing it spoken out loud, the loss and the grief laid bare, made it all the more real. You could see the deep sadness etched into his features, the way his shoulders slumped with the weight of the confession.

“It broke me,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been tryin’ to deal with it, to keep goin’, but every time I look in the mirror, all I see is the man who couldn’t protect her. It’s like I’m stuck in this endless cycle of fightin’, tryin’ to find some way to make sense of it all.”

He paused, swallowing hard, and you could see the raw, unfiltered pain in his eyes. “When I started comin’ to you… it wasn’t just about savin’ ya from trouble. It was about findin’ somethin’ real, somethin’ that reminded me of who I used to be before all this happened. I trust you, chère, because you’re one of the few things that feels like it matters, like it’s worth fightin’ for.”

The admission left you breathless, the enormity of his words sinking in. You could see the vulnerability in him, the way he was reaching out in the only way he knew how. It wasn’t just about the physical wounds he carried; it was about the emotional scars, the grief that had become a part of him. After his admission, you had offered him the couch—an unspoken invitation to stay, to rest, to find some semblance of peace for the night. He hesitated at first, his gaze flickering between you and the couch as if he were unsure whether to accept the offer. But the exhaustion etched into his features and the heavy weight of his grief made the decision for him.

“Are ya sure?” he asked, his voice still rough but carrying a hint of relief.

You nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “Of course. It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me.”

He accepted with a nod, his usual nonchalance replaced by a quiet weariness. You watched him as he settled onto the couch, the familiar sound of its creaking beneath him a reminder of the comfort it could offer. He removed his coat, carefully placing it over the back of the couch, and then lay down, stretching out with a sigh that seemed to release some of the tension from his body.

You turned off the lights, leaving only the soft glow of a lamp in the corner to cast a warm light over the room. The silence that followed was comfortable, almost soothing, as you moved about quietly, tidying up the area where he had been. You found yourself stealing glances at him, noting the way his features softened as he finally began to drift off.

It was the first night in the weeks you’ve known him that Remy wasn’t slipping out into the darkness after you’d finished tending his wounds. The sight of him lying there, vulnerable and at ease, was both comforting and poignant. You could see the exhaustion in his relaxed posture, the way his chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of sleep.

As you started to settle in for the night, you couldn’t help but reflect on the changes that had occurred between you. The nights of routine visits, the shared moments of silent understanding, and the recent revelation had all woven a new thread into the fabric of your connection. The couch had become more than just a piece of furniture; it was now a symbol of trust, of the fragile but growing bond between you.

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, you found yourself unable to sleep. The weight of Remy’s story and the raw emotion of the night played on your mind. You quietly moved to where he was sleeping, careful not to disturb him, and sat down on the edge. The room was quiet except for the gentle sounds of his breathing and the steady patter of rain.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against the edge of his hand, which was resting loosely on the arm of the couch. Even in sleep, he seemed to carry the burden of his grief, but there was also a sense of peace that came with the simple act of resting in a safe place. You wondered what it must have felt like for him to finally let down his guard, to find a moment of solace in the midst of so much pain.

As you sat there, your thoughts drifted to the future—what it might hold for you both. You knew there were still many unanswered questions, many layers to peel back. But for now, you were content to simply be there, to offer a place where he could find some respite from his struggles.

The dawn began to break, casting a soft light across the room. Remy stirred, his eyes fluttering open as the first rays of sunlight touched his face. He blinked groggily, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings and the presence of someone walking around. When he saw you, a tired but genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice still rough but softer than it had been the night before.

“Morning,” you replied, returning his smile with one of your own. “How’d you sleep?”

He stretched slightly, wincing at the stiffness in his muscles. “Better than I have in a long time,” he admitted, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of gratitude and something else—an emotion you couldn’t quite place but that felt comforting all the same.

You stood up, offering him a hand to help him sit up fully. “I’m glad to hear that,” you said. “Do you want some coffee or something to eat?”

He accepted the offer with a nod, and you moved to the small kitchen, preparing a simple breakfast. As you worked, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment. This moment—this small act of care—was something more than you’d expected when you first met him. It was a reminder that even in the midst of grief and uncertainty, there were moments of connection and understanding that made everything feel a little bit more bearable.

As you shared the quiet morning, the bond between you felt stronger, forged in the vulnerability and trust that had developed over the past weeks. It wasn’t a solution to the pain or the grief that Remy carried, but it was a beginning—an acknowledgment that sometimes, even the smallest acts of kindness could make a difference. As the weeks turned into months, the routine of Remy’s late-night visits became a natural part of your life. Each night, he would arrive with new bruises and wounds, and each morning you would tend to them with a mix of professional care and personal concern. The process had become a ritual, a time where you both found a rare moment of respite from the chaos of his nightly escapades and the emotional weight of his grief.

With each passing night, the space between you began to fill with unspoken understanding and a growing intimacy. The conversations during these quiet moments evolved from simple exchanges about the day’s events to deeper discussions about life, loss, and the future. You found yourself looking forward to his arrival, the brief yet meaningful conversations and the comfort of his presence becoming a source of solace for you as well.

Remy, too, seemed to find more than just physical healing in these nights. The conversations grew more personal, his stories more revealing. He spoke about his past, his memories of Anna, and the struggles he faced with his grief. The more he shared, the more you saw beyond the hardened exterior, glimpsing the man who had once been filled with hope and love. And with each story, each shared silence, the connection between you deepened.

There were moments when the air between you crackled with something that went beyond friendship. It was subtle at first—a lingering look, a gentle touch that lasted just a bit longer than necessary, or a smile that spoke volumes. It was in the way he would sit closer to you on the couch, or the way his eyes would soften when he looked at you. It was in the moments of shared laughter, the quiet comfort of each other’s company, and the unspoken understanding that seemed to build with each passing day.

One evening, after you had finished tending to a particularly nasty gash on his side, the atmosphere felt different. Remy was moving to stand up, already moving to where his jacket was. He needed to go, before this got to far. He was an idiot to let it get this far but with you he felt safe, he felt content and for the first time since Anna, he felt happy. You stood up after him, watching him with curious eyes as his face became more anguished.

The silence was heavy, laden with the weight of unspoken feelings and unresolved emotions. Remy’s gaze was suddenly locked on yours, his eyes dark and intense, betraying a storm of inner conflict. His jaw tightened, the muscles working beneath the skin as he struggled to articulate the thoughts that had been tangled up inside him.

You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm, the touch a grounding force amidst the turmoil. The warmth of your hand seemed to anchor him, and he turned his gaze fully toward you, his eyes searching yours with a vulnerability that made your heart pound.

“You’re going to go again aren’t you?”

As you spoke, your voice was soft but firm, your words carrying the sincerity of your emotions. Remy’s eyes never wavered from yours, his expression a mixture of longing and apprehension. You could see the internal struggle, the battle between his desire to open up and his fear of being hurt or rejected.

It was as if a dam had burst, releasing a torrent of emotions that had been pent up for too long. The barriers he had so carefully maintained began to crumble, and the rawness of his feelings became apparent. He took a step closer, his hand moving to capture yours, his fingers tightening around yours as if he were afraid you might disappear.

You didn’t move away. You couldn’t. Not when you saw the profound need in his eyes, the desperate plea for understanding and acceptance that seemed to radiate from him. The depth of his longing was almost palpable, a tangible force that drew you closer.

Without thinking, you reached up, your hands trembling slightly as you cupped his face. Your fingers traced the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the curve of his jaw, feeling the warmth of his skin and the rapid thud of his pulse beneath your touch. The intimacy of the gesture was electric, the connection between you both intense and undeniable.

Remy’s eyes fluttered closed, a shuddering breath escaping him as he leaned into your touch. You could feel the tension in his body, the coiled energy and the weight of his hidden fears and unspoken burdens. In that moment, you understood the enormity of what he was offering—a chance to be a source of solace, to be the one who could calm his storm. He wanted to run, every instinct in his body told him to run; but instead he was rooted to the spot. His heart pounding in his chest as he felt the warmth of your hand, he could almost feel the pulse in your hand, the rapid thumping telling him that you needed this just as much as he did.

You knew then that you had to be there for him, to offer him the comfort and peace that he so desperately needed. You leaned in slowly, your lips brushing against his with a tenderness that was both gentle and reassuring. The initial contact was soft, almost hesitant, as if testing the waters of this newfound closeness.

But as Remy’s response met your touch, the kiss deepened. His mouth was warm and insistent, a fierce hunger and a desperate need evident in every movement. The passion in his kiss was consuming, a reflection of the longing that had been building between you. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you close, his fingers gripping you as if he feared losing you.

You melted into him, your body responding instinctively to the intensity of his touch. The kiss was no longer just about comfort or solace—it was a powerful exchange of raw emotion and deep connection. The desperation, the longing, and the yearning all coalesced into a singular, electrifying moment.

As you pulled away slightly, your breath mingling with his, you looked into his eyes, seeing the same fervor mirrored there. The space between you was charged with an intensity that spoke volumes more than words ever could. It was a moment of profound intimacy, one that signified a new chapter in your relationship—a chapter marked by shared vulnerability, unspoken

He watched you for a moment, the internal conflict making his stomach churn and his heart ache. Instead of listening to his head, which told him to run. To keep you safe in a way he couldn’t keep Anna safe, he went against every voice and kissed you again. This time harder, more needful. As the kiss went on, the world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the vortex of your desire. You forgot about the danger, the secrets, the lies. All that mattered was this moment, this connection, this trust.

You broke away, gasping for air, your lips swollen, your heart racing. Remy's eyes snapped open, his gaze burning with a fire that left you breathless.

"Chère," he whispered, his voice husky, his accent thick. "I need you."

You nodded, your throat dry, your body trembling with anticipation. You knew what he needed, what he wanted. And you were more than willing to give it to him.

You pulled him back in, your lips crashing against his, the kiss growing more frenzied, more desperate. You could feel the weight of his emotions, the depth of his need, and you responded in kind. Your hands roamed his body, tracing the contours of his muscles, the curve of his spine. His skin was hot to the touch, his pulse racing beneath your fingers.

Remy's hands were equally busy, stripping away your clothes with a haste that bordered on desperation. You didn't care; you were too caught up in the moment, too lost in the fire that burned between you. The world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the vortex of your desire.

As the last of your clothes fell away, Remy's gaze raked over your body, his eyes burning with a hunger that left you breathless. You felt your skin prickle with anticipation, your heart racing with excitement. You knew what was coming, and you were more than ready.

Without a word, Remy swept you up in his arms, carrying you to the kitchen bench. You didn't care where you were, only that you were with him, that you were together. The moment he laid you down, you reached for him, pulling him into a kiss that was both fierce and tender.

He begins to trail featherlight kisses along your jaw, down your neck, and across your collarbone, causing your skin to tingle with each gentle touch. Your breath quickens as his lips graze over your chest, his tongue teasing your nipples, eliciting soft moans that escape your lips.

Remy's lips trailed kisses along your neck, his breath hot and heavy, while his fingers skillfully undid the fastenings of your underwear. The fabric slipped away, revealing your curves to his eyes. His admiring gaze intensified the heat within you, and you felt yourself melting under his scorching stare.

He slowly lowered his mouth to yours, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, as his hands ventured downward, caressing your thighs and the delicate skin of your hips. Then, with expert precision, he parted your legs, and with a gentle whisper in your ear, he crouched down and kissed the inside of your thighs before the world narrowed to the sensation of his tongue on your most intimate place.

You felt the wetness of his kisses, the gentle suction that had you arching off the bench in response. Your hands gripped the edge, fingers curling as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. Remy's name escaped your lips in desperate moans, the intensity building to a crescendo.

Meanwhile, Remy's own desire grew more apparent, the strain in his muscles and the heavy breathing marking his passion. The sight of your body, glistening in front of him and the sweet tastes of your desire seemed to overwhelm him. He stood back up, kissing you so you could taste yourself on your lips before he lifted you slightly, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist, as he stood, supporting your weight.

With a smoldering look, he gently guided himself into you, and the bench echoed with the rhythmic creaking of wood as he set a steady pace. The heat and friction intensified with each thrust, sending shivers down your spine. Your hands found purchase on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh as the pleasure peaked.

The kitchen bench became a sanctuary of sensations, where moans mingled the soft hiss of each breath. The moments slipped by in a blur of pleasure, and the world outside ceased to exist. You were lost in Remy's eyes, in the feel of his skin against yours, and the raw desire that fueled your every touch. The pleasure built to an inevitable climax, and you rode the waves of ecstasy together, your bodies a harmonious symphony of sweat and passion.

After the intensity of the moment, the kitchen was bathed in a quiet stillness, the echoes of your shared passion lingering in the air. The cool, hard surface of the kitchen bench was a stark contrast to the warmth of your bodies, now entwined in the aftermath of your intimate connection.

You sat there, your breathing gradually returning to normal, Remy’s forehead resting in the crook of your neck, your bodies still pressed close together. You could see the moonlight flicker through the window, casting shadows on the walls.

Remy’s fingers were still lightly tracing patterns on your skin, his touch gentle and soothing. His gaze was soft, a mixture of tenderness and wonder in his eyes as he looked at you. There was a vulnerability in his expression that mirrored the openness and trust you had both shared.

You shifted slightly, your movements slow and deliberate as you tried to regain your bearings. The cool air against your exposed skin was a stark contrast to the warmth that had enveloped you just moments before. You glanced at Remy, your heart swelling with a mix of affection and relief. The connection between you felt deeper and more meaningful than ever.

He let out a soft sigh, his breath warm against your neck as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss against your skin. “I never expected this,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “Not in a million years.”

You turned your head to look at him, your fingers gently caressing his cheek. “Neither did I,” you admitted, a soft smile playing on your lips. “But I’m glad it happened.”

Remy’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future seemed to fade away. It was just the two of you in that moment, finding solace and connection in each other’s presence.

As the minutes ticked by, you both began to shift, Remy moving over and handing you the clothes that were now scattered across the kitchen floor. The awkwardness of the situation was tempered by the ease that had developed between you over the past weeks. You both knew that this was a new beginning, a step toward something more profound and lasting.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, your voice laced with genuine concern. The intensity of your shared experience had left you both emotionally raw, and you wanted to make sure he was feeling alright.

Remy looked at you, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he said, his tone reassuring. “I’m more than okay.”

You returned his smile, feeling a sense of contentment and peace settle over you. The connection between you was undeniable, and while the future was uncertain, you both knew that you had taken a significant step forward together.

He watched you intently, his expression a mixture of contemplation and uncertainty. The intimacy you had shared had been profound, but it had also left him grappling with a swirl of conflicting emotions. The bond between you was undeniably strong, but he was acutely aware of the dangers and complications that came with his life.

“You know,” he said, his voice breaking the silence as he glanced at you, “you might need to get a new kitchen bench after this.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, a stark contrast to the tension that lingered beneath the surface. “I think I can manage,” you replied, a playful smile on your lips. “But if this is gonna keep happening, I might need to invest in a few more cleaning supplies.”

Remy’s laughter was short-lived, fading into a contemplative silence. His gaze remained fixed on you, and he could see the playful glint in your eyes slowly giving way to a more serious expression. The laughter in his own eyes dimmed, replaced by a flicker of concern and introspection.

“Is this what you want?” he asked quietly, his voice carrying a note of vulnerability. “To keep this goin’?”

You paused, the question hanging in the air between you. You looked out at the window, the moonlight casting a soft glow over the rain-soaked city beyond. Your thoughts were a tangle of emotions—hope, fear, and a deepening affection for Remy. You turned back to him, your gaze steady as you met his eyes.

“Remy,” you said softly, “is that what you want? Is this what you’re looking for?”

He took a deep breath, his expression conflicted. He knew the risks of his life, the dangers that lurked in the shadows of his world. His past with Anna weighed heavily on him, a constant reminder of his failures and regrets. The thought of opening himself up to another person, of letting someone into his turbulent life, was both alluring and terrifying.

“My life’s dangerous,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “There’s no denyin’ that. I can’t promise you a life without risk, without danger. But… I can promise that I’ll always protect you. With everything I’ve got.”

His eyes were filled with a sincerity that cut through the uncertainty. The words were heavy with meaning, an unspoken promise of commitment and care. It was his way of offering reassurance, of letting you know that despite the chaos and danger that surrounded him, he was willing to make you a part of his world.

You reached out, placing a comforting hand on his arm. The gesture was simple but spoke volumes. “I’m not afraid of the danger as you know,” you said softly. “I’m more afraid of losing you—of not knowing what we could be together.”

Remy’s gaze softened, his features relaxing as he looked at you. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he took a step closer, closing the distance between you. “I never wanted to drag you into this mess,” he said quietly. “But now that you’re here… I don’t wanna let go. I don’t wanna lose what we have.”

The sincerity in his words was palpable, and you could see the internal struggle that had been weighing on him. The fear of repeating past mistakes and the desire to protect you from his dangerous world were at odds, but his commitment to you was clear.

“Then yeah, I think I’ll need to get some more cleaning supplies,” You smirked, watching the look of relief cross his face. Remy nodded, a sense of relief washing over him. The fear and uncertainty that had clouded his thoughts began to recede, replaced by a newfound sense of hope and determination. He reached out, pulling you into a tender embrace, his arms wrapping around you with a protective warmth.

In that embrace, you both found a moment of peace, a shared understanding that despite the dangers and the uncertainties, you were willing to face it all together. The promise of a future, uncertain and fraught with challenges but filled with potential, was now a shared dream—a dream that you both were ready to pursue.

As you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the first light of day began to filter through the window, casting a gentle glow over the room. It was a new beginning, one that would be marked by the strength of your connection and the commitment you had made to each other. And as the sun rose, you both knew that whatever lay ahead, you would face it together, finding solace and strength in the bond you had forged.

#Marvel #Fanfiction #Reader Insert #Remy Lebeau x Reader #Gambit x Reader #Anti-Hero #Vigilante!Gambit #Remy Lebeau #Gambit #Xmen #Assault #Smut #Ao3 #deadpool & wolverine #Deadpool 3 #Ask Answered

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halfrican-heat · 1 year ago

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Backseat Driver (Ony)

Ony likes when you beg for a ride in his car.

A/N: Yes, I'm high. Hello. I am about to start posting these Onyankopon ideas I have in my head. This is the first one. Enjoy!

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content; Vaginal Fingering, AFAB! Reader (breasts mentioned), Oral Sex (F receiving), Cursing, AAVE/Dialogue with Dialect, Public Sex, Overstimulation, Choking, Minor Oral Fixation, Minor dacryphilia (crying kink), Explicit depiction of Sex (p in v); Not beta'd, barely proofread (will update as needed later)

Pairing: Onyankopon x Black!Reader

WC: 3k

“Ony, please!”

Your voice comes out breathless and high-pitched as another orgasm courses through you. Ony lifts his head from your drenched cunt, a Cheshire grin on his face. He slides two fingers inside your wetness with ease and chuckles at the way your walls clamp around his digits.

His car is pulled off into a hidden spot on the side of the road— not easily seen from the highway. He has your bodycon dress bunched up to your waist, the top pulled down to expose your breasts as he finger-fucks you.

Ony takes in your tear-streaked face, the sight going straight to his dick.

“What’s that, mama?” He teases. “I can’t understand you.”

You whimper as his fingers work in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace.

“You was talkin’ all that shit earlier. Distracting daddy from his business, right? Say somethin’ now.”

Your hand shoots to grip his bicep as the other goes for the car door behind you, nails scratching at it helplessly.

“Daddy, please,” You whine, tears leaking from your eyes. “Let me ride. Need to feel you this time.”

He smirks, shaking his head.

“I ain’t tryna hear that. Them pretty tears ain't gonna faze me, baby. Say you sorry to daddy for distracting him.”

His fingers shift position, finding that spot deep inside that makes you see stars. A guttural moan rips itself from your throat, sounding like music to Ony’s ears. His fingers work faster, rushing you toward another finish.

“Wait, daddy! Wait- I’m sorry, daddy,” you cry, running from his punishing fingers

He yanks you back down using his free hand while his thumb starts to circle your overstimulated clit.

“For what?” Ony demands, his voice low and sexy.

“F-for distracting you on your business.”

His fingers stop moving entirely and you can’t decide what’s worse— the overstimulation or nothing happening at all. You clench around his fingers helplessly.

Ony moves his free hand to your neck, forcing your head up so your dazed eyes meet his.

“And?”

You take a shaky breath, licking your lips. Ony looks delectable, barely breaking a sweat as he tortures you within an inch of your life. His chain glints in the sunlight and the urge to pull into your mouth rolls through you. He tilts his head, looking at you expectantly. You swallow thickly.

“For sayin’ I could find someone else to fuck me.”

His hand around your throat tightens slightly. His gaze is darker, more dangerous than before.

“Why?”

You bite your lip, a soft moan escaping you.

“‘Cause this pussy is yours, daddy.”

“You damn right,” He rasps, releasing your throat.

You fall backwards slightly and watch with hooded eyes as his hands go to undo his belt. He frees himself from the confines of his jeans, pulling you over him like it’s nothing. His grip on your hips is tight as he holds you over his length, teasing your folds with his fat tip.

The sound is lewd and wet as Ony gets himself ready for your creamy cunt. Then, without warning, he pulls you down on his length and grins widely at your scream as he impales you.

Your head swims as you adjust to him, squeezing tightly around his cock. His jaw clenches as he watches your head loll back, overcome with pleasure. Ony grabs your jaw, pulling your head forward.

Your gaze is unfocused as he slides his fingers in your mouth, rubbing them against your tongue. You taste your previous orgasms on his fingers. Your lips close around his digits, sucking without being told to.

“That’s my baby,” Ony groans, barely containing himself.

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, snaking his hand behind your head. He pulls you in for a nasty kiss, his tongue sliding in your mouth easily. He bites your bottom lip as you separate, his eyes lust blown. His free hand finds your ass cheek, smacking hard before squeezing.

“C’mon,” Ony says. “Ride your dick, mama.”

#onyankopon x black reader #onyankopon smut #onyankopon x black y/n #onyankopon x reader #lyv writes #black reader #black y/n #black reader insert #fan fiction for black women #by black women for black women #Brent Faiyaz inspired #My Writing #Ony's Observatory

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itwasthereaminuteago · 2 months ago

Text

|| The Pantyeater Proxy ||

Frank castle x female reader

Tags/warnings: fluff, smut, Max!

💜 Reblogs and comments mean the world, thank you for reading! 💜

"What you got Max, buddy? What is that?"

By the time Frank wrestles the thing from his slobbering jaws, it's too late.

"Aw shit." He's holding up the black shreds that once were one of your favourite sets of lingerie.

"Goddamn it. You tryin' to get us thrown out?"

Max grumbles, looking up guiltily from his place the floor.

"Ain't no use sayin' sorry now, think we gotta go shoppin' boy."

He only had a few hours until you came back from work. Frank manages to decipher the brand from the small and partly-chewed label, maybe he can pick up a like-for-like replacement and you'll be none the wiser. More importantly, him and Max will avoid being in your bad books.

Frank is, admittedly, a little out of his element. You usually bought this kinda thing yourself, and Christ knows where you'd originally gotten it from. Things had started out okay, he'd gone to the nearest shop on Google, one with really good reviews, but now he was standing amongst mannequins and reams of hanging silk and lace bras, panties, teddies, slips, and anything else he could've imagined, completely lost. He couldn't even see the brand of the thing Max ate.

"Can I help, sir?"

Frank turns around to see a young woman about half his size, her face bearing what he recognises as a well used sympathetic expression for use on lost boyfriends and husbands.

He clears his throat. "Uh, yes ma'am. Any chance you carry this brand?"

She examines the torn label and then slowly starts to shake her head. "I'm sorry sir, we don't. I think it's actually discontinued. Were you looking for something specific?"

"Shit- excuse me ma'am, sorry, it's just my dog he uh... took a liking to my lady's things and made em into a chew toy. Kinda lookin' for a replacement or me and the dog might be sharing a kennel."

"Ah, yes." She smiles politely. "Could you give me an idea of what they were like and I could maybe find something similar?"

Frank scratches at the shorter hairs at the back of his head. "Uhh..."

She examines the frayed edge on the label. "Well we can start with black, right? Sooo lace, satin, silk, a combination? Wired or unwired bra? Full coverage, push-up, plunge, balconette, or maybe something a little more revealing? And how about the panty; brief, short, Brazilian, bikini, thong... crotchless? Do you know what styles she might like?"

Frank's head spins. "Shit, all I know is that she looked killer in them. You think you could gimme a quick crash course in all this, I can try tell you what she likes, definitely what she don't like- maybe find somethin' that won't get me my head ripped off?"

The shop assistant laughs. "Of course."

Frank returns to the apartment feeling more than a little apprehensive. He puts the fancy bag on the middle of the bed with a stern instruction for Max to leave well alone.

By the time you arrive home, he's almost forgotten about the incident, having been distracted with a phonecall from David asking if you guys were free for dinner this Saturday.

"-alright, yeah yeah 'course I'll bring some wine you dope. See ya then." He hangs up as he's walking over to give you a kiss.

"Hey sweetie, how was work?"

"Urgh, just the usual. Who was that?"

"Liebermann asking us to dinner tomorrow. Said yeah, we ain't got nothing else on right?" He helps you with your coat and you kick off your shoes and dump your bag on the couch.

"No that'll be really nice to see them. Okay I'm just gonna jump in the shower, then I'm all yours." You call as you're already walking into the bedroom to undress.

There's a beat, and then-

"Frank...? What's this?" You appear back at the doorway, the the bag dangling from the string handle on your hooked finger.

He sheepishly joins you in the bedroom. "An apology, from Max and me. Mainly Max as I ain't the one that ate your underwear." Frank looks over his shoulder at the dog curled up on the living room couch like he's denying all knowledge.

You snort. "Wait- what?!"

"M'sorry baby, I didn't catch him in time. Was hopin' it's a decent replacement, but if it ain't we can change it. You know I'm crap at this stuff."

You take out the tissue paper package from the bag, sitting on the bed and unwrapping it carefully on your lap. Whatever it is it's black. That's good, not that you were expecting some neon monstrosity from Frank, he was definitely one for the classic look when it came to the bedroom, but then again he'd say he thought you were smoking hot in a tatty old sweater and odd socks.

"You pick this?"

"Well I had some help from the shop (he left a big tip). But yeah. You like it?"

You run your fingers over the soft lacy cup of the wireless bralet, holding it up to look at it more closely. It was the right size anyway, one thing Frank was definitely good at was recon and attention to detail, that is if he didn't already have your bra size and other measurements ingrained in his brain. There were panties to match, not cut too high, again, silky soft, lacy and very sexy.

"I think I'm gonna have to try them on before I make up my mind on whether to forgive Max or not..."

A muscle in Frank's jaw twitches at the challenging look in your eyes as you take the contents of the bag into the ensuite with you, closing the door.

Frank is sat on the bed as you change, patiently waiting, almost biting his nails until you slowly emerge from the bathroom, one mouthwateringly delicious step at a time. You stop and pose, shifting your weight from hip to hip, pouting and biting your bottom lip at him.

"Hmm, what do you think? You wanna eat these panties, Frank?"

You're a fucking goddess. You were aways a goddess but holy crap, you wearing something he picked out and standing in front of him looking at him like that?

You smile a little wickedly as you climb on to him, and as you straddle his lap his hands are already all over your skin, brushing over the pretty straps and seams of your new undergarments.

"Sweetheart, baby, darlin', I wanna eat you."

You grab his face gently, "I was actually thinking that maybe we should save all this for tomorrow night, I'll wear these when we go to David and Sarah's for dinner. What do you reckon? Think you can keep your hands off me till tomorrow night when we get home?"

Frank has to grip his own thighs to stop himself from tackling you to the mattress right now. If this was his punishment it was gonna be unbearable.

"Yeah, okay, whatever you want." He husks, eyes darker than pools of ink.

You boop the end of his crooked nose with your finger before extricating yourself from over his tented sweatpants. "Good boy."

Frank groans as you leave him high and dry and disappear back into the bathroom to shower, wishing he could join you.

It wasn't easy tearing yourself away like that, you wanted him to ravish you as much as he did you. But still, he seemed keen to work for your forgiveness and he was only going to get that through some pretty hard repentance. And besides, you knew how fiery hot the sex was if the two of you had to wait for it.

Saturday night was only the next day and yet it felt like an eternity to Frank after not being able touch you. As he took in your pretty standard jeans and sweater combo his mouth was almost watering as he knew fine well what was hidden underneath. It didn't even matter that you were wearing sexy lingerie or not he just wanted you.

"Frank! Would you pass the fricken potatoes, please?!" David's apparently third request for potatoes shakes him out of his stupor.

"Earth to spaceman Frank, the hell is up with you?" He clicks his fingers either side of his head.

"Huh? Nothin', here." Frank grumbles as he finally sends more carbs David's way.

He's like this all night, and all you can do is try to hide your laughter behind a mouthful of food. Frank's been watching you like a hungry dog the whole time and you're living for it. Sarah knows something's going on but she doesn't ask for details.

"Let's just say he's being denied his treats for a little while." You explained to her with a wink in the kitchen later.

Sarah laughs as she tops up your wine glass. "Oh my god, they get so damn grouchy don't they?"

"And desperate," you add, and she hums knowingly as if she's recalling a specific incident, nodding emphatically.

"Hm, guess we better call it a night. I don't wanna make him suffer too much I guess."

"Oh you're far kinder than me!"

When you make a move to leave, Frank wastes absolutely no time grabbing his jacket and keys.

"Thanks for having us over you guys." You tell the couple, waving.

"No problem," David says, then gestures at Frank. "But hey, look after this big goon will you? His head doesn't seem like it's screwed on right."

"Yeah yeah whatever. G'night." Frank grabs your hand and pulls you towards the truck like the house is on fire as you giggle after him.

"Bye guys!"

When he pulls up at home you've barely shut the truck door before Frank's picking you up and marching to the front door. As soon as he's managed to unlock and slam it behind him he's got you up against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist as he attacks your mouth with his. You gasp as he squeezes your ass through your jeans, mouth traveling down the side of your neck as his hips press against yours letting you feel just how hard you've got him. You claw and shove at his jacket, urging him to take it off and you quickly remove your own and kick off your boots as he shrugs it onto the floor and does the same. He picks you back up again, carrying you straight through to the bedroom. Max raises his head briefly and then grunts as he goes back to sleep.

Once you land on the bed Frank is all over you, big hands caressing your body through your sweater which he yanks up over your head but doesn't remove completely, leaving your arms trapped before his mouth is back on your skin worshipping absolutely every inch of you, his lips and tongue trailing over the lace that contains your breasts.

"Frank- fuck!" You buck your hips up against his.

"Mm you want this now?" He growls and lets you free. You tug at his flannel and he's barely pulled it off before your hands are slipping up under his black shirt and feeling over his stomach and pecs, mapping your territory.

"God, you know how hard it was not to fuck you over that goddamn dining table?"

You tug and pull his belt free from the buckle, yanking down the zipper and slipping your hand in to stroke him firmly through his black boxer briefs. You bite down on your bottom lip, it's like a steel rod. "Was it this hard? Huh?"

"Fuck, baby- you know it." He hisses as you work him through the soft fabric, leaning down and kissing you so hungrily you're soaking though those pretty panties he bought you. It's as if he can sense it, unbuttoning your jeans and thrusting his hand down in front without bothering to take them off. His fingers are firm and focused, tracing the line of your folds where the silk is damp and sticking to your core from your arousal.

"God damn sweetheart..."

You moan as he strokes and cups your pussy, ruining your panties with how turned on you are. You move your hips against his hand, enjoying the delicious friction as you keep rubbing and squeezing his rock hard erection until neither of you can wait any longer. It's you that breaks first, pushing him away while you shimmy out of your jeans in record time. He does the same until he kneeling naked in front of you. You're still wearing the underwear that started all this and you intend to keep wearing it as you crawl forward, push him to lay back on the bed and mount him. He watches you transfixed as you spread your knees wide, simply pulling your panties to one side and sliding slowly down to take his cock inside, inch by fucking beautiful inch. You moan together as he bottoms out, feeling the completeness as he throbs and you squeeze. His hands skate up your back and you start to rock your hips back and forth, the feeling of him dragging against this deepest part of you like nothing else.

"God, you're so fucking incredible." He tells you, those dark brown eyes darting everywhere trying to take in all of you at once.

"So are you. Feels so good Frank-"

Your breath soon changes to short pants as you bounce yourself up and down on his dick, and he holds on to your hips, thrusting his own upwards to meet you, your gorgeous tits looking like they're about to jiggle right out of that little lacy bralet.

"Oh fuck, that's it baby, so good.." He looks down to watch his cock disappear in and out of you, getting covered with more of your cream each time. Your fingers dig into his chest as you hold on, throwing your head back as he palms and caresses one of your breasts, earning a wanton moan from you when he rubs and pinches your hard nipple between his fingers.

You wrap your fingers around his wrist and guide him to where you need him.

"Alright sweetheart, I got you." His breath is coming harder as he watches you intensely, seeing the pleasure twist your features into a picture of ecstacy when he slips his hand between the damp lace and your skin and circles his fingers right on your clit. You fall forward against him and he's got you, one hand between your hot bodies and the other holding your jaw, his thumb over the front of your throat as he keeps fucking up into you hard.

It's been a struggle not to lose his mind already before this point, you're just magic, absolute witchcraft to him. The way you had him begging for your touch, the way you look no matter if you're wearing sexy clothes or not, the way you fucking feel riding his cock. He's gonna see stars soon, he knows it.

Luckily you're on the same page, your moans getting louder and higher, the way you still your body, feeling him pounding into you...

"F-frank I'm-" you gasp as he doubles down, hips pistoning as he rubs your slick throbbing clit so fast you'd swear he was using a toy.

"Come on princess, let me feel it." Frank's strained plea drives you over the edge, undulating your hips with his again as the feeling bubbles up and bursts out from your center and through the rest of your body. You moan into his mouth as he kisses you so passionately, tongue twisting and lapping against yours. He groans long and deep as your tremors bring on his own sweet release, holding on to you tightly, burying himself into you in a last few powerful thrusts.

The two of you lie wrapped in each other for a while, just breathing, until Max pads into the room and starts licking Frank's foot.

"Here's trouble." He announces as he lets his head thunk back on the mattress while you gingerly sit up and raise yourself off him.

"I forgive him." You say smiling at Max as he wags his tail seemingly in understanding.

"You know they say don't blame the dog, blame the owner? Will you forgive me?" Frank looks up at you with the saddest puppy eyes you've ever seen.

"After that? And this?" You say, gesturing to what you're wearing. "Yeah, I think you get a pass too."

You grab his hand and help pull him up. "C'mon baby, let's shower and then take Pantyeater for a walk."

#frank castle x reader #frank castle fluff #frank castle smut #bernthirst tv tribute

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harmonicakai · 9 months ago

Text

Powerslide

Pairing: Yeonjun x Reader

Summary: Usually, your best friend’s player roommate is the most annoying person on earth, but after your date ditches you, he’s more than willing to step in as a replacement.

Tropes: enemies to whatever this is, frat boy!yeonjun, bff!taehyun, college AU, soft dom!reader, sub!yeonjun, kinda exhibitionism & dacryphilia

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: smut (mdni!!!!!!!!!!), mentions of alcohol

A/N: My friend really wanted a Yeonjun fic to happen and I suddenly felt like writing this. I am NOT a smut writer, so this might not be very good, but I tried <3

“Damn baby, I'm a train wreck, too I lose my mind when it comes to you I take time with the ones I choose And I don't want to smile if it ain't from you” —Boyfriend, Ariana Grande & Social House

The guy you’ve been seeing has pissed you off for the last time. As soon as you got a text asking to reschedule tonight’s date, while you were already standing outside of the restaurant he was supposed to meet you at, it was over.

You reply for him to go fuck himself and trudge back to campus to complain to your best friend, Taehyun.

Despite the two of you becoming almost inseparable after being paired up in organic chemistry together, it’s clear to both of you that it’s just a platonic thing. If you had to pick which one of his friends you were most into, it’d be his roommate, Yeonjun.

Except he pisses you off more than the guys you actually go out with. You can’t recall a time where you’ve ever talked to him sober or he hasn’t shamelessly flirted with you in front of whoever else was involved in the conversation.

You know he sees girls as pawns and not people, and so you don’t even bother thinking about the two of you together. Until he answers the door instead of Taehyun, fresh from the shower, water still dripping from his hair onto the towel barely clinging to his waist.

“Where’s Taehyun?” you ask. Your line of sight naturally falls on his bare chest, but you do your best to look up at his face. He’s smirking at you.

“He’s got a soccer game,” Yeonjun says, stepping aside to let you into the common room. “Should be over soon if you want to wait for him.”

You walk past him, plopping yourself onto their small couch. Yeonjun’s eyes don’t leave you, taking in your full date night outfit and the way it hugs you perfectly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. You can swear you can hear him about to burst out into laughter as he watches you go through the five stages of grief. “You had a date tonight, didn’t you?”

“How do you know that?” you sit up, finally locking eyes with him. By now, he’s got a full fledged grin on his face.

“Taehyun told me,” he shrugs, his towel becoming looser with every movement. “Listen, I was just being nice and asking. If you want to ice me out like you always do, go ahead.”

His honesty makes your face heat up in anger. Yes, you’ve never been very nice to him, but for good reason. He’s just another fuckboy in a frat, and you’ve dealt with enough of those in your first years of college to know better.

“I can be nice,” you scoff, turning to look out the window. It’s so dark that all you can see are the streetlamps in the distance.

“Then by all means, show me,” he says, his voice shifting from playful to something more serious. “I’d really like to see how nice you can be.”

There’s something about the way he’s talking to you that feels good. Wrong, but good.

“Fine,” you relent, looking back to see he’s gotten much closer to you than before. “But you need to go get dressed.”

“Am I distracting?” he smiles, tilting his head at you. You roll your eyes.

“More like nauseating,” you lie. He is distracting, just like usual. The only thing that really keeps you from giving him a chance is how annoying he is, but for some reason, you’re happy to entertain his advances tonight.

“I’ll be right back,” he says before walking into his bedroom. When he comes back, he’s got a red hoodie and ripped jeans thrown on, his hair still damp and messy. “Better?”

“Much better,” you approve. He nods before sitting down next to you on the couch, close enough so that his hand can graze your knee without it being obvious that he’s totally doing it on purpose. “Do you really want to hear about my love life?”

“Hmm, what else would we talk about?” he hums, his gaze locked on your glossy red lips. You can feel your face heat up, prompting you to scoot further away from him.

“We could talk about yours instead. Although, from what Taehyun tells me, I’m not sure you’re even capable of love.”

“Ouch. I could be, you know? For the right girl.”

“And who’s the right girl?”

“You.” You want to laugh at how ridiculous this all is, but Yeonjun’s breath is hot against your neck, and he leans in to place a single kiss against your sensitive skin. “I can treat you better than any of those other guys, Y/N. Let me show you.”

Fuck it, you think to yourself. He’s here and he’s hot and he’s desperate for you. You turn to face Yeonjun, crashing your lips onto his. He tastes sweet, no doubt from the bubblegum he’s always smacking whenever you’re around.

When he moans into your kiss and grips his hand in your hair, you feel a shockwave in your core. You climb into his lap, his hard-on nestling in between your legs. He groans at the pressure.

“God, you’re so hot,” he gasps in between kisses. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Trust me, I know,” you laugh. “You make it so obvious.”

“I can’t help myself around you, Y/N.” He snakes a hand underneath your skirt, his fingers feeling how he’s already got you soaked through your panties. It takes everything in him not to finish right then and there. “Can I touch you?”

“Not now,” you say, your hand gripping his wrist and pinning it against the couch. Tonight, you’re in charge. “Maybe if you’re good for me, we can do this again.”

“Please,” he sighs as you grind your hips into him. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

You never pegged Yeonjun as someone who begs in the bedroom, but you aren’t complaining. You pull away from him, moving off of his lap to beside him, your hand palming his erection through his jeans.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he says, his eyes squeezed shut and fists clenched. You bring your free hand up to his chin, moving his head to face you.

“Open your eyes,” you tell him. “I want you to look at me.”

“I can’t,” he stammers. “I’ll cum if I do.”

“You aren’t allowed to cum until I say so,” you whisper, sucking at the sensitive spot on his neck. His breathing grows heavier by the second. “Yeonjun. Look at me or I will never let you touch me again.”

His eyes shoot open and he’s not sure how much more he can take. Sure, your body is to die for, but it’s always been your face that he likes the best. Seeing you with messy hair and smudged lipstick, all because of him, is an image he won’t be able to get out of his head for months.

“You sound so pretty for me, baby,” you tell him, moving your hand faster. He could really get used to you calling him that.

By now, he can’t control his moans and tears start to run down his face. All he can do is whine your name over and over in the hopes that you’ll finally give him permission to finish.

As if it weren’t agonizing enough, the front door’s handle starts to jiggle. “Hey, Jun?” Taehyun’s voice calls from outside. “Can you let me in, man? I forgot my key.”

Yeonjun’s eyes go wide at the sound of his roommate. You reach up to cover his mouth. “Be quiet, Junie. You don’t want Taehyun to hear you, do you?”

He shakes his head as you continue palming him through his pants, one of your fingers slipping into his mouth. He moans around it.

Taehyun starts banging on the door. “Dude, are you asleep? Wake up! I need to shower and get to bed.”

You laugh at the nervous look on Yeonjun’s face, cupping his cheek with your free hand and placing a soft kiss on his lips. “Cum for me, baby. It’s okay.”

Your words send him over the edge and he’s bucking his hips into your hand just seconds later. He does his best to keep quiet, although not even your kiss is enough to dampen the string of profanities that leave his lips.

When he’s done, he stares at you with sleepy eyes and the most satisfied grin on his face. Both of you look down at the wet spot on his crotch. He’s never going to be able to wear these pants again.

“Go change,” you say, patting his cheek and getting up from the couch. You smooth your hair down and fix your skirt into place. “I’ll get the door.”

Yeonjun knows that every time he looks at you now, he’ll be thinking of coming undone under your touch. He quickly scrambles out of the room before you can let Taehyun in.

“It’s about fucking time, man,” Taehyun scoffs, his eyes locked on his phone. When he looks up, he’s shocked to be greeted by you instead of his roommate. “Y/N? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” you say, smiling at the confused look on his face. “I wanted to tell you about my date.”

“Oh, yeah, that was tonight. Sorry, I picked up a game at the rec center.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, following him into his bedroom and shutting the door behind you. “Yeonjun kept me company.”

—————-

Taglist: @orangesodafoam @ur-mother-realnotclickbait @iyeeeverydee @internet-folks @darlingz99 @foxyjun @niningtori @csbenthusiast @lonelybutterflytae @midnight-mochii @theresawtf @nowadays56 @jjklvr9

Literally only tagging the people from my taglist that I KNOW are over 18!!!

#tomorrow x together #txt #txt fic #txt fluff #txt imagines #txt x reader #txt angst #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun angst #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun #yeonjun txt #txt yeonjun #txt smut #yeonjun smut

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bellarkeselection · 1 year ago

Note

I had an idea for rip. It’s kinda like the scene from season 1 where jimmy got beaten up by Fred but instead of Jimmy could it be the reader is rips wife and she’s secretly pregnant with their second child and she protects her stomach and then revel to rip she’s pregnant again. You can easily change bits to the story or even add a little bit of smut that’s fine with me .

The Rule Of Fighting…Especially my Wife

Threading my fingers through his black hair Rip broke the kiss pulling himself out of me where we laid under the covers naked. Running a hand over my face I began catching my breath. Moving my other hand over my growing pregnant belly until Rip grasped my hand in his. Rolling onto my side I whispered still not awake even though we woke up in a very pleasing way. “Do you have to go to work today. Can’t we just take a day and lay around the house?”

“You’re daddy wouldn’t like that. Besides I owe him everything for letting me work at the ranch.” He responded leaning forward and kissing me on the head gently getting up from the bed. He shrugs his jeans on and grabbed his black jacket with his hat off the hook.

Holding myself up on my elbow I held the sheet up against my chest even though he had seen me naked already. “Yeah you’re probably right, baby. Hey though where do you think our little Georgie is off too?”

“I ain’t too sure. He’s probably trying to sattle a horse or running around with his grandpa John. I’ll see you later tonight Y/n.” He placed his hat on his head coming over giving me one last kiss going to work.

Getting out of the bed, I ran my hands down my grown belly, looking myself over in the standing mirror we had in the corner of the bedroom. I slide on the pair of jeans that didn't press on my stomach, pairing it with a light orange flannel shirt that was tucked into them. With some light brown boots and a tan cowgirl hat on my head. Heading towards the barn, I grabbed the saddle for my horse about to throw it over until I heard someone make a remark about me entering the room. "Woah, I guess that Wheeler really couldn't let you go, so he just keeps knocking you up."

"I'm sorry do you have a problem with me?" Throwing the saddle over my horse I turned around on my feet with my boots kicking up dust.

My gaze met the appearance of one of the ranch hands who was named Fred if I remember correctly. "I've got a problem with you getting special attention from the boss."

"Your boss is my father, so.." Crossing my arms over my chest, I snipped in a slight tone.

Fred stepped closer towards me, glaring down at me since he was slightly taller than me. "I ain't talkin about your daddy, Dutton. You're sleeping with Wheeler and get off work early and still getting the same pay as we do. That isn't right in my opinion."

"First off, I get breaks more than you because of my five year old son Georgie and are you blind cause at the moment I'm pregnant again. Two, I'm heading to work now Fred - argh!" I screamed when he stomped up grabbing me by my hair yanking me backwards until I elbow him in the face.

He stumbled backwards holding his nose while I spun around on my feet. "You bitch!"

"You don't want to fight me, Fred." I warned him, getting in a fighting stance with my hands into fists ready to go.

Yet the ranch hand refused my warning and came charging straight for me. He tackled me to the dirt before I could really blink. He was throwing punches at me but I was blocking most until he gave a harsh one to my belly and I released a cry of agony. "God damn!" I cursed curling up in a ball for a second with him getting to his feet.

"You need to remember who is stronger here, Dutton girl." He spat down to me.

Sniffing through some tears i glared at him until I swiped my feet underneath his near mine where he topped to the dust. Forcing myself to my feet I held my stomach with one hand landing a good punch on his nose with the other. Fred came back trying to kick my stomach yet I buried my face close against it so he kneed me in the face. My nose begins bleeding where he quickly grabbed my arm throwing me over his back until we heard my son's sweet voice. "Mommy, why are you wrestling?"

"You're boys gonna see how weak you are - ohhh fuck!" Fred groaned in serious pain onto his knees when I kicked him in between his legs giving me the chance to rush to my son.

Grabbing his shoulders I croaked through tears and some pain myself. "Georgie, go find daddy now. Bring him here." He ran off when Fred started getting up until I charged tackling the man even though it was harder when I was pregnant.

Swinging a few punches at Fred I got some of his blood on my knuckles. He grabbed my wrists twisting them behind my back throwing me down again. "I told you I was stronger than you, bitch!" He growled in my ear where he about kicks me in the stomach again until someone harshly shoved his body against the wooden barn stalls.

Gasping for breath and some relief I sat upright seeing my husband Rip had him by the collar where he threw him against the stall and then did it again but it was down in the dirt raising his voice. "What's the rule about fighting, Fred. You wanna fight somebody, come fight me. I'll fight you all damn day!"

"That girl done started it with her saying that she deserves the same pay as we do but cuts out half the work. I guess you'll believe anything when you married a whore." Fred coughed looking at me when Georgie came over by my side.

Rip yanked the guy by his jacket holding him against the wall where he almost couldn't breathe by the choke hold he had on the ranch hand. "What did you call her!"

"She's knows I'm right that's she had to send in the little guy to get the big guns." Fred taunts until my husband kicked him harshly in the gut and he collapsed into the dirt.

He grabbed Fred up one last time against the wall for good measure croaking his deep tone with the words he declared. "If you ever hit or speak to my wife like that again I'll kill you, Fred! Are you okay, Y/n?" He released him from his grasp coming slowly over to me with his gaze softening.

"I hurt a little bit...here especially. But otherwise I think I'll be fine." I mumbled placing my hand in his with my eyes dropping to my pregnant stomach where he tugged me up to stand where he picked me up bridal style when I almost collapsed onto the dirt not able to stand on my own.

He carried me back to our cabin with Georgie following us and opening the door to the cabin, then our bedroom and finally the bathroom. "Georgie, go grab one of my shirts and the shorts off the foot of the bed for mommy." Rip spoke towards our son who quickly came back with what he asked.

"Is mommy going to be okay, daddy?" He asked with worry in his sweet voice.

Rip sat me down on the toilet lowering himself to his knees since I didn't have gotten my balance back yet. "She will be. I want you to go play with grandpa John while I help mommy okay little man." He nodded leaving us alone in the bathroom letting silence into the room.

He slowly tugged on my shirt shrugging it over and off my body giving him perfect view of my belly. "I'm sorry he did this to you..to our baby. I'll take him to the train station tomorrow morning if that's what you want." He placed his on my bump feeling me slightly pull away when he touched the sorest part of my body from the fight.

"Rip, don't blame yourself for this. Fred has always been a jackass from the day my father hired him. I'll go to the doctor and get the baby checked out." Resting my hands on his shoulders I sent him a half smile knowing he would start blaming himself for me getting injured.

He nodded, helping me remove my pants and slide the shorts up. He ran a hand through my hair once I slipped his shirt on that was like a dress on me. "I love you so much, darling. He will never touch you again I swear it." He softly took me into his arms carrying me into the other room laying me down in the bed.

He climbed in on his side and I snuggled up into his warmth knowing he would leave to deal with the rancher when I went to sleep and rested. "I love you, Rip and so will this second child of ours." Whispering up into his brown eyes I intertwined our hands together closing my eyes letting sleep overtake me.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

#rip wheeler #rip wheeler x reader #rip wheeler x wife reader #rip wheeler imagine #rip wheeler x y/n #cole hauser #yellowstone imagine #yellowstone x reader #yellowstone masterlist #yellowstone one shot #yellowstone fans #yellowstone #requests open #ask box is open for anything #comments really appreciated #rip wheeler x pregnant reader #rip wheeler x dutton reader #pregnant reader #cowboy fights

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yanxidarlings · 11 months ago

Text

YANDERE TWD

REUNITED (yandere! big brother! merle dixon x male reader x yandere! big brother daryl dixon) (yandere! gareth x male reader) (rick grimes x male reader if you squint) NOTES: fair warning, this is some descriptive disturbing shit merle dixon counts as a warning on his own as well. this went in many directions i originally set out for yandere headcanons for the two, then got into the terminus arc, and ended with some pretty vague alluding to yandere. might write a part two)

imagine obsessive! possessive! big brothers! merle and daryl dixon. the dead begin to walk and they keep the darlin safe, meeting up with the atlanta camp. but the brothers won't let anyone get close to the darlin, not dale, not carl, certainly not shane or lori.

somehow, the darlin ends up going with glenn into the city on a supply run, only for it to go horribly wrong. the darlin insisted they head into a chemist to "look for medications" in case anyone in the camp needed them. but it was a lie. the darlin just wanted to find something to help merle with the inevitable withdrawal he'd go through once his supply of drugs ran out. the chemist is overrun by walkers but the darlin insists. "we can clear it!" they say to glenn "it'll be worth it for m- everyone" the korean gave the other a skeptical look. in the end, there was just too many, glenn thought he saw the darlin go down and reluctantly returned to camp.

"oi! shitface, you think you're a big boy now? can do whatever you want now everything's gon' to shit!" the raspy, harsh voice of merle dixon echoed through the camp. the redneck tramped over to the SUV glenn was parking. he remained silent as he turned the engine off. taking a deep breath, the young man exited the car, staring at the grass.

the older dixon stormed over, aggressively opening every door of the vehicle until he reached the boot. filled with supplies. "where the fuck is m/n" he growled, coming closer to the asian "he better be pullin up in another car" merle spat out. "i- it was" glenn stuttered out, looking like he was about to piss his pants "it wasn't my fault, m/n was being reckless, i had no cho-" CRACK glenn's face was soon bloodied and bruised, merle now on top of him, yelling out profanities as he beat the younger man. "merle!" the others quickly ran to pull the redneck off glenn.

"you fucking ch*ng-ch*ng bastard i'll rip-" merle was pried off glenn, who was now rolling around in agony, his face a bloody mess. "what the fuck happen'd" merle rasped out, although to glenn it sounded like a croak "where is he" merle was still being held back by t-dog and shane as he continued yelling. glenn avoided the rednecks furious gaze "the walkers got him" he finally spoke, looking down.

for a moment it looked like merle was about to cry, for a moment merle himself thought he was going to burst into tears like a sissy. "no he ain't" but instead he picked up his shotgun, and got into the drivers seat of the SUV.

that was how andrea, t-dog, jackie, glenn and morales ended up in the city. that was how merle got handcuffed to a roof by "officer friendly" and that was why daryl yelled in agony on that same roof. in the course of a day, he had lost the two most important people in his life.

but merle had survived by cutting off his left hand, and the darlin had survived by covering himself in walker guts.

"china- no- glenn- don't- help!" the h/c-et screamed, the sound of his own gun firing defeaning his ears. as one went down, another lunged at him, rotten teeth clanking together, desperately trying to knaw into his flesh. but he wouldn't die here. he couldn't. not when merle was 'relying' on him to get drugs. maybe then, the dixons would start to treat him as less of a clueless child and more of an equal.

after taking down a few, m/n jumped behind the counter, rummaging through the medications, looking for anything that might help with the withdrawal, or better, give merle his next fix. more of the dead came at him, but he just kept shooting, stabbing, hitting, anything to cause the fatal damage needed to end the dead's miserable 'life'.

BANG one was down BANG another BANG BANG BANG .. the slide didn't move forward as he shot his way through another round. shit. he was out of ammo "glenn!" he yelled out as a walker fell on top of him, wrestling it's way closer to his skin. all the korean could hear was m/n's screaming. which only attracted more walkers. he saw the medicine that m/n had thrown over the counter before going down, stuffing it into his bag, he creeped up closer to the group of walkers that had acculumated, following the sound of m/n's scream. until it stopped. "m/n?" he uttered under his breath, but the pile of walkers on top of each other told him the other was dead. with tears in his eyes, glenn ran out.

m/n struggled against the strength of the walker. it was freshly turned, he could tell. otherwise it wouldn't be so strong. kicking, punching, reaching for his knife, anything to save himself from becoming one of them. plunging his blade into the side of the walkers head, he quickly slit the once-man's throat. covering his face in the blood. before moving down to the abdomen. cutting it open, letting the walkers rotting insides pour out all over him, the ones that had piled on top soon couldn't distinguish the smell of living flesh from rotting blood.

he went silent, breathing shallowly, hoping, praying, they'd move off him and he could silently slip out. but when he was finally free of the chemist, glenn, the supplies they had gathered, and the SUV were gone.

he walked the dead-ridden streets of the once bustling city, covered in blood, hidden in plain sight. he kept walking (which then turned into a limp after getting hit in the ankle by a flying bullet) becoming weaker with each step, hoping to make his way back to camp. only to come to the end of the trainline leading into suburban atlanta. TERMINUS the building read "those who arrive survive" he heard a feminine voice call out from the speakers. maybe they have gauze. he glanced down at his leg, the sleeve of his shirt he had tied around it now dyed red.

"community for all; sanctuary for all" he saw a young man- perhaps just a little older than m/n was, staring down at him from the window. something felt amiss, off, but m/n had lost so much blood he didn't care. he stumbled towards the train station, stopping and starting as he debated his decision.

daryl, merle.. they'll be wondering he thought to himself, stopping for the 5th time, but i won't make it back he began walking again but they'll be looking for me he stopped, nearly tripping but the sudden lack of motion if i found this place they'll find it too he picked up the pace again, frantically moving towards the gates but- as he stopped himself once more, he finally tripped over. right onto the walker trap the train people had set up. his left ribcage was pierced by the sharp metal pole sticking out of the ground, causing the h/c-et to let out a loud screech.

before he knew it people had come out, the same man that had stared at him through the window moments earlier put his hand on the wound, causing m/n to flinch "we're you trying to get yourself killed?" the man mused, seemingly unphased by the active bleeding out that was happening in front of him. the man spoke more words that were muffled as m/n fell out of consciousness.

it was pitch black when he opened his eyes. not a shred of light to allude to the location. pitch black. m/n's hands brushed her his torso, feeling the gauze that was tightly wrapped around his chest. it all came back to him. the chemist, the walkers, glenn, the train people. he shifted his arms, feeling the thin material he was lated on, and the cold metal it covered. attempting to hoist himself up, pain shot through his body.

letting out a groan, he laid back down, closing his eyes. is this death. it certainly felt like it. the nothingness, the pain, it was all he had ever imagined death to be like. what felt like hours passed, the nothingness was almost comforting, how long had it been since he could lay like this and do nothing with no worries. it was all ended when the creaking of the door signaled to m/n that he was not in-fact dead.

the sudden brightness was blinding "you awake?" a masculine voice spoke. m/n's eyes began burning from the light, "i guess" he replied quietly, his eyes closing. "good" the male put down a plate next to where m/n laid "eat up. i know this isn't the warmest welcome, i would have liked to show you around first" the man chuckled, leaning down, seemingly to get a good look at m/n.

the man- who introduced himself as gareth, began speaking about the community- terminus. that they did whatever they had to for survival, that m/n would have to prove himself loyal if he wanted to become apart of the community. he wasn't sure how to tell this gareth guy that he was leaving as soon as possible to find his group.

the discussion started off normal as m/n finished his food, until gareth started talking about how lonely he was, as the leader of this terminus community. it only got creepier as gareth started to call m/n pretty boy, edging closer to him. m/n doesn't want to know what would have happened if that middld aged lady (gareth's mother), hadn't called the man away.

it quickly became evident to m/n that he was never going to leave. gareth locked him in the pitch black train car for hours on end, opening the door when there were armed men to prevent m/n from trying anything. gareth would sit with him and talk, running his hands over the male's body, stealing kisses, it was a reprehensive routine m/n had become forcibly accustomed to.

it all changed the day the hunters attacked. m/n was in his train car, as usual, listening to the outside screams, wondering if the attackers were dead or alive. he knew they were alive when one pried open the train car door, and threw them self on him. he was then thrown into a cramped train car with other terminus residents, where the hunters hand picked who to assault and slaughter each day. he and gareth spent their days huddled up together, talking about their lives before. had m/n not accepted the hunters offer to leave the train car if he worked for them, gareth wouldn't have lost his mind. but m/n was desperate to get away. from the train car. from terminus. to find his family.

but the hunters caught him trying to leave. they did their absolute worst to him and then threw him back in. when the termites took back terminus, gareth locked the leader of the hunters and m/n into the same train car. "this is what you deserve" he told him, before locking the door shut.

perhaps it was years, perhaps it was months, maybe it was only a few hours. the horrors of the train car began to unfold, as the man who had once led the attack on terminus lost his mind: pouncing on m/n at random, screaming for hours straight, trying to eat m/n alive when they'd be deprived of food, ripping his ear off in hungered insanity. as m/n laid there bleeding from his ear, he decided either i escape or i die. had running worked before? no. was he willing to die trying? not really, but a man would do anything for freedom, and that's what m/n did.

the hunter had fallen asleep, a fatal mistake, as m/n wrapped his hands around the mans unshaven neck and squeezed. within second the man awoke but m/n was relentless, not letting go until the other went limp. i just have to wait now he cried to himself, hands shaking. calming, he began to strip the man of his clothes and use the fabric to restrain his limbs.

waiting for the termites to open the door with the meal made of human flesh felt like an eternity. the familiar sound of metal scratching and creaking filled m/n's ear, who quickly sprung into action.

grabbing the reanimated hunter by the hair, he guided it in the direction of the door, throwing it towards the woman holding their plates. she screeched as the hunters corpse sank it's teeth into her flesh, blood pouring from the wound.

m/n grabbed the woman's gun and bolted as the nearby workers aimed their guns at the walker, taking it down swiftly, but m/n had already gotten out of the train car. hiding behind what once was his cage, he shot at every person who came into view. eventually making his way to the fence, through the woods, he didn't stop running until the sound of gunshots stopped entirely. even then, he kept running. he ran for what felt like hours until his lungs couldn't take it anymore. collapsing onto the dirt, heaving in and out.

woodbury had fallen, it's entire population now living in the prison nearby. rick had relinquished his leadership, insisting the prison be governed by a council. he often went on runs by himself, to get away from it all, to look back on his actions, to find lost survivors. it wasn't everyday rick grimes came across a twenty something perhaps younger male covered in blood, breathing like he had never tasted air before. well, usually the young men were walkers. but this one was very much alive.

"please don't" the male groaned out, eyes wide, as rick approached with a knife. "who are you" he drawled out, kneeling down to get a good look at the other. the young males face was bruised, his hair covered in blood, an ear was missing, and the male was emaciated. "uh" the male seemed to have to think about it, as if he hadn't spoken to another human in years "m/n" he finally puffed out, bringing his hand up to his head, where the left ear once was.

rick's hands brushed m/n hair out of his face, causing the male to flinch away "how many walkers have you killed" the older man finally asked after several moments of silence. m/n just stared at him, as if to say he hadn't been keeping track "how many people have you killed" still, the same look. "water" "what" rick narrowed his eyes. m/n used his free hand to shakily point to the man's bag, where a bottle of water was latched on to the side.

rick was silent as m/n chugged the water down "do you have anything sweet?" "no i don't" "oh" something about the boy felt familiar. didn't glenn mention originally going into atlanta to find a boy with a similar description? maybe it was just that the male reminded him of his own boy in a way, or maybe he had already developed a fondness for m/n. "i have a camp" rick looked m/n in the eye "we have walls, food, a community, a doctor that can look at your wound" he added.

the h/c-et shook his head "not again" rick furrowed his brows "what" the boy started to pick himself up "i gotta, um" he started feeling around the ground for his gun, "gotta go" he finished as he felt the handle of the gun. stuffing the weapon into his belt, he stood up, using a tree as a crutch. "c'mon kid, you're going to die out here" rick leaned forward and took the gun out of the others hand "no im not! give it!" m/n lunged forward, only to awkwardly fall into rick's chest, sinking down back to the ground.

"you've got two bullets left" m/n looked up at rick with a glare "either you come back to my camp with me or i just wasted my water on a dead man" m/n held his glare until the sun got into his eyes. "whatever" he looked down, hoisting himself back to his feet with the help of rick's hand.

daryl squinted his eyes as the evening sun glared down, merle had stolen his motorcycle. again. the older dixon was always going off on fun runs without informing anyone beforehand. perhaps because the redneck had never really been accepted into the group like daryl was.

taking another bite of his pork chop, daryl grunted at carol who told him to go in and get some rest. but why would he want to rest when all he could think of when his mind was unoccupied was his baby brother, the boy he had pretty much raised, who was now probably a rotting corpse in atlanta. but daryl still held out hope that m/n had gotten out, that he was safe, that he would find him oneday. this was why he never rested, these thoughts would creep up in the younger dixons head.

the sound of his motorcycle rumbling told him that merle was back. the older dixon sauntered over to daryl, a cigarette sat between his thin lips, "look what you're big brother merle got you, darylina" he pulled a pack of cigarettes out his pocket, sliding it into daryls pocket. daryl said nothing, staring into the distance; was that rick? the figure was too far away to discern.

"dad!" carl called out, jogging down. "look what i- m/n?" the young grimes exclaimed as he came closer to the pair. rick carried the half-conscious boy through the gates "you know this guy?" rick looked at carl, who flicked the hair out of m/n's face to get a better look "he was with us back in atlanta, we thought he died on a run"

daryl's heart stopped, did he hear carl right? they were pretty far away. standing up, he threw the pork bone aside and marched towards the two- three. when he finally came close enough to see the persons face, he had to stop himself from tearing up in front of carl and rick "m/n" he uttered out quietly. the father and son came to a halt as he approached "you knew this guy back in atlanta" rick nodded at daryl "'course i did. he's my brother" daryl was quick to take m/n off rick. he wanted to cut the mans arms off just for touching his precious brother.

daryl rushed m/n into the prison, settling him in his cell, "go get hershel" he told carol, who looked just as perplexed as merle did as he walked into the cell. "m/n!? i thought you was dead" he breathed out, shoving daryl out the way, who was quick to push back, both wanting to be as close to their younger brother as possible "where'd you find him" merle looked over at rick, who was standing out front the cell "in the woods, looked like he'd been running"

rick moved aside as hershel came in, merle reluctantly stood up as hershel sat to access m/n's condition. "he's lost a lot of blood" hershel examined the ear hole where the flesh and muscle had been ripped from "we should have bob look at him, but from what i can see he needs bandaging and antibiotics" daryl grunted "i ain't letting no stranger touch him" he ushered hershel away, taking m/n's hand in his own "i found antibiotics on last weeks run, that gon' be enough" merle looked over at the old man, who nodded "we'll have to see how he reacts"

neither daryl or merle left m/n's side whilst waiting for the antibiotics to kick in. it was strange. no one in the prison had ever seen either of them so worried for or attached to someone. but for the six days and nights m/n spent unconscious, his body fighting off the infection from his wounds, recovering from the months of maltreatment.

when m/n finally opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings, daryl was leaned against the wall at the edge of the bed, eyes locked on the boys face "sleep well?" was the first thing he said after the two had stared at each other for what felt like an eternity "yeah" m/n spoke softly.

"i should have never gone hunting that day" "am i dead" the two spoke in unison. daryl breathed out "no, never gon' let that happen" he shuffled closer, laying down next to the youngest dixon.

daryl stared at m/n intensely, until merle was roused from his sleep "m/n, i told you not to go out of my sight" he grumbled, sitting forward. m/n looked up at the metal frame of the top bunk "i just wanted to get you some narcan" merle stared at him, blinking away tears "didn' have to risk your life for it" he pursed his lips "i ain't worth you dyin'" he added quietly, sitting back, his eyes not leaving m/n's.

the room went silent for a moment "maybe not, but you're my brother" m/n closed his eyes for a moment "do you guys have pop or candy here?" he questioned hopefully. merle let out a chuckle "i found a can on my run today" he chuckled out, before going quiet "i chugged it on the spot"

"you piece of shit!"

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