#she could not burn: victorian | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cutehoons02 · 3 months ago

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Between love and revenge

*pairing: alpha leader Heeseung x omega Girl

*trope: : Forbidden love/Enemies to lovers/Dark romance

*synopsis: Y/n, an omega, has avoided an unhappy marriage with Jiwon thanks to the intervention of Heeseung, an alpha who, driven by revenge against his father, has bonded her to him. Despite the bond, Y/n struggles with anger and resentment towards Heeseung, feeling trapped between hatred and a growing passion. Their relationship develops amidst Y/n's inner conflict and Heeseung's determination to show her that, beyond revenge, there is a deeper connection. But between secrets, lies, and the weight of the past, both are forced to confront the truth of their emotions and the meaning of the bond that unites them.

Between lust and revenge <- I recommend that you read Part 1.

(6.8k❤️‍🔥)

*tags: A lot of tension, Heeseung slowly becomes downbad for her, Y/n discovers a secret that will upset his life, lies, obsession, kisses, bites, unprotected sex (in the woods) traformation of Heeseung in alpha, double annotation, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) (normal sex-doggy sex) tamper with your feelings, +18 *(reference to a pregnancy to violate the laws between alpha and omega by Y/n’s father raping an alpha girl)

You had always thought that the worst moment of your life would be the day of your marriage to Jiwon. The idea of being chained to an omega who treated you like an object to possess, who dreamed of breaking your wings to force you into a golden cage, made you sick to your stomach. But now… the worst was over. Or at least, that’s what you believed. You walked towards the college cafeteria with a heavy heart and a head full of questions. The bond with Heeseung had been real. Raw. Powerful. Your body still carried the marks from the night before. But your mind? It was a battlefield. You had given everything, even what you never thought you’d offer anyone. And now… you would be watched. Judged. Commented on. You entered the grand Victorian cafeteria, and the silence was almost deafening. Everyone was looking at you. Some with their mouths hanging open, others already whispering among themselves, throwing glances your way. You could feel every unspoken word like a blade on your skin. You lifted your chin. You had to. They wouldn’t see shame, not today. You walked as if every step was a declaration: “I’m here, and I don’t regret it.”

It was then that the voice of your best friend, an Alpha, broke the tension. She ran toward you with a smile that clashed with the coldness of the atmosphere. She hugged you tightly, as only someone who truly knew you could. 'Y/n… how did it go?' she whispered in your ear, her voice full of real emotion. Then she pulled back slightly and sniffed the air. 'Oh my God… you smell like him. I can sense him everywhere.' You smiled faintly, your eyes already burning. “It was amazing,” you answered in a hoarse but honest voice. Too amazing. And at that moment, you hated yourself for still having feelings for him. She caressed your face. 'You were so brave. The Alphas… the elders… they’ll want to honor you. They’re already preparing a ceremony—' She didn’t finish. A scream cut through the air. “Y/N!”

You stiffened. Your blood froze in your veins. You turned slowly… and you saw him. Jiwon. He was walking toward you, furious, his eyes bloodshot with rage. He yelled at you, words full of venom. <WHORE! You got bonded to that piece of shit just to avoid marrying me?!> he shouted, his voice echoing off the ancient walls. You trembled. Not from his words, but from his hatred. He stopped five steps away, suddenly panting. He put a hand to his nose, disgusted. <You stink… you smell like him. That fucking Alpha!> You forced yourself to stand tall. “At least Heeseung… will let me study. Go out with my friends. Live.” <Live?!> he laughed bitterly. <You’re an Omega! Your duty is to stay at home, give birth, serve. It’s the man who works, who commands. It’s nature!> You stared at him. “It’s not mine. I don’t want that.” He looked down at you, degrading you with his gaze. As if you were just a mistake. <Your father will kill you for this.>

-No, he won’t.- The voice came from behind. Cold. Sure. Deadly. Sunghoon. One of Heeseung’s best friends. A feared and respected Alpha. He stepped forward, positioned himself between you and Jiwon. He looked down at him. -She is one of us now. Part of our family. No man will touch her again. And if any of them tries… they’ll die before they even get the chance.- Jiwon clenched his jaw, but took a step back. <It’s not over,> he hissed. He looked at you one last time… and walked away. You stood there, your heart in your throat, Heeseung’s scent still on you, your body tense, and your mind screaming. But had you won? Or at least, had you begun to?

Sunghoon looked at you with a cold, cutting gaze. There was no compassion, only a chilling, unrelenting authority. -Take her to her room,- he said to your best friend. -It’s better for her safety.- She let out a soft sigh, pulling you close. 'Hoon, don’t you think you’re overdoing it? She’s already under enough pressure. There’s no need to treat her like she’s in danger—' But he interrupted her with a cynical look. -The problem isn’t her. It’s the others.- Then he turned to both of you, his tone ice-cold: -From now on, move in pairs. And don’t open the door to anyone who doesn’t carry our mark.- It wasn’t a request. Your friend nodded, holding your hand tightly and pulling you away, away from those inquisitive eyes. As soon as the door to your room closed behind you, you collapsed onto the bed, your gaze fixed on the ceiling. You whispered quietly, almost not wanting to hear the answer: "I’ve messed up, haven’t I?" Absolutely.

Your phone had been vibrating for hours. Every relative, every branch of the family, every Omega who knew you… wanted to know if it was true. And when you answered yes, insults, threats, screams, and spit flew through the screen. They’d called you a disgrace. A traitor. A broken piece. But still, no call had come from your father. The door opened slowly. Your mother entered in silence, as though knowing she had to measure each step, each word. She sat down beside you on the bed, gently stroking your hair. 'You were brave,' she said softly. 'I’m proud of you.' You looked at her, surprised. "Did you know I didn’t want to marry Jiwon?" you asked, your voice cracking. She smiled bitterly. 'I’ve known for years. I just hoped that… time would fix everything. But you’re not like me, Y/n. You don’t bend. Never.' You swallowed hard. "Did I do the right thing?" There was a long silence. Then she said: 'There’s no right answer. But if Heeseung bonded you without killing you… it means that, somehow, you’re his. Almost like you’re soulmates.' You jumped to your feet, your heart racing. "Don’t say nonsense, mom. Heeseung hates me. He did it just for revenge." But inside, deep down… a tiny spark. A stupid, fragile hope that there was more to it. That touch, that caress at the end of the knot… had been real, especially the kiss he’d given you on your forehead…

The moment was abruptly interrupted by a firm knock on the door. The headmaster. He entered with the solemnity of a judge. 'Y/n. I need you to come with me. The royal hall has been called to order.' Your blood froze. You didn’t even have time to ask why. You followed him. The hallway seemed endless. When you entered, every important figure on campus — Alpha, Omega, Beta — was there. The clans were gathered. And at the end of the room… there he was. Heeseung. Standing still, motionless, with his clan surrounding him. He was looking at you. Dark, deep, unreadable eyes. But he was looking at you. He made a slow, barely perceptible nod. It froze your blood, and then you saw him. Sitting in the middle row. Your father. The world crashed down. He couldn’t look you in the face. When he did… it was only to spew words full of hatred. ---You’ve dishonored me. You’ve humiliated me in front of everyone. You were supposed to be a wife, a mother. And instead… you allowed yourself to be marked by a murderer! By that bastard!-- Every word was a dagger. --You’re no longer my daughter. You are nothing. You are a damn disgrace.-- You didn’t know what to say, but Heeseung’s laughter was dry, muffled, yet it exploded like a gunshot in the council hall. A sound so out of place that it broke the silence, making even the oldest leaders flinch. You spun around quickly. You watched him rise slowly from the throne reserved for the supreme Alphas. His clan was silent, united, eyes focused on him, and some on you, like Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Jay.

With confident strides, Heeseung stepped forward. Every movement seemed calculated. Lethal. He stopped in front of you, his body almost brushing against yours. One breath, and you would be enveloped in his scent. But he didn’t turn. His gaze was fixed straight on your father. "The only murderer in this room is you," he said, his voice sharp as glass. "You killed my brother. Not for revenge. Not for survival. But because he was stronger than you. Because you couldn’t tolerate another Alpha being superior to you." A murmur spread among the crowd. You were short of breath, your hands shaking. "And now you play the moralist?" Heeseung continued, his look full of pure contempt. "Y/n doesn’t belong to you. She never did. And she will be mine. Because inside her, there’s not only Omega blood… but Alpha blood as well." The silence became deafening. Some leaders whispered, others stared at you in disbelief. You didn’t understand. You stammered, "W-what is he saying? I… I don’t—" Heeseung laughed again. A fiercer sound, almost amused. "Your father has never spoken to you, except for duties. He has never touched you with a gesture of affection. And you know why? Because he knew you weren’t his wife’s daughter."

You turned towards your father. His eyes were filled with hatred. With blind rage. But also… with something that seemed like fear. "It was you who came to me," Heeseung continued, his tone now harsher. "You were the one who sought me out. Because something inside you knew. That becoming the wife of an Omega would have killed you. It would have taken everything from you. Including your soothing powers." A roar rose. Someone stood up. The others looked at your father, shocked. You felt like you were drowning. "ENOUGH!" your father shouted. And in a reckless gesture… he drew a sword. Panic spread. You didn't think: you immediately took refuge behind Heeseung, your heart pounding furiously. He didn't move. He didn't step back even an inch. "Say it," Heeseung hissed, his eyes fixed on that man who had ruined two generations. "Say it in front of everyone. Confess the truth." Silence fell again like a curtain. "That Y/n… is not the daughter of your mate. But the result of your sick experiment." The eyes of the council were fixed on him. Some already knew. Others didn't want to believe it. Heeseung continued, relentless.

"You raped an Alpha. Because you wanted to prove that an Omega like you could break the natural law. You wanted to see if an Alpha, and my brother’s future wife, could accept the knot of an Omega. And when the result... was Y/n... you hid everything. But she is not your mistake. She is your sentence."

Your father shouted. But no one listened. The leaders stood up, one after the other. The guards moved, and you, amidst it all... felt your knees buckle. Your eyes burned. The truths fell down on you like avalanches, the tears carved your face like burning blades. You couldn’t breathe, nor think. Only one question, desperate and raw, exploded in your throat.

"Is it true?!" you screamed, your voice cracking with anguish. "I’m not my mother’s daughter?! I was never loved because... because I was just the result of an experiment?!"

Your father didn’t speak.

But it didn’t matter. Silence is consent. The law was clear. The room was a witness. And you had just lost every foundation of your existence.

You collapsed to the floor, on your knees. Your hands on your face, your body shaken with sobs. Everyone was watching you. The leaders. The clans. The elders. But no one moved. Except for her.

Your best friend, the only one who, in that moment, could have pulled you away from that hell. She ran towards you but stopped suddenly. Not because she didn’t want to reach you.

But because of him, Heeseung.

Still there, unmoving, tall, cold. One look—just one, icy, full of command—was enough to stop her. And she obeyed. She stopped a few steps from you, bitten by pain, but helpless.

You kept crying, silently screaming. In your mind, all the lies played out, all the moments when you’d only asked for a caress, a hug, a word of love... and you had received only coldness. Now everything made sense. A horrible, sick sense, then, in the chaos of your collapse, a hand. A warm hand, placed on your back. A slow, almost imperceptible touch. It drew circles, small, continuous. Trying to calm you. To support you, and you... felt it. Him.

His scent. The one you now knew all too well. The one you had burned into your skin. Heeseung. You froze because in that gesture, there was too much. Too much warmth for someone who hated you. Too much sweetness for someone who had used you. Too many contradictions, now you understood it.

You hadn’t just been his revenge. You hadn’t just been the daughter of the man who had killed his brother. You had become the perfect pawn. His way to prove to the world that an Omega could be strong, that the rules could be rewritten... but also a weapon to mask his own needs. His desire to dominate... and maybe, something more.

You suddenly stood up. Eyes swollen, but proud, you looked at him, your voice trembling, but clear.

"I don’t want to be touched by anyone, especially not by you, Lee Heeseung."

He didn’t move. He didn’t stop you. He didn’t say a word and you... ran away.

Leaving it all behind: the lies, the council, your family... and him. But not the feelings. Those, like the knot... you carried them inside.

In those days, you hated everyone.

From the first to the last. There was no face, no name, that didn’t make your blood boil. Discovering that all the Alphas knew the truth was like receiving a second knot, this time in your soul. Not just Heeseung, not just your father: even the others. All those proud, arrogant faces, who had always looked down on you... they knew, and they kept silent. Your "mother" had tried to talk to you in every possible way. She knocked softly on the door. She left letters under your teacup. Sometimes she sat outside your room, in silence, just to let you know she was there. But you... couldn’t even look at her. You had been given a new room, closer to your best friend's, in the section reserved for Alphas. An exception granted only because of your bond with Heeseung, but you didn’t feel like an Alpha. You only felt the echo of his knot inside you. A mark. A call. A sentence. The Omega aura that surrounded you had become stronger, more palpable, and at that moment... more painful. That afternoon, however, you gave in. You opened the door, and she entered in silence. Red eyes. A tired gaze. She told you everything. She said she loved you. That she had always loved you. That, even though you hadn’t come from her womb, you were her only daughter.

"I couldn’t have children," she confessed, her voice cracked. "And when your father told me that... that he had found an infant, I... I thought she was the daughter of his previous partner. That she had died in an accident. I never knew the truth. Not until much later. But when I held you in my arms... you became mine." You looked at her. In silence. "Do you know my real mother?" you asked. You didn’t even know where that calm voice had come from. She shook her head. "No. Only the Alphas know her. Only them... and Heeseung." Your stomach tightened. You nodded slowly. No tears. Just exhaustion.

You saw him every day. Heeseung. In class. In the cafeteria. In the halls. Everywhere. Always with that leader-like posture, with that inscrutable gaze and slow, dominating steps. But there was something different. A subtle tension. A crack in his usual control. He tried to talk to you. He waited for you outside the classroom. He got closer when you were taking notes. Sometimes he let you pass in front of him in line, as if it were casual. But it wasn’t. Once, he brushed your wrist when you both reached for the same book in the library. "Y/n..." he murmured. And you gave him only a blank stare, your eyes frozen. And you left him there. Another time, after a class, he followed you all the way to the courtyard.

"You can’t avoid me forever," he said, his voice low, controlled. You didn’t stop.

"Look how you managed to do it for twenty-two years," you replied without turning around. You saw him stiffen. But he didn’t respond.

Every gesture of his was poison. Every attempt, every look, reminded you that he had lied to you.

He had pretended to hate you to justify his control. He had used your desire for freedom to take revenge. He had known everything. About your birth. About your identity, and yet... he had tied the knot with you. He had chosen you, and you couldn’t understand if it was yet another lie or the cruelest truth of all.

A month had passed. Four weeks of silence. Of walls built up. Of coldness that burned more than any knot. You only spoke to his cousin, your best friend, and with the teachers, you only answered when absolutely necessary. A word here, a nod there. And the rest? Silence.

He watched you. Always. He followed you with his gaze in class. He looked for an excuse to brush past you in the hallways. Occasionally, he would place his tray near yours in the cafeteria, but you’d change tables before he could even open his mouth. Everyone had started whispering. That maybe Heeseung had made a mistake. That maybe choosing to knot with you had been a mistake. An Alpha chasing his mate, a half-Alpha Omega, and being ignored like any other student. An embarrassment. A reversal of roles that no one understood… except you. In class, you threw sharp barbs. Once, while discussing bonds and compatibility, you raised your hand:

"Professor, what happens if an Alpha deludes himself into thinking he can control an Omega just because he’s marked her body, but not her heart?" The class erupted in laughter. Heeseung didn’t move a muscle. But his fingers, under the desk, clenched until they turned white.

Another time, while discussing leadership: "There’s a difference between commanding and knowing how to lead. Some Alphas think arrogance is charisma, when it’s actually just… weakness disguised." And there you looked at him. Straight in the eyes, with contempt.

That evening, however, something in him snapped. Heeseung knocked on your door. Once. Twice. Ten times. "Y/n!" Silence, he knocked harder. "Open up, damn it!" The door next to yours suddenly opened. His cousin, your best friend, popped out in pajamas, looking annoyed.

"What do you want, Heeseung?" she huffed. "Where is she?!" he growled. "Where the hell has she gone?!" She shrugged, leaning against the doorframe with feigned calm. "Maybe she doesn’t want to be found." "Don’t play games with me, ___!" He snapped at her, approaching menacingly. "Tell me right now where the hell she is!" But she didn’t back down. She looked him in the eyes and teased him with a sharp smile. "What’s wrong, does it bother you that now she gets to decide where and with whom she stays? That she’s ignoring you like a first-year girl who’s regretted it?" "Enough!" Heeseung growled. He grabbed her wrist, but without force. Only desperation. "You know her better than anyone. Where could she be?!" She lowered her gaze for a moment, sighed. Then, she looked him in the eyes. "If you know her at all... you’ll know where to find her." He stopped. His mind was in chaos. Three places. Three memories.

- "The classroom where we kissed for the first time..." A whisper. - "The waterfalls... no. Too far." And finally: - "The lake... beneath the university. On the edge of the forest." He said it in a half voice. His eyes full of panic.

"You’re crazy!" He shouted at his cousin. "You let her go there alone?! At this time?!" She pulled away from him with a sharp motion. She looked at him proudly. "She’s not just an Omega. She’s half Alpha, Hee. Like me. She knows what she’s doing." Then, with a cutting tone: "But you... do you even know what you want to do with her? Or do you just want her to come back to you to fill the emptiness you’ve created yourself?"

Heeseung ran down the castle stairs. But halfway down... he was no longer human. His bones cracked and rebuilt themselves, his clothes shredded to pieces, and his breath became sharper, deeper, wilder. The transformation was instinctive, necessary — his true Alpha nature broke free from all control. He sniffed. The evening wind immediately brought the scent. Your scent — a mix of Omega and Alpha, a fragrance that no one in the world had ever had, and within that aroma was his. Imprinted, mixed, fused. The knot was still inside you, still alive. Still his. The garden opened before him. His paws sank into the wet ground. He ran as fast as he could, between the hedges and the night flowers, sliding toward the lake like a shadow among the stars. When he neared the water... he howled. A desperate, raw, primal howl — a call. A lament. A cry of love and anger together. Where are you...? Then... he saw you. Sitting.

On that wrought-iron chair facing the lake. Still. Hair in the wind, face absent, the aura powerful — a creature born to exist between two worlds and hated by both. Heeseung ran. He jumped between the bushes, lowered his muzzle, felt the beat of your heart even from afar. When he was only a few steps away from you, your aura reacted. You turned. You looked at him and stood up abruptly to leave. No. Not this time. With a leap, he trapped you. He pushed you against the chair, with both gentleness and force, using his animal body to hold you in place. He sniffed you. Everywhere. Your neck, your wrists, your heart. Then he began to lick you. A warm, slow, adoring tongue. On your neck. Under your ear. Your jaw. Your cheek. Your chin. Every lick was a confession. A "I miss you," a "forgive me," a "you're mine," and your body… began to give in. "Heeseung…" you murmured. His name came from you like a stifled sob. He stopped. Pulled away. And in an instant, he was human again. Naked, trembling, vulnerable — his eyes… were not the same as before. A mix of deep brown and blood red. The animal soul and the human one merged within him. And all of it was directed at you. "Y/n…" he whispered. But before he could say anything else… "I hate you." The words came out like an open wound. They weren’t just anger. They were pain — a "you broke me." He stayed there, naked under the moon, silent. And for the first time… he didn’t know what to say. You spat out your anger. "You disgust me." "You're just a bastard." "You used my body for revenge, and now what? Do you want me to forgive you?!"

Each insult was a wound. But he didn’t stop. He bit your skin, with delicate animal-like tenderness. As if to say, "I’m here. Still. Even if you hate me." Then he changed. He slowly transformed. His paws became hands. His muzzle took the form of his face. His chest rose and fell in search of breath. But his eyes remained those of the Leader. The eyes of the Alpha who had marked you but also those of the boy who, maybe, had chosen you. "Stop…" he whispered. He held you tighter, pressing you against his bare chest. "Stop trying to be strong alone. Stop thinking that only you are suffering." You lifted your face, your eyes watery, full of rage. "And what do you know? You who plays at being the savior. You’re weak too, Heeseung." He closed his eyes, as if those words had hit him square in the chest, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he caressed your back, then your side. Slowly. As if he didn’t want to scare you, but to make you crumble. "I wanted to make you suffer… truly." Your voice trembled. "I thought about ending it. So you’d never be able to knot anyone. Not love. Not forget me." Silence. Only the lake. Only the heartbeat. Heeseung paled. His eyes widened. Then he screamed.

"Never say something like that again!" He grabbed you by the arms, and with slow movements, he took off your sweater. Every inch he uncovered, he kissed. He bit with gentle ferocity, not as punishment, but as a confession. A plea. A "forgive me" without words. His voice lowered, broken, angry. "You’re mine. But not because of possession. Because I feel you in every breath. In every dream. In every damn part of my being." And in the silence that followed, while his teeth left an imperceptible mark on your shoulder, you... stayed. His lips were everywhere on your neck, your chest, between your shoulder blades, along the fragile line of your soul. And his bites... Oh, his bites made you moan. Not only for the primal pleasure that set every nerve on fire, but for the dull pain you had been carrying inside for weeks. It was as if his body wanted to heal you. As if each lick, each kiss, each press of his tongue meant: "Stay. Breathe. Come back."

Your hands gripped his strong arms, the pulsing veins of his bare chest, illuminated only by the full moon. He looked like a vision, a nightmare and a dream fused together. "I can't take it anymore…" he whispered, his voice broken, labored. His fingers trembled slightly on your skin. "I want to feel your lips on mine again." You stopped him. You looked him in the eyes, those eyes so familiar yet so foreign. And you warned him. "You didn’t come to save me. You came to ease your conscience, Heeseung. You don’t want me… you want to forgive yourself." For a moment, even the wind stopped. His breath slowed, his body still wrapped in yours, but his soul laid bare. "I'm sorry…" he whispered. "I'm really sorry. I want to make up for everything…" And that’s when you screamed. With all the pain. With all the truth. "I want to forget! I want to forget all of this, Heeseung! I want it to never have happened! I want you to have never touched me! Never looked at me! Never chosen me!" He snapped. He grabbed your face in his hands, gently but roughly. His eyes, wet and furious, pierced through your soul. "NO, the most beautiful thing in my life… the only thing I don't want to forget… is you." He looked at you as if you were his entire universe. As if all the chaos that had built him had been created for this moment alone. "You were my ruin and my salvation. The only moment I felt peace was when I knotted you. When you fell asleep in my arms, naked, fragile… mine. Even when I pretended to be cold, distant, cruel with you… I wanted you. For years. It wasn't revenge, Y/n. It was desire. It was love I didn’t want to admit." And there, in the silence that followed, only the moon dared to watch you. Only the lake reflected your truth, and without thinking any longer, you crashed your lips onto his. It was like setting the night on fire.

Heeseung grunted against your mouth, a deep, animalistic, primal sound. His hands tightened around your waist as his tongue invaded your mouth with a hunger that seemed to have been held back for centuries. You clung to him, straddling his legs, feeling the warmth and strength vibrating from his body beneath you. You pulled him toward you, hard, as if you wanted to fuse together. You bit his lower lip with a sweet cruelty, and he admonished you with a low growl. But you, with your voice broken and venomous, degraded him with a cold whisper. "I hate you... and you know it well." But your hands spoke a different language, an ancient one, made of repressed desire and anger that burned hotter than love. Heeseung didn’t stop. He continued to kiss you, deeper, more desperately, while his fingers lifted your sweater. In a few seconds, you were left with only a thin tank top and your bra. His eyes, now red and filled with Alpha aura, scrutinized you like prey.

He also slid the tank top off you with a slow, almost ritual gesture, and when he saw your breasts covered only by fabric, something in him changed.

As if he was possessed.

His mouth fell on your chest, between bites and feverish kisses that made you moan, scratch him, pull his hair.

«You bastard... you are just my knot, nothing else.»

Yet your voice trembled, for every bite of it left you confused, every lick made you long again.

He sucked your breasts out of his bra with ardor, and you kept pulling his hair with your aura as a submissive omega, but also as a ruthless alpha. A fragile balance, perfect and then... click.

The hook of the bra gave way under his fingers.

Your breast leaped free in the crisp air of night. The nipples hardened instantly for the cold and her hungry look.

He panted, almost lost and you, with a filthy but sweet voice, whispered into his ear:

«Don’t pretend, Heeseung... you’ve always wanted me, right? Even when you said you hated me.» His hands trembled on your hips and he answered with a roaring voice:

«I wanted you... even before I knew you were mine.»

The forest was in a vibrant penumbra, only the moon filtered through the branches, drawing silvery shadows on the nody logs. The air was saturated with smells: musk, moist earth... and its scent. The spicy and pungent one of an Alpha in full call.

You didn’t have time to react.

He lifted you without warning.

«Ah!» you screamed, surprised, as your body was pushed against the trunk of a tree. His arms squeezed you with a fierce possession, as if that moment had been written in his flesh.

«Do you hear it?» he whispered against your ear, his voice crusty, broken by longing. «Your pussy is rubbing against my cock, and it’s looking for it even if you keep telling me that you hate me.»

«I... I can’t take it anymore!» you froze, trembling. «I hate you... I really do...»

But even as you were saying it, your pelvis moved imperceptibly against his, seeking that heat, that pressure.

He laughed, gloomy, deep, with a grin that was pure sin.

«No, darling. It’s not just your body that wants me. It’s every part of you. Even the one who lies to herself.»

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes lit up with an animalistic glow, and then - without further preambles - slowly slid her fingers under your skirt. The panties came down with a swift movement, and his fingers found at once the proof of your surrender.

«Already wet? So much?» he growled softly, as he stroked you with expert fingers. «I would have taken my time... Open you up, get ready, get yelled at while you were enjoying. But fuck... I can’t resist. I just want to sink into you, tie you and leave you full. Only mine.»

Your eyes were filled with confused tears: desire, anger, fear... and longing.

Your trembling hands, driven by a primitive instinct, pulled off his boxer shorts with ardor. His member was hard, imposing, pulsating with warmth. Your breath was cut off.

The wood seemed to hold your breath. Only your sighs broke the silence.

«Tell me,» he whispered against your neck. «Tell me you want me, even if you hate me. Tell me that your body belongs to me, even if it drives you crazy.»

«I hate you... but I fucking love you!» you shouted, your heart racing. «You drive me crazy, but my body... can’t stop.»

«Good little omega confused...» he muttered. And then howled, a primordial sound that shook the fronds above you.

In a single movement, it sank into you.

A moan will tear your lips, long, deep. The nails dug into his back as he began to move with force, with a wild but precise rhythm. Each shot was a message, a claim, a mark.

«I will keep you here,» he growled. «I will fertilize you, I will keep you tied up... until you learn that you can no longer run from me.»

The moon was the only witness of your bond. United bodies, broken breaths, souls entwined in a darkness that was more desire than shadow.

His impulses were bestial, ferocious, as if he was trying to erase every space within you that did not belong to him.

Each stroke of his cock made you scream, and your screams were mixed between extreme pleasure and uncontrollable tears. You cried, yes, but it was not pain - it was too intense, it was a pleasure so deep that everything shook. You felt split in two and at the same time more alive than ever.

«I hate you!» you shouted at them, with a broken voice, your face wet with tears and sweat. «You’re a bastard!»

He growled softly, squeezing you with a force that made you groan.

«And you are a little half omega and half alpha in heat, mine... always mine. Even when you insult me, your body calls me.»

Your words were full of poison and need, each offense a crooked, animalistic cry of love, which smelled something deeper. He bit your neck, strong, leaving the mark, and then sucked you slowly, mixing violence and tenderness as only an Alpha knows how to do with his mate.

Every push made you jump, your body stretched and broke under him, but you looked for it, you wanted it. His name exploded between your lips as a wave of heat swept you away, that primordial feeling that made you groan like never before.

«Keep on...» you whisper with a broken voice, almost praying. «Please tie me up. Make me yours for real.»

He grunted against your ear, going deeper.

«I want you tied to me. Tight. Filled. Possessed.»

You felt his knot begin to swell inside of you, slow, insistent, and the scream that came up from your throat was no longer contained. Your body bent to his, accepting everything, every pulsation, every wave of pleasure that spread like fire in the veins.

«Yes... yes, so... I want your knot, I want to feel full...» you sigh.

He stopped only when it was completely knotted within you, your tight bodies, fused into an indissoluble bond. His hands caressed you now with sweetness, the breathless breath mixed to yours but the pushes became stronger and deeper, as if he wanted to cross every border of your body and engrave his name inside you. He held you firmly, completely in his power, while the knot kept swelling inside you, and your belly began to stretch, full... full of him.

«Look how my knot is swelling...» he growled against your neck. «Your body accepts everything, wants it, begs for it.»

The words struck you like a hot and violent wave. You babbled between sobs and cut breath.

«It’s too... too deep inside... you’re... you’re filling me up... I can’t think...»

«You must not think,» he replied. «You must only hear.»

And it sank again. Deeper, stronger.

He lifted you with a single gesture, as if you were light as air, bouncing you against his chest. The friction was unbearable, sweet and fierce at the same time. And then... his finger found your most sensitive spot. A pinch, a precise touch, and the world exploded.

A scream escaped from your lips, your body trembled in a wave of uncontrollable pleasure, while the knot felt it pulsating more and more inside you, while your orgasm passed through you like lightning, hot and blinding.

«Good girl, come for me, all over me...» he murmured with a broken voice, adoring you.

You felt your excitement slide down, cover it, drip on your joined bodies. And he did not stop.

«I want you tied, filled. I will bind you again, mark you with my seed, leave you full of me, so much that every breath of yours knows of me.»

With a deep growl, you felt his movements become even slower, more powerful. And then... the heat

A liquid explosion inside you, very long, unstoppable, while the knot pulsed with violence, pushing that pleasure even deeper. You screamed, again, as you felt it fill you completely, so much that you lost the sense of time.

And for a long moment, the world stood still. Only the moon looked at you. Two wild souls, broken, chained by desire and something that neither of them had ever dared to call his real name.

Then, with studious slowness, he made you come down from his arms. Your legs shook as soon as they touched the ground but her touch didn’t leave you for a second.

His hands were fast and strong, they turned you with force and pushed you slightly forward, bent in front of him, the back arched. His gaze burned on exposed skin.

«Get your beautiful ass up,» he ordered in a roaring voice. «I’m not done with you yet.»

You were anxious. «It’s too much...» you protested with a little voice, but didn’t move.

He approached, fingers running down the curve of your hips. «You played the rebel for too long, my companion. Now you learn. You are mine. And I... am yours. That’s how the bond works.»

You sighed, but your legs did not move. His hands caressed the stretched skin, then slipped between your thighs and stopped.

«Look how beautiful you are...» she murmured. «Shine. Swell up. And you’re still leaking my seed.»

Closed your eyes, your breath broken. Yoy did not make in time to reply.

With a single leap, he was again inside you. A cry escaped from your lips, wild, uncontrollable. The pleasure hit you like a slap. The feeling of fullness, after the knot, was even more violent. Each movement was an electric shock, a liquid fire that went through your entire belly.

«Do you hear it?» he growled, sinking with ever greater force. «You take it so well, my little one. Half omega, half alpha... yet your body knows exactly who it belongs to.»

You were stuttering, unable to find sensible words. The sentences broke on your lips, between sobs and groans.

«It’s... too much... inside... too hot...»

He grabbed your hips with force. «And it will be even more. Because I want you completely. With another knot, another mark. I want you to not even walk without feeling me inside of you.»

Each push was deeper than the previous, as the words died out in your throat. Your body trembled, bending to the rhythm. And when you felt the pressure grow again, that second knot that swelled slowly, groaned his name in a broken voice, as if he were praying.

He praised you in a low voice, with words full of desire.

«So good... so mine. My perfect companion. And now you come again. I want to hear you hug me as I fill you up again.»

A few pushes were enough. Your body became stiff, then it was shaken by a violent, uncontrollable pleasure. A scream burst from your lips as she felt it everywhere - inside, around, in every fiber. And when he exploded inside you, you felt it all: the warmth, the depth, the strength. His seed filled you again, warm, abundant, and you groaned again, letting go completely.

The bodies remained united, once again merged under the full moon. There were no more words. Only breath. Only beats. Only them.

That morning, you woke up wrapped in a strange kind of warmth.

It wasn’t just the blankets—it was something deeper, more visceral… a heat pulsing beneath your skin, between your ribs, and in your thoughts.

The air carried a scent you knew all too well by now: wild mint and tobacco—the scent of his skin, his presence.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was his red hair—messy and soft—resting against your neck like a silent promise.

You were wearing one of his oversized shirts, hanging down to mid-thigh, and his arms were wrapped around you with a quiet, natural possessiveness—as if he had never known a world where you weren’t his.

You moved gently, trying to slip away without waking him, but his voice reached you in a low, sleepy murmur.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Your heart skipped in your chest.

You blushed, inevitably, at the memory of the night before—the moon, the moans, the knot, your bodies tangled in the woods like creatures born to vanish into the wild.

“I just… wanted to get up,” you mumbled, but the words faded as you watched him slowly sit up.

He looked at you seriously, but with a soft light in his eyes.

“Do you feel okay?” he asked, one hand brushing over your side.

You shook your head slightly. “No… just a bit… full, maybe.”

He laughed quietly, almost amused, but his gaze fell immediately to one of the marks he’d left on your neck—a deep, dark bite, still faintly sore.

He touched it gently, a caress that clashed with the roughness of the mark.

You gave him a mock scolding look, more amused than anything.

“You told me you’d only mark me like that after we got married.”

He shrugged, carefree.

“To me, you’re already mine. No ceremony. No fuss.”

“So this is your romantic way of telling me you love me?” you teased, a smile playing on your lips.

He stared at you for a moment, then tilted his head slightly.

“I’ve already told you I love you. The thing is—you haven’t said it back yet.”

His words hung in the air like a sweet blade.

They stole your breath for a moment.

You chuckled, shyly, but he didn’t smile.

He looked at you with that disarming seriousness, his heart written plainly in his eyes.

“Hey… I’m really sorry. For everything you’ve had to go through these past few weeks… and for these 22 years of your life,” he murmured.

And before you could answer, his lips were everywhere—your neck, your shoulders, your cheeks, your forehead.

He kissed you like he wanted to erase every doubt, every hesitation, every unspoken word.

And only then, between one kiss and the next, in the softest voice—like a confession you could no longer keep—you said it.

“I love you too.”

The world seemed to stop.

He froze for just a second—long enough to look into your eyes.

And the smile that bloomed on his lips was so real, so raw, it made you forget everything else.

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 4 months ago

Text

Off The Beaten Path.

Part One

Summary: Nivea Douglas takes Terry Richmond into her home after he saves her. Terry doesn’t want to be a burden, but Nivea insists.

Author’s Note: back with another story for Terry! This one will be short chapters. It’s just easier to write. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Obession, Smut, Primal Kink.

Silently, he prowled through the forest, crushing grass and twigs alike beneath his unsteady stride. His unseeing eyes flicked across the trees that passed in a blurry mix of greens and browns, searching mindlessly for his next victim.

He was only sixteen.

The evening sun had already started to set, casting the quiet forest in a haze of blood red hues. The forest was dead silent. His heavy steps were enough warning to send its usual inhabitants scurrying away to their hiding places. Even birds dared not to frequent the sky above his path, well aware of what consequences would await them. Instead, the forest remained hushed, as if every living thing was watching with bated breath as he trudged a path through the rich amber oak trees that shifted lightly in the crisp evening breeze.

He welcomed the numbing sensation in his sore, aching limbs when the crisp, winter air had grown colder and stronger.

Though he refused to look, he knew that bruises already painted the majority of his wretched flesh. Most of the pain had faded to haunting memories, however, his most recent mark still burned. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he continued on his path. One leg moved after the other in a steady rhythm. What little control he had left was slowly removed as the curse flowed through his bloodstream, igniting the beast.

There was nothing he could do now but watch the creature inside of him surface, taking full control to do it’s bidding.

Suddenly, he heard something.

A light, airy laugh rang out throughout the clearing. It was a jarring sound, bright, beautiful, and full of life, unlike anything he’d ever heard. Momentarily, he could feel himself surface, gaining control to savor the enchanting sound. However, the moment came and passed in a breath and the beast came forward, regaining control of his body and forcing him back to become a prisoner in his mind once more…

———

Present Day:

Nivea could almost taste victory as she sprinted along a winding dirt path towards the finish line. Her bohemian locs swept up into a ponytail oscillated across her upper back and the forest green GymShark matching set she wore felt more compressed from the amount of sweat that seeped from her pores. Heart pounding, ragged breaths unheard because of her AirPods, Nivea charged ahead, ignoring the burning in her glutes and thighs.

Beyoncé– America Has A Problem pounded her eardrums pleasantly. Her pink and green HOKA running shoes cushioned her size eight feet from the gravel and twigs. Running along Moon Seed Loop was an early morning ritual for Nivea. She’d been doing it faithfully since moving into her new Victorian style home with a wrap around porch.

Acadiana Park is a jewel in Upper Lafayette. It’s a beautiful place to wander with your kids, family and friends. An afternoon along the trails is more than just exciting—it’s an easy way to work in some exercise and learn a thing or two about the Park’s rich, natural landscape. Expect to see countless varieties of trees, fish and birds along the trails and beautiful waterways.

Nivea was hired as the sole Veterinarian for a pet clinic not too far from her home after moving to Louisiana from Phoenix, Arizona. She started out at The University of Arizona and after graduating she moved to the UK to study abroad and later received her doctorate. It granted her opportunities to spend time in Australia, South Africa, The Caribbean, and New Zealand. She’s in her early forties now, never been married, dated here and there, only having one long term relationship with a guy she knew from high school.

To be daring is to be bold, adventurous, and a little nervy. It’s a quality possessed by people who tend to take risks. Nivea had an audacious approach to life. Leaping off cliffs, skydiving, mountain climbing, swimming with sharks, even the little things like getting a tattoo or racing a motorcycle and even crowd surfing. Reckless and venturesome. Athletic and beautiful. She’d gotten those qualities from her late father. He was a veteran haunted by memories of the war.

Her mother, a free–spirited woman born in Trinidad and raised in New York, took a chance and moved to Phoenix where she’d met Nivea’s father who at the time still served in The Military. Nivea didn’t stay in one place for too long, a military brat who embraced a new scenery. Like her mother, Nivea didn’t have a problem with change. She embraced it.

Just like she embraced the burning in her lungs and the way her muscles ached. At the end of her run, Nivea slowed down and began smiling in victory. She placed her hands on her hips to catch her breath before pausing her music. Cracking her neck, Nivea perched her back against an old oak tree to settle her nerves before making the trip back to her car.

She licked her full, bottom lip, tasting the saltiness of her sweat. The sheen along her honeyed-skin gave her a glow similar to gold. The sun's rays tickled her melanin skin as she pushed her toned legs to the end of the forest and toward her parked vehicle. She dusted her edges with her fingers, reminding herself that she was in need of a hair appointment since it had been some months since her last one.

Her Toyota 4Runner in a desert sand color came to life with a click of a button on her key fob. Beyoncé’s mezzo–soprano voice could be heard from the speakers since her Bluetooth had connected. Nivea removed her fanny pack and opened her driver’s side door, flinging it in the passenger seat before taking a generous swig of water from her navy–blue Yeti cup. Keys in the ignition, Nivea didn’t waste time driving off, leaving her tire tracks and dirt dust behind.

_________

Sitting in his pitch black Dually, a sudden early fall rain showering it, his iridescent eyes were unwavering and intense beyond the boldness of his thick lashes as he watched his new obsession sprint through the forest. Like clockwork every morning, he waited to see her, an overwhelming sensation growing within his chest cavity so strong. Large, calloused hands grip his steering wheel firmly and his nostrils flare.

The first time he saw her, his heart fell. The second time he saw her, his heart fell. The third time, fourth time, fifth time, and every time since, his heart had fallen. He stared at her, and each time a sudden, overwhelming, and involuntary feeling of deep connection and devotion would consume him. It was immediate and intense. She’d thrown a wrench into his routine. Couturie Forest was one of the few areas he could escape and not feel as if he’d run into trouble.

She is the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her hair, her eyes, her lips, her body that she worked so hard on, the way she walked, the way she smiled and laughed and the way her cheeks dropped when she’s mad or upset. The way she dragged her feet when she was tired after a long shift. Every single thing about her is beautiful.

He stared at her, tracking her with his eyes, taking in every detail even from the distance between them. When he sees her the world stops. It stops and all that exists for him is her and his eyes staring at her. There’s nothing else. No noise, no other people, no thoughts or worries, no yesterday, no tomorrow. The world just stops and it is a beautiful place and there is only her. Just her, and his eyes never leaving her.

He stared. He traced with his eyes that flicker between a kaleidoscope of colors, sparkling with longing and his stomach tightening because of the powerful, almost gravitational pull that feels inescapable. She’d trapped him and he hadn’t even smelled her yet. Licked her. Traced his fingers along her skin. Filled her.

When she’s gone, the world starts again, and he doesn't like it as much. He can live in it, but he doesn't like it. He’d just walk around in it and wait to see her again and wait for it to stop again. He loved when it stopped. It’s the best fucking thing he’d ever known or ever felt, the best thing, and that, beautiful woman is why he can’t ever just leave.

A part of him wished he knew how to quit her. The strong sense of loyalty and dedication to her made it nearly impossible. Quite frankly, it is impossible. Once it happens…it happens. This wasn’t fate. Fated mates are predetermined or destined partners. No…this was sudden. Sparked immediately. An unbreakable connection that awakened his protective instincts. It was so instantaneous. He’s far from that. He needed to be in control at all times.

Turning the key in the ignition, his truck rumbled to life and suddenly his tires began to move him beyond the damp soil and onto the roadway. Jaw clenched, the sun began to peek out, his eyes appearing to have golden flecks in a sea of green. He tapped the brake pedal with his boot–covered foot until her 4Runner came into view. As soon as it came into view, his heart fell again. He waited and then he was off, trailing behind her.

The ride lasted twenty minutes and he found himself staring at her beautiful body swaying up the steps and toward her front door. He stroked his bottom lip with his thumb, staring at the home. He couldn’t get too close because she had surveillance. It wouldn’t look good showing up uninvited. He had to settle for watching her. Hoping that he would introduce himself to her. It’s been a long two weeks.

_________

Nivea took off her shoes within the foyer of her home. Her Great Dane with its square jaw and imposing size galloped up to her and stood on its hind legs to greet her. Nivea giggled at her dog, rubbing it before walking away. Before taking a much needed shower, Nivea made a quick stop into her uniquely decorated kitchen with its vintage appliances and greenery. She opened her Big Chill Retro Fridge in a canary-yellow color and grabbed a pitcher of filtered water.

Nivea proceeded to pour the water into a tea kettle on the front left burner of her 1950’s vintage oven. Flames ignited the pot and Nivea took that time to prepare her ceramic mug with some organic lavender tea. She scooped some tea herbs from a mason jar into the mug and retrieved her tea spoon. Coco, Nivea’s large yet gentile dog, followed her towards the kitchen table, earning a few scratches behind her ears.

Staring out of the large window overlooking her garden, Nivea thought about her date that evening. She’d agreed to go to dinner with a man named Ian who’s German shepherd she’d taken care of. Nivea was wary about Ian for a while, because he’s recently divorced. The man was persistent in asking her out, even when his legal troubles were ongoing. That charming smile and carob skin distracted her and she couldn’t help but smile whenever he’d come in with his dog. Ian with his salt and pepper locs, well–muscled frame, and charisma.

The whistle of the kettle had Nivea standing from her seat. She turned off the stove top and poured the water into her mug. Nivea allowed it to steep for five minutes before taking a small sip of the hot tea, shutting her eyes as the immediate calming and therapeutic effects wash over her. With her tea, Nivea left her kitchen and made her way up the stairs to her bedroom. On the second floor landing, she paused to sip her tea again.

What was she going to wear? A dress? Jeans and a cute blouse? Heels? Flats? The sound of the shower beyond the master bathroom filled her spacious bedroom as she combed through racks of clothes within her narrow walk–in closet. Multiple dresses were left discarded as she tossed them to the side. She still had hours to go before her date, but the thought of entering the dating scene again sparked her anxiety tremendously.

While nervousness is expected when meeting a new person, dating anxiety is more intense and long lasting. Nivea’s long term relationship caused her emotional and physical pain. Her ex fiance had been controlling and manipulative for years, one of the reasons why she’d left Arizona behind. While he moved on as if nothing happened, Nivea lived in fear of meeting someone new.

Nivea settled on a ruffled halter mini dress in red with a black moto jacket and distressed black heeled boots. She pinned her locs up and undressed herself, tossing her dirty athletic attire into her bin. She entered her bathroom and stepped into the shower. Nivea took her time cleansing, exfoliating, and moisturizing. Back in her room, she slipped on a thin, graphic T-shirt and loose sleep shorts with fuzzy socks. Locs in a messy bun, Nivea left her room with her mug in hand to enter her office for a bit of light reading.

Entering her office, she opened her window to allow a breeze in. The smell of rain and grass filled her nose as she curled up on her reading chair. Opening her smut book to where she left off, Nivea pursed her full lips to fight the urge to smile. She couldn’t wait to finish where she’d left off. Meanwhile, the black truck out front hadn’t made an effort to leave.

___________

“Table for two, please.”

The cool evening air transitioned into toasty coziness as they entered a semi–crowded Steak House. Pleasant, savory smells and the clatter of utensils against plates teased their senses. Nivea clung onto Ian’s bicep as her eyes swept over the restaurant in anticipation. The hostess, a pleasant Asian girl with long, shiny black hair and a pointy face, gathered two menus before leading them away from the booth and towards a table shrouded in a low ambiance.

“Thank you…”

Ian worked to pull out Nivea’s chair. She smiled at him with her ruby-red lips. Ian pushed her in closer before taking his place across from her. They locked eyes for a brief moment before staring down at the menus before them.

“I know I’ve said it before, but…you look beautiful.”

Nivea smiled, “Thank you, Ian. You look very handsome.”

Ian wore a black Lacoste polo shirt and khaki pants with black dress shoes. He had a fresh retwist, locs falling over his broad shoulders.

“Did you work today?” Ian asked.

Their waiter made his way over, a tall, white male with sandy brown hair and dark blue eyes that reminded Nivea of the Pacific Ocean. His name is Ben. Ben filled their water glasses and vowed to return shortly to take their orders.

“I had an off day. Went for my morning run in the forest and spent the remaining day inside. Something I cherish when I can since my schedule is full most of the time. You?”

“Detective work never dies. Working this case that’s taking a toll on me…”

Ian released a stressful sigh.

“…do you want to talk about it?” Nivea questioned cautiously.

“Nah. I don’t want to unsettle what’s supposed to be a romantic evening,” Ian smiled faintly, “Tell me a little more about you, Nivea. What does a Veterinarian do for fun?”

Nivea chuckled, “I make the most of life. I love to travel, I’m an adrenaline junkie…yes, yes. While I do love a good time, I have my moments where being alone with my Coco is enough. Reading, meditating, gardening…I do a little bit of everything.”

“Kickboxing? Let’s not forget that.” Ian mentioned with a smirk.

“Oh yeah, how can I overlook that,” Nivea replied sarcastically, “Didn’t mean to startle you with my high kick.”

“That leg is lethal,” Ian laughs, “I mean, seriously. We could use you on our team.”

Nivea giggled behind her hand, “How would I be of use to you? What would a kick do to take down an armed killer?”

“You’d be surprised.” Ian quipped.

“Sure,” Nivea’s dimpled smile increased, “Tell me about the case.”

“Eager, are you?”

“Let’s just say…I’m a true crime lover. It fascinates me.”

Ben made his way back over. Ian ordered a bottle of red wine and oysters.

“This case isn’t for the faint hearted, Nivea.”

“My heart isn’t a home for cowardice,” Nivea replied.

Ian looked upon her with a deep stare that seemed intrigued and surprised by her words. Nivea simply smiled, one brow arched.

“Okay. I’m sure you’ve heard about the missing hikers from Monroe?”

“I have. The two couples…”

“Yeah…well…they’ve been found. And…all four are dead. Bodies mutilated and buried beneath a slashed tent on Palmetto Island Campground.”

“Goodness…mutilated?”

“Disfigured. Large slash marks and bludgeoned.”

“You don’t think an animal had something to do with it?”

Ian shook his head, “We’ve looked into that. There’s no way. Their wallets and other personal belongings are missing as well. Someone did this. No eye witnesses.”

“Jesus,” Nivea accepted her filled glass of wine from Ben, “Any signs of a struggle? Defensive wounds?”

“Yes. You could tell they tried to escape. Two bodies were found away from the campsite. They received the worst possible attacks.”

“Scary…”

Ian nodded his head in agreement, “Shaken up?”

Nivea glanced over at him with a tiny hint of a smile, “A little. Maybe I should be careful running alone in the forest while a killer is at large in Lafayette.”

“Maybe you should run on a treadmill for a while instead.”

Nivea giggled.

“I’m serious, Nivea.” Ian said.

“I’ll be fine, Ian. I run along the Moon Seed Loop trail.”

“What difference does it make? You’d be better off in a gym.”

Nivea shifted in her seat. Ian sensed her unease.

“Sorry. I just…I want you to be safe.”

“I appreciate it. Really. I know it’s in your nature to worry. But I’ll be fine.”

Ian took a sip of his wine. Their oysters arrived and Nivea ordered red snapper.

“Fish at a steakhouse?” Ian teases.

“I’m pescatarian.”

“Oh–I didn’t know—”

“It’s okay. I used to love red meat at one point. That was ten years ago.”

“Next time, I’ll take you to my favorite seafood place.” Ian vowed.

Nivea smirked beautifully, “Next time?”

“Absolutely. I’m going to do whatever it takes to win your heart.” Ian confessed.

“Woah there, tiger,” Nivea said, “Still have to get through date number one.”

“I have a lot of work to do then.”

“Damn right,” Nivea replied.

“It’s worth it. You’re worth the trouble.” Ian said.

“Good trouble.” Nivea replied with a tilt of her glass.

They shared a look. One filled with excitement and anticipation.

“Why Lafayette? Phoenix is a great city.” Ian asked.

“Got tired of the desert.”

Ian laughs, “Seriously. Why the sudden change?”

Nivea shrugged a single shoulder, “I wanted a fresh start. My love life was at its end. They offered me a hefty salary here. I’ve always loved Louisiana. Didn’t see why not.”

“Ex boyfriend?”

“Ex fiancée,” Nivea dramatically enunciated.

“Oh? You were engaged?”

“To a narcissist. One of which scarred me for life. One I kept going back to even after he’d proven to me time and time again I meant nothing to him.”

Nivea drank some of her wine to conceal the tightness in her throat. So long ago yet so fresh.

“I’m sorry, Nivea. I know what it’s like.”

Nivea cleared her throat, “Your ex wife?”

“Shannon. We built a life together. Had two children. She had an affair with her personal trainer. Threw away almost twenty years of marriage.”

Nivea didn’t know what to say. She’d been cheated on in the past, but in the same breath, she’d done the cheating herself. New dick to numb the pain. That ‘we shouldn’t be doing this’ rump. She could recall how good it had felt to have another man make her cum on his dick and take his cum down her throat. Going back home to her ex fiance with the stench of another man on her.

“The divorce was amicable I guess?” Nivea asked after a long, awkward pause.

“It was. However, it left its mark on the kids. My daughter is taking it the hardest.”

“She’ll come around I’m sure.”

“I hope.” Ian responded in a solemn tone.

Nivea perked up, grabbed her glass of wine, and raised it.

“Let’s toast to new beginnings.”

Ian lifted his glass high and both of them clinked them. Ian watched Nivea down her wine in one sip. He chuckled into his glass.

“More?”

“Hell yeahhh! Whoops—”

Embarrassed by her outburst, Nivea giggled into her hands. Ian simply laughed.

“Sorry, I’m a bit of a wine–o.”

“No worries. I love when you let that side of you show.”

Nivea’s tawny–brown skin tinted beneath his gaze as she fought the urge to smile.

________

A Week Later:

Sitting in anticipation of seeing her again left him feeling anxious. It’s been too long since she’d entered his life without any real connection. He’d heard her voice through a window and as she was leaving work, but he hadn’t smelled her. Touched her. All of which he longed for. He occupied his usual parked spot hidden from view, dressed in a black T-shirt and Wrangler Jeans. One elbow propped up against the open window of his truck while his other hand gripped the steering wheel.

Checking the time, he should have expected to see her pass beyond the trees. However, an uneasiness settled in the pit of his stomach. She’d never missed a trail run. It was a part of her meticulous routine. Had she overslept? Did she decide to skip a run? Why would she alter her routine? Frustration and worry coursed through his body as he contemplated leaving his truck behind to search for her.

He kept a distance because he knew what it looked like stalking her. She’d be afraid, call the police, and he couldn’t have that. Not when he needed her so badly. Stroking his bottom lip with his thumb, his ever–changing eyes moved about, hoping to spot her. Minutes stretched on and so did his patience. His mind drifted to the worst possible scenario. One he was all too familiar with. Begrudgingly, he opened the door to his truck and climbed out. His heart hammered away behind his mended ribs as he walked along the gravel leading into the trees.

He made his way onto a trail, pausing his steps. Eyes searching from one end of the forest trail to the other, he allowed his sensitive sense of smell to pick up her scent. His keen eyes paid close attention to any disturbance in the forest before him. Trampled vegetation. Disturbed soil. As these can leave behind unique scent profiles.

He was far away from his truck now, the smell of lemon peel, oak moss, and mint burned his nose. A metallic smell made his muscles tighten and his tongue tingle. He picked up into a run, trailing off the beaten path, away from what her usual route would be. As he ventured into the wilderness, the metallic–like scent grew stronger, enough to make him lose sight of his destination. His footsteps paused a few feet away from a man-made ditch, and as his eyes peered into it, there, he’d found his latest obsession.

She was unconscious, filthy, and bleeding from a laceration on her head. He frantically jumped down into the ditch and scooped her into his arms. His nose crinkled as the smell of blood seeped in. He pressed two fingers against her neck, faintly making out a pulse. She’s alive. Relief washed over him. Standing, he cradled her limp body in his arms. He hoisted her up and onto the ground carefully before hopping out of the deep darkness of the ditch.

He couldn’t leave her there, she needed to go to the hospital immediately. As he made his way over to her, he caught a whiff of something unfamiliar. Something unwelcome. His eyes searched around him, fists tightly clenched. The trees lashed and crashed against each other like drumsticks in the hands of a giant. It was eerily quiet. He could sense something watching. A painful groan from her captured his ears and he immediately focused all of his attention on her.

She stirred on the ground, face frowned and her eyes moving beneath her closed lids. Terry held his breath as he crouched down to look at her. He placed one hand beneath her head for protection, his eyes staring down into her beautiful face. When she opened them slightly, his lips parted to speak.

Her soft locs in his calloused hands he adored. Her tawny skin was a work of art with her arms covered in tattoos. Lips plump and soft. She’s a goddess. Pools of brown peered up at his face with difficulty. She furrowed her brows, trying to make out who this stranger was as the sun above made him less distinguishable. She parted her lips to utter a few words, but it required energy she didn’t currently possess.

“It’s okay…you’re safe now. I’m gonna take you to the ER.” He spoke softly as her consciousness began to fade again, “Just hang in there…I got you.”

Her head lulled as he picked her up. Quickly and carefully, he made his way back to his truck. Once there, he flung his back door open and placed her on her side with her head reclined on a wrinkled flannel shirt of his. He slammed the door shut and rushed to the driver’s seat. Truck rolled to life and he took off with a quick burst of speed so fast he almost collided with a tree.

The nearest emergency room wasn’t too far of a drive. What would have been twenty minutes on back roads took him ten minutes or less on the I–10. As he drove, weaving his way through traffic, he would look back to check on her, making sure she was okay and not bleeding out. As his truck screeched to a stop in the visitor parking lot of the emergency room at Ochsner Lafayette General Medical Center, He quickly left his car to grab her.

Bystanders watched as he carried her through the automatic doors. Medical staff rushed over, surprising him with how diligent they were with getting her to a room. His heart thumped as he watched them place her on a gurney and secure the safety rails. Sweat doused his body from head to toe. The adrenaline was running through his body. He could make out someone trying to speak to him, but his eyes were glued to her distant figure as she traveled down the EMS corridor and towards the resuscitation area.

“Excuse me, Sir?!”

A woman in teal green scrubs shouted for his attention from the reception area. He allowed his eyes to sweep over her and then the reality of where he was and what he needed to do hit him. He took long strides towards the desk, bracing himself there as he tried to calm his nerves.

“Can you tell us what happened? Who it is you brought in and what’s your name and relationship to the patient?”

Another woman with ceil–blue scrubs and a scrub jacket with little faces of children printed on it sat typing away at a registration computer.

“Uh, yes…I’m not sure what her name is. I…I found her…”

His eyes glanced around him warily.

“Found her where, sir?”

“Unconscious. In a ditch. She’d fallen in.”

The two women shared a glance with each other, one that told him they weren’t very trusting of him.

“Where was this?—”

“Moon Seed Loop.” He replied abruptly with a deep voice.

“The trail?”

“Yes,” he stroked a large hand down the front of his hair, “I don’t know her. I just saw her laying there and rushed to bring her in.”

The woman asking questions seemed to relax after those words but still kept an eye on him.

“Did you try performing CPR?”

“No. She’d woken up at some point before going back out.”

“Okay, and what’s your name to put on file?”

“Terry Richmond.”

“Contact? Unless you wish to stick around.”

“I’ll stick around.”

Terry peered into the waiting area, not too thrilled with sitting amongst a bunch of people. But he refused to leave without making sure she was okay.

“Alright. We’ll keep you posted.”

“Thank you.”

Hands in his pockets, he made his way towards the waiting area filled with sick patients.

__________

Plain walls.

The beeping of a monitor.

Fluorescent lighting.

A whiteboard listing her information.

The name of the nurse taking care of her and the physician.

Metal side rails caging her in.

Stark white linens and pillows beneath her head while she lay in Fowler's position.

A hep–lock was placed in her arm and connected to an IV secured with tegaderm. She’s still wearing the GymShark pale blue set but it was covered in dirt stains. Her head pounded from an intense migraine as she tried turning her head.

The pulse–ox on her finger beeped as she moved. Suddenly her curtain had been pulled back and an older white woman with ginger hair and a freckled face appeared. She wore navy blue scrubs with a name badge that read Leslie.

“Hello, Miss. Douglas. I’m nurse Leslie. Glad to see you awake.”

Nurse Leslie sauntered over to check her vitals. Nivea touched the back of her head over a tender spot and felt staples.

“A pretty gnarly lac ya’ had there. Thank goodness the young man that brought ya’ in found ya’.”

Slightly disoriented, Nivea sat up completely in her hospital bed, “Young man?”

“Yes ma’am. Now, can you confirm some things with me, Miss Douglas? Dr. Laphaun would like for me to give you some Tylenol. Just tell me your name and date of birth please.”

She groaned In discomfort, “Nivea Douglas. March twenty first. Nineteen eighty two.”

“Thank you. Here’s your Tylenol and some water…”

Nivea accepted the medicine and washed it down with the water. Her mouth was so dry from dehydration.

“Fluids are nearly done.”

“Leslie,” Nivea placed her cup down and reclined back, “is the young man a detective?”

“I don’t think so. Doesn’t look it. Looks more like a handy man. Tall, muscles, pretty eyes…ring a bell?”

“No—where did he find me? I was out for my morning run and—”

It was cold. She felt her pulse accelerate as her sneaker–clad feet imprinted the dry grounds of Mount Seed Loop. The air thickened around her as she ran faster. Paramore kept her going as she mouthed the words Hayley Williams sang. As she crossed a bridge, an intense wind picked up, causing her to sway slightly. Nivea slowed to a stop, bracing herself along the bridge. Her dark brown eyes focused ahead, and there, staring her in the eyes, was a wolf. Its piercing amber eyes didn’t waver. Nivea took two steps back, and the wolf took two steps forward. A low growl sounded from its muzzle and all sense of animal awareness left her body and was replaced with a fight or flight response.

Nivea ran, leaving the trail and entering beyond the trees. It was behind her, darting between the trees after her to attack. She didn’t know where she was going or why she thought running into the forest was a good idea, but soon, the wolf stopped chasing her, possibly finding something else more interesting. Nivea tried to stop running, but she tripped over an uproot and fell into what appeared to be a perfectly concealed ditch. Nivea gasped, too startled to comprehend what was happening. Her head collided with a sharp stone and her world went black…

“Almost ready for discharge, Miss Douglas. Dr. Laphaun will be in again to check on you before we release you. I’m assuming the young man waiting is your ride home? If not, we can call you an Uber.”

Bemused, Nivea tried to recall if she could remember the man that saved her from an almost fatal accident. Visions of a figure looking down at her flashed across her eyes, and words she couldn’t discern before.

“It’s okay…you’re safe now…”

A man’s voice. A voice of resonant quality. Gruff and husky.

“Can I see this man?”

“Sure! I’ll go grab him for you…”

Nurse Leslie exited the room and Nivea watched her turn down a hall. The distant sound of voices and a ringing phone could be heard. Nivea didn’t know what to expect when that curtain opened. But whoever this man is, she’s forever grateful for his kindness.

A knock to the frame separating her room from the outside startled her.

“Miss. Douglas. It’s Dr. Laphaun. May I come in?”

“Yes,” Nivea sat up, “You can come in.”

The curtain opened to reveal a white male with a bald head and tired eyes. He approached her left side.

“Just doing one final check. Your vitals are stable. Let’s take a look at your head again…excellent. So, I see you’re a veterinarian! How exciting.”

“Yeah,” Nivea gave him a small smile, “Neurological exam good? MRI results?”

“All good. You’re a lucky woman. As I’m sure you know, rest is a crucial part of concussion recovery. Once your symptoms improve, a gradual return to normal activities is recommended. I suggest taking at least a week off from exercise. Maybe your practice as well to be sure.”

“I have a lot of appointments this week, Dr. Laphaun—”

“All that I’m sure can be postponed, Dr. Douglas. The dogs and cats would be grateful to have a competent provider taking care of them.”

“Okay,” Nivea replied with a sigh, “Tylenol, elevate the head, cold compresses if swelling occurs…anything worsens I’ll be back.”

“All the above.” Dr. Laphaun said.

Another knock brought Nivea’s attention to the curtain. A nervous tickle in her stomach.

“Looks like your knight in faded jeans arrived!” Dr. Laphaun jokes.

The curtain opened to reveal a man standing at 6’3 with a body mass index that took up most of the entryway. His eyes are indeed pretty. Hypnotizing. An array of colors that seemed to change whenever the light hit. Sculpted jawline, generous lips, tattoo–covered arms, skin a toasted brown from the intense sun of Louisiana. His black T-shirt stretched over what had to be a well–sculpted torso and the faded jeans Dr. Laphaun was referring to fitting his lower half snug in all the right places. He had a rugged look to him with dark, almost black hair that stood out boldly. Thick, dark lashes and brows with hair that Nivea could tell grew out of control if he didn’t keep it cut low.

Nurse Leslie worked to remove Nivea’s hep–lock. Dr. Laphaun made his exit after shaking the Adonis’s hand. Nurse Leslie informed Nivea where her things were and asked if she needed help out of bed and into a wheelchair.

“I’ll be back with a chair.”

Nurse Leslie left the two of them alone. Nivea locked eyes with the man who was staring back at her unblinking. She broke her eyes away as she tried to swing her legs over the edge. Immediately, the man was by her side, one hand on her back and the other reaching out for her hand.

“Woah, woah. Careful…”

Nivea cast him a wary glance.

“I’m Terry.” He finally introduced himself.

“Nivea.”

Silence stretched on as they locked eyes. Nivea didn’t know what came over her, but she leaped into his arms, circling his neck with her arms in a choking embrace. Terry quickly secured her waist with his hands so she wouldn’t fall. Nivea cried against his neck, the smell of his scent crowding her nose. It was earthy and warm.

“Thank you, Terry! You saved my life!”

Terry was rigid against her.

“Okay, oh!–I’m so sorry—”

Leslie turned beet red. Nivea moved away from Terry with a sheepish smile while rubbing tears from her eyes and snot from her nose.

“Giving Terry here a proper thank you for saving me.” Nivea giggled softly.

“What a lovely young man,” Leslie patted him on the back, “Think you’ll be okay to wheel her out to ya’ truck? If you want ya can pull up and I’ll take her out.”

“Good idea,” Terry patted his back pocket, retrieving his keys, “I’ll be out front.”

Leaping into action, he hurried out of the room. Nivea’s eyes never left his brawny back until he was out of sight. Leslie helped Nivea into the wheelchair and with all her things, they left the room and towards the emergency room exit. Terry’s pitch black dually truck sat high off of the ground. Leslie stuck around to make sure Nivea could be safely transferred.

Terry lifted her up into his arms and placed her on the seat. Leslie smiled before waving goodbye to Terry and Nivea, turning to enter the emergency room. Nivea kept an eye on Terry as he fastened her in. He shut her door and made his way around. Nivea did a quick sweep of his truck, finding it pristine and cozy. It smelled of Royal Pine. He entered the truck and started the ignition. Terry placed his cell phone on a magnetic phone mount, keying in his passcode and pulling up the GPS. Suddenly, he picked up his phone.

“Sorry,” he gave her an apologetic nod before placing his phone back on the mount, “Where to?”

Nivea elevated a brow at him in wonder.

“536 Sterling Grove, 70503.”

“Got it. Let’s get you home.” Terry said.

@theereinawrites @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @blackerthings @deja-r @kanafunee @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @dremmmm @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @kokokonako @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @playgurlxoxo @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter

#terry richmond #rebel ridge #nahimjustfeelingit-writes #aaron pierre x black!oc

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misspantymime · 15 days ago

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Grief By Proxy (Prologue)

a/n: I wanted to make something for my fav writer on this site, @cheust cause they made an awesome premise for a neglected Wayne oc and I wanted to write something for them. Even if it kinda sucks (；´∀｀). But seriously, visit their blog cause it rules.

tw: references to child abuse and unsuitable living conditions (latter is very subtle)

Yandere! Batfam x AFAB! Reader x Neglected! Wayne! AFAB! OC

The room was warm enough to chase away the winter chill from your bones. Shimmering lights beamed from everywhere around you, leaving you in a light-headed yet pleasant daze as you were led through the throngs of people that stood over you. Somewhere– it felt like it came from the back of your mind – you vaguely heard that raucous laughter of your fellow foster children.

It sounds like fun, you thought, bemused. You would have joined them if Marcia’s, your foster mother’s, hand wasn’t firmly situated on your shoulder. The smell of smoke wafting from him, though faint, still burned the inside of your nose.

You were the oldest child of that foster home so, as your guardian said, you had to speak with the “important people”. What made them important, you didn’t quite know. All you knew was they were dressed very fancily and spoke in big words, like "disadvantaged" and "underprivileged" only a few which you could understand.

As they sipped from their shiny cups and laughed in that polite sort of way, kind of like when you said something grownups didn’t understand so they laugh even if you didn;t say something funny, you noticed her.

To be honest, it was hard to not notice her. She was actually just hidden behind a crowd of adults, at first, but then you saw the light bounce off of something in the corner of your eye. Not subtly, you turned to look.

It was a dress, you realized, that had caught your eye at first. It was not quite white but not quite blue either, with a satiny sheen that stood out from the dark crowd surrounding the girl in it.

White, was what you saw; blanched hair, and porcelain skin, with twinkling slate-blue eyes that hid under feather-like lashes. The girl seemed to glow under the luminous lights, among the dark suits and dresses. You couldn't hear what she was saying, but the sounds of her voice reminded you of a wind chime hanging from a porch on a windy day; it was a gentle yet ringing sort of knell that traveled through the air. It was like she was a fairy, was made of moonbeams and dandelion fluff.

You didn’t notice how, when, or why you slipped from your Marcia’s hold, somehow weaved through the crowd surrounding her, and appeared by her side. It was a trance-like state, really; not similar to a child chasing after a star that looked to be falling to the earth. All you knew was that it dissipated when you found yourself under the scrutinous eyes of all the adults and the girl, with her dress’ skirt in one of your hands. You heard a sharp intake of air, as the crowd grew hushed and murmurs rose like a flock of vultures that had been disturbed.

It felt soft in your fingers, but was growing damp as you began to sweat. Whatever you had to say or thought went blank and your mouth went dry. The fairy girl turned to look at you and paused for a second. Her face was still and pretty as a Victorian doll, but her eyes were round and shiny. For a moment, you saw a flicker of something sharp and bitter. Before it was smothered under a sort of practiced softness.

“Do you like my dress?” She asked gently, even if she already knew the answer.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nodded stiffly under her gaze.

With fluidity and grace unusual to a child her age, she took your hand in hers and gave you a saint-like smile.

“Thank you. I like your dress too–”

That’s a lie, you thought, but didn’t say anything. Your dress was given to you from an older girl who had left long ago, and didn’t fit quite right. You didn’t really like it, but it was the only formal wear you had.

“–my name is Celestine Wayne. It’s nice to meet you” The girl, Celestine, hummed as the tension seemed to dissipate with that simple greeting. Chuckles and coos bubbled up from the crowd at the scene, as if falling into the rhythm of Celestine’s melodic voice.

And with a sharp smile, she asked– told –you:

“Let's play, okay?”

Before spiriting you away to the far reaches of the event hall, where the straggling wallflowers and shrinking violets stubbornly hugged the sides of the vestibule. And yet, they seemed to disperse as the two of you entered and Celestine dropped your hand, before turning to look at you.

“Why’d you do that?” She asked, not angrily, just plainly.

You expected her to aks that, but you still didn’t have a good answer.

“I-I’ve never seen a dress l-like that,” You confessed, which was true enough, “It’s really pretty and… soft.”

Celestine stared at you under her pale lashes, seemingly looking for something. Whether she found something or not, she relaxed and said flatly,

“I don’t like soft stuff.”

You didn’t say anything, as she looked to have more to say, looking down at her tulle, layered dress.

“It tears without you even trying, ” Celestine proclaimed walking to the corner, where one of many large vases of blooming lilies sat, before squatting down in its shadow and gesturing you over, which you did.

Wayne was a name even you were acquainted with. From of the company to this very event for foster children across Gotham, it was hard not to hear something about it.

In the shade of the white petals and foliage, Celestine confided in you.

“I don’t like flowers either; they just look pretty for a bit and then die.” Celestine sighed.”But everyone else does so I pretend I do too.”

You stared at her, face shaded blue like the flowers above you.

“I didn’t want to come. I just talk with grownups and don’t get to play.”

“You don’t play?” You felt yourself ask.

“Not when I come here,” She said. “I want to go outside, but it’s too cold.”

It was cold, colder than usual, but you didn’t say that, so you just nodded.

Celestine paused and looked more closely at you.

“Do you play outside?”

“Yes.” You said, because you did and she looked almost angry for a second before grumbling a little.

“I want to, too, but no one likes it when I get dirty.”

“You like getting dirty?” You asked and Clestine looked at you like you were weird for asking.

“Yes,” She answered slowly, like it was obvious, and you felt your face grow warm. “You get to see a bunch of stuff when you get dirty. Like bugs and frogs…you ever catch a frog?”

“No.”

“Me neither, but I want one.”

She fell silent, and you could feel something well up in your chest. You didn’t like the quiet, so you said what came to mind.

“I-I want a dress like yours!”

Celestine looked startled by the volume but not that surprise.

“I want soft and pretty stuff too! I want clothes that aren’t dirty. And I want a house that’s big, like this place! I want to eat til I’m full every day! I want…” You slowly petered off, but the feeling subsided in your chest a little.

Celestine stayed quiet, but opened her mouth like she was going to say something. But she turned her head to look at something instead, so looked too.

It was a man. Older, but still dressed fancy like all the other people here. He looked like he was looking for something.

Or, you looked at Celestine, someone.

She sighed, like it couldn’t be helped, and stood up. You stood up too, silently and a bit embarrassed at your outburst, even if Celestine didn’t seem to care all that much. But before she left she told you this:

“If you catch me a frog, I’ll be your friend.”

And with that, she was gone.

Frogs sleep in the winter, you’d find out later when you went back to the foster home with the others. Marcia got mad at you when she saw you track cold mud into the house after hours of searching the nearest pond. You were sent to your room with a swelling face and some tears at the pain, but they were moreseo from the disappointment.

You never did catch Celestine a frog, so maybe she never was your friend.

Even up until she died.

a/n: I wanted to add just a hint of socialite! batsis. it's for flavor.

#yandere #yandere core #yandere blog #yandere x y/n #yandere x reader #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere dc #the mime has written

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covenbeyond · 1 month ago

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wrong place / wrong time

pentagram m.list | next chapter

vampire!141 x human!reader (victorian era au)

series tags f reader, slow burn, poly 141, victorian vampire au, angst, eventual smut, kyle is whipped immediately, creating insane lore for no reason, no use of y/n, no reader description except boobies, violence and blood warning, will probably add more <3

word count 5.4k

December 29th, 1899.

The streets of your quaint little town are as busy as they’ll ever be, with folks running around in a haze of post-Christmas joy and pre-new years excitement.

Looking up, you note that a storm is approaching, snowflakes cover the streets in white as the winds blow harshly and the temperature drops.

There are rich couples with snow covering their fur coats, rushing about to leave this tiny town. With Christmas over, winter holidays have come to an end. They’ll return to their luxurious estates, to celebrate the new year amongst their other rich friends.

The locals are buying and selling festive supplies for smaller prices, tinkling laughter of children and shouts of people bargaining bounce off the cobblestone paths, filling the market with ambience.

And you, you’re helping your cousin deconstruct his stall, pulling down the tarps as Alex dismantles the plywood beams. With the end of the Christmas sales, he will return to his travelling, and you’ll miss him terribly.

“It’s a cold one, today.” Alex gripes, moustache twitching below his nose, damp from snowflakes.

You snort, “Yes, you would almost think it’s Winter.”

Alex gives you a look, shaking his head. “Instead of playing the comedian, could you take those tarps over to Daisy? I’m almost done with pulling these poles down, and I’d like to leave before dark.”

“So grumpy.” You laugh, darting away from him before he can pull down your hood in retaliation for your cheek.

Collecting the folded tarps, you swiftly walk over to Alex’s horse Daisy, and her adjoining wagon. She neighs tersely at you as you approach, her hide covered in snow. Her tale swishes angrily, explicitly showing her disdain for the weather.

“I know, pretty girl.” You chuckle, your breath leaving you in clouds, “Almost done, then you can head home.” You pile the tarps into her cart, patting her neck affectionately as you leave her side.

You understand how she feels, your cheap clothes have been fighting against the harsh cold of the oncoming blizzard. Having bought an entire outfit to combat the ever decreasing temperature, you would have thought you were prepared for this.

However, it would seem your boots are no match for the winter, as a patch of black ice on the stone floor catches you out, your weight shifting forward and sending you stumbling.

You shriek, feeling the world spin around you as you fall backwards. You clench your eyes shut as you brace for the impact of the floor-

But it never comes. Warmth surrounds you, and you open your eyes, finding yourself looking at a… very handsome man.

“Are you alright, miss?” He asks, voice smooth and words enunciated. A Londoner, if you were to guess. A very, very handsome Londoner.

Who you’re currently embraced in the arms of.

“Oh!” You gasp, face flushing, “Quite fine. Just… gravities worst enemy.”

The man chuckles, lifting you upright and helping you find your footing. His hands remain on your biceps, keeping you steady against the brutal winds.

“I wouldn't say gravity. Though, perhaps ice has it out for you.” He jokes, a dazzling smile on his face.

He finally removes his arms, and you immediately miss the weight of them, even if they offered little warmth. Probably due to the thick layers he’s wearing. An immaculate navy suit under a thick, fur lined black coat.

He adjusts his fedora, shielding his honey brown eyes from the sun. He flashes you a pearly white smile, and you believe you’re done for.

“Perhaps I could learn the name of my saviour?” You ask, offering your hand to shake.

He stiffens for a second, tilting his head at you in a contemplative manner, before taking your gloved hand in his own. He leans down to press a chaste kiss to the back of it.

Perhaps it really is gravity that hates you, for you feel like the world is spinning once again.

“Kyle Garrick, miss.” He says, rising again to offer another one of his dazzling smiles, “At your service.”

Service me, please- you shake your head, fighting a blush, and give him your name, “A pleasure.”

He smiles again, “The pleasure is all mine-”

“Gaz!”

The both of you jump as a loud, deep voice calls out. Looking around for the source, you find another man standing a few feet away, looking between the both of you.

Like Mr Garrick, he is dressed impeccably, deep green three-piece over a matching heavy coat, with a unique hat and a fierce moustache. And like Mr Garrick, he’s very handsome. God forbid.

The man raises an eyebrow at your Mr Garrick, who sighs loudly through his nose.

“Gaz?” You ask, letting out a confused laugh, “What’s a gaz?”

“It’s a, uh, nickname.” Mr ‘Gaz’ Garrick explains, smiling at you bashfully, “Not one that I’m overly fond of at this moment.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow, “And why is that?”

“Because it means that my time with you is being cut short.” He says apologetically.

“That’s a shame.” You say, your disappointment evident in your downtrodden expression.

Garrick gives you a somber smile, once again leaning forward to take your hand in his, pressing another, lingering kiss. He stares deep into your eyes as he bids you goodbye, “My lady.”

“Mr Garrick.”

With that, he turns and strides over to join his comrade. The moustached man remains still as a statue, staring directly at you, eyes narrowed, deep in thought.

You’re so focused on watching him and Mr Garrick as they look at you and begin to converse, that you don’t notice your cousin arriving at your side with the rest of his belongings.

Alex clears his throat, giving you an odd look when you jump in surprise.

“Y’alright?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at the two men. Mr Garrick and his friend take their leave, disappearing amongst the throngs of people and vanishing like ghosts.

“Always.” You smile, hiding the disappointment of losing sight of the pair, “Now, let’s get Daisy out of this god awful cold.”

“And you as well. Are you feeling alright?” Alex inquires as he packs up his cart, soothing a whinnying Daisy.

“Perfectly fine, why?”

“Your face is awfully red.” He smirks, “Unless that has something to do with the man I saw leaving your side?”

You send him off with a smack to his arm, ignoring his teasing laugh.

Alex waves to you as he clicks his tongue and sends Daisy on her way. You watch with a sad smile as your cousin is swallowed by the crowd, before looking back to the devious patch of ice that Mr Garrick had to save you from.

Perhaps you are blushing, just a little bit.

Who could blame you?

On the morning of December 30th, your neighbour's baby wakes you up with the sun.

The cottage you live in is small, gifted to you in your will by your late aunt. It was homely, made so by you, but often lonely. The sound of the weeping child, the soothing voice of his mother, the older children playing in the snow as their father laughs at their antics, reminds you of what you do not have.

A family of your own.

Your parents long gone, no siblings, your aunt recently passed. Your only living relative is your cousin, but he is always travelling, a wild soul who seeks a life of opportunity.

And while he’s asked if you would like to join him, you’re not one for adventure.

So you’re left alone. No husband, no children, no real clan. Just four walls and dusty floorboards, the sounds of your neighbours and the life you wish you had.

It presses down on your chest, forcing you out of your bed and readying for the day far earlier than you usually would.

Maybe today you’ll stock up on firewood like you've been meaning to, you tell yourself as you don your coat and boots. A quick walk around town will make you forget your isolation, surely.

And it’ll be a completely coincidental benefit if you happen to run into a certain Mr Garrick…

The town is less chaotic this morning. Only a few farmers and their sons wander about with their goods, and an old couple walking arm and arm to avoid slipping on the snowy paths.

Though the snow has ceased to fall, it has generously left behind a thick layer of fluffy snow across the walkways and roads, thick enough to reach your shins. You hold your skirts up to jog to the local shop, taking long strides to avoid larger lumps of snow.

What a sight you must look, bouncing through the snow like some wild thing.

A tinkling bell announces your arrival as you enter the general store, and you’re met with a much appreciated warmth. Your teeth are chattering, your gloved hands rubbing your arms to regain some heat.

“Morning, Mrs Thompson.” You greet the woman behind the counter, who looks up at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Good morning, dear.” The elderly lady says with a smile, “What are you doing out in that weather?”

“I needed more firewood.” You explain, “The old house does not magically warm itself.”

“It should be ashamed of itself.” Mrs Thomson says before returning to her chores.

You huff out a laugh, nodding at her as you walk deeper into the shop.

While the shop constantly changes the places it organises supplies, it’s small enough that you can find whatever you need rather easily. But firewood seems to be evading you, forcing you into the dark, back corridor which stores the recently re-supplied goods.

As you search, a startlingly familiar voice echoes down the smaller hallway, and you feel your heart beat quicker when you recognise the deep tone.

“...ridiculous. We’re too out in the open in this town, we can’t just… disappear like we did back in London.”

It’s Mr Kyle Garrick, whispering to someone else.

“Aye, no’ with all these small town folk gossipin’ about every new face they spot.” A Scottish voice responds to him.

Looking around for the sources of the voices, you see two, tall shadows lingering at the end. They're leaning close, talking animatedly.

As you approach, Garrick continues muttering, “I can’t understand why the captain would insist we come here. And why not tell us? Soap, I can’t help but worry-”

“Mr Garrick?” You smile, interrupting them and announcing yourself, worrying about eavesdropping.

Two heads snap to look in your direction, two pairs of bright eyes finding you in the darkness. One cerulean blue, the other golden brown.

Recognition fills the latter, and Garrick’s face lights up upon seeing you, “Miss? What are you doing here?”

“Just a bit of shopping.” You smile, looking between the two of them.

“Oh? Buying anything of note?” Garrick asks, taking a step closer and subtly shielding his friend from view.

You pretend not to notice; “Firewood, very exciting stuff.”

Garrick laughs, “Riveting.”

His accomplice eyes you, looking you up and down with appraising eyes. He steps out of the darkness, the lamplight flooding his face. Handsome, just like Garrick. Less clean cut, with a stubbled jaw and various scars, both unable to hide his rugged good looks.

What’s with all the beautiful newcomers?

“Are ye lookin' for it lass? Saw the owner moving it towards the rear window this mornin’” The new man says, offering a large grin.

Not as warm as Mr Garrick’s, more… wolfish. Hungry. You can see your acquaintance giving his friend a look, something darkening his pretty brown eyes. But when they turn back to you, they regain their kindness.

“I beg your pardon, my lady.” He smiles, “This is my colleague, John MacTavish.”

“Colleague?” Mr MacTavish grumbles indignantly, earning a light elbow to the chest.

“Behave.” Mr Garrick bites.

You chuckle, “Well, thank you for the help, Mr MacTavish. My name is-”

“I know, lass.” MacTavish interrupts, before practically purring your name, “Gaz told us all about you.”

“Oh.” You say, blinking. A shiver runs through your body, your arms wrapping around yourself protectively. What a strange thing to say…

Mr Garrick clenches his jaw, side eyeing his friend with another deadly glare. Mr MacTavish seems unfazed, merely grinning and crossing his arms in a confident stance.

With a rough clearing of his throat, Me Garrick steps closer to you, “Here, miss, let me show you where the firewood is.”

You force a smile on your face, trying to internally wave off the anxiety you feel, “That would be very kind of you, thank you Mr Garrick.”

“Very kind of you, Mr Garrick.” MacTavish parots.

Garrick ignores him as he leads you out of the corridor, further into the warm light of the store until you see the firewood piled up.

Before you can say anything, Garrick begins grabbing a few, piling a hefty stack in his arms.

Lord, he’s strong.

You can feel your face burning as you fight the sordid images playing in your mind, all of which display Mr Garrick using that strength for other means.

He insists on carrying the logs for you, even after you’ve paid and left the shop, not allowing you to hold a single one. Your heart races at the prospect of him carrying them to your home.

As you linger at the shop's entrance, you catch the tail end of a nearby man talking to the butcher. “-wouldn’t believe such gruesome sightings near these parts.”

“Nasty business.” The butcher agrees, voice grim.

The two stare at a small group in the centre of town, and you find yourself studying them too.

You recognise one of them as Mayor Shepherd, and he’s animatedly talking to a stranger. A leering blonde man, with cold eyes and a smirking face.

Their conversation is hissed, but a word cuts through the air, unmistakable.

“...Vampires...”

Your blood goes cold.

Vampires. Creatures of the night. Monsters disguising as humans, slaughtering and drinking from their victims.

In larger cities, it is more common to see them. They hunt in groups, or gangs. Vicious killers lingering in the dark, luring the weak into their nests to feast.

The stories are whispered by drunks in dark pubs, or chattering old ladies fearful of their own frailty, or parents warning their children of what hides in their closets.

But you’ve never heard of them being in such a small town like yours.

The man mayor Shepherd talks to seems at ease. His dark clothes and crosses give him the appearance of a priest. But his gait, his daggers, and his shadowed lackeys grouped behind him like a pack of wolves, they all scream vampire hunter.

Are there vampires nearby? You’ve seen no such beasts, never heard of anyone you know having seen one in person.

God forbid they're lingering in your quaint town.

Garrick follows your line of sight, his eyebrows furrowing. His face seems to have darkened, and he looks around before spotting a teenaged boy with a horse and cart.

He whistles him over, handing him a few coins, “Take these logs to this ladies house, would you?”

The boy is quick to nod, looking down in shock at the shocking amount of money held in his hand.

“Mr Garrick?”

“I must leave you here, my lady.” He says, voice deadly serious, “I have urgent business I forgot about.”

“Oh… alright, well-”

“Good day, my lady.” He tips his hat, walking away swiftly.

You watch him leave, utterly confused and a little bit (only a little bit) disappointed. But you shake the feeling away, leading the young man with your pile of firewood towards your humble home.

Unbeknownst to you, a large, forboding figure watches you from a distance.

The winds are rageful tonight.

The gate outside bangs loudly, thunderous and repetitive. It’s driving you mad.

Escaping your cocoon of blankets, you wrap two shawls around yourself under your winter coat, braving the elements to shut your goddamned gate.

It’s even worse than you thought, your teeth chattering as you carefully walk down your garden pathway to the end of your lot. The stones are icy, shiny and black like a river below your feet.

The gate taunts you with its incessant banging, swinging back and forth and colliding with your fence in a heartbeat like melody.

You curse it internally as you grab it with shaking hands, pulling it closed and latching the hatch.

“And you stay shut.” You gripe, “Bloody useless hunk of wood-”

A yowl.

You startle, eyes wide as you look up. The woods behind your street stare back at you, dark and infinite. The snow topped trees sway with the howling wind.

The noise could be that of an animal, perhaps a wounded fox or a lost calf. Perhaps a wolf searching for food in the unending

But then it comes again. A pained, weeping noise, longer than the first yelp. It’s a wail, full of agony, full of desperation. And it sounds like the cry of a person.

You grit your teeth, concern swiftly overtaking your fear. It could be a traveller calling for help, or one of the neighbours children lost and cold and succumbing to the elements.

How could you live with yourself if you didn't look?

You curse yourself as you open your gate, closing it behind you as you take slow, tentative steps into the dark unknown.

The woods you know well, in the Summer days. You took strolls with your father when you were a child, you walked the neighbors dogs for a fee when you were sixteen.

But you don't recognise them now. In the dark, in the cold. The moonlight casts shadows through the trees, thin fingers from the branches, grabbing at your ankles.

The cry comes again, and you keep walking.

It’s not bravery that pushes you forward, nor is it curiosity. Perhaps stupidity, or even nativity, or maybe even the delusion of believing oneself is invincible.

Truly, though, it’s something else.

A pull. An invisible string drawing you close, grabbing you by the neck and dragging you forward, until you see the howler themself.

Leaning against a tree, heaving and whining like a wounded animal, clawing at the bark beneath it’s sharpened fingers. Skin clammy in the moonlight, eyes scrunched and head repeatedly slamming back against the tree trunk.

But even still, he’s unmistakable.

“Mr Garrick?” You call, “Mr Garrick, are you alright-?”

His eyes open, his head turns to you.

Your heart drops.

His eyes are glowing, golden yellow, pupils a mere dot in an ocean of colour. Full lips pulling back to reveal lines of sharp teeth. He snarls, pushing himself off of the tree, strong legs prowling towards you.

His gaze is hungry, inhuman, and dead set on you.

Vampire.

You stumble back, your foot catching on a root, your back colliding with the ground.

Garrick stalks forward, a deep, rumbling growl clawing through his throat. Fangs sharp like knives, saliva pooling from his mouth, rabid in his monstrous desire to kill.

Moving on your hands, pushing yourself backwards, you’re unable to look away from the man approaching you. You feel tears falling down your cheeks, warm against your cold skin.

All you feel is fear washing over you, as you look at the once handsome face of Mr Garrick, now the feral expression of a monster.

Your back collides with something solid, and you look up.

A skeletal face.

You scream, before the face lunges for you, and you brace for death to take you.

But strong hands grab you, pulling you up with inhuman strength. The ghastly figure pushes you behind him, catching Garrick as he rushes forward.

They clash, Garrick’s clawed hands slashing at the strange man, who pushes him back with inhuman strength. Garrick howls, fighting with ferocity, desperate to get to you, to devour his meal. The mysterious ghoul holds him back, snarling behind what you can now see is a mask.

His head snaps around, black eyes look directly at you.

“Run!” He shouts.

And you do.

December 31st, the sun has risen. You haven't slept a wink.

Once returning home, you locked and barred your door, pushing your kitchen table against it with shaking hands. You knocked over books and broke knickknacks climbing atop your bookshelf to grab your father's rifle, clasping it to your chest not unlike a child would its teddy bear.

You collapsed to the ground in a mess of sweat and tears, shaking and weeping, knuckles turned white against the iron of the gun.

It took hours before you could finally take a full breath, when your heart began to slow as the first rays of sunlight.

You moved in a daze as you prepared coffee. You dressed like a machine, completely automatic as you wrapped yourself in your coat and scarf and left your home.

Where were you going? You had no idea.

But you find yourself standing in the centre of town, looking at the spot of black ice that caused you to meet Mr Garrick in the first place. Traitorous spot of ice, sending you careening into a confusing nightmare.

Someone knocks into you, startling you from your reverie.

You jolt, looking up, expecting the worst. But instead, you meet the eyes of the same blonde man mayor Shepherd was speaking to yesterday.

“Excuse me.” He says, an American accent evident, “My fault.”

“Graves.” One of his men urge him on, and Graves gives you a lingering look as he continues on his way.

You shiver as you watch him leave. Could he know? About your dealings with Mr Garrick? About the vampires you now know linger in this town?

Uneasy, you allow your feet to carry you down the street, leaving the heavily populated areas and now traipsing down the narrow alleys.

Your mind is a mess, thoughts spiralling and imagination running wild. So much so, that when you see him at first, you think you may be imagining him.

Mr Garrick.

Standing at the other end of the street, dressed well and looking human again. He turns to face you, and you halt, realising that he is not a figment of your imagination.

All of a sudden, you’re terrified.

His eyes fall on you, his face dropping into a devastated expression, mouth opening to call out to you.

You turn, running away. Footfalls echo around you, heavier and faster than you. You flee down a smaller alleyways, trying to lose him.

Until you meet a dead end.

“My lady-” Garrick calls out, his figure joining you in the shadowed backstreet.

“Stay- stay away from me.” You beg, trying to push past him, panicking like a caged animal.

“Please, please, listen to me.” Garrick begs, reaching out for you.

“No!” You yell, turning and slamming right into a solid chest.

Craning your neck, you find yourself looking into black eyes. Pale eyelashes, a scar running down a pale temple, a black mask covering the lower half of a face.

Those eyes… the skull from last night…

You swallow as you step back, looking back at Garrick, as he’s joined MacTavish, appearing from the shadows.

A third man stands guard in front of the exit next to the masked man, his eyes equally harsh and his presence commanding.

The moustached friend of Garrick’s, with the strange hat and eery glare.

“Price, she means us no harm.” Garrick says, voice tight but stern, glaring at the hatted man.

“If that's the case, then we don't mean her no harm either.”

“Unlikely.” You bite, unable to stop yourself.

MacTavish whistles lowly, “Birdie’s got some bollocks on ‘er.”

“Johnny.” The skull warns.

“What you saw last night…” Price says, trailing off.

He needs not say more. He’s talking about Mr Garrick, his transformation, his monstrousness and your near death.

They’re all a part of it.

“I know what I saw.” You insist, “He’s a-”

“Mind your tongue, girl.” The masked man warns, voice deep and brutish.

You look at him, “You were there too. You stopped him, with your bare hands. There's no way you could have done that if you… you’re…”

Looking at all of them, you understand.

“You’re all…” vampires…

Price’s moustache twitches as his lips purse, a display of annoyance at having to have this conversation. The others look between you and him, seemingly awaiting his verdict.

He’s the leader. The 'captain', that Garrick mentioned in the shop. The reason they're here.

“We won’t deny what you saw.” Price finally says, “But I would advise you to keep it to yourself.”

You blanch, “Or what? You’ll kill me?”

Price stares down at you, his lips a thin line under his bushy facial hair. His expression is cold, unfeeling.

Your eyes fall, landing on his wide, unmoving chest. Swallowing, you clench and unclench your hands, finding comfort in the strain of your muscles, adrenaline fuelling your entire body.

But it’s not like you could fight them, it's not like you have any choice.

“I won't say a thing.” You say, “Just… leave me be.”

The group is silent for a moment, and though you dare not look up at them, you can sense their eyes on you, before they shuffle.

The large, foreboding figure moves, as does Price. The group splits in two to allow you to leave down the alleyway.

It almost surprises you, that these supposed monsters, allow you your freedom.

But who are you to question it?

You keep your head down as you take a tentative step forward, testing the waters. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, for them to cackle and renounce their generosity.

But they do not. They simply watch as you make your exit.

You take another step, when a hand presses to your bicep, ever so gently. You look up slowly, to meet the eyes of Garrick.

His pretty brown eyes, so sad now. Remorseful, you would think, if you allowed your feeble heart to win over your brain.

“Please…” Garrick says softly, “Do not hate me.”

How could you not? Yet, how could you?

With traitorous hesitation, you pull your arm free, barely sparing the four men a final glance before turning on your heel, and swiftly walking away.

Two hours till midnight, the world around you is celebrating, but your mind is in shambles.

The turn of the new century, and it’s the last thing on your mind. All you can think about is the four vampires you've unwillingly become acquainted with.

Mr Kyle Garrick, with his good looks and manners, his kind eyes juxtaposing the sharp fangs he hides in his maw. His Scottish friend MacTavish, also known as “Soap”, for some unknown reason. His wild grin and sparkling eyes, an air of recklessness surrounding his firm form.

Then the leader, Price, the captain as Garrick called him. So commanding and dangerous. Strange hat and facial hair, with tall stature and strong body. Even when looking into his cold, callous eyes, your heart fluttered with strange desire.

And the most mysterious of them all. The unnamed one, the most frightening. Too tall, too broad, his eyes too dark and his voice too deep. But he had protected you, an innocent, a nobody, from his ravenous friend.

Why?

You want to know why. You want to know all about them.

Oh, I’m a fool, you think to yourself, as you stand in the shadows of your back garden, A fool for a pretty man.

A pretty vampire, you remind yourself as you open your gate, walking out towards the dark woods in search for the vampires.

Death has never had someone make it so easy for it.

The owls hoot and the neighbors dogs howl. There are distant echoes of laughter and chattering from your neighbors, that grow quieter with every hesitant step you take.

The woods seem tense, now. A thick, invisible fog lingers, a force pushing you back, warning you off. But you push through, ears straining for any indication of the men you search for.

You catch a voice. Hushed, muffled by the dense trees and flurry of snow.

Someone talks, and another responds, and you draw closer to the conversation, as if you were a sailor following the call of a siren.

The clouds open for a moment, and the moonlight illuminates the path ahead. Clearly now, you see a man, stalking through the shadows.

“Mr Garrick?” You call out, a mix of misguided hope and instinctual resistance.

Another silhouette moves across a tree, twigs snap underfoot as someone circles you.

You take another step, approaching the man you watch, “Mr Gar-”

Something collides with you.

Another man, his hands grabbing you, slamming you close to his own body.

The quick tear of fabric, and a sharp force pressing into your chest. Your blood has cooled, a gasp in caught in your throat. Your vision is hazy, blinking and swimming, and staring into unfamiliar eyes..

Blue, but stormy, dim with malice. And angry, until they’re not. Turning into surprise, roving over your face before looking down.

“Oh, God...” An American voice.

But you barely register his words, your chest feeling numb. Your eyes drift down, confused when you see his hand, bloodied skin pressed against the cloth of your bodice, his fingers wrapped around the base of a wooden dagger.

“What-?”

You choke, drool escaping your lips. No, not drool. Blood. Red dribbles down your chin, leaving you in spluttered coughs like cigarette smoke as you let out a cough.

The man pulls the dagger out, and you sob in agony, feeling red hot pain shoot through your torso.You stumble back, your legs feeling too light and your head feeling too heavy.

You’re falling. It draws out, as if you were swimming through tar. The winter leaves cushion your fall, but you barely feel it through the chill that is slowly enveloping your body.

More voices surround you. Shouting, panicked, confused. You look at the man above you, still holding the stake he had lodged in your chest. You recognise him now, though you seem to be seeing two of him, swaying back in forth.

It’s Graves, the vampire hunter.

But I’m not a vampire, you want to say, why would you do this to me?

Words cannot form, choking on your breath. You feel like your chest is too small, not allowing your lungs to work properly. You touch your chest, bringing your hand back to look at your shaking fingers.

Stained with blood now, it looks so dark in the shadows of the night. It doesn't feel real, so warm and so thick. Your blood, it belongs to you.

I want it back, you internally plead, it’s not supposed to be out here, falling onto the snow. It’s supposed to be keeping my body alive.

What will happen to me when it’s all gone?

“We leave her here.” Graves says, loud enough for you to hear, to cling to the sound of a voice that isn't your own, “We return in the morning, and tell Shepherd we found her. The vampires did this. Yes?"

An uneasy silence falls between his men, only interrupted by your chokes and whimpers and mumbled questions that no-one seems to hear. Are you talking inside or outside?

“Yes?!” Graves yells, and his men shout in agreement, stumbling over one another as they begin rushing away, shadows growing smaller and smaller until they’re gone.

I don’t want to be alone, your voice echoes inside your head, I don’t want to die like I lived. All alone.

Snow couches below feet, and Graves crouches beside you, grimacing at your appearance.

“Your death will aid the fight against the living dead.” He says, looking you up and down, “May God be with you.” before turning and disappearing into the darkness.

So this is how it all ends?

What was the point of all of this? Being born covered in blood only to die same? Alone, this time, with only the sound of your frenzied breath and racing heart to keep your company…

Your heart sounds like the galloping of a horse. It sounds like rushed feet running through the snow. It sounds like someone saying your name gently, as a hand cups your cheek.

A hand so cold it makes you cringe, gurgling out more blood instead of words. And when your eyes focus, a face is looking down at you.

Honey brown eyes, full lips turned down into a frown. A handsome face warped with concern.

“Oh, my lady.” Kyle Garrick says, “What have they done to you?

beautiful dividers by @uzmacchiato !

194 notes · View notes

niwaart · 1 month ago

Note

Can we please please please have more Victorian era yanderes

Enjoy<3

Bound by Silk and Shadows

#Part1

The heavy oak doors of the Grimoire Library groaned as Jason pushed them open, the scent of aged parchment and candle wax flooding his senses. This place—hidden in the underbelly of Gotham’s aristocratic district—was one of the few sanctuaries where he could breathe without the weight of his scars suffocating him.

The hood of his tattered cloak was pulled low, casting shadows over the ruined half of his face. He knew what people whispered when they saw him. Monster. Madman. The Joker’s failed experiment. Even among the lower classes, where he now lurked, his presence sent servants scrambling. But here, among the forgotten tomes of magic books and old books , he was just another shadow.

Or so he thought.

He hadn’t been paying attention. Too absorbed in tracing the spine of a black-bound grimoire, its title etched in gold: "The Forbidden Arts of Lazarus." His fingers twitched. If only. If only magic could undo what had been done to him...

A soft gasp. The sharp scent of lavender and ink.

He turned just in time to see her.

The impact was sudden—her small frame crashing into his chest, the books in her arms tumbling to the floor in a flurry of parchment. His own tome slipped from his grip, landing with a dull thud beside a delicate volume titled "The Ethereal Language of Spells."

And then worse.

His hood.

It fell back, the fabric sliding like a coward’s retreat, exposing him. The jagged, ruined flesh where the Joker’s knife had carved laughter into his skin. The burns. The scars that made children scream.

His breath hitched. No. No, no, no—

Instinctively, his hand flew up, fingers clawing to drag the hood back into place. He couldn’t bear it. Not another look of horror. Not another....

But then....

She didn’t scream.

She didn’t even flinch.

Instead, she knelt, her gloved hands gathering the fallen books with a quiet efficiency. Her dress brushed against the dusty floor, and for a moment, Jason was struck by the absurdity of it. A noblewoman, kneeling in filth.

Then she looked up.

And God.

Her eyes... wide, curious, unafraid locked onto his ruined face. Not with pity. Not with disgust. Just… recognition. As if she saw him, not the monster.

"I’m sorry," she murmured, her voice softer than the rustle of turning pages. "That was my fault."

Jason couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. His pulse roared in his ears.

She stood, holding out his book—his book, the one that could damn him if anyone knew he was reading about resurrection—and for a heartbeat, he thought she might say something else. Something about his face. About who he was.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she simply pressed the book into his hands, her fingers brushing against his gloved ones. A touch. A touch that didn’t recoil.

Then she turned, her skirts whispering against the floor as she walked away, leaving him standing there like a fool, his heart pounding like a prisoner’s fists against iron bars.

Jason didn’t remember leaving the library.

One moment, he was standing there, clutching the damned book like a lifeline. The next, he was outside, the cold Gotham air biting into his exposed scars. His carriage—a plain, unmarked thing meant for servants—waited, the driver eyeing him warily.

She didn’t know.

That was the only explanation. She couldn’t have known who he was. No noblewoman would have touched him if they knew. No one would look at Jason Todd—the disgraced, the scarred, the unwanted—without fear.

But then… why had she apologized ?

Why had her fingers lingered?

Why—?

The carriage jolted forward, and Jason realized his hands were shaking.

Who was she?

A noble. That much was clear. But not one he recognized. Not one who flaunted her status in Gotham’s cutthroat society. A ghost among the aristocracy. A girl who read books on magic and didn’t scream at the sight of him.

A girl who, for one fleeting moment, made him feel… human.

His grip on the book tightened.

He would find her again.

And next time, he wouldn’t let her walk away.

333 notes · View notes

witchyverse · 1 month ago

Text

“Coffee Stains and Closed Doors”

Pairing: Theodore Nott × Reader Word count: ~5.9k Warnings: Workplace tension, mutual pining, banter-heavy slow burn, emotionally constipated Theo, reader who gives as good as she gets, fluff toward the end Summary: Being partnered with Theodore Nott is about as fun as sitting through a dementor orientation. but you’re not the type to sit quietly and take his silence. unfortunately, the more you push him, the more he starts looking at you like you might actually matter.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Theodore Nott walked into the Auror Department every morning like it personally offended him.

Black coat, black boots, black coffee. Same exact routine, same exact scowl.

You, on the other hand, wore obnoxiously bright scarves just to piss him off.

“Is that chartreuse?” he muttered once as you walked past him in the corridor.

You smiled sweetly. “Color theory. Look it up.”

He muttered something under his breath. Probably a curse. You counted that as a win.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The worst part wasn’t that you got partnered with him.

It was that he didn’t even react.

Not when you were introduced. Not when you sat down beside him in the briefing room. Not when you accidentally spilled tea all over his precious, alphabetized field notes.

“Say something,” you snapped, blotting at the page with your sleeve.

He glanced down at the mess, unimpressed. “You’re clumsy.”

“I’m human.”

“Debatable.”

You grinned. “I’ve been told I’m charming.”

He raised a brow. “By who? Your mirror?”

Okay. One point for Nott.

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Week one was a disaster.

He didn’t explain things, didn’t ask questions, didn’t wait up.

At one point, you practically had to sprint down a hallway to keep up with him.

“Are we chasing someone or do you just walk like a Victorian ghost?”

“I’m trying to avoid conversation.”

“Then maybe don’t partner with someone who talks when they’re nervous.”

He gave you a flat look. “You’re always nervous?”

“No. You’re just always annoying.”

You thought he might actually smile.

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Week two brought a tiny truce. And by “truce,” you meant he stopped pretending you didn’t exist.

Once, he even handed you a coffee before you could ask.

You squinted at it suspiciously. “You trying to poison me?”

“It’s oat milk and two sugars.”

You stared at him. “How’d you know that?”

He didn’t answer. Just sat down and started reviewing evidence like he hadn’t just been a functioning human being for once.

That day, you only insulted him twice. Progress.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Week three, he started waiting for you after field work. Not in an obvious way—just loitering near the exit until you caught up.

“Need something?” you asked once, passing him with raised eyebrows.

He shrugged. “You tend to forget your wand when you’re flustered.”

“I am never flustered.”

“You left it on the counter. Again.”

Damn it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One night, the storm hit.

You’d both been running on no sleep and bad takeout. The case wasn’t breaking. Your nerves were frayed to hell.

“You’re not listening to me,” you snapped, pacing the war room. “You’ve got this one idea in your head and it’s wrong.”

“And you have no patience.”

“Because you keep shutting me down!”

“I’m trying to stop you from getting hurt.”

You froze.

He realized what he’d said. Looked away fast.

“Oh,” you said softly. “So that’s what this is.”

“I didn’t mean to say that.”

“But you meant it.”

He didn’t deny it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The kiss came later. After the fight. After a long silence in your office, just the two of you and the low hum of a storm outside.

He came in with wet hair and a file in his hand, but he didn’t speak.

Just looked at you like he was trying to decide if he’d made the biggest mistake of his life or the best one.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For which part?”

“For thinking I could keep this professional.”

You blinked. “That’s a weird way to say ‘I like you.’”

He smiled—barely. “I do.”

Then he kissed you. Soft. Careful. Like he wasn’t sure he was allowed.

You kissed him back like you were done waiting.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After that, he didn’t change much. Still scowled at the tea cart. Still edited your reports. Still wore black like he was mourning fun itself.

But he sat closer now. Looked at you when you laughed. Called you by your name like it meant something.

One morning, you found your favorite chocolate biscuit on your desk with a note in his handwriting:

Leave crumbs again and I’ll hex your chair.

You grinned.

Maybe he wasn’t easy to love.

But damn, you were starting to think he was worth the work.

#harry potter #theodore nott x reader #workplace romance #workplace relationship

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stevieschrodinger · 11 months ago

Text

Part One Two Three Four

Steve sits with his head pressed against the steering wheel.

In the passenger seat, Robin’s doing her make up.

“What are we doing here, Rob?”

“You mean like, in the cosmic soul searching sense, or here specifically?”

“Here. Specifically.”

“Well, your beautiful brunette boyfriend-”

“You don’t score points for alliteration. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“All right then, the man who is under the distinct impression that he’s your boyfriend, suggested we all hang out together. So we are here. At the place I suggested.”

“Because you know I hate it here.”

Robin makes a non committal noise, Steve looks, she’s pulling the horrendous mascara face. He goes back to resting his forehead on the steering wheel.

Steve does hate it here. Reminds him of...fucking work brunches with his father and Sunday lunches with his mother and he just. Hates it.

Steve sighs like a Victorian maid who’s betrothed has not yet returned from sea. He’s certain he’ll die from consumption at any minute.

“Shut up you big baby,” Robin tells him as she fluffs her hair, “all I want is to finger bang this chick in the bathroom and then rub my cunt on her face, is that too much to ask?”

And Robin has been wholly supportive of Steve so far, so, “no, I suppose-what the fuck Robin? Did you choose this place because-”

“I like the bathrooms-”

“-the bathrooms are nice-”

“What?-”

“Oh you fucking-”

“They’re romantic kinda’.”

“They’re bathrooms, Robin!”

“The lighting is good. I like the vibe.”

“Oh my god.”

Steve’s stares mournfully after his best friend. She’s at the bar with Chrissy, because Chrissy wanted to watch the guy make their cocktails, look he does tricks with the thing, like in that old movie with Tom Cruise.

Steve could physically feel himself ageing as she spoke.

“It’s so cool they’re dating.” Steve does not point out that whatever Robin's about to do to Chrissy, it will be a four letter word, but that four letter word is not ‘date’.

“You think?”

Eddie smiles big. The dimples come out. Huge happy brown fucking cow eyes. He’s not attractive Steve reminds himself viciously. He’s playing with his cutlery because he can’t sit still and...his chins too pointy. Or something. “Well yeah. It’d be so cool if they get married.”

Steve nearly chokes on his drink.

“Hey man, you okay?”

“Fine, fine,” Steve’s nose is burning from the bubbles going up there, “what makes you think they’ll get married?”

“Well...why would you date someone if you can’t see it going somewhere?” Steve hopes this is going somewhere; like to a bed, specifically, “so there’s a chance, right? I can tell Chris really likes her. I hope it’s like, a long term thing.”

Steve feels himself slow blink. He doesn’t explain to Eddie that you date someone because you want to stick your penis in them. Eddie turns to watch the girls again, they laugh, and Eddie grins at them, all happy and fond.

Steve sighs.

“You okay?”

“Sorry?”

“You just...you don’t seem so happy to be here man. Kind of tense.”

Steve has no idea how Eddie even noticed, usually people don’t notice. Or usually people don’t care, but it amounts to the same thing because coming to somewhere like this is just the step you take before you step into a bedroom.

“I...I actually don’t really like it here much.”

Eddie looks at him, leans close. He’s ready to really listen. He...cares. About Steve. Steve wonders if he’s going to come up in a rash; it feels like the sort of thing he should be allergic too. He wonders vaguely if there’s antihistamines in the glove box.

“Why?”

“Well...I.” Steve pulls a face. He doesn’t talk about...meaningful things, but he figures it can’t hurt this once, he can be vague. Especially if it increases the chance of doing the no pants dance with Eddie, “I don’t have the best relationship with my parents. I mean, they’re good parents, I had really good nannies growing up, had a great education, the best boarding school, they funded my degree, gave me a solid start at work, so they are great...we just don’t exactly get on all the time. We used to come here for pretty much every family meal.”

Eddie’s frown deepens the more Steve talks, “how often were the...family meals?”

“I don’t know,” Steve hums, “holidays I guess, when I was away, and then...maybe fortnightly? We don’t do it now, obviously.”

“Oh. Me and uncle Wayne had one meal a day together, at least, when I lived there. It was like, a house rule.”

“Oh that’s...you’re close?” To Steve that already sounds like something out of the fucking Brady Bunch.

“Yeah. Speaking of which, he’s invited you to dinner.”

“Dinner?” Steve asks weakly.

“Yeah, since you’re courting that boy, he said.” Eddie puts his hands up to do the air quotes. And then he grins. That big stupid grin. He looks so happy. So genuinely happy to see Steve. So happy about the prospect of just...seeing him again.

Steve does not point out that a blow job at a garden party, humping each other in a public bathroom, and one co ed BBQ does not courting make.

“Right.”

“Awesome, I’ll let you know when,” Eddie drums two forks on the edge of the table. Steve stares at his bony wrists. His mind suggests phrases like, ‘slender’ and ‘delicate’ and Steve ignores those and thinks about how he could very easily hold both of those wrists in one hand. “listen, do you want to get out of here?”

“Sorry?”

“Well, the girls won’t care,” and he’s probably right there, “and you don’t like it here, and I don’t care where I am as long as it’s with you.”

Steve riffles through his internal Rolodex and comes up blank; no one has ever said anything that sincere to him in his life. And Eddie means it too; he means everything he says in a completely unguarded way Steve has literally never encountered before. It’s like meeting an alien. Steve wants to put him under a microscope.

“I just want you to have a nice time, you know. I want you to be happy.”

Eddie reaches out and takes Steve’s hand.

Steve lets him.

Part Six

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #pre getting together #pre steddie #robin buckly #steve and robin #ficlet #platonic stobin #ornamental fountain steve #age gap steddie #buckingham #chrissy cunningham #eddie and chrissy

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mitchellnman · 11 months ago

Text

Always Hungry.

MDNI.

PAIRING: Martin x reader

WARNINGS: pwp, mentions of bruises and scrapes (martin) pussy eating. Reader is afab, but there's no gendered pronouns or use of y/n. Hastily written, no beta reader we die like victorian children.

WORD COUNT: 942.

A/N: Hi hello I haven't written a fic in 2 years but Martin made me crawl from my grave please enjoy!

—

Martin's room smelled like incense. Cheap incense, bought online with a holder that made the smoke look like a waterfall. Martin only burned the incense to cover up the smell of sex and sweat, in case the landlord came knocking. It mostly worked, unless you pulled back the blankets on his bed. Then, it was all him, musky and heady and sweet, and you, more or less the same.

He was feeding his skink some blue worms, to match his blue eyes, and the blue candy that poked out from between his lips. He smiled. Martin always smiled when his skink ate, her blue tongue flicking out. She was a silly little creature, lacking a few brain cells, but cute nonetheless. More importantly, she seemed to like you, when you scratched under her chin, or held her little hands with your fingertips. Martin liked it too.

He was shirtless, only in a pair of black jeans that hung low on his hips. You followed the curve of his spine with your eyes from under his hair, down to his waist, and further down, his pants only halfway covering his perfect ass. He was covered in bruises, scrapes, and what you supposed you could call rope burn, from seatbelts digging into his skin. He was beautiful in a nihilistic sort of way, as if Chuck Palahniuk had specialized in paintings instead of novels.

You pushed away from the wall you were leaning on as you watched him, unable to resist touching him anymore. Your cheek brushed over his shoulder, fingers tracing up his sides. He smelled like you, and like sugar. His jaw flexed as his tongue rasped over the candy. Your hands moved up his back, cold fingers on warm skin.

Martin set the skink down in her tank and turned around in your grasp. He regarded you for a long moment, his eyes piercing as he tried to read your mind. You had half a mind to tell him everything you thought. His fingers cupped your chin, and tapped your lips. A wordless request for you to open your mouth. You did, and he brought his lips to yours, pushing the blue raspberry candy into your mouth. You kissed around it, your senses overwhelmed by the artificial flavor. Blue raspberry, what was it, really? Certainly nothing that occurred in nature.

His black hair fell around both of your faces, shielding you from the sunlight that was streaming in through the window. He made an obscene moan, and pushed the rest of the candy into your mouth with his tongue.

"Finish it." He whispered. His blue tongue darted out, and licked your lips. He smiled, a devilish thing that could only mean sin was on his mind. With that knowledge, you took his hands, and walked backwards to the bed. Your thighs hit the mattress, and you fell back. Your tongue pressed the candy to the roof of your mouth so you didn't choke on it.

He descended upon you like an animal, ravenous after starving for days, his hands pushing your shirt up over your ribs. His blue tongue darted out and licked your skin, teasing for only a moment. Then he bit down, nipping at your stomach with that same grin. His large hand squeezed your crotch, concealed by a pair of his sweatpants. His palm pressed against you, slowly massaging you through the fabric.

Martin sucked a mark into your skin, below your belly button. His head dipped down further, sniffing at your crotch, his nose pushing against your clit.

You smiled, and your hands found a home in his hair. It was a little greasy to be sure, but it was soft on your fingers, and he moaned so sweetly when you tugged on his dark locks.

His clever hands tugged your pants down around your ankles, and he didn't give you a moment to breathe. How could he, when you were the best thing he'd ever tasted? Vaguely, he wondered if he could make a candy that tasted like you.

His tongue swiped over your clit, and you shivered with want. Your thighs pressed against his cheeks as his head dipped lower, intent on devouring you.

"Martin," you gasped. "I have to go to work—"

You could feel him smile against you, his breath hot against your cunt as he laughed.

"Should have thought of that before..." He teased, utterly merciless. He pushed two fingers inside of you with ease, still slick from last night, and this morning. In fact, he could still taste himself inside of you.

Your back arched as he found your sweet spot with a practiced ease. Your hands curled in his hair, and the moans he made sent vibrations straight up your spine, like a low bass played from a quality speaker.

He coaxed you to your peak, and you came with a loud cry, your vision going utterly white with previews of heaven. He held you in place as you thrashed, a large hand pressing into your thigh.

When you opened your eyes again, his head was on your stomach, cheek resting against your skin. Martin was smiling, obviously pleased with himself. His nose and chin were shiny with spit and slick, his chest pressed against your core, just enough to keep your body thrumming.

“Call out. Spend the day with me.” He said. His fingers traced over your skin, drawing nonsensical patterns, writing invisible sheet music that only made sense to him.

“Martin…”

“Please.”

It was hard to resist him. Him with his blue lips, and shiny chin. Him with his black, messy hair. You sighed, and admitted defeat.

“Fine.”

#ewan mitchell martin #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell #fontaines d.c.#martin (in the modern world) x reader #heres to hoping this finds the right audience lol #ewan mitchell smut

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izzih22 · 3 months ago

Note

Should write about a sick and clingy Paige being taken care of by azzi

You’re My Favorite Medicine

Note: I told y’all I would get a bunch done if I was given prompts… 😂

Paige was dramatic when she got sick.

Not in the “moaning and groaning” kind of way. More in the “laying on the couch like a Victorian damsel” kind of way — hoodie pulled over her head, blanket burritoed around her, a box of tissues on one side and Gatorade on the other.

She sniffled and pouted as Azzi walked in with a bowl of soup.

“I brought you actual food,” Azzi said, crouching beside her. “And before you say it — no, you can’t survive off Gatorade and fruit snacks alone.”

“I could try,” Paige mumbled, eyes squinting pitifully up at her.

Azzi smiled, sitting on the edge of the couch. “You don’t even like soup.”

“No,” Paige agreed. “But I like you, so I’ll eat it.”

“You’re such a baby when you’re sick.”

“Your baby,” Paige replied, weakly lifting her hand toward Azzi like she was literally fading.

Azzi laughed, grabbing it and lacing their fingers together. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

“I really do,” she admitted, kissing her forehead.

Paige sighed, melting into her touch. “Your hands are cold. Don’t stop.”

Azzi stayed there for a moment, brushing Paige’s hair back. “You’re burning up,” she whispered.

“I only burn for you,” Paige muttered dramatically, eyes fluttering closed.

Azzi shook her head, grinning. “How do you still flirt when you’re like this?”

“Because I love you and I’m dying.”

“You have a cold.”

“A deadly cold.”

Azzi set the soup down on the table, leaned over, and kissed Paige’s nose. “You’re fine. And when you’re better, I’m gonna remind you of all of this.”

“I hope you do,” Paige said. “It means you were here.”

Azzi froze, just for a second. Her heart did this soft, twisty thing — like it always did when Paige said things like that.

“I’m always here, P,” she whispered. “Even when you’re being needy and gross.”

“You think I’m gross?” Paige asked, bottom lip sticking out.

Azzi rolled her eyes, grabbed a tissue, and wiped her nose gently. “Absolutely. But you’re also mine. So I guess I’ll survive.”

Paige smiled, eyes already fluttering closed again. “Stay here?”

Azzi curled up next to her under the blanket, pulling Paige close, letting her head rest against her shoulder. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

And as Paige snuggled closer, breathing evening out, Azzi just held her — warm soup forgotten, cold hands stroking soft blonde hair, heart full in the quiet.

Because even a dramatic, clingy Paige was her Paige.

And Azzi wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Who’s the dirty girl now?” Azzi muttered smiling as Paige coughed in her sleep.

#uconn wbb #paige bueckers #paige x azzi #pazzi fics #azzi fudd #paige and azzi #pazzi

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whereserpentswalk · 1 year ago

Text

People don't realize how liminal it is to be a time traveler. How you don't ever really feel like you're in the time you are. Even when you're in your own time, everything is off, your coat was something you bought in interwar France, the book you're reading on the train is from a bookstore you had to visit in Victorian London, even your necklace was given to you by a Neolithic shaman, from a culture the rest of the world can never know. You find yourself acting strange even when in the present, much less in the past you have to work in.

You remember meeting a eunuch in 10th century China, and having him be one of the only people smart and observant enough to realize you were from a diffrent time. You could talk honestly with him, though still you couldn't reveal too much about your time. And it was still so strange hearing him talk casually about work and mention plotting assassinations. You're not allowed to but you still visit him sometimes.

You remember that the few times you were allowed to tell someone everything it was tragic. You knew a young woman who lived in Pompeii, who you had gotten close to, a few days before she would inevitably die. On your last day there you looked into her eyes, knowing soon they'd be stone and ash, that the beauty of her hair would be washed away by burning magma. And you hugged her, and told her that you wanted her to be safe, and told her she was wonderful and that you wanted her to be comfortable and happy. And you let her tongue know the joy of 21st century chocolate, and her eyes see the beauty of animation, knowing she deserved to have those joys, knowing it wouldn't matter soon. And you hugged her the last time, and told her she deserved happiness. And when you left without taking her it was like you were killing her yourself.

You want to take home everyone you're attached to. There's a college student you befriended in eighteen fifties Boston. And you can't help but see him try to solve problems you know humanity is centuries away from solving. And you just want to tell him. And it's not just that, the way he talked about the books and plays he likes, his sense of humor. There's so many people you want him to meet.

You feel the same way about a young woman you met on a viking age longship. She tells stories to her fellow warriors and traders, stories that will never fully get written down, stories that she tells so uniquely and so well. She has so many great ideas. You want so dearly to take her to somewhere she can share her stories, or where she can take classes with other writers, where she can be somewhere safe instead of being out at sea. She'll talk about wanting to be able to do something, or meet people, and you know you're so close to being able to take her, but you never can, unless she accidently finds out way too much then you can't.

You remember the longship that you met that young storyteller on. You were there before, two years ago for you, ten years later for the people on it. The young woman who told you stories wasn't there ten years later, you had been told why then but you only realize now, her uncle, who ran the ship, had been one of the first people to convert to Christianity in his nation. He killed her, either for not converting or for sleeping with women, you're not sure, but he killed her, and bragged about it when you met him ten years later.

You talk to the storyteller on the longship, ask her about the myths you're there to ask her about, the myths that she loves to tell. You look into her eyes knowing it's probably less then a year until her uncle takes her life. You ask her if you think that those who die of murder go to Valhalla. She tells you she hopes not, she doesn't see Valhalla as a gift but as a duty, she hopes for herself to go to Hel, where she wouldn't have to fight anymore. You slip and admit you're talking about her, telling her that you hope that's where she goes when she's killed. You hope to yourself you'll be forced to take her to the twenty first century, you're tempted even to make it worse, you want to have ruined her enough to be able to save her.

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misseviehyde · 6 months ago

Text

BULLY BREW

Carol knew her daughter would be furious if she went in her room, but she'd told Alice to clean it six times now and she was still waiting. So long as her daughter was living under her roof, Carol expected her to at least be reasonable about such things and besides - her best stock pot had gone missing alongside a load of camping equipment. She wanted to know what her daughter was up to.

Carol knew that Alice was currently having a hard time at school, but that didn't give her a pass on keeping her room clean. Alice had come to the attention of some of the popular girls and was currently being bullied, but she refused to tell anyone about it and had screamed at her Mom that she didn't need help as she had her own solution.

Carol was struggling to see what that might be. As far as she and George, Alice's Dad could see, their daughter just spent all her time dressed in black and reading musty old books. Carol had offered to go the teachers but Alice had screamed at her not to.

Alice was what Carol's generation had called a 'goth' and her daughter liked to wear black makeup, dressing in black Victorian looking outfits and boots. She also had an obsession with 'magic' and claimed she was learning to be a witch.

Entering her daughters room, Carol winced. It was so dark and gloomy in here. Heavy metal and anime posters covered the walls and the room looked like a bomb site with clothes everywhere. Ripping open the curtains to let in some light Carol tutted as she saw her prized cook pot on top of a camp burner. A thick liquid was bubbling away.

She couldn't believe her daughter had left this on. She could have burned the house down!

Walking over Carol could see the liquid was thick and pink. Next to the pot her daughter had scribbled a load of notes. They sounded like the ravings of a mad woman.

Operation Revenge:

1. Make Bully Brew

2. Drink and become Alpha Bully

3. Get payback on EVERYONE

Carol tutted and turned off the heat causing the brew to stop boiling and bubbling. She looked down at it curiously and decided to give it a sniff. It was cooling rapidly... faster than any normal liquid would. In moments it would be cool to the touch and a velvety smooth pink liquid would be all that remained.

She breathed deep. It smelt good. Really good.

The fumes from the bully brew filled her head and she groaned involuntarily. She breathed deep and her skin tingled and her heart pounded. What... what was this feeling?

Staggering backwards, Carol's head span. She walked to the mirror and gasped. Her face looked younger and her skin tighter. It was like the fumes from the brew had been de-aging her and making her younger. Could it be real?

Curiosity swelled in Carol's mind. If a few sniffs of the brew could do this, what would drinking it do? A sudden hunger grew in her. A desire to drink down all the brew and feel its power fill her.

She knew she shouldn't. But she wanted to so badly. She NEEDED it.

Fuck it... why not?

With a wild grin on her face, Carol ran over to the pot and like some greedy child, began scooping the thick brew into her mouth using her hands. She moaned as she sucked down the delicious pink goo and overspill ran down her face.

"Ohhhhhh fuckkkkkk mmmmmmppphhh."

Carol grabbed the pot and lifting it up poured the pink slime over her face. She gulped and gulped as the excess dripped down onto her aging body, soaking into her clothes and skin. Slime ran into her hair and dripped down over her chest soaking her tits. She screamed in pleasure as she emptied the entire pot over herself and swallowed as much as she could, the rest coating her body and absorbing into her skin.

The empty pot clattered to the floor as Carol moaned and convulsed. Her face was a mask of ecstasy and insane pleasure as she grabbed her tits and squeezed them hard, rubbing the slime into her body.

"Mmmmm more... I need MMMMOOOORE! Fuckkkk it feels soooo good!"

Carol's arms shot out and she howled in pleasure, pushing her chest out. Bones popped and cracked as her aging body snapped back into perfect shape and her skin tightened up.

Her sagging tits firmed up to be young and perfect, the nipples hard as she groaned in pleasure. Thick white teenage bitch nails shot out from each finger as her neglected body hair burned away to leave every limb smooth and flawless.

Her body tanned and bronzed and her hair lightened, becoming blonder as her kind maternal features became cold and bitchy. Carol giggled and wiggled her fingers enjoying the feeling of the claws on her fingers and the feelings of dominant bitchy power thrilling through her transformed body.

"Fuck yesssss."

Her voice was now younger, brattier and meaner. She looked down and saw her dowdy Mom clothing soaked with the brew was also changing. It was tightening and altering in style to become a sexy little green one piece that left plenty of flesh on show.

Carol lifted a finger to her mouth and licked away the last drops of bully brew.

The entire cauldron was now empty, every single drop had been absorbed into Carol. Strutting over to the mirror she preened in front of it, enjoying how fucking sexy she looked. She was Alice's age now, but far prettier.

Her body pulsed with bitchy energy.

Walking over to Alice's wardrobe, Carol put her hand on the wooden door and watched as energy radiated from her hand and drained into the wardrobe.

It began to change, the clothes inside altering too, as Alice's room began to alter and shift. The excess energy from the bully brew bled out of Carol into her surroundings. Alice's room disintegrated and was instead replaced by a bitchy looking boudoir.

Carol looked around and knew that this was HER room now. The cupboards were full of designer clothes and this was her domain. She picked up her adult mobile phone and watched it transform into a bratty teenage bitches... the numbers inside and apps changing to reflect her new status as a popular bully.

Everything she touched was changing and becoming evil and bratty. It was kind of hot. Inside her head Carol's mental landscape was altering. It felt good to be a mean evil little bitch. New hungers were rising in her. She looked around Alice's former room and smirked. "Much tidier. This room is so much better as mine."

Something was happening inside her. Carol could feel her memories started to fade. She was still her, but she was struggling to remember her life as a Mom. She knew that she had been transformed by the bully brew, and it was now giving her a new bitchy life as a wicked teenage slut. She embraced it. It felt so good to give into these new emotions.

Fear, dominance, power. This was what she ached to have. She wanted people to shiver when they saw her. She wanted everyone to fucking worship her. She was Alpha now.

"Carol is fucking dead," smirked the hot teenage bitch as she took a selfie and admired how good she looked. "From now on there is only Niamh."

As she said it, she knew it was right.

Blonde hair, tanned skin, bitchy attitude. Niamh felt fucking good.

Suddenly the door to the room flew open and Alice gasped as she walked inside. "No! Not the Bully Brew. Oh my God, you drank the whole thing. You're only supposed to take a small amount. Mom - what have you done? The effects will be permanent!"

"Mom?" smirked Niamh. "I'm not your Mom anymore you pathetic loser. I'm your hot step-sister and you are my nerdy little step-bro. Don't you remember Arthur?"

Before Alice could react Niamh was on her. Pinning her down to the ground, the stronger girl laughed as the bitchy energy inside her washed over Alice and began to change her.

"Mmmmh you're such a small cocked pathetic incel Arthur. Can you feel yourself getting weaker? You love being my simp."

"Nooooooo!" screamed Alice, but it was too late as she transformed to her new sisters whims. Her breasts shrank and her dick grew and an infatuation for her more successful step-sister grew.

Arthur moaned as all knowledge of magic and the bully brew was driven from his mind. His shy little face crumpled into a servile expression of fear as he bowed his head and nervously adjusted his emo fringe. He was a weak pathetic loser with a porn addiction.

Niamh released her 'brother' pleased with his transformation. The excess energy within her was nearly drained now. She needed only alter George to make him her new Daddy and the rest of reality was already snapping into place.

No one remembered Carol anymore, only Niamh had ever existed.

"Being a bully is so much better than being a Mom. I won't make the same mistakes I did as Carol," gloated Niamh as she tried on her different clothes.

She giggled as she thought of Arthur jerking off in his bedroom and how he would never know why he was obsessed with thoughts of being a girl. She would enjoy turning him into a sissy loser.

The bully brew had done it's work well and this new bitch was ready to rock.

#evie hyde #bitchification #f2f transformation #f2m transformation #f2m #f2f #age regression #bully #bully brew

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monamipencil · 1 year ago

Text

— venus in furs | l.cn

⋆ summary; portraying lee chan as an example for simp from the 19th century. or in which, he's the biggest loser for you.

⋆ pairings; chan x fem! reader ⋆ genre; smut, fluff, friends (?) with benefits, 19th century! au ⋆ w.c; 2.5k+ ⋆ warnings; chan is the biggest simp, lots of praising and body worship, oral (f. receiving), foot job (m. receiving), service top! chan, also subby! chan, unprotected sex (19th century condoms are horrendous), multiple orgasms, SIMP CHAN ALERT ⋆ a/n; here she is!! i'm always down for writing simp! chan. this is my first time writing a victorian era fic, let me know how you guys like it <3

your heat throbs between your legs as the man before kisses down your knees with a passion that rivals the fire crackling behind him. you card your fingers through his soft brown locks and sigh softly, leaning back on the canapé.

“we should stop this,” Chan freezes at your cold yet tender voice. he looks up at you, distraught brewing in his beautiful eyes.

“my lady, have I done you any wrong? have I offended you?” he says, tone laced with a desperateness that breaks your heart.

but you're in no place to enjoy the worship he bestows upon you. you, a small village girl, and he, the heir to a powerful business. and though you rot your days away, fantasizing about marrying him, you know it is not practical.

you think of the gasps and the sneers that the news of your relationship would elicit from society. this was all a game of cat and mouse. you escapes his pursuits and chases and he revels in it, pushing him to pursue you further.

what started as a playful banter ended up in flames of passion and pining. if not careful, it could burn you and leave you with scars. the world is forgiving enough for a rich man but not a poor woman. any woman at that.

“it is not as simple, dearest.” you sigh, resolve, breaking with every passing second.

Chan has never been as devasted. he couldn't imagine a day without kissing your skin and worshipping you as if you were Venus. which you were, in his eyes.

with all his honesty, Chan never thought when he was with you. any rational thought slips from his mind, and you infect him with your warm, soft skin and deep, lusted eyes. the only thoughts that conjure are how to please and make you happy.

even now, as you hold a stake to his heart and threaten to pierce him, he can only think of pleasuring you.

“can I taste you for the last time, my lady?”

his offer knocks the air out of your lungs, and you try not to embarrass yourself by sucking in a sharp breath. your eyes dart towards the darkness of the room, searching for anything to look at but him.

even with the only light in the room behind him, he looks ethereal with Selene resting in his orbs. with hesitancy in your breath, you nod, unable to deny him.

he doesn't waste any time, slipping his hands under the rich silk covering your body. you undo the robe he bought you, one of the many decorating your wardrobe.

he drags his hands up your skin, pushing the robe off you. his groan echoes through the marble walls of his chamber, and his eyes dart over your naked figure.

the glow from the Renaissance fireplace casts you in a mesmerizing light. these are some of the times he envies the hands of a painter. oh, how he wishes to paint and immortalize you in this world.

your nipples harden under his touch, and your heat glistens with desire. you spread your legs, welcoming to have a taste. he places hot kisses on your thighs, slowly moving closer to your core.

you hold in your breath, anticipating his tongue as his breath wafts against your heat. he presses a kiss to the pearl between your folds before placing his tongue flat against your lips.

the sounds that fill the chambers are blasphemous. you toss your head back on the rich fabric of the canapé. your lips turn red, trying to hold in moans as his tongue works wonders on you.

his nose brushes against your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body. his tongue prods at your core, sucking and slurping. he hums, drinking your sweet nectar as if it's water. one could only describe him as a starved man with the hungry laps of his tongue and lustful moans from his chest.

moon-shaped prints form on your hips under the pressure of his nails. he looks up at you with a passion that trembles you to your core, and your walls break down. wanton moans echo from the back of your throat, and your hips thrust up to meet his starving mouth.

heat courses through your nerves, and sweat coats your body. pressure builds in your stomach, causing you to gasp and thrash under his hold. he slips in a calloused finger to rub the small nub, filling you with pleasure.

your hands fly up to your breasts to play with your nipples. you roll them between your thumb and forefinger. you lock your ankles behind his back, pushing his head further into your core.

the familiar pressure builds up in your stomach, causing your moans to grow louder. you tug his hair roughly and move your hips against his mouth. with another tug of his hair, you come undone. your moans quiet down, but that doesn't stop Chan from licking you dry, not wasting any of your fluids.

he pulls away from your throbbing heat, and your arousal glistens on his chin and lips.

“what would your loved ones think?” you ask between bated breaths.

“what?” a pout graces his lips, and he tilts his head. big, brown eyes tinted with confusion. you suck in a sharp breath and resist the urge to pepper kisses all over him.

“that you love to have your head between a maiden's legs.” it was his turn to breathe sharply, jaw tensing ever so slightly.

“what would they think of you, knowing you begged to have a taste of her?” you lean towards his kneeled figure, tracing a lone finger on the side of his face.

“that you neglect yourself to please her?”

you whisper against his cheeks, lips brushing against his soft skin. he gasps when you press your foot against his crotch. you fall back on the canapé, continuing your ministrations on his groin.

you trace the outline of his shaft with your toe and apply pressure specifically on the tip. he groans and wraps his fingers around your shin, letting you have your way.

he presses a kiss to your knees as if it's your knees that are bruised from passion. you press your sole against his hard cock, and toe his balls.

chan never complains. he always accepts whatever you have to give him with open arms, whether it's an orgasm or a heartbreak. and it's a pity that you only want to bask him in love, but you know it will destroy you in the end. so you gave him cold eyes and snarky remarks. but who knew that he would rejoice in your indifference?

“my love!” he moans, rutting his hips against your foot. even now, he baffles you. he accepts the bare minimum with no complaints and always gives his best in return.

the pet name never fails to make you flush and throb with yearning. you stop your movements, the ache between your legs growing stronger. he whines at the loss of friction and looks at you with longing.

you swiftly pull the robe on your body and stand up. you grab his collar, pulling him up with you. he groans when you roughly push him down on the mattress.

climbing on the bed, you straddle his hips and slot your lips against his in a hot kiss. he immediately responds, one of his hands wrap around your nape and the other rests on your lower back.

he pushes his tongue past your lips and moans at the warm of your mouth. the robe is again stripped from your body and he flips you over, gaining control over you.

the yellow-orange flames paint his skin a beautiful glow and you find yourself lost in his beauty. chan kisses you like a man depraved from any touch all his life. it's all teeth and tongue and gasps for breath.

he inhales in your scent and kisses your neck in a rushed manner. his hands wander all over your body, trying to find purchase anywhere he can. his teeth bruises your skin and his lips soothe the bruises right after.

and his clothes come undone one by one, till you're both laying naked on the velvet sheets of his bed. his cock grazes the inside of your thigh, a premonition of what's about to unfold.

his lips descend to your nipples, wrapping his lips around it. an undignified moan leaves you as his warm tongue swirls around the sensitive bud. he sucks obediently on the bud, occasionally teething on it. he switches to the other bud, doing the same before continuing his descent.

he leaves a trail of kisses from the valley of your breasts to the mound of your heat. his eyes are closed and eyebrows knitted in concentration as he does so. he stops and looks up at you, the flames in his eyes burn brighter than that of the wood fire.

he offers a small kiss to your clit before mounting you again, placing his hands on either side of your torso. you're rendered speechless when he kisses your forehead, gently.

“I could not care less about what others think.” his breath is even and the assurance in his eyes sends a flurry of emotions coursing through your veins.

he chuckles at your gaped mouth and the break in your character amuses him.

“what did you expect from this fool that can only think of you? hmm?” a gentle yet playful smile plays on his lips. your flushed expression overjoys him.

he shifts, positioning himself before your slick core. the bulbous head of his shaft prods your lips and he gently caresses the soft skin of your waist. he leans down, pressing a series of kisses from your temple to the corner of your lips.

“I burn for you, by my body and heart.”

he kisses you with burning passion and his sentence is punctuated by pushing his cock inside you. the stretch is delicious and you moan at the contact, hips rushing to meet his.

your slick arousal makes it easier for him. he enters you with ease and you moan in unison when he bottoms out. he pulls out before sinking back in. he follows it till he finds a comfortable pace to split you open.

you hook your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips. the heel of your foot digs into his back, and your nails leave red imprints on his skin. your lips has a mind-numbing grip on his cock. he pursues a relentless pace that molds your insides to the shape of his cock.

your walls flutter around him and you cling to him, desperately. he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. he thrusts harder, the sound of skins slapping reverberate off the marble walls.

the bed creaks with each movement of his hips. you moan, and throw your head back with a roll to your eyes. the sound of your slick every time your hips meet is sinful.

“kiss me, please. please.” Chan begs you with urgency. as if he'd succumb to death if you didn't oblige.

you rake up your nails up his back and eye his bruised lips, licking your own. a sultry haze swirls in your eyes and he's mesmerized by them. his pace slows down, involuntarily and you cradle his face before smashing your lips to his.

Chan whines and whimpers into your mouth, his hips meeting yours erratically. the orange embers from the fire place illuminates him in a heavenly aura. you dig your heels into his back, forcing him to move harder.

the pressure builds in your stomach again and you feel light-headed. Chan thrusts into you with passion and your slick drips down from your thighs.

“I love you,” you gasp at a certain hard thrust, and his confession kindles a new fire inside of you.

“I admire you,” he punctuates with a soft kiss to your temple and thrusts harder.

“god, you're so beautiful.” he cries, holding you tighter. you do the same, and rest your head on his neck. you kiss his neck, peppering him with red blemishes.

with another hard thrust, you come undone, moaning and whimpering his name. he pulls out, jerking off before he spills warm, white ropes of semen on your stomach and thighs.

he falls on the mattress beside you and pulls your body closer. soft apologies spill from his lips as he peppers kisses on your skin to make up for his roughness.

you catch your breath and melt into his arms. the fire has died down, leaving the room cold and dark but Chan keeps you warm. his hands caress your skin and he looks at you with such admiration that makes him cry.

the heat of the passion died down, leaving room for soft vulnerability. his fingers entwine with yours and he holds you as if you're the most sought after price in all of the world.

“I love you,” you admit and he freezes, mind buffering as he processes your words. he searches your face for any insincerity but he's met with none. you offer him a gentle smile and a warm hug.

he melts into your embrace and you hear a few sniffles. you chuckle, rubbing and patting his back. but he pulls away, leaving you confused.

you see his naked back disappear behind the room divider and he soon emerges with a wet cloth. a hiss falls from your lips when he presses it on your heat, cleaning you up. he apologizes with a sheepish smile and a blush on his face.

a few minutes have passed and you're laying on his muscular chest, waiting for slumber to take you over. he clears his throat and stops his caresses.

“so, what do you think of marriage?”

he maintains a emotionless visage but you can see the fear dancing in his orbs. you try not to chuckle and give your answer with an even voice.

“a burden,”

“a burden?” he parrots, voice laced with hurt.

you hum, feeling your heart thrum wildly beneath your rib cages. if it weren't for the bony cage, your heart would've ripped it's way out, begging for him to touch it.

“but not to me,” you whisper, kissing his skin. you snuggle into his neck, and you can't see his face but feel him hold in his breath.

“not if it's you.”

he switches positions, hovering over you now. he silently asks for assurance and you nod. he breathes finally, and thanks the lord for answering his prayers. you laugh at that and return his embrace.

he peppers kisses all over you and chuckles with you.

“but dare to cross my heart, and your dick won't be attached to your body anymore.” you threaten but he smiles at you, clearly lovesick.

he kisses down your neck, to your breasts and stomach where he rests his head. he hears your heartbeat thump and he smiles.

“my heart would break before yours, if I were ever to do so, my lady.”

you caress his head, slumber rooting in your body.

“my soul is far too intertwined with yours.”

tags; @seungkwanschicken @aaa-sia @dokyeomkyeom @bangantokchy

@asyre @armycarat2612 @bewoyewo @gyuguys @embrace-themagic

@aaniag @nurihihi (send an ask to be added on the taglist!)b

#dino #svthub #lee chan #dino smut #lee chan smut #svt smut #svt #dino hard hours #chan hard hours #seventeen smut #dino x reader #chan smut

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covenbeyond · 1 month ago

Text

blood spilled and drank

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vampire!141 x humantovampire!reader

word count 4.5k

Garrick holds you to his chest as he rides his horse through the depths of the woods, expertly winding through trees and dividing between shadows.

You fall in and out of consciousness, weakened body jolting with every sharp turn down dark, unknown paths.

Your hands clutch tightly to his shirt, bloodied hands leaving stains against white fabric.

Through fluttering eyelashes, you see the ominous, looming silhouette of a large building.

“Stay with me, sweetheart.” Garrick pleads, voice cutting through the fog, “We’re almost there. You just have to hold on just a little longer.”

You wish you could believe him, as your eyes slip closed.

It has started to rain.

Heavy downpour echoing through an abandoned castle, the raindrops tapping against shards of glass and the leaves of overgrown vines.

The pitter pattering and splashing grates on the nerves of all who linger in the castle’s shadowed halls. The crows, the rodents, the foxes, and the vampires alike.

Three members of the recently relocated a hundred and forty first clan linger idly inside of the decrepit ballroom, uneasy due to their missing

Captain John Price is pacing, heavy boots scuffing dirt across the stone flooring.

His companions, Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish and Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, watch him warily, from their places sprawled across ancient furniture. The Scotsman’s knee shakes, pent up energy and the beginnings of hunger making him restless.

He is thrown a cautionary look by his masked friend, a silent order to practise silence while in the presence of their leader’s frustration.

If only Johnny was one to listen, Ghost gripes internally, as Soap opens his big mouth.

“Gaz’ll be back soon, Cap’.” The Scot assures, blatantly ignoring the warning grunt from Ghost.

His attempt at comfort falls on deaf ears. Price scowls, scratching his fingers through his hair, “He was out of control last night. He’s too young to be left wandering.”

He aims a pointed glare at Ghost, who simply shrugs, “Found him, didn’t I?”

“Damn near too late.”

“He's new t’this” Soap states, reclining against his chair in a carefree manner, even if his jittering limbs betray his true feelings of discomfort.

“Exactly.” Price growls, “He can’t contain himself yet. He’s a risk to every bleeder out there. If Simon hadn’t found him, he would have torn that girl to shreds. Damn near in her own backyard!”

He stands at the antique fireplace, staring into it’s darkened depths, “Could you imagine what would have happened if she had been gutted? Left in that forest? The hunters would have a field day, the townspeople would panic. And if someone had seen him do it? We’d be lucky to escape with our lives.”

“Didn’t happen though, did it?” Ghost says, pointedly, ignored by Price.

“And now he’s gone and gotten his bleeding heart broken.” He scoffs, “Pining over some girl who was always going to be afraid of him. Bloody fool.

Soap snorts, “Lads jus’ nae used t’ pretty girls runnin’ off screamin’ when he shows off ‘is pearly whites.”

“You know all about that, Johnny.” Simon says, “Plenty o’ experience, even before you turned.”

“Awa’ and bile yer heid, ye grumpy bastard.”

“Don't know why the girl was even out there.” Simon grumbles, looking at their leader, “But if she's got any sense, she won't be going out there again.”

A humourless chuckle escapes the captain, “Nothing about sense. If Garrick calls out to her again, she might not be able to resist.”

A thud echoes through the castle, booming along it’s hallowed halls.

The men jump into action, recognising the sound of the old doors opening. As they rush into the foyer, they’re taken back by the sight of Gaz, his white shirt sodden from the rain and carrying a shaking figure wrapped in his coat.

“Christ almighty.” Soap says under his breath, as Gaz lowers the woman to the ground, revealing it to be you.

Bloodied, skin ashy, eyelids fluttering. They can hear your heartbeat, the poor muscle within your chest fighting a losing battle to keep you alive, while the hole in your chest seeps your acrid, precious blood with the ease of an undisturbed river.

They know, without a doubt, that you are dying.

“What did you do?!” Price demands, pushing the younger vampire away from you, mistaking the scene for that of a fresh hunt.

“Not me. The hunters.” Gaz seethes, shoving Price back as he begins tearing off the old curtains to cover your weakened form, “I saw him, Price. Phillip fucking Graves.”

Soap snarls, snapping his jaws at the mention of the American hunter. A rageful hum reverberates from the three vampires, swallowing the air around them as they look between you and Gaz.

“He staked her.” Gaz says, crouching beside you to tuck the thick fabric of the curtain around your shoulders, though they all know that it will do no good in your current state. “She’s bleeding out, John. We have to do something!”

His words give the others pause, understanding his meaning. It makes them uneasy, looking between each other while Gaz flits about you like an anxious bird.

“Gaz…” Simon warns, deep baritone slicing through the tense silence.

Gaz ignores him, looking at Price and opening his mouth-

“Why didn’t ye stop ‘im?” Soap asks, almost accusingly.

“I wasn’t there, you idiot!” Gaz snaps, “Smelt her blood a mile away, heard her heartbeat… Christ, she’s dying, John!”

Price’s face grows stormy, “What exactly do you want me to do about that?”

“I want you to turn her!”

Silence.

Soap and Ghost share a look, as Gaz steps up to Price, the two of them stand toe to toe. It’s aggressive, unlike the two who are extremely close, bonded in a way which cannot be understanded by outsiders looking in.

But now, there’s a challenge in the air. The youngest of the group demanding something of the leader, something that he does not understand the weight of.

“We can’t.” Price bites.

“And why not?!”

“We only turn people when we feel the call.” Price says through gritted teeth, “Not just because they’re dying and pretty.”

Gaz snarls, stepping closer to his leader. His eyes flash, fangs shining in the candlelight.

“If you don't do it, I will!” He yells.

Simon pushes Gaz back, gripping him by the back of his neck, “Calm yourself, Kyle. Don’t go looking for a fight you won’t win.”

Gaz sneers, but allows his companion to press him close to his body, nosing at his hairline with a throaty purr.

Price huffs, his moustache twitching as he looks between his men and the dying girl. You’re still, a statue made of marble, swaddled in fabric quickly stained red. The smell of your blood is pungent, filling the entire room, adding to the unease the vampires feel.

Three sets of eyes watch Price as he kneels beside you, tracing his knuckles over the soft skin of your cold cheek.

He can admit, you are pretty. He noticed it the first time he saw you, talking to Gaz on the street after he saved you from a fall.

The second your eyes met his, he knew you could be… significant.

Price sighs through his nose, before looking up, staring at Gaz.

“Fine.”

Is this death?

You wonder to yourself, your body numb and weightless, floating in the infinite darkness surrounding you.

You feel nothing. Not just physically, but emotionally. Your mind is soft, with dulled edges. You feel almost transparent, floating in an ocean of nothingness.

Something nudges you, something foreign to your surroundings, disturbing the waves and the peace.

Cold breath. Sharp points pressing into your neck.

You gasp back into life.

Eyes opening, blurred objects shift into focus. The black void disappears in front of you, leaving behind a high, cracked ceiling.

A face looks down at you, blood dripping from lips hidden behind a moustache.

“'ello, again.”

You cough, sucking down air that only leaves you once again. Your lungs have no need for it, expelling it instantaneously. Your body is… cold. Motionless. You feel no movement inside of you, your heart still and solid where it should be beating.

Is this death?

No, this is worse.

You sit up, pushing the vampire away with all the strength you can muster.

He’s a wall of solid muscle, not moving an inch from where he crouches, regarding you with the apathy one reserves for looking at an insect beneath their shoe.

You shift to your knees, looking down at your bloodied dress and healed chest, not even a scar in the place where Graves had stabbed you.

Reborn, a vampire.

You hate it.

A sob escapes you, your hands pressing to your chest, willing your organs to work, willing your life to return to you. Tears blur your vision, other faces swimming closer in front of you.

“Stay away from me!” You scream, cowering from them like a wild animal, standing and shrinking back.

You move on uneasy legs, falling backwards and into the arms of someone. You look up, feeling deja vu at the sight of the masked man and his cobalt eyes looking down at you.

“Let me go!” You scream, trying to escape the prison of his arms as he holds you up.

“Ghost.” Price warns, and the other man sets you upright, allowing you to scamper away.

You look around wildly, trying to find an exit. You meet the worried eyes of Garrick, and the uncertain face of MacTavish. You glare at both of them, trying to fight your tears to show how enraged you should be, and not how terrified and grief stricken you truly are.

It hits you then. Hunger. Hunger like you’ve never felt.

Price takes a step forward, holding his hand out in a placating manner, “You need blood, love.”

“Leave me be!” You wail, “You’ve made me a monster.”

The men stare at you, but you ignore them, stumbling away on shaking legs to the large, broken doors leading towards the outside.

But it’s only a balcony. You huff out an angry sob, looking down past the barrier to the long drop down into overgrown bushes.

No way to jump down. No escape from here.

Looking out to the horizon, you see the town. A mere dot amongst miles of green, but it’s there. It’s still the same.

Someone clears their throat behind you.

Garrick seems sad when you turn to look at him, shoulders slumped and head tilted downwards.

“I wish it hadn't come to this, my lady.” He says, “I swear, if I had known-”

“Stop, Garrick.” You say, wiping your hands over your face, “I don’t… I don't want to hear apologies.”

“Then what do you want?”

You look back to the horizon, your mind a cramped cluster, a twisted and tangled ball of wire.

“I don't know.” You settle on, “I… everything's different now. I'm different now. It's not fair.”

Garrick nods, looking regretful, “We wouldn't have done it if there was any other option-”

“You could have let me die.”

Garrick is silent at that.

The horizon is endless as you look at it. Never ending trees and fields and distant houses. The world seems so different now, though you know it hasn't changed. You're the one who's changed.

“Why were you back in the woods?” Garrick asks, looking over at you inquisitively.

His question startles you, but you shrug, giving the simplest answer, “I went looking for you.”

It is silent, until a hand presses to your shoulder, turning you around to face him. Garrick smiles sadly, bringing both hands up to hold your face.

"I'm-"

"No apologies." You reiterate.

“I was going to say, I'm the same as you. Well, not exactly. But I was where you are, not too long ago.” Garrick murmurs, his thumbs rubbing soothingly over your cheeks.

You furrow your brows, not understanding what he means, "How?"

"I'm a new vampire, too. Twelve years ago, I worked in construction, and I fell off of a moving train. Watched the sun rise on the tracks, no feeling in my body… I thought I was done for. Then-” He looks away, back to the castle, “Price found me. He brought me back. But,” He looks at you, “I was afraid too. I felt like an outsider in my own body. But I can promise you, it will get better.”

“Why did you…” You take a second, “Why did you do it?”

Garrick furrows his brows, “Do what, my lady?”

“...Save me.”

Kyle smiles, “It wasn’t a choice I made, my lady. There was no other option than to save you. I…" He trails off, looking away as he searches for the words.

He settles on, “You have enchanted me.”

You blink, caught off guard. He looks at you earnestly, but his words only confuse you.

Yet you have the urge to learn to understand.

“Kyle.”

Ghost stands in the doorway, dark eyes set on you though he speaks to his friend.

“We’re going hunting.” The masked man says, “She needs blood and we ain't got none.”

Kyle follows him in, you trailing behind, “Blood? You- you're hunting… people.”

Garrick is quick to try to reassure you, “We don't hunt people-”

“Not in smaller towns like this.” Price states, voice cold and indifferent, “Too easy for someone to notice.”

The weight of the words left unsaid linger, and you feel a chill. They have hunted people... they've done it to survive, selfish and imprisoned in their own hunger.

How many people have they killed, in cities where people can easily disappear?

“Ghost, stay here. Make sure she doesn't go wandering and get herself lost.”

With that, Price turns away, a dark cloud around him.

You avoid Garrick's look, MacTavish's nod and Ghost’s stare, walking in the opposite direction, further into your new prison.

With your newfound isolation, you find yourself pacing the library.

A mirror, cracked and rusted and overgrown with weeds, leans against the wall. As you look at it, you take in your appearance.

You look… the same.

Your hair is messy, your skin is dull, your dress is torn and covered in dirt and blood, but you haven't changed.

It almost makes you… angry? That your entire life has changed, yet reality seems unwilling to show it, not an eyelash or a blemish changed upon your face to dignify your transformation with evidence.

Seeking answers to your questions, you press your finger against the glass, applying enough pressure to slice the flesh. You feel dulled pain, like you’re feeling it through a barrier.

When your skin cuts, nothing escapes. No blood. Just more flesh, red muscle and white bone.

Something ugly crawls up your body, a feeling of grief. Anguish.

It’s not fair. You’re an outsider in your own body now. The living dead, walking around in a carcass that refuses to decompose.

You feel hatred towards them. Garrick, Graves, Price, everyone. They’ve taken your life from you.

Looking back at the mirror, you see your eyes-

Your iris has expanded, bleeding into the white of the sclera. They shine like metal, your pupils mere pinpricks surrounded by oceans of iridescent colour.

It startles you, and you gasp, revealing your fangs. Sharp, pointed teeth where your molars were. You bring a hand to your lips, and see long claws where your fingernails should be.

Finally, you can see how much you’ve changed.

Blinking, your eyes return to normal. Your fangs shrink back, smaller but still pointed. Your claws retract, still sharpened like blades but now they resemble normal nails.

It can't be real, can it?

You’ll wake up in your own bed, embarrassed about this strange dream. You’ll go about your day to day life, slowly forgetting about the odd men you fabricated and-

A knock on your door.

You turn around, and MacTavish pops his head in, giving you a roguish, lopsided smile, “Y’alright, bonnie?”

Opening your mouth, words escape you. You try to enunciate your horror at your new situation, but you cannot.

MacTavish seems to understand, paying no mind to your stuttering and taking a step closer into the room.

“I came to, uh, help ye with feedin’, lass.” MacTavish says, “Cap wanted someone to sit with ya, it can be quite dauntin’ at first.”

He carries a glass. Inside it is thick, red liquid.

Blood.

It makes the logical side of your brain reel, disgusted and horrified....whilst your body hones in on it, craving it.

“Here.” MacTavish says, voice softened, “Looking at’it can be weird’, I'll help ye."

He crosses the room, sitting on one of the dusty sofas. Patting the space next to him, he urges you forward.

Perhaps you really are stupid, because you sit beside him. A reasonable distance apart, and with posture statuesque, but sat regardless.

MacTavish doesn't mention it, instead saying, "Close yer eyes, lass.”

You shouldn't trust them. They’re the monsters hiding in closets, they’ve stormed into your life like a hurricane and turned everything upside down.

You shouldn't trust John MacTavish. But you do, because you have no other options.

So, you close your eyes.

After a moment of waiting, listening to the sound of clinking class and shifting fabric, cold lips press to yours, and you jolt away.

"How dare you-!"

“Easy now.” MacTavish says, giving you a smile, "I'm just trying to feed you."

You stay in place, feeling uneasy, but allow your eyes to close again.

Surely this doesn't mean anything, he's trying to put blood in my mouth for crying out loud.

The lips return, firmly moulding to yours.

It's not... unpleasant. In fact, in any other circumstance, you might even say it's nice.

But you barely know him... and what could Garrick think of you kissing his friend?

Fighting the urge to pull away, you feel his tongue lick at your lips, seeking entrance. Allowing it, you taste copper coating your mouth.

It’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted.

Shame be damned, you sink into the feeling, licking against him to drink every drop of blood he offers.

When the flavour runs dry, you keep kissing him, seeking out more blood. MacTavish pulls away with a chuckle, and you open your eyes to find his handsome face looking down at you with kind eyes.

“More?” MacTavish asks, a teasing smile on his face.

You don’t even bother answering, leaning forward and licking the blood left on his lips. MacTavish hums appreciatively, butting his forehead to yours as he grabs the glass again.

Sipping more, he eagerly presses his mouth back to yours, letting you drink from him.

Before long, the glass is empty, and your hunger is gone. You lick your lips, smacking them as you enjoy the new feeling of buzzing energy rushing through you.

MacTavish nudges his nose to your cheek like a cat, nipping you with sharp teeth and causing you to huff out a laugh. He smiles at the sound, and the moment is calm. Sweet, almost.

You smile, “I have a feeling that’s not the conventional way to drink blood?”

“Maybe not.” MacTavish smirks, taking the glass and standing, “But it’s the best way.”

He leaves you with that, disappearing back out the door.

The moment is over, and your anxieties return. You’re left sated, but confused. With an aftertaste of blood and a strange sense of yearning, mixed with apprehension.

Garrick, Kyle as he seems to be known to most, or 'Gaz' as he is called by his clan, is working outside.

Sleeves rolled up, waistcoat unbuttoned, looking every bit the strong working man he mentioned he was before his transformation.

You linger in the shadows, watching him as he slots a plank of wood atop layered bricks, creating a canopy for his horse to hide under during the winter storms.

Approaching him, you spot the horse close by, grazing on the overgrown grass, her dark fur shining in the winter sun.

She looks up at you, huffing through her nose in what you could only hope is recognition. Kyle notices you, smiling warmly.

“This is Posie.” Kyle introduces, petting her nose.

You smile, gingerly holding out your hand for Posie to sniff. She noses at your fingers, before stepping closer to allow you to pet her neck.

“She likes you.” Kyle chuckles, “Strange. Animals don't usually take to vampires so quickly.”

“Maybe she recognises me from before.” You say, carding your fingers through her mane, “In the woods.”

“Maybe.” Kyle muses, voice soft as he watches you with kind, sympathetic eyes.

The sound of approaching horses slices the calm atmosphere in two, the two of you turning to watch as the other three return to the courtyard.

Posie huffs, returning to grazing on the overgrown grass as Kyle approaches Price.

“What do you know?” He asks, voice taking on a dangerous edge.

“We saw Graves.” MacTavish says, dismounting and running an aggravated hand through his hair “Parading her death around, gatherin’ th’town and tellin’ ‘em all about th’poor lass slaughtered by the evil vampires.”

You shudder, instinctively stepping closer to Kyle at the news of your death being so callously broadcasted.

Kyle rests a hand on your arm, comforting you, “I'm sorry, love.”

With the horses tethered, Price leads the group back into the castle, ripping his coat off with angered vigour.

“They’re here for us.” Price states, moustache twitching with annoyance, “The shadow company. Said it themselves, with that bastard Shepherd with them.”

“Well we knew that.” Kyle scoffs, keeping to your side as the others mill about the ballroom.

“Is that why you’re here?” You ask, causing all four of them to look at you, “For the… shadow company?”

“No.” Price says, hesitating, “We’re here for my sire, the vampire who made me. Her name is Katherine Laswell.”

You know that name. Miss Laswell is a stoic, older woman, living on the outskirts of town and minding her own business. She wasn't one for socialising, always staying indoors with her ward, Emma.

Neither of them have been seen in months, and you tell them as such.

Price sneers, “Yeah, we lost contact with her a while ago. Came here to find out what happened. I believe Shepherd found her out and tried to kill her. That's why we’re here.”

“In secret?” That’s unusual. Vampire hunts are usually a big deal, whole provinces getting involved, never in secret. “Why would he do that?”

“Because she was encroaching on his territory.”

His territory…

“Wait... mayor Shepherd is a vampire?” You ask, surprised.

Ghost nods, “The worst kind. He’s a coward, who sends others out to do his dirty work. Orchestrating the annihilation of his own people to gain the bleeders trust, keep the herd close and to himself. He's been doing it for centuries.”

“We’re nae monsters.” MacTavish says, “There are many o’ us, everywhere. ‘T’s the worst of us that make us seem so evil.”

“Laswell lived in your town for decades and you never knew.” Kyle says, “She never killed anyone, always found better means. Animals, the dying, good samaritans. Her lover was human, and she was who fed her until recently.”

You raise your eyebrows, “Emma?”

Price hums, “Poor woman. We found her buried behind the town hall. We think she was used to draw Kate out.”

“Where’s she now? Laswell?” You ask, looking between them.

“In hiding.” Ghost growls, “With the Shadows lingering and Shepherd’s vampires on the lookout for her, she’ll be holed up somewhere.”

“We thought here, but…” Price grunts, shrugging and taking a seat.

It's a lot of information, and you feel your head getting woozy, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. Kyle notices, taking a step closer and resting his hand on your arm.

“Why don’t you get some rest, my lady.”

You scoff, “Vampires sleep?”

“Vampires rest.” He chuckles, “We choose to sleep because it helps the passing of time, but our bodies tire just like everyone else. Lie down for a while, rest your body. It's been a rough couple of days.”

You nod, giving the others a lingering look before turning and leaving.

Night has fallen, and though Kyle said vampires could choose to sleep, it's the last thing you want to do right now.

You find yourself wandering around the castle. It’s a wondrous building, or at least it would have been when people lived in it. But centuries of abandonment have made it dark, overgrown ruins.

The beginnings of hunger are encroaching on your peace, a deep, painful feeling coursing through your body.

It will take some getting used to, you have to remind yourself.

Turning another corridor, you spot two familiar silhouettes.

Kyle and MacTavish are talking quietly, barely a breath apart. The Scot noses at his friend's cheek, before letting out a choked sound. It stops you in your steps, unsure of the scene you have walked upon.

You look down to see Kyle’s hand in MacTavish's trousers.

Their bodies move in harmony, pushing and pulling as one as they exchange whispered words and euphoric sounds. Kyle’s hand flexes, and Johnny goes taunt, before pressing his forehead to the other man's.

Kyle presses his lips to Soaps, murmuring-

“I love you.”

Shocked, confused, you round the corner once again, bringing a hand to your mouth.

You thought… maybe Gaz had feelings towards you. The way he acted made you think there was something there, perhaps feelings or a longing for more.

How foolish. Of course this gorgeous, intelligent, kind vampire would already be romantically involved with another beautiful vampire.

What chance did you have?

Perhaps you were just a game to him. Perhaps he just wanted to play with the naive young human. Perhaps Soap is in on it.

Embarressment, longing and the bitter aftertaste of disappointment linger in your heart as you walk away, leaving the soft sounds of the men’s enjoyment behind you.

The ballroom had become dark with the night, the broken windows letting whistling wind through the cracks and sending the whole room into an icy chill.

You shiver as you walk in, looking for a source of warmth and comfort with your spiraling thoughts.

The fire has been lit, and two men sit beside the hearth, their backs to you as they talk. Price’s fingers cradle a half smoked cigar, the smell of it sour in the air. Beside him, Ghost cleans a shot gun, fingers nimble and dark eyes focused on his task, though they seem deep in conversation.

“Gaz is young, but he's intuitive.” Price muses, voice gruff, “If he thinks there's a reason why he's so drawn to her, then there may well be.”

“He’s still got too much life in him.” Ghost bites, “He’s thinking with his bollocks.”

You swallow, stepping back into the shadows to avoid being seen, a feeling of unease taking over at their callous words and cold dispositions.

“Don't bloody need her.” Ghost growls, and if your lungs worked, your breath would stutter in hurt.

Price huffs, “Let the boys have their fun. Once we’ve dealt with Shepherd and Graves, we’ll be gone. Back to London, just the four of us.”

You stumble back, your bare feet quiet on the stone floor, turning and rushing back the way you came.

“They’ll forget about her soon enough.”

tags @pinkpuppipawz

beautiful dividers by @uzmacchiato !

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