#sleeping dogs voice clips

[garbagedogs]

Helllllllloooooooooo! Just wanted to say that I love the blog! ❤️ It's nice to see fellow sleeping dogs fans. I saw your post about Winston and I didn't know it was confirmed that he felt a type of way about still living with his mom. Would you happen to have the audio of him saying that?

thank you love 2 be back and i sure DO

this is the relevant part from an unused version of the conversation Wei and Winston have during the drive to Uncle Po. i've had this waiting to be posted since 2018 i meant to edit together the whole thing but i think i wasn't entirely sure about the correct order for all the lines. so i'm only posting this bit for now

[touchlikethesun]

hq!! dub deserves rights for making it canon that kags dreams about volleyball that is so adorable

[nicoscheer]

[void-my-warranty]

Ghost Cleans You Up (18+)

Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content warnings: Intimate touching, PIV sex Word Count: 4k

Service Dog Johnny Part 12 (full part list here)

So, you don’t actually get a week of sex.

What actually ends up happening is you’re woken up in the middle of the night by Johnny moving his arm out from under your neck, and Simon hurrying to get dressed and grab his go bag.

You can hear their low voices on the other side of the door, while you pull on some pajamas because apparently you fell asleep naked. The two men are speaking in that clipped, concise way that lets you know they’ve already shifted to work mode.

Except… surely Johnny’s not going. He’s still hobbling around.

Sure enough, Johnny’s still shirtless when you join them to see off your boyfriend. Damn, you didn’t even get a week with him. Why can’t the world behave, and let you have him for just one week?

“Can’t tell you where,” Simon conveys while he gulps down some pills. “Don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“Alright.” You try to keep the disappointment out of your voice for his sake. This is just a thing that happens sometimes. Maybe he’ll get a longer stretch of home time after this.

Your boyfriend hooks his arm around your back while you hug him, his other hand gripped onto his duffel. “Fuck me,” he mumbles into your hair, voice rough with not enough sleep. “I already miss you.”

Your chest clenches in an answering sort of pang, but there isn’t time to do more than see him out the door and watch his car vanish down the darkened street.

And then it’s quiet. Unusually quiet, considering Johnny’s still there.

You know what he’s thinking, even before you turn to look. He’s thinking it should be him leaving as well. He’s thinking that maybe his shoulder isn’t too bad, and if he hadn’t hurt his ankle, perhaps Simon wouldn’t be going alone right now.

It takes a few seconds for Johnny’s eyes to wander from the door Simon just walked out of, to your face.

“It’s not fun,” you admit, taking a step forward to squeeze his hand. “But this is how it feels.”

Maybe it’ll feel worse when Johnny heals up, and it’s both of them leaving.

“I’ll be getting going,” Johnny tells you with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You don’t have to.”

“Nah, I do.”

Suddenly feeling out of place, you fold your arms over your braless chest to cover yourself while he gets ready to leave, and you prepare yourself to be alone.

It’s not the worst deployment, but it’s definitely not the best. You get to text each other, and the occasional video call, so that’s nice. It’s weird catching Simon up on your mundane day-to-day when he’s out there doing who knows what insane stuff, but he always listens, and asks you about it, even though he’s wearing the mask.

He’s gone so long that Johnny heals up enough to join him, and you’re glad for that. You hate the idea of Johnny being stuck on base doing paperwork or whatever they have him doing, and going back home to an empty place every night. It feels a little less lonely somehow, knowing they’re together.

And then on a random Wednesday morning, you get the text from your boyfriend that you’ve been fantasizing about for weeks:

Simon: Taking off from Spain heading home

That’s all you need. You hurry to get as much work done as possible, get your coworker to fill in for your can’t-miss appointments for the rest of the week, and then you let your boss know that you won’t be in the office again until Monday.

When you get home that night, you take an everything shower. You paint your toenails and do your hair extra pretty, shave and lotion and basically make yourself as edible as you can be, because your baby’s coming home.

The deadbolt clicks open around midnight, and it instantly jolts you awake. You yank yourself upright so fast that you almost fall off the couch, and still half asleep, you squint at the blob that is your boyfriend’s exhausted body shuffling through the door. Automatically you glance over his shoulder as if you’ll see Johnny there with him, but of course you don’t, because he’d tell you if he was bringing company, and oh my god, Simon’s home.

Suddenly you’re on your feet, sliding a little in your socks as you rush to meet him. He’s just finished flopping his bag onto the floor when your arms wrap around the most familiar, safe body you know, and then you’re home. He’s real, and solid, and you can feel the rapid pounding of his heart as it’s pressed tight to your cheek.

His movements are so sluggish, it’s like they drained him of all his energy over there. Unusually heavy on your head, his hand smoothes over your hair and then rests on your shoulder, as if he can’t spare the energy it takes to lift it again.

“Bed,” you command, pulling away to let him walk.

“Shower,” he mumbles, “and a cuppa.”

“Snack,” you counter, “and some water. I’ll get it ready while you clean up.”

His answering grunt is an agreement - he really doesn’t need more caffeine - so you part ways to get his needs taken care of as efficiently as possible.

In bed later, your boyfriend starts falling asleep halfway through chewing. You have to shake his shoulder to get him to swallow down the rest of the choking hazard, and then bully him into taking a few drinks of water. The pillow is still damp from his hair when you grab his phone to turn off any alarms, and then turn out the light.

You crawl into your fresh, clean sheets, and tuck yourself back into the curve of Simon’s body. This is the only time he can sleep with physical contact, when he’s so fatigued that he can barely roll over. You’re not sure that he’s actually awake when his hand slides to your chest and stays there, curled into a loose fist between your breasts and sort of pressing you into him as if you were a pillow.

Your baby’s home.

You wake up gradually, feeling extra safe, but not yet comprehending why. There’s a little light coming in through your closed blinds, so it must be morning, and you’re safe. You’re safe because there’s a muscled chest behind you, slowly lifting and falling with relaxed breathing, and Simon’s clean scent surrounds you in the sheets.

He must have slept like this against you all night. How unusual. Your eyes slide closed again, not actually intending to fall back to sleep, but having no real reason to fight against it. Your consciousness fades so gently that you barely register that any time has passed when you wake up again some time later.

Simon’s hand is on your stomach, his fingers slowly caressing the skin that’s bare from your shirt riding up in your sleep. You make a drowsy, happy noise, glad that he’s awake. Now it’s worth it to wake up. Now you get to have him all to yourself.

“You smell fucking good,” he says into your hair. His voice isn’t thick with sleep, so you guess he’s been awake for at least a little while.

You’re not quite conscious enough to switch from the sensory world to the logical one, so you just lay there limp and happy, and your skin feeds you a wash of warm honey at the feeling of his hand. Unthinkingly, you arch your back a little to give him more room to stroke his fingers down your belly. The movement makes your ass press to his hips, and you feel something decidedly hard back there.

“Sorry,” you mutter, returning your ass to where it was before.

Except his hand takes hold of your hip, and draws it back against him. He breathes your name into your hair, and you almost wonder if you’re dreaming, as his hips roll a little against your ass. You groggily close your eyes again to enjoy it, to submerge yourself in this nice dream where your boyfriend grinds himself against your body and asks if he can fuck you.

Wait.

Your eyes spring open and your mind focuses with sudden clarity. That is what he said. Simon just said, ‘“Can I fuck you?”’

You must be taking too long to reply, because he explains in a hushed voice, “My head’s quiet, and you feel so fucking good, I just… want to try.”

“Yeah,” you croak, still a little stunned. “Yeah, yes, of course you can, baby.”

You feel his hand come around, the roughness of his palm dragging against your skin while he pushes your shirt up above your breasts. Your nipple catches on his fingers as he lowers his hand back down your body, and all of a sudden your brain comprehends exactly what’s happening. It’s not just words any more, it’s a reality.

Holy shit.

You quickly reach down to shove your shorts and underwear off, and you can feel him adjusting his own clothes behind you, and then you feel his bare cock against your bare ass. You have just enough presence of mind to smother your gasp, as his hand comes around and envelops your breast, and he buries his face in your neck.

“I won’t be able to touch you first,” he admits, and you can feel the motion of his hard swallow from the way his throat has contact with your shoulder.

“There’s lube in the top drawer thing,” you answer back, heart galloping.

“Stay there.”

The warmth of his hand fades from your skin when he rolls away and reaches off the side of the bed. You keep your head on the pillow just like he asked, and listen to the nightstand drawer slide open somewhere behind you, and then the click of a plastic cap. A large, familiar hand comes from behind, finding the space between your legs, parting your folds and smoothing cold lube onto your pussy.

You’re grateful for the stark reality of that sensation. This isn’t a dream, this is real, and everything is happening so fast, you can’t even manufacture any anxiety about it. Although, maybe that’s the point. For him, at least.

You hear the cap again, and then the slick sound of him putting some lube on himself. You want to watch. God, you want to twist your head around and see him, you want to be face to face for this, but you need to do what’s best for him. You have to just lay here on your side with your knees drawn up a little, and trust that he knows what he needs.

All of a sudden you feel him against you again, his knuckles shifting behind your thighs while he lines himself up. You arch your hips back a little, lift your knee to help him find your pussy, and then you let out an appreciative noise when something warm and thick begins to ease itself inside you.

He’s bigger than Johnny. Bigger than anyone you’ve had before, you’re pretty sure. He seems to realize this, seems to know that he’ll need to give it to you slow, even though he’s practically panting behind you with the effort it takes to keep it controlled.

“That’s good, baby,” you murmur, not sure what he needs to hear from you. “That feels good.”

He’s inside enough now that he no longer needs his hand to guide him. You’re getting wrapped up in his arms again, one coming under your head to give you a bicep to rest on, and the other finding your breast again, in a clumsy way that makes you think he’s concentrating very hard on something else. He holds your tit like he’ll fall from a height if he lets it go, and with a firm roll of his hips, you feel him push all the way inside.

The storm of sensation momentarily locks up your lungs — the slightly painful stretch, the tight hug he’s got you in, the gorgeous, ragged gasp he does when he finally experiences what it’s like to be inside you. His whole body goes tight with engaged muscle while he pulls out a few inches, and then you get filled up again, harder this time.

You barely even comprehend how big he is, with how big this event feels in your heart. Your body doesn’t register this moment as sexual, as you lay there and make yourself available to him. Your eyes are turning wet and your throat is burning, but you keep it to yourself. You keep your breathing even and your body relaxed, and your pussy gets what it’s wanted for what feels like forever.

Simon groans, going motionless deep inside you. “I’m— fuck— m’gonna cum.“

“Cum, baby. It’s okay, just cum.”

His forehead drops to your shoulder, and in the space of a thrust and a half, that’s exactly what happens.

You’ve never heard him experience pleasure before. Never even seen his cock like this, and now it’s jumping and throbbing inside you while he makes desperate sounds through his teeth.

He did it.

Your tears start silently spilling out, over your nose, down your cheek, onto his arm. It’s not until you feel his shoulders shake that you dare to turn your head and look at him. Propping himself up on an elbow above you, he pulls his trembling hand off your body to cover his eyes, emotion wracking through him in a silent sob before his cum even has a chance to start leaking out.

“Baby, that was so good,” you whisper-croak, swiping at your own eyes. You don’t know what to tell him. You’re so caught up in the tornado of your own feelings, all you can do is stay there and witness his vulnerability while you cry.

“Bloody hell.” He scrubs at his eyes, screws them tightly closed and pushes a thumb and fingers into his eye sockets like it’ll plug up the flow. He’s trembling behind you now, lost to whatever cocktail of chemicals his body is giving him.

You twist your upper body around just enough to reach for his wrist, ignoring the flinch he does to run your thumb across it while you whisper that you love him.

Simon coughs and snorts that way men do when they’re embarrassed of having feelings, and then shakily lowers his hand down to guide himself out of your body.

Uncaring of the mess, you turn to face him. “Cuddle?”

He firmly shakes his head, wiping at his eyes some more, and making some deep noises that you guess are him internally crying.

So it’s bittersweet, seeing the aftermath of his success. You know it’s got to pain him, losing the control on his body and mind that he holds to such a standard in every other aspect of his life. He could have gone for years more, keeping a tight handle on things, dismissing the trauma and projecting that insecurity onto everyone else in unhealthy ways.

But he didn’t. He’s here, unable to even tolerate your touch just yet, with his lungs spasming and his eyes leaking in a way his father would find unforgivable. A grown man, coming to terms with his reality and letting others see his failings, people who love him. People he can depend on, not because of blood relation, but because he’s worked tirelessly to build and earn that deep kind of trust.

You stay there silently through it, and the storm passes. He’s able to open his eyes again, and though he can’t quite look at your face yet, he takes your hand and brings it to his mouth. You rest on your respective pillows with a few inches between your bodies, and he runs your hand against his mouth. Your fingertips, your knuckles, your wrist, he closes his eyes again and works to calm his breathing, dragging his lips against your skin and kissing the middle of your palm.

The self soothing turns slower as his breathing evens out, and by the time he opens his eyes again, you’ve finished wetting your pillow with a few more happy tears.

“Alright, you?” he asks, the phrase and the steady tone of his voice so familiar that it almost makes you cry again.

You smile at him. “I’m great.”

“Good.”

He kisses your fingers and exhales deeply against them. “Fancy a shower?”

“Yeah.” Sharing a shower sounds heavenly right now.

“Don’t leave, alright?” Simon’s eyes finally lock onto yours, as if it’s imperative that you understand. “If you have to use the toilet, I’ll… turn around or something, but don’t leave.”

“Okay, baby.”

You gingerly sit up and do your best to keep the cum dripping down your thigh instead of onto the bed. God, that’s Simon’s cum. That’s the best cum in the world right there.

Naked, he follows you into the bathroom and then busies himself getting the shower going while you pee and do a quick clean up of your leg. Soon you’re shivering a little in the corner of the shower, your heart growing lighter and lighter while you come to terms with the enormity of what happened, how the space of just a few minutes changed everything.

All those little experiments, those hesitant half steps, and it was enough to build a diving board to jump. You almost can’t believe it still, keep going over the memory in your head, more and more relieved that it really, finally happened.

Simon must be ready for touch again, because he pulls you to him in the shower. He lifts you up his body and slides your legs around his hips, and turns so your back and shoulders get first dibs to the hot water.

It’s heaven. You bury your face in his neck and make a happy sound, firmly planted in the moment. You have to remember this, you have to make this day as clear and vivid in your mind as you can. You raise your head to get a look at those beautiful brown eyes, and to your delight he leans forward to kiss you.

You kiss in the shower like that for a long time. Long enough that your pussy starts to get tingly and you’re very aware of your breasts brushing against his chest hair. God, you just fucked. You just fucked Simon.

“Can I wash you?” he asks, sliding his hand under the sheet of wet hair on your neck, and then stroking his thumb against your skin there.

“Mhmm.” Is he wanting to wash your hair or something? That’s awfully romantic.

He lowers you down to the floor, keeping you steady on the slippery surface until he’s sure you’ve got your legs under you.

“Which one?” He asks, fingering your various soap bottles in indecision.

“For my hair?”

“For… between your legs.”

Oh. Oh.

“Um. That one.”

He grabs the one you point to, setting it on a convenient ledge and then positioning you under the water again, facing the shower head this time. There’s not a moment where you don’t have contact with him, your shoulder against his bicep, your back pressed to his chest, his hand smoothing down your stomach.

Your pussy instantly heats when his fingers find it. You widen your stance a little to help him out, and his hand is steady as it follows the path of water down your body, and his fingers slide between your folds.

“I’m not… doing something,” he says, when you make a little noise. “I just want to clean you.”

“Okay, yeah.” You swallow, watching the top of his hand move between your thighs.

He stops to reach for the soap, squeezing a little bit into his hand, and then angling the shower head down so it won’t immediately wash everything away.

Okay, just relax. It’s not sexual, it’s just some… thing he wants to do. Just let your head rest back on his pec, and breathe.

“Hold onto my arm,” he instructs, as he bends one of your legs forward and lifts it into the air by the back of your knee.

Shit. Okay. You reach down and steady yourself on his forearm just as he begins to run his hand between your legs again, slow and gentle.

Oh. That’s nice.

Fuck, that’s really nice.

His hand looks so good between your legs, that wide palm and strong fingers that could probably break you in a heartbeat if he wanted to. But instead he’s here, dipping his head to kiss your cheek while he runs his soapy fingers over every fold you have, cleaning up the mess he left there as if it’s his job to do it.

He does it far longer than necessary, but you don’t think it’s because he’s trying to turn you on. It does turn you on, but you think it’s more to acclimate him to the contact. A non-sexual kind of way to normalize his hand on your pussy in his own mind. It’s sweet, even if it gets you a little wet and achy.

Simon reaches up to adjust the shower head again, and puts the same amount of care and attention towards gently rinsing you off. He fucked you for less time than he’s devoting to this. You wonder if he’ll do it again, if you ever have sex after this. If this is a one time thing, or might become some kind of cute ritual he does.

God. An after-sex ritual with your boyfriend. Who you may or may not have regular sex with at some point. This is insane.

“Is… that alright?”

You blink yourself out of your happy haze when he lowers your foot back to the floor. “Oh, yeah, that’s the best shower it’s ever got, for sure. Thank you.”

You start to turn and face him, but he stops you and clears his throat. “Give me just a moment.”

Oh shit. He’s hard.

If you thought your relationship dynamic before was difficult, it’s nothing like this. This is the absolute torture, standing here with a warm pussy and not begging him to fuck you again.

Fuck it.

“Do you… want to do it again?” you offer hesitantly.

“I don’t think so. Er… maybe… I’ll text Johnny.”

“Not for sex,” you insist. “Just if you want to see him.”

There’s a prolonged silence after that, as you stare down at the water circling the drain.

“Was it—“ he starts nervously. “I know it wasn’t… good… but was it—“

“It was good,” you quickly tell him, blinking at the blank shower wall.

“D’you not want to get off?”

You do want to get off. You glance down at your pussy, which has recently been visited by his cock and his fingers, so it’s quite awake and aware at this point. “I guess I feel like it’s not that important, compared to what you did just now.”

A beat of silence, then, “It’s important to me.”

“It wouldn’t bother you if I fuck Johnny today?” you ask in a small voice. You can’t imagine that would feel good, seeing someone else get you off in a way he didn’t.

“Darling, you need to let me worry about my own head.”

So that’s what you do. You finish up your shower with Simon, and brush your teeth, and put on your cutest underwear for getting fucked later.

You don’t see him texting anyone, but you do hear a knock on the door a little while later, while you’re in the kitchen making breakfast. Your boyfriend sets down his tea to answer it, and it takes a minute or two before you can turn off the stove and step away, wandering over to the entryway to greet Johnny. You’re actually quite happy to see him, and a little relieved that Simon didn’t listen to you.

You round the corner of the hall, only to see the door still wide open, and your boyfriend with his head bent down, resting on Johnny’s shoulder. Johnny has an arm wrapped around Simon’s head and another around his shoulders, fisting his shirt and holding him tight.

“That wasn’t a small thing,” Johnny’s whispering, cheek to cheek with his friend. “That wasn’t a small thing, mate.”

Art by peachjellypackets

Next Part

Dividers by @the-aesthetics-shop

Chronological Read-Through Path

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Epilogue (The End)

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

And with that, we have reached the end. I could, as always, write a lot more, (And maybe eventually I will, but for right now, that's where we will leave Lando and Lizzie.)

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Twitch Stream Transcript – Max Fewtrell & Lando Norris

[Stream starts]

Max: Right, chat. I know we’ve been through a lot together. We’ve seen things. We’ve survived things. But I don’t think any of you are ready for what’s about to happen.

Max: Because, somehow, defying all expectations, defying all logic—Lando Norris is actually here.

Chat: 

LIAR.

NO WAY.

PROVE IT.

MAX THIS BETTER NOT BE A PRERECORDED AI CLIP.

OH SO HE DOES EXIST.

IT’S BEEN 84 YEARS.

Lando: [over voice chat, deadpan] I hate you.

Max: Gasp. He speaks. It’s real. It’s happening.

Lando: You’re so dramatic.

Max: No, mate, I’m just telling it like it is. The last time we saw you, you were escaping the internet at full speed. Thought you retired. Went off the grid. Became a monk.

Lando: Yeah, well. Things got messy.

Max: Understatement of the year.

Chat: 

YEAH NO KIDDING.

THE INTERNET WAS A NIGHTMARE.

LIZZIE DESERVED BETTER.

MARAAA OUR QUEEN.

THE ABLEISM WAS SO BAD.

LANDO DEFENDING HER >>>

Max: So, how’s Lizzie?

Lando: She’s good. Writing, mostly. And making sure I actually sleep.

Max: A saint.

Lando: Obviously.

Chat: 

PROTECT HER AT ALL COSTS.

SHE NEEDS TO KNOW WE LOVE HER.

I WANT TO SEND HER FANMAIL BUT I’M SCARED.

MARA POST WHEN??

TELL LIZZIE SHE’S A QUEEN.

Max: But mate, you really should’ve warned me before hopping on. Nearly had a heart attack.

Lando: Didn’t think it was that big of a deal.

Max: Didn’t think it was—oh my god. Chat, back me up.

Chat: 

IT IS A BIG DEAL.

HISTORIC MOMENT.

LORE DROP.

WE THOUGHT LIZZIE LOGGED YOU OUT FOREVER.

DO YOU EVEN REMEMBER YOUR TWITCH PASSWORD??

SHE PROBABLY DRAGGED HIM BACK HERE.

Lando: Actually, she’s in the kitchen right now.

Max: Oh, is she? What’s she doing?

Lando: Giving Mara peanut butter.

Max: …Oh no.

Lando: Yeah.

(And then, as if on cue, absolute chaos erupts in Lando’s mic—loud licking, snuffling, something knocking against furniture. A thump. A very happy dog making a complete racket.)

Max: WHAT IS HAPPENING.

Lando: [muffled laughter] She’s going feral.

Max: CHAT, DO YOU HEAR THIS?

Chat: 

MARAAA.

SHE’S EATING LIKE SHE HASN’T BEEN FED IN YEARS.

DOG ASMR STREAM WHEN.

THAT’S THE SOUND OF A QUEEN ENJOYING LIFE.

SHE DESERVES EVERY BIT OF THAT PEANUT BUTTER.

Max: Mate. Your dog is losing it.

Lando: She loves peanut butter.

Max: Yeah, no kidding. It sounds like she’s wrestling it.

Lando: Wouldn’t surprise me.

Max: I swear, chat’s gonna riot if you don’t post a Mara video soon.

Lando: I’ll think about it.

Max: Think about it? No, mate, you don’t understand. Mara is the people’s princess.

Chat: 

MARA FOR PRESIDENT.

SHE DESERVES THE WORLD.

THE WAY SHE’S JUST EXISTING AND WE’RE ALL LOSING IT.

THIS IS NOW A MARA FAN STREAM.

GIRLBOSS.

Max: You could literally disappear again for months, but if you drop one single Mara clip, all will be forgiven.

Lando: Huh. Good to know.

Max: Don’t even pretend like you won’t exploit that.

Lando: [grinning] Wouldn’t dream of it.

(Mara, still licking peanut butter, lets out an extremely content sigh.)

Max: Oh, that was adorable.

Lando: Yeah, she’s great.

Max: I can feel chat melting over this.

Chat: 

SHE’S SO PRECIOUS.

LIZZIE AND MARA HARD CARRYING THE CONTENT RIGHT NOW.

MARA POST WHEN.

WE DON’T DESERVE HER.

SHE’S SO REAL FOR THIS.

Max: Right. Now that we’ve all had our emotional moment over Mara’s peanut butter obsession, shall we actually play the game?

Lando: Probably.

Max: But just so we’re clear—this stream peaked the moment Mara showed up.

Lando: Yeah, I figured.

(Chat spams heart emojis as the game finally begins.)

***

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car PrinceBy June Shepard

Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton has built an empire on love stories—intoxicating, sweeping, heart-stopping love stories that have made her one of the most successful romantasy authors of the decade. Her Seasons of Fate series, a four-book saga filled with magic, intrigue, and forbidden romance, has captivated millions worldwide, cementing her place as the reigning queen of the genre.

But even her most devoted readers could never have predicted that she was living out a love story of her own. And certainly not with one of the biggest stars in motorsport.

When Lizzie Treshton walked into the Silverstone paddock in July 2025, hand-in-hand with McLaren’s Lando Norris, social media imploded.

No one had any idea they were together. No rumors, no leaks—just an earth-shattering confirmation that sent both F1 and romantasy Twitter into collective cardiac arrest.

"It wasn’t supposed to be a big thing," Treshton says now, curled up on a sofa in her Surrey flat, a steaming mug of tea in hand. "Lando was racing at Silverstone. I wanted to be there to support him. I didn’t think the world would explode."

Perhaps that was naive. Because if there’s one thing the world loves, it’s an unexpected crossover. And this? This was the ultimate crossover event.

Lando Norris has spent the last six years in the high-pressure world of Formula 1, balancing blistering lap times with an ever-growing fanbase that adores his mix of raw talent, easy charm, and chaotic humor. He’s no stranger to public scrutiny. But even he was caught off guard by the sheer scale of the reaction.

"I knew Lizzie was a big deal," he says, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. "But I didn’t fully grasp it until people started calling me ‘the romantasy book boyfriend of the year.’"

He grins. "I think my sisters are still mad I didn’t tell them who I was dating."

That particular detail has only added to the legend of "Lizzie & Lando." While Norris’s family knew he had a girlfriend, they had no idea it was that Lizzie Treshton—the very same author whose books they had lined up at midnight to buy. His sisters, self-proclaimed romantasy fanatics, took approximately thirty seconds to forgive him before launching into full-scale fangirl mode.

But not everyone has been as welcoming.

Almost immediately after Silverstone, the backlash began. While plenty of fans celebrated the unexpected pairing, others turned vicious. Some called Treshton “undeserving.” Others dismissed the relationship entirely, claiming Norris would eventually move on.

And then there were the ones who went after her health.

Treshton has always been open about living with epilepsy, discussing it occasionally in interviews and social media posts. But being open about something and having it dissected by millions of strangers are two very different things.

Some reactions were cruel—questioning Norris’s commitment, making sweeping judgments about Treshton’s ability to “keep up” with the fast-paced, jet-setting lifestyle of an F1 driver. Others were outright ableist, using her condition as a reason to doubt her place at his side.

Norris, uncharacteristically sharp in his response, took to Instagram. “The way some of you have spoken about Liz—the woman I love—is disgusting. There’s no other way to put it. You’ve taken something she has no control over and used it as an excuse to dehumanize her, to insult her, to act like she isn’t worthy of me.” 

McLaren issued a formal statement condemning the backlash, while much of the grid rallied behind Treshton, with drivers like Lewis Hamilton and Charles Leclerc publicly voicing their support.

“It was disgusting,” Treshton says bluntly. “But not surprising.”

"I’ve lost people because of my epilepsy," Treshton says quietly, her fingers tightening around her mug. "People who couldn’t handle it. People who didn’t want to try."

Her mother was one of them.

Treshton doesn’t often talk about her mother, but when she does, it’s with a detachment that speaks of wounds long since buried. "She left when I was young," she says. "Said she couldn’t deal with it. So she didn’t."

She exhales slowly. "I learned early on that some people see epilepsy as an inconvenience. Like it makes you fragile. But it doesn’t make me less. And it sure as hell doesn’t make me unlovable."

Despite the backlash, Treshton and Norris remain unfazed. Their relationship, built away from the public eye, is stronger than the noise that surrounds it.

"Lando makes me feel safe," she admits. "Not in a way that makes me feel like I need protecting, but in a way that reminds me I don’t have to do everything alone."

For Norris, it’s simple. "She’s incredible," he says. "And I’m lucky to have her. End of story."

There’s something almost cinematic about the two of them. The bestselling author who spins love stories for a living. The racing driver who defies speed and gravity every weekend. It’s the kind of pairing that shouldn’t make sense. And yet, it does.

At the end of the day, theirs isn’t just a love story. It’s a story about resilience. About belonging. About choosing each other in a world that constantly tries to tear people down.

When asked what’s next, Treshton shrugs. “I have a book to finish. He has races to win. And beyond that?” She tilts her head, thoughtful. “I think we’ll just keep surprising people.”

One thing is clear: the queen of romantasy and her race car prince are far from a fleeting fairytale.

They’re just getting started.

****

8 December 2024, Yas Marina Circuit, Abu Dhabi

The moment Lando stepped out of the car, the world blurred around him. The cheers, the McLaren team swarming in orange, the fireworks—none of it felt real. He had won Abu Dhabi. He had won the Constructors’ Championship for McLaren. After years of dreaming, of heartbreak, of being so close yet so far—he had done it.

His mother reached him first, arms tight around his shoulders, holding him like she never wanted to let go. “Lando,” she breathed, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes. “You’ve made so many people happy today.”

His father clapped a firm hand on his back, pride evident in his expression. His team, his engineers, Zak Brown—everyone was celebrating around him. But Lando was already searching for someone else.

And then he saw her.

Lizzie stood off to the side, wrapped in one of his McLaren jackets, Mara sitting dutifully at her feet. She looked exhausted, and he knew why. Just last night, she had suffered a seizure. He had been with her through it, waiting for the worst to pass. He had told her she didn’t have to come today, that she should stay at the hotel and rest.

But Lizzie was nothing if not stubborn.

Her gaze found his, and her face lit up like the fireworks lighting the sky outside.

He could see how tired she was, though, in the tightness around her eyes, the way her body was still a little stiff.

But she was here.

His feet moved before his brain caught up, and suddenly, she was in front of him, her hands reaching up to his face before he could say a word.

Her fingers traced over his skin, her tired eyes taking him in with a familiar, almost reverent look. It was as if she couldn’t believe he was real. Lando knew the feeling.

“Like I ever would have missed this,” she murmured before he could scold her for being out in the chaos of the paddock. Her thumbs brushed his cheekbones, her voice thick with emotion. “Lando, you did it. You actually did it.”

"You didn't need to come," he whispered. His hands came to rest on her waist, grounding himself. “I was worried about you.”

“And I was never going to miss watching you win,” she said simply, smiling up at him. “I am so proud of you.”

Lando let out a shaky breath.

Then, with the whole world watching, he kissed her.

It was soft, careful—his hands tightening on her waist like he was terrified she might disappear, like he still wasn’t sure if any of this was real. When he pulled back, her eyes were shining, and for the first time since he crossed the finish line, it hit him.

He had everything he had ever wanted.

****

Dedications of The Seasons of Fate: 

A Spring of Secrets and Thorns

For Mara—

My steady ground, my quiet guardian, my fiercest protector.

For every unseen battle you’ve helped me fight, for every moment you’ve kept me safe, and for always being by my side—this book, like so much of my life, is possible because of you.

A Summer of Blood and Bloom

For Dad—

For every doctor’s appointment, every sleepless night, and every time you carried the weight of the world so I wouldn’t have to.

You taught me that love doesn’t walk away—it stays, it fights, and it endures. This book is a testament to that, and to you.

An Autumn of Fire and Stone

For Tasha and Aunt Lou—

For the sister I chose and the woman who made us family.

For every page read, every dream encouraged, and every time you reminded me that I was more than my worst days. I am who I am because I had you both beside me. I couldn’t have done this without you.

A Winter of Ash and Starlight

For Lando - 

Who taught me that love, like speed, can take your breath away in an instant. You’ve turned the pages of my life in the most unexpected, beautiful way. 

Thank you for showing me that sometimes the best stories are the ones you never saw coming. 

Ours is my favourite one. 

Acknowledgments – A Winter of Ash and Starlight

Writing this book, and really this entire series, has been one of the greatest joys of my life. I never imagined that a story I started one summer in my dad’s garden would turn into this, but here we are. I couldn’t have done it alone, and I wouldn’t have wanted to.

To my dad—thank you for everything. For the late-night talks, the endless encouragement, and the way you always made sure I knew I was enough, just as I am. You’ve been my rock, my biggest supporter, and the reason I never stopped believing I could do this.

To Aunt Lou—you are proof that family is about love, not blood. You didn’t have to be a mother to me, but chose to be anyway. I don’t have the words to properly thank you for that, but I hope you know how much I love you.

To Tasha—my sister in every way that matters. For always having my back, for every chaotic adventure, and for making sure I never forget who I am. You are my favorite person to cause trouble with.

To Mara—my best girl, my constant companion, my real-life guardian angel. You have been curled up beside me through every late-night writing session, every deadline panic, every high and low.  There is no version of my life, or this book, without you in it.

This book marks the end of Astrid and Ciaran’s journey—the last chapter of their love story. And in a way, it closes a chapter of my own life, too. Love has a funny way of finding you when you least expect it, and just as I was bringing Astrid and Ciaran home, someone walked into my life and changed everything.

To Lando—who came into my life just as I was closing this chapter and somehow became the best story of all. I don’t know if fate is real, but if it is, I think it was always meant to bring me to you. You walked into my world when I wasn’t sure I deserved something good, and you have never let me forget that I do. 

Thank you for every quiet moment and every inside joke. Thank you for the dino nuggets, the peanut butter and the Ferrari Dog Bandanas. Thank you for making me laugh, for making me feel safe, and for proving, every single day, that love isn’t about grand gestures, but about showing up, time and time again. 

You have been the greatest plot twist of my life. I love you. 

And finally, to the readers—thank you for taking this journey with me. Thank you for believing in Astrid and Ciaran, in fate and magic, in love that defies the odds. This world, this story, exists because of you.

Here’s to new stories, new adventures, and finding our own kind of magic. Always.

With love and endless gratitude, Elizabeth Louise Treshton

The End

[decentwritings]

Chapter 3

Summary: You’re unable to grasp the luck you have. You were raised to run from danger, to go the opposite direction of bad influences. So when you somehow find yourself right in the center of it, you discover that running wasn’t exactly what you were taught. It only took GhostFace and a pretty girl to remember that.

previous part <- -> next part

You manage to sneak off when the group disperses, jogging to your dorm to grab your shower essentials. The shower is long and refreshing, and super soapy because you believe you couldn't get rid of the horrible smell.

Once showered, you get dressed in some of your most comfortable clothes and lay back on your bed. You hope to catch a few hours of sleep before anyone realizes you're gone.

You shut your eyes, and it only feels like a second before you open them again. The sun is still up, and you roll over to check the time, groaning at the one hour of sleep. You decide it isn't enough, because it's not, and you roll back over, attempting another round of sleep.

Again, you aren't sure how long it's been when you open your eyes, and the sun is still up, though you can see its need to end the day as it sets slowly. You wake up this time because of a noise somewhere in the room. You rub the sleep from your eyes, sitting up slowly, scanning the room.

If it's GhostFace, could he at least give you the courtesy of killing you in your sleep? The urge to lie back down is heavy, but you fight it, figuring the group should see your presence at least once more today.

You take your phone off its charger and open your drawer full of junk. Your sister gave you pepper spray before your first day at Blackmore—nearly seven months ago. It's expired. But you're not sure if it's illegal to use expired pepper spray, so you pocket it anyway. You also grab the utility knife you took from your brother's pack-out gear when you helped him with a job one day. He had like ten, so you were sure he wouldn't miss one.

The knife is still sharp and has a little shine to it. You clip it to your waistband, then shut the drawer. With a sigh, you mentally prepare yourself for the day and head out of your dorm.

The halls are eerily empty, but you figure it must be exam day for most of the students. You don't bother questioning it anymore, walking down the hall as you catch up on the notifications on your phone.

Three messages from your mom, informing you of her day and one asking about yours. The last message is to call her when you get free time. You have another message from your sister, who gives you instructions on how to give your nephews (her dogs) their medication. Then you check the messages Danny has left you, which are way more than he usually sends.

Where are you?

Sam said you left

Answer your phone

If you don't call in the next hour and you're not dead, I'll kill you myself

Your cousin says the nicest things. You roll your eyes and click the phone button to call him. The phone doesn't even ring, and you hear Danny's voice instantly.

"Where are you?" He shouts over the phone and you have to pull the phone away from your ear from how loud he is.

"Good morning to you, too, dear cousin," you respond with an eye roll, exiting the dormitory. You shield your eyes from the sun, preparing yourself for a long walk to your car.

"Morning? It's nearly six o'clock," Danny informs you, and you glance at the clock on your phone. You hum, surprised; he's right. "Where the hell have you been? I called you five times."

You run across the street, avoiding cars coming down the road. You ignore a honk from one of them, raising a peace sign at the driver before walking off.

"Dude, I didn't sleep last night," you say, reminding the man with a huff. "I don't sleep, I get cranky. And me cranky is basically GhostFace without a mask," you shake your head.

The line is silent for a long minute, you check to make sure he's still on the line.

"That's not funny," Danny says eventually.

You shrug. "I wasn't trying to be," you mutter, glancing at the strangers waiting for the light to change beside you.

The whole being suspicious of everyone is becoming second nature really quickly. You just hope it doesn't turn into paranoia.

"Look, I'm heading over to pick up my car and then going to your place," you inform him, finally able to cross the street. You pass by a bodega and are really tempted to go in and get yourself a sandwich. With self control, you don't and continue your walk. "Relax. Tell your girlfriend to calm her–"

"Don't finish that sentence," Danny interrupts, voice firm.

You raise your hands in surrender, passing an alley after peeking in it for anything lurking. It's broad daylight but you never know, right?

Danny orders you to stay on the phone with him until you're at your car. You ramble about random things, and you can tell he's not listening with the constant "mmm-hmms" he gives you. You don't mind, finding it endearing of his worry for you.

You gasp at the sight of your car, finally earning his full attention.

"What?" Danny shouts, worried.

You practically skip over to your car, unlocking it as you do. "My baby," you sniffle, close to tears. "She's okay," you whisper, relieved.

The line goes silent again.

"You're an idiot."

You shrug, hopping into the driver's seat. You check in the back for any GhostFaces. When it's empty, you turn back and turn your car on.

"Alright," you rub your hands together, excited. "I'm heading to your place. Do I need to pick up snacks or something?"

"No. It's not some party," Danny sighs, and you can imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just go to Sam's, stay there. Don't leave. Understand?"

You nod, then pause. "Wait, I have a class at seven-thirty," you tell him and hear him sigh again. "Does that mean I won't be able to go?"

"Go to my apartment," he says, "Now." He demands, annoyed.

You raise your hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. Geez," you mutter. "Excuse me for worrying about my college education."

Danny tells you his shift ends in a couple of hours, to not embarrass yourself while with the Carpenters and their friends. You reassure him you will be nothing but a perfect guest. He doesn't comment on it and says his goodbye.

When you're at the red light, you catch a glimpse of someone in the corner of your eye. You recognize the boy as he heads down an alley, glancing at his surroundings. But this isn't the way you were; the way you were checking no one was following you. No. He was glancing around to make sure no one was watching him.

You forget for a moment you're driving, until you hear a honk behind you. You glare at the driver through your rearview mirror then look back, searching for Ethan. He's disappeared and you can't figure out how he vanished that quickly.

You shake it off, not wanting to jump to conclusions. Mindy offered a great possibility for the boy and you didn't believe it because...well, he is the shy and dorky roommate of Chad's. Which makes it the perfect cover.

Damn, Mindy's theories are contagious.

You find a great parking spot just a block over from your cousin's apartment building. You triple check to make sure your car is locked then head over to the building. The sun was beginning to set behind you and you begin to believe this day may end without any incidents.

After situating yourself at Danny's place, you go across the hall and knock on the Carpenter's door.

You see an eye through the peephole. You raise a brow. "If I were GhostFace, why would I knock?" You question, confused.

The door takes a while to open, you assume because of all the locks you hear needing to be unlocked.

Mindy appears behind the door a minute later. "Wow, you really have never seen a horror movie," she says, allowing you entry to the apartment. "A fake knock is horror movie 101."

You shake your head then shrug. "I don't see the appeal," you explain, greeting everyone briefly with a head nod. Tara offers you a smile and you can't control the smile that you return. "If I wanted to get scared, I'll just go to my sister's early in the morning. You wanna see horror? You should see her without makeup," you shiver at the thought.

Sam exits the kitchen, and you think; you think, you see her sigh in relief.

"Good, you're here," Sam says, and points a thumb over her shoulder. "We have pizza."

You nod, then pause when you hear noise occurring behind a closed door. You stare at the door then back at the group of friends. They don't seem at all fazed.

"So my knocking was concerning, but that isn't?" You question as you point at the closed door.

"Oh, that's Quinn," Chad explains, waving his hand dismissively. He enters the kitchen, leaving you with still no understanding.

Tara laughs at your expression, waving you over to join them. You notice Anika comfortable position on the couch, but don't question it. You follow Tara into the kitchen, taking a seat at the end of the table.

"She's...sex positive," Tara explains further. "She has a guy over almost every night."

You lean back to look at the closed door. The sounds practically echo throughout the apartment. You struggle to drown it out, but you try your best to as you return your attention to the table.

You do a double take, noticing a missing person. "Where's Ethan?"

"He's got a class," Chad answers, probably knowing his roommate's schedule.

You have to bite your tongue, wanting to tell them you do too but you decided not to go. Well, Danny basically told you not to go but you didn't plan on going anyway. You hated your Visual Literacy class with a passion.

"Eat," Tara slides the pizza box towards you.

You thank her, grabbing a slice. As you chew, you hear Chad scoot his chair closer to you.

"So, Y/N, right?" You nod, mouth still full. He smile then glances at Tara briefly. You aren't sure what that was about but don't question. "Tell us about yourself. For starters, why English?"

You swallow the food in your mouth. "Umm," you see the others staring at you, awaiting your response. "Well, I just need a degree. It's looking like you can't get a decent, well-paying job without a bachelor's so..." you shrug.

Chad hums. "Valid point," he comments. "Any hobbies? Do you play any sports? Do you even like sports? Ooh, do you like videos games?" He asks excitedly.

After swallowing again, you nod. "Yes, yes, yes and yes," you answer, unsure if he expected more than just the one word. And when he blinks, waiting for you to continue, you assume he does. "My current hobby is just fixing up my dad's old Toyota Chaser, still debating whether to sell it when I'm done or not."

"You're fixing a car?" Mindy leans over to ask, eyes squinting in confusion.

You chuckle and nod. "Yeah. My dad was a mechanic, so he taught me how to fix the basics," you shrug, taking another bite of your pizza. "Then I got tired of the basics, so we ended up learning how to add mods to cars. I just sold my old Subaru WRX—the most mods I've ever done on a car. She came out—" you let out a wolf whistle.

"Then why did you sell it?" Tara asks, the question clearly on everyone's mind.

You suddenly lose your appetite and set the rest of your pizza down on a napkin. Clearing your throat, you shrug. "Needed the cash. Where's your bathroom?" you ask, standing up to avoid more questions.

Sam furrows her brows. "Second door on your right," she answers gently.

You give two thumbs up and head in that direction. Once you're out of earshot, Chad looks at the group.

"Nice job, Tara," he says, shaking his head with a scoff. "You scared your crush."

Tara narrows her eyes at him. "It's not a crush."

"She'd have to actually interact with them for it to be anything," Mindy huffs, only to get a kick under the table. She winces and rubs her leg with a frown. "I'm just saying, you practically begged Anika to invite them to the party and you didn't even give them the time of day."

"At least we know you two have the same type," Chad quips, pointing between Mindy and Tara as he grabs another slice. Mindy giggles at his remark, the sisters' reactions more amusing than expected.

Tara hides her face in her hands, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, you're struggling to recompose yourself. Lately, you haven't had time to process what happened almost a month ago. The past couple of hours have been a rush of emotions, full of firsts and new friendships. You splash cold water on your face, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Tara's question about your car stirred up feelings you've tried to suppress, forcing you to confront something you've been avoiding. Your sister has been handling it better–sort of, taking her anniversary vacation a month early, while your brother picked up a huge job building a mansion for some millionaire in California. All of you have escaped your hometown—except your mother, who stayed behind, clinging to some connection to your father.

You take a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts away before anyone notices how long you've been in the bathroom.

You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket and pull it out to see a message from Danny. He's letting you know he's leaving work and expects to arrive in about twenty minutes. He mentions wanting to grab something to eat before heading home. You reply, reassuring him that you're with the Carpenters and to be careful, before slipping the phone back into your pocket and exiting the bathroom.

Anika waves at you from the couch, but her smile falters when she sees your expression. "You alright?" she asks, patting the spot next to her.

You sit down beside her with a sigh, your eyes flicking toward the muted TV. The news is on, and it strikes you that this is the first time in years you've actually paid attention to a newscaster. "It's been a crazy couple of hours," you say with a shrug. "I also think this is the longest I've been outside the dorm in a while. Feels weird. Is New York always this packed?" you ask, adding a hint of playfulness to steer her away from worrying.

Anika shoots you a knowing look but doesn't push. You can tell she plans to ask later—and you know you'll have to face it then.

Your attention is suddenly drawn to Quinn's room. Her screams grow louder, more intense than before. You share a glance with Anika, and without exchanging words, you both know what the other is thinking. But neither of you says anything, turning your attention back to the TV, both silently choosing to stay quiet for now.

The TV is muted, but you find yourself reading the captions to keep your mind busy. Then, your phone vibrates again. This time, Danny's calling. You excuse yourself and stand to answer.

Before you can say anything, he shouts, "Get out, quick!" You pull the phone away from your ear, startled by his volume. "He's in the apartment! Tell Sam—"

A sudden, heavy thump against the apartment door makes you freeze. Instinctively, you turn toward the sound as the others rush out to join you. Another thud shakes the door, rattling the locks and hinges with each blow.

The door rattles violently, each strike louder than the last. You freeze for a second, unsure of where to move first, before Sam takes charge. You want to hide, run but you're frozen where you stand.

"Everyone get back!" she commands, pulling you behind her. Her eyes dart to the nearest weapons—a lamp, a chair—anything within reach. Tara's fingers curl around your arm, tugging you back toward the windows.

The door splinters as the locks give way, and a large figure forces his way into the apartment. Your heart pounds in your chest as Sam rushes forward, grabbing the nearest heavy object—a bat leaning against the wall—and swings without hesitation. Your hand itches to reach for the knife on your waist but you think its just a pin compared to the knife GhostFace has.

You're suddenly aware of the grip on your arm, and its Tara's, who's staring at her sister in worry. It was obvious to you that Sam took the big sister role seriously, but to see how serious she takes it makes you summon that bravado from hours ago. You thought it was all used up but apparently its still there.

You grab your knife and flick it open, rushing forward to help Sam. The adrenaline surges through your veins, pushing you forward. Sam swings the bat again, but the intruder anticipates it this time, blocking it with his forearm before shoving her back.

Sam shoves you hard, her voice full of urgency. "Run!"

Your instinct is to stay and fight, but Tara's grip on your arm tightens as she yanks you backward. Before you can argue or even think, Chad's hand locks around Tara's wrist, dragging both of you toward the hallway.

The echo of Anika's scream cuts through the chaos, freezing your blood. You whip around, heart pounding in your chest. They aren't behind you.

Without thinking, you come to a dead stop, yanking your arm free from Tara's grip.

"Y/N, wait!" Tara's voice is frantic, but you're already sprinting back up the stairs, adrenaline pumping through your veins, faster than you thought possible. Your legs burn, but you don't stop.

You hear Tara calling your name, but it's drowned out by the roar in your ears. Reaching the apartment again, you jump over the broken door, breathing hard, and your eyes dart around. The first room you burst into freezes you in your tracks.

Quinn is there. She lies motionless, her body lifeless, and the sight makes your stomach churn. Your mind screams at you to stop, but it only pushes you forward. You force your gaze away, barreling through the hallway.

You spot GhostFace pushing against a bedroom door. Sam and the others have to be on the other side.

Instinct kicks in.

Your eyes land on a chair near the wall, and without hesitation, you grab it. Charging forward, you swing with everything you have. The impact sends GhostFace stumbling back, crashing to the ground. His knife skitters across the floor, spinning out of reach.

GhostFace stumbles, trying to regain his footing, and you seize the chance. You dive for his knife, fingers just brushing the handle when he yanks at your ankle, pulling you down hard. You crash to the floor in front of him, and as he swings his fist, you barely manage to block it with your arm.

"Shy and dorky, my ass," you mutter through gritted teeth, seeing the surprise in his eyes through the mask.

He freezes for a moment, just enough for you to shove him off and scramble to your feet. Your body aches from the fall, but adrenaline pushes you on. Your eyes dart toward the window, and you see Danny rushing Sam and an injured Mindy into his apartment. His gaze locks with yours, filled with a plea—run.

But you can't. Not now. Not when everything you've suspected has just been confirmed.

GhostFace, however, isn't done. While you were distracted, he regains his knife, standing with that signature menacing tilt of his head, glaring down at you.

You throw your hands up in frustration. "What? I don't know what follows!" you shout, exasperated.

He doesn't respond—not verbally, at least. Instead, he lunges, slashing at you with his knife. You dodge one strike, but the second is too quick. The blade slices through your abdomen, sending a wave of pain shooting through you.

You let out a sharp breath, staggering back and clutching your wound, teeth clenched as blood seeps between your fingers. The pain is intense, but you force yourself to stay upright, glaring back at him with defiance despite the throbbing ache.

You hate to admit it, but you're glad your brother got you into anime.

"Come on, Ethan," you taunt, shifting your weight cautiously to the left as he mirrors your movements to the right. "End this now. Take the mask off."

Either he's stubborn or you're wrong, because instead of revealing himself, he lunges again, knife sparkling in the dim light. You try to evade the slashes, but your patience runs thin, and it makes you sloppy. As you attempt to block the knife from reaching your chest, it lodges into the palm of your hand instead. A scream rips from your throat, raw and uncontrollable, as pain radiates through your body.

He twists the blade, and you whimper, barely keeping your feet. The world around you blurs as adrenaline and pain mix, but then you hear it—a shout from down the hall.

"Police!"

You want to call out to the officer, to warn him, but your voice fails you. Instead, summoning every ounce of strength left in you, you push him away. He stumbles back, momentarily off balance, and when he regains his composure, you catch a glimpse of what you think is a glare beneath the mask.

In a surprising move, he dashes past you, and just as the realization hits, you feel your legs buckle. Darkness creeps in, and your vision fades as you collapse, everything going quiet.

[rootedinrevisions]

Hard Shell, Soft Heart

SUMMARY: Scott Miller has a reputation. He's tough, no-nonsense, and all business when it comes to storm chasing. But when the season winds down and his team finds themselves stranded without a place to stay, Scott shocks everyone by inviting them to his home just north of the Missouri border. What they don’t expect is the man he turns into when he's home - a devoted husband, soon-to-be father, and complete softie for his wife. As the team settles in for the night, they witness a side of Scott they never imagined, proving that even the hardest shells can hold the softest hearts.

WARNING: None. This one's pretty fluffy.

A/N: Thank you to @h-ngm-nssluttt for sending in the request for this! I really hope you enjoy it and I appreciate your patience and udnerstanding as I know it's taken a while for me to get it finished!

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

TAGS: I just realized I don't have a tag list for Scott. I have one for Tyler, Javi, and Boone. So feel free if you'd like to be tagged in any future Scott stuff!

The sun hung high in the sky as the Storm Par team pulled off the highway, the rumble of their vehicles echoing into the late afternoon. The excitement of the day’s chase had faded into the tired satisfaction of another successful, albeit exhausting, storm hunt. Scott Miller parked the van near the gas station, his eyes scanning the horizon as the rest of the team filtered out.

"Alright," Manny, one of the guys said, his voice clipped as he pulled out his phone. "Let’s figure out where we’re staying tonight."

Javi stretched, grinning as he looked around. "Anyone else craving a cheeseburger and fries? We could just camp out on this gas station floor for the night. There’s a diner right there if we get hungry."

Kate rolled her eyes, popping her trunk to grab her bag. "We’ve been on the road for hours, Javi. Let’s find a proper place to sleep. Then we’ll think about food. The last thing I need is to wake up with gravel in my back."

"Fine," Javi chuckled, following her toward the convenience store. "Alright, someone find us a hotel."

The rest of the team gathered around the gas station’s picnic table, pulling out phones to search for vacancies. The mood shifted from lighthearted to mildly frustrated as the minutes ticked by. Hotel after hotel in the area showed "No Vacancy" or "Fully Booked."

"What’s going on?" Kate asked, holding up her phone. "The whole county’s sold out."

Javi leaned over her shoulder, frowning at the screen. "There’s got to be something open. We’re in southern Missouri, not downtown New York."

"State fair," Scott muttered, not bothering to look up from his own search. "And it’s the weekend. Everyone and their dog’s in town."

Javi groaned, sinking into the seat next to Scott. "Of course. The damn fair’s going on. That’s why everything’s packed. Guess we’re sleeping in the vans tonight."

Scott’s eyes flicked over to Javi, a hint of something softer behind his usual professional stare. "We’ll figure something out. Hold on."

The others continued scrolling through their phones, muttering about motels, campgrounds, and any other possible option that might have an opening. After another moment of searching, Scott looked up with a faint, almost imperceptible smile as he got the text back he was waiting on.

"Actually," he began, his tone steady, "I’ve got a place nearby."

Everyone paused, eyes narrowing.

"Seriously?" Javi’s eyebrow arched in disbelief. "You? Got a place? Like, you found a hotel or—?"

"No, my house," Scott replied with a shrug, completely nonchalant. "It’s about an hour north of here. I’ve got plenty of room. It’s closer than any of the hotels I’ve found that are at least an hour and a half out."

A beat of silence followed before Kate burst out laughing. "Wait, you? You have a house? And you’re offering to let us crash there?"

Scott’s lips twitched slightly, and he shoved his phone into his pocket. "Yeah. What’s so surprising about that?"

The others exchanged puzzled looks.

"You’re not pulling our leg, right? You live in a real house? With a roof and everything?" Javi added, eyeing Scott with newfound suspicion. 

Scott glanced up at him, unamused. "I don’t have time for jokes, Javi. My wife’s expecting us. I already called ahead."

"Wife?" Kate echoed, her eyes widening. "You have a wife?"

"Yeah," Scott said flatly, clearly enjoying their surprise. "And a dog."

"Okay, now I’m confused," Javi muttered. "The Scott Miller we know lives for the storms and hates anything that resembles...normal life. And yet, here we are, hearing about a wife and a dog? And a house? What’s next? A picket fence?"

Scott smirked. "The house is in the middle of nowhere, we don’t need a fence. It’s got a wraparound porch though, a few acres of land, and yeah, a dog. His name’s Ben."

"Well," Kate said, her arms crossed, "I’m in. I’m dying to see this home of yours."

Scott turned to face them, his expression settling into its usual businesslike demeanor. "I’ll give you the directions. Don’t make me regret this."

The team exchanged glances, the disbelief starting to settle into genuine curiosity. As they piled back into the vehicles, Javi leaned over to Kate.

"So, who’s taking bets on whether he actually has a wife or if he’s just trying to be mysterious? I’m guessing it’s a secret sister or something."

Kate rolled her eyes, her lips twitching into a smile. "I’m more interested in this dog. A golden retriever, maybe?"

Scott drove ahead, his car kicking up dust as they followed in the rearview mirror. The rest of the team settled into a quieter, more contemplative mood as they cruised through the winding roads, each of them trying to picture the kind of life Scott Miller could be hiding behind his tough exterior.

* * * * *

The rumble of engines grew louder as the vehicles made their way up the gravel drive, the sound of tires on the country road familiar and comforting. You stood on the porch, your hand resting lightly on your round bump, a smile spreading across your face. You’d been keeping busy inside the house, preparing for their arrival, but now, with Scott finally home after a long storm season, the weight of the day’s tasks seemed a little lighter.

It had been a hectic few weeks, but the timing couldn’t have been better. The "off season" had lined up perfectly with your due date, and Scott would be able to be home for the birth. The thought made your heart swell—he’d be there for all the sleepless nights, the early morning feedings, the first steps, and all the moments in between. And right now, you couldn’t wait to have him home to help finish getting the nursery ready and tie up all the little details before the big day arrived.

You stepped to the top of the porch steps, the humid evening air brushing across your skin. The golden light from the setting sun made everything feel warm and welcoming, just the way you had always imagined your life with Scott would be.

As the vehicles slowed, you could see the team glancing around in awe, clearly taken aback by the farmhouse’s charm. The house itself was just as you had always dreamed it would be—big, cozy, and full of life. You could already picture the future in every corner. A few acres of land, the wraparound porch where Scott would sit after long days, the backyard where you’d let the baby play once they were old enough. The possibilities felt endless, and it all felt so right.

You glanced back toward the door as Scott’s truck came into view. His face usually all business, broke into a wide grin when he saw you. He threw the truck into park before stepping out, his long strides quickly closing the distance between you. His eyes softened as he reached you, and before you could even say a word, he was right there, his hand gently resting on your belly.

"You okay?" he asked softly, his voice low but filled with concern as he leaned in to kiss you, his lips brushing against your forehead, then lightly against your lips.

You smiled, closing your eyes for a moment, savoring the warmth of his touch. "I’m more than okay," you whispered back. "I’m just happy you’re home."

Scott’s hand lingered on your bump as he leaned back, his smile widening at the sight of you standing there, glowing with happiness. He placed a hand on your cheek, brushing his thumb over your skin. "I’m happy I’m home, too. And I’ll be here for all of it, you know that, right?" His voice was thick with emotion.

You nodded, your heart full. "I know. We’re really doing this, Scott."

The sound of the team’s voices coming up the drive drew your attention, and you turned to see them stepping out of the vehicles. The realization of how different this was for Scott—the man who spent so much of his life chasing storms, always on the move—was not lost on you. This was his home. And now, with you, it was your home too.

"Alright," Scott said, turning to the team with a teasing grin. "You all ready to meet the wife and... the bump?"

The team’s jaws dropped, clearly surprised by the sight of you.

“Scott really has a wife?" Javi asked, his voice full of incredulity.

"You didn’t tell us she was this... this..." Kate trailed off, clearly struggling for the right words, her eyes flicking back and forth between you, your bump, and Scott.

Scott shrugged, the grin never leaving his face. "Figured I’d surprise you."

Javi laughed, clearly recovering from his shock. "I gotta say, Miller, didn’t see this one coming. You’re hiding a whole family."

"Not hiding," Scott corrected, looking down at you with soft affection. "Just keeping it private."

"Well, we definitely didn’t expect the 'American dream' to come with the storm-chaser package," Kate teased, her eyes twinkling as she turned toward the team.

You chuckled, crossing your arms over your bump. "You get used to it, trust me."

As the team slowly made their way inside, Scott slipped his hand into yours, leading you into the house. "Dinner will be ready in an hour or so," you said.

Scott’s eyes sparkled with appreciation. "Perfect. I appreciate you, sweetheart."

Inside, the house was warm and inviting, with the smell of homemade food filling the air. The space was exactly what you’d hoped for—a family home, comfortable and cozy, with soft lighting and the quiet hum of a life shared between two people and soon, a little one.

The team slowly made their way toward the front door, still trying to process the fact that Scott Miller the tough, no-nonsense storm-chaser, was married and about to be a dad. You smiled to yourself, your heart full as you followed Scott inside, feeling that comforting weight of being at home.

After everyone had settled in, you got to work, eager to make the most of this time with Scott and his team. Since getting the text from Scott, you’d been preparing a hearty meal for everyone. 

The sounds of laughter and light conversation from the living room filled the air as you checked the temperature on the pork roast and prepped the bread to go in the oven. It was nice to have a moment to yourself, even with the others around, and you savored the feeling of being in your own kitchen.

Every now and then, you’d hear Scott’s voice in the other room, a comforting presence you hadn’t realized you missed so much. The team seemed to be loosening up now that they were off the road, chatting about the chase and the season winding down. Every once in a while, Scott would pop his head in to check on you, offering a quick kiss on the cheek or asking if you needed help.

"Need anything?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe, eyes soft but still carrying that rugged edge.

You shook your head with a smile. "I’m good, babe. Go relax. I’ve got this."

He hesitated for a moment, clearly torn between offering help and leaving you to your own rhythm, but then he shrugged and backed out of the kitchen. "Alright. If you need me, just holler."

As Scott disappeared, Kate wandered in, glancing around at the food. "Need a hand?" she asked, a friendly smile tugging at her lips.

"No, I think I’ve got it handled, thank you though," you replied, giving her a smile of your own. "You go relax, I’ll call you when it’s ready."

A while later supper was ready but you needed ot finish the sides. But the table also needed to be set. You glanced towards the living room, not wanting to bother Scott but also not wanting to asks your guests for help either.

"Hey Scott, can you set the table on the back deck?" you asked, shouting towards the living room over your shoulder. "Dinner’s almost ready."

Scott’s eyes lit up with that familiar mischievous glint. He flashed a quick smile before walking over to where you stood. "Yes, dear," he said, his voice dripping with a playful tone that immediately caught the attention of the rest of the team.

The guys, who had been quietly milling around, shot each other surprised looks, clearly trying to keep from laughing.

"Did he just say 'Yes, dear'?" Javi asked, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Kate snickered, nudging Javi with her elbow. "I think he did. Didn’t know Scott had it in him."

Scott, not missing a beat, gave them a look over his shoulder. "Happy wife, happy life, fellas," he said with a knowing grin, before turning to you with a wink. "Right, sweetheart?"

You chuckled, a warm, affectionate feeling washing over you as you watched Scott seamlessly switch from the hard-ass storm-chaser to the loving, supportive husband.

"Of course," you replied, your voice full of adoration. "Thanks, babe."

With that, he walked out through the back door, the sound of him moving toward the deck cutting through the light banter between the team. You smiled to yourself, feeling that contentment you’d been missing when Scott had been gone on the road for so long. Everything felt right in this moment.

You moved back to the kitchen, checking the vegetable and pork roast that were in the oven to make sure everything was cooking evenly. The rest of the team slowly trickled into the dining room, chatting amongst themselves, their teasing continuing in the background.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, and when you turned, you found Scott standing behind you, looking incredibly pleased with himself as he gestured to the back deck. "Table’s set," he said, the satisfaction clear in his voice.

You walked over to him, resting your hand lightly on his chest. "Thanks, babe," you said, your heart swelling with warmth. "You really are the best."

Scott grinned down at you, his fingers brushing against your bump. "Anything for you, sweetheart.”

*****

Dinner had gone off without a hitch, despite the initial shock from the team at seeing Scott so at ease in his own home. The teasing had been relentless, but Scott took it all in stride, offering nothing more than a smirk and a casual arm around your shoulders. Now, with the meal finished and the dishes put away, the team had trickled off to their respective spaces for the evening, exhaustion from the long chase finally settling in.

The night air was warm but carried the faintest breeze, rustling through the trees surrounding the house. Crickets chirped in the distance, their rhythmic song blending with the occasional quiet murmur of conversation from inside. You stood on the back porch, letting the stillness settle over you, one hand absentmindedly resting on your belly.

The sound of the screen door creaking open pulled you from your thoughts. A moment later, Scott stepped beside you, a cold glass of sweet tea in one hand, the other immediately finding its way to the small of your back.

“Tired?” he asked, his voice softer now that it was just the two of you.

You let out a slow breath, smiling as you leaned into his side. “A little. But I’m just glad you’re home.”

Scott hummed in agreement, pressing a kiss to your temple before guiding you over to the porch swing. He sat down first, pulling you gently into his side so you could rest against him. His hand found your belly without hesitation, thumb brushing lazily over the fabric of your dress.

“I still can’t believe the baby's going to be here soon. I'm glad I'll be able to be here for all of it,” he murmured. His voice was thick with a more vulnerable tone, something you didn't hear from Scott often.

You glanced up at him, catching the way his usual hardened expression had softened. “I was worried you’d miss it,” you admitted quietly.

Scott let out a breath, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t let that happen. The second I knew the due date, I made damn sure I’d be here.” His fingers traced gentle circles across your bump, as if grounding himself in the reality of it all. “Storm chasing is one thing, but this… this is the biggest thing I’ve ever been a part of.”

Your heart squeezed at his words, and you reached up, running your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re gonna be an amazing dad, you know that?”

Scott chuckled, shaking his head. “Only because you’ll be an amazing mom.”

You smiled, shifting just enough to press a kiss to his jaw. “Guess our kid's gonna be pretty lucky then.”

For a while, neither of you spoke. You just sat there, swaying gently in the night air, wrapped up in each other and the life you were building together. The storm chasing season was over—for now—and for the first time in a long time, Scott Miller wasn’t thinking about the next chase. He was thinking about home.

And as far as he was concerned, he was exactly where he belonged.

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Flip-Flopped AU

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

1k. Series Masterlist

My entry in the Flip-Flopped Summer Writing Challenge by @munson-blurbs and @corroded-hellfire in which a plot point happens differently in your story and alters the trajectory.

In this AU, Eddie and Teach got lost in the heat of the moment in Chapter 17 and both decided not to use a condom.

CW: pregnancy, big feelings, protective!eddie

If this is not your thing, feel free to scroll on past! This does not affect the main story whatsoever.

The days were getting longer. 

The changing of the clocks had sunlight stretching on past dinner time. Birds were making nests outside your bedroom window, singing as early as you woke. But they had been feeling longer even before now. Back when frost still clung to the windows of your classroom, you would find yourself slumped against your desk before lunch period—bleary-eyed with a tiredness that seeped into your bones, made you want to sleep forever. They were long because you were exhausted, and not just from work.

There were changes in your body. The early nausea had ebbed for you to discover your appetite again. You couldn’t wear underwire bras anymore, not that any of yours fit anyway. You could smell the ink from the Xerox machine over by the coffee table clear across the room; a superpower you never wished you had. When it finally stopped whirring, you got up from the table and sought to alleviate the pain in your lower back with a stretch. It did little good. With a tired sigh, you plodded over to the Xerox machine, grabbing the warm stack of copies and securing them with a binder clip before placing them atop three large textbooks. You hoisted the stack, wincing at the soreness in your breasts but thankful for the shield it provided. You’d noticed another change this morning that had you feeling anxious others would as well.

Like clockwork, Eddie was waiting just around the corner, leaning against the concrete wall pretending to read one of the novels you’d assigned last fall. He brightened as he saw you, stuffing the dog-eared book into his back pocket. “Hey,” he breathed, joining your stride.

You smiled, parroting the same in response, unable to stop the tingles at the sight of him from radiating down your chest to flutter low. That hadn’t changed at all.

“Let me grab that,” Eddie offered with a nod of his chin.

You clutched the stack like a safety blanket, readjusting your hands against the stiff covers. “It’s fine, I’ve got it.”

“Come on, you probably shouldn’t be carrying so much while—” Eddie glanced around the bustling hallway, lowering his voice, “in your current condition.”

You sighed, softened by the concern in his deep brown eyes, the way he hovered so attentively beside you. “Ok, fine.” Veering out of traffic, you halted by one of the bulletin boards and yielded the stack of books into his waiting arms.  

That was when he saw it—the swell under your floral cotton dress. 

It had appeared practically overnight. Or at least it seemed that way. You had been looking out for it for many weeks now, always checking in the mirror before you left, making sure your clothing covered anything suspicious. It was easy in the winter, but there hadn’t been much to hide then—aside from the truth to those closest around you. Now that the trees of late March were beginning to bud, your options were dwindling to dresses with empire waists and generous fabric, big t-shirts on casual Fridays. 

A lump caught in Eddie’s throat, eyes locked on the small bump. He almost dropped the books, hands burning with the urge to feel the evidence of his fatherhood. Your eyes met for a long, heavy second, welling with mutual recognition. Chatter echoed off the tile, lockers slammed, shoes squeaked and quickened with the approaching bell. Reluctantly, you broke his gaze to glance around, folding your arms protectively across your midsection before starting slowly down the hall again. 

It was a longer walk than usual, or maybe it just felt that way because of the weight of your predicament hanging between you, or maybe it was born out of the desire to be close as long as possible.

Suddenly, a freshman whizzed by, weaving in and out of traffic to bump past your left shoulder. You stumbled, clutching your belly reflexively as your feet righted themselves beneath you. 

Eddie felt a rage course through him like he’d never felt before. Icy like fear, but igniting to a blind fury that seared through his veins, made his vision narrow until he saw nothing but red. “HEY!” he barked. All of a sudden his shoes were pounding the tile as if moving on their own, books shifting to his left arm while his right reached for the handle on the freshman’s yellow backpack. He yanked the kid back, almost lifting him off the ground to face him. “How ‘bout you watch where you’re going, ‘kay?” he gritted.

Terror swept across the freshman’s pimpled face. “‘Kay,” he eked out. 

Nostrils flaring, Eddie held his gaze for a second to drive home his point before releasing his grip. The freshman clambered away, straightening his shirt and glancing over his shoulder as he slunk into one of the classrooms. Eddie stood there a moment, staring at the door he’d vanished into, steadying his breath before your voice broke the spell.

“Eddie,” you started wearily, unable to maintain your exasperation when you saw the worry so vividly in his eyes.

“You tripped.”

“I’m fine,” you soothed, resuming your place, close enough to brush the hair on his arm. Though you didn’t condone the outburst, you couldn’t deny it stirred a warm, buzzing feeling in you. 

You walked together carefully in silence as the chaos swirled around you. But the tension didn’t leave his shoulders, not even once he unloaded the pile from his arms with a thud onto your desk. 

The classroom was empty, but not for long. Beyond the open door was a commotion of footsteps, any one of them with the potential to breech the threshold. Eddie eyed your bump again, and the stiffness in his jaw softened slightly to longing. Stepping around the corner of the desk, he closed in until it was just about the only thing between you. 

“I’m coming over later,” he said just above a whisper, eyes flitting up to yours before resting on your belly again.

A smile cracked through the worry on your face for just a moment before a glance at the door made it return. You could tell from the heat in his eyes just how badly he wanted to touch you, just how close he was to letting the impulse take over.

He followed your glance toward the door, then back to the subtle swell, rising and falling with your bated breath. With a determined set of his jaw, and eyes that brimmed with unbridled wonder, Eddie raised his hand and placed it firmly on your belly. It was warm and soothing, thumb stroking gently over the smooth cotton.

And for a fleeting moment, on an exhale you both shared, all was right in the world.

______

A/N: If you loved this, please tell me! And lmk if you want to be added to the AU taglist (which will be separate from my main one) because I will be writing more of these! Just little vignettes.

I am taking requests for anything and everything in this AU, so if there is a moment or situation you want to want to see, send me an ask!

Also, there will be a celebration hosted by the lovely @teddiemunson86 and @ladylilylost on their discord server tomorrow Sunday, Sept. 1st at 2pm EDT where I will be talking about chapter 17 and what the future has in store for our forbidden lovebirds (and maybe the AU as well)! If you're interested in joining, the link to the server is here. Hope to see you there!

Tagging my main list just this once to gauge interest: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly

@kissmyacdc @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @carolmunson @keeponquinning

@blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @alizztor @godcreatoreli

@ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxxsblog @siriusmuggle

@sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420

@readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless

@eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo

@eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi

@liminalpebble @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins @mimsthebannished @tssf-imagines

@eddiethesexy

[halliejaade]

Edelweiss (Chapter 7.5)

The timeline between TFAWTS and CABNW is being shortened for the sake of Edelweiss. Also, this isn't a full chapter, just a bit of a snippet of going into the plot of CABNW. (Sorry Joaquín isn't really in this, just trying to get the bridge between the two built so that we can go at the plot full force!)

After a prolonged vacation in Miami, you're almost relieved to finally go back to some semblance of normalcy in New York.

You hadn't mentioned anything the doctor told you to your parents. Maybe you should have. Maybe you should have confronted them about it, just to see if they'd squirm. If they'd confirm everything that you hoped was false.

You stopped taking the pills, just to see if anything would happen. So far, nothing. Your headaches did get more intense, but nothing was out of the ordinary.

That doctor didn't have a clue of what she was talking about.

It made you feel better; you didn't like lying to Joaquín. At least now, it was for a good reason. He wouldn't have to unnecessarily worry about something that didn't even exist.

You did, however, keep a notebook, where you took notes of your dreams. Just in case.

There was an uncanny resemblance in all of the dreams.

The little girl. The older boy, who always disappeared after a certain point. The burning house. A man that called himself Doctor Sterns.

Your dreams never strayed from those topics.

Although convinced that the doctor was wrong, there was no harm in doing some research.

Your laptop balances precariously in one hand, a can of diet Pepsi in the other as you navigate your apartment. It was the perfect size, a one bedroom apartment on the 25th floor of an apartment building. The perfect spot for a girl in her mid-twenties.

Although, sometimes you felt as though you had a roommate.

Grace sits on the edge of the couch, painting her nails bright pink as she watches the television intently. She doesn't glance away from the screen, somehow managing to get the nail polish only on her nails, until the dog stands abruptly and knocks into the coffee table.

Oh yeah, and you'd gotten a dog.

After arriving back from Miami, you went almost directly to the pound and found an older mutt. You knew that you needed her just as much as she needed you.

Just a couple of strays looking for a place in this big world.

"Wendy," You laugh softly. "Come here."

You place your laptop on the coffee table before settling down on the couch. Wendy trots over, (yes, trots, she's nearly as big as a horse), and curls up at your feet.

Grace shakes her head at the tv. "I've never liked him."

You glance at the screen, where newly elected President Ross gives his speech. "I'm not a fan either."

Familiar.

Your breath catches in your throat. It wasn't so much a voice as it was a thought. You wait, holding your breath to see if it happens again.

When silence greets you, you take a deep breath. You needed better sleep.

A search on your computer for Samuel Sterns brings up hundreds of News Articles. Mostly, you see things about the Hulk. You see things about an arrest being made.

Okay, you think. You must've seen his name in a news article of some sort and your brain came up with those silly dreams.

A clip of him on YouTube catches your eye.

'Professor Sterns, Grayburn College."

You glance at your notes, and that's written there, too.

A quick search tells you that Grayburn is in Harlem, which isn't far. Maybe you'd go there tomorrow, talk to some people, try to figure out who exactly Samuel Sterns was before he was arrested.

Danger.

"Y/n, are you okay?" Grace asks, placing her hand against your arm. Her fingertips feel like fire, the smell of her nail polish overtaking your senses. The feeling builds, your heart pounding steadily until...

Grace shouts suddenly, wrenching her hand away from you as she stumbles from the couch.

"Grace!"

Everything looks so sharp, like you're wearing someone's prescription glasses over already perfect vision.

"I-I can't see," She stammers, trembling as she reaches out in the direction she thinks you're in. You grab her hand, your vision going back to normal in such a quick amount of time that it throws you off balance.

Grace looks up at you, "I'm so sorry. I don't know what just happened there, but I couldn't see for a moment."

You have a funny feeling you know why.

"You probably need some iron supplements," You try to joke.

"Yeah, maybe," She shrugs, uneasy laughter filling the quiet space as she stands.

Sorry, that voice says, I forgot what it was like to be awake. I didn't mean to take away her sight.

Dread shivers through your bones.

Don't be afraid, Y/n. I saved your life, remember?

[lemon-russ]

Look. I just........ you can't judge me. What were YOU doing at the devils sacrament?

Mortarion X F!Reader (Pt. 1?)

Next (technically prequel)

CW: imprisonment, dehumanization, human pet, oral sex, general debauchery

TAGS: @moodymisty

Look I dunno if you guys signed up for this but uhhh: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye @lisikk

“Shhhh, there, there, pet.”

Mortarion reaches through the bars of your cage to stroke your hair. You blink away sleep from your eyes as you orient yourself in the plush prison. Master is home? You scramble out of your little bed- nothing more than a large dogs bed but layered in pillows and blankets- and eagerly press yourself to the bars.

You lean into his palm, grasping his wrist to urge his hand to your cheek and nuzzle into his massive hand.

The primarch chuckles a raspy sound out. “That's a good girl, so happy to see me…” he cooes, kneeling, with some effort and popping joints, to sit beside your prison.

“Now, were you a good pet today? Quiet? Played nicely with your toys?” He murmurs, running a calloused thumb over your lips. “I don’t want to have to make excuses again if you made noise and alerted my sons.”

You smile wide, nodding eagerly. You know better than to speak without being asked. Your master prefers you use your body over words to express your appreciation. You had been playing nice and quiet all day, drawing on your parchments and playing with the “toys” he leaves you for when he is gone for an extended time.

He smiles, the skin of his dry lips straining with cracks, unused to the expression. He withdraws his hand, and the comforting clammy cool with it. You resist clinging.

Your cage clicks open, and you temper your excitement. Mortarion is letting you out? That only ever means good things for his treasured pet. Is it bath time? Or does he want you to warm his bed? Will he finally take you out and show you off?

Your excitement must be showing on your face, because Mortarion lets out another weak chuckle before rasping out a few harsh coughs.

“There's a good pet, so eager to please. It's been a few days since you came out, hasn't it?” He says as he latches your favorite collar to your neck. A rich green, with his name emblazened in bronze. His fingers trace over your throat as he admires the band, sending shivers down your spine and rasing goosebumps on your skin.

He moves aside to let you crawl out. Your cage is large, but short. Not enough to stand in, so it is a special treat when you get to stretch your legs and spine out in your masters bedroom.

Your body protests the sudden change of position as you stretch. It feels more and more unnatural to stand like this, or even leave the safety of your plush cage. Soon you return to your hands and knees at the Primarch’s feet.

He reaches down to run a hand through your hair again, before clipping a matching leash to your neck. A tug tightens your collar, drawing a squeak of surprise from your throat.

“Are you going to be a good pet?” He asks, pulling you by the lead to the edge of the bed. He sits, pulling you forward with him.

You nod quickly, crawling across the hard metal floor to kneel between his knees.

He tugs your leash sharper. “Say it.” He rasps. His pale eyes grow heavy as he eyes you, in your proper place.

“I’ll be good.” You croak, voice thick with disuse.

He smiles again, reaching down to run a hand under your chin. He brings his face close enough that his breath tickles your cheeks.

“Good girl.”

He leans back, spreading his legs and tugging you forward again, your collar biting into the soft skin of your neck. You don’t need to be told twice, and start undoing the ties holding his loose pants up. There are still splatters of old blood and the remnants of harsh chemicals from the battlefield staining his clothes, and you assume he must have come straight to you after getting home from a fight. The idea makes you puff up a little with pride. Master came straight to you…

You tug apart the knots and look up at him for permission to continue. He answers by caressing a hand to your face, then snapping the leash with his other hand, making you yelp.

You quickly return to your task, releasing Mortarion’s half ready cock from his pants at last.

The sight of his pale flesh makes you stop and admire. Every time your master uses you, you’re still astounded by the sheer size of it. Mortarion chuckles at your wide eyed stare, brushing back hair from your flushed face.

“You like it, pet?” He croons, chest rattling with his deepening breaths.

You nod, fixated still on the rising organ. He smiles, running his hand behind your head to take a fistful of your hair. He pushes your head closer, pressing the head of his cock to your lips.

“Go on then, show me how much.” He demands softly, twitching his hips forward and parting your lips with the tip.

You happily comply, sucking what you can of him into your mouth. The salty taste hit your tongue, and the primearch’s grip on your head burrows him deeper into your throat.

His groaning is cut by a rattling cough, but when you try to stop to look up at him he pushes your head back down on his cock. His next moan is less labored, so you figure it best to keep trying to fit him in your mouth, stretching your aching jaw with his thrusts.

After what feels like an eternity focusing on relaxing your throat and jaw, a sharp snap of your leash snaps you back into the moment.

“That’s it, good girl-” he growls deeply, “swallow it little pet-” his voice hitches as he grabs your head and nearly gags you. He hooks a finger under your collar and yanks, briefly cutting off your already scarce air supply as he fills your throat.

With an airy, raspy whimper, you feel his cock start pumping down your throat. After a couple hitching bucks of his hips, he pulls you off of him by the hair, leaving you gasping and your jaw radiating with sore use.

He falls back onto the bed, wheezing and trembling, and pulls you up to him by your leash. You crawl up to him in a daze and collapse next to him, catching your breath as he tried to control his own.

Finally he lolled his head to look at you, cupping your chin to make you meet his cloudy eyes.

“Good pet.”

[garbagedogs]

here's some

Meet the New Boss unused audio and the explanation for this weird prompt at the start of the mission, namely Vincent and Duke were supposed to be there in addition to Jackie and Conroy

Vincent's lines are mostly by his previous VA and consist of the friendly fire reaction line set, a few mission specific lines and finally one single new one from Osric Chau

Duke's lines are much of the same, Anthony Chow did a couple of them but the rest are from his previous voice actor... or maybe two previous voice actors even? they kinda don't all sound like the same person

while obviously he's actually there i've never been able to get Conroy to say anything during the mission and he only has 4 lines total associated with it anyways. the first two are mission specific, probably for when you were supposed to "get to your crew", but the last two are just his reaction lines for when Wei's driving like shit. was he supposed to provide backup for when Wei and Jackie chase after Ponytail? i mean i wish but i doubt that was the case

[asherthehimbo]

Hunter

synopsis: Visha Odessa was a legendary hunter, a protector of nature and its balance, they never let an abomination live to tell the tale of having stared into the poisoned hunters eyes, but stories are told, whisperes shared amungst drunk mercanary's after a long day, a story of one man, one beast whom has drank the poison and still lives to tell the tale. Odessa's greatests failure. Or in which you never could quite bring yourself to kill Jung Wooyoung, for all the names you've had and titles you've garnered, his immortality only still being intact by your own hands. Jung Wooyoung was a gentle beast purring in your lap by the light of the fire, but he was a beast none the less, and you had made a promise to end all beasts.

Pairing: Vampire! Jung Wooyoung x Hunter! Female! Reader

Warnings: blood, death, vampire feeding, a but suggestive ( just like a makeout session nothing too bad), a hint of mysogany in the begining, reader has no specifics BUT is described as having freckles and a scar on her nose, no happy ending :((

wc: 5.6K

notes: WAAHHHHHH WRITING THIS FOR MY STAR @beetheseal YAYAYAYYAYA IM SO HAPPY I GOT HER INTO PARIS PALOMA AND ALSO HAPPY I GET TO WRITE SMTHN BASED OFF ONE OF PARIS'S SONGSSSS and special thanks to @housewifeonlsd for proofreading and helping with editing!!

Playlist: hunter by Paris Paloma | Python by GOT7 | Lovers rock by TV Girl | I bet on losing dogs by Mistki | Granite by Sleep token | Sand by Dove Cameron | We Belong by Dove Cameron | COLD BLOODED by Chris Grey | Romantic Homicide by d4vd | Scorpio by TROY | Daylight by David Kushner | Born to die by Lana del Ray | Rises the moon by Liana Flores | POMEGRANITE by hannah bahng | Abysmal by hannah bahng |

The tavern was loud, painfully so, at least to you that is. The rest of the barflies and the guests seem to enjoy themselves at least, dancing to the music played by an elderly man and his acoustic guitar, others listening to the tales told by the drunken hunters and veterans, who are all too happy to share their war stories for a moment of recognition.

You don't frequent this pub a lot, at least not at this time of night, you have a job to do after all, and yet you find yourself sitting at the bar nursing a cold glass of strawberry cider while you listen to the men badger on. You're really only here for your friend, Seonghwa, owner of the Halazia tavern. He asked you to come in, scare some respect into the men who's bothered his regulars and brushed fingers with his workers a few too many times for comfort.

You're the only one in the bar with the hood of your cowl still drawn up, nobody notices that, nor the box and arrows placed carefully next to you as you lean back against the bar and study the men. “Yaknow, I get I was askin’ for a favor, but sittin’ here drinkin’ on my dime aint actually helpin’ the problem” Seonghwas voice sounds behind you, the southern twang to it a bit lighter in his sultry voice than it is with some of his other workers.

“I'm studying them, can't attack without proper knowledge of your enemy Hwa, you know this” you turn your head to shoot him a smile, drinking in his appearance: hair long and messily tied back with a clip your pretty sure he stole from you the last time you were around, he's wiping off the counter behind you, face flushed from being in the heat of the kitchen only moments prior, apron tied around his waist.

You don't like studying people, especially not when it comes to your friends, it's an annoying habit of survival, one some primal part of your brain refuses to turn off no matter how much you beg it too. Seonghwa is too perfect, you purse your lips as his attention is focused on a speck of dirt that doesn't seem to want to listen to him and his trusted cloth. His hands aren't caloused, despite the work he does, they're delicate and well manicured, opposite of yours, grime and dried blood under your own nails after every kill, callouses on your fingers that are roughly shaven off when you know you don't have a hunt for the next few days.

His face stays unblemished, no marks of any kind, no scars of battle, no dots that show his travels in the sun. You suspect he's what you would've looked like had you been born into a different life, and while deep down it hurts a part of you, on the surface level you cannot care for it. You were made for this, for protecting, killing, each part of yourself, no matter how much you dislike it, it serves to further your purpose in life.

You move your focus back to the drunkard twisting his own tales, the ladies and young men around him all looking at him in interest. “So you've met him then? met Visha?“ a young hunter asks excitedly, you don't bother to remember his face, he'll die within the week. “Hey I heard Visha was a woman!” a young lady next to him protests but her eyes are still on the drunkard, “still did you meet her?”

The drunkard, a big man, broad shoulders with a brown beard and locks that reach his shoulders, he seems almost too big for his seat, as if his legs are uncomfortable but his face tells the opposite story. “Visha? Of course I've met him.” The young woman's smile falters a bit as the pronoun leaves the drunkard's lips, but she doesn't say anything else. “I mean he's skilled, sure, but the rumors crack him up to be some type of legend- he isn't. He's a hunter. That's all he is” the man takes a gulp of his beer as his friend continues, the tinier man already drunk.

“You young hunters should stop idolizing him- he let a beast go yaknow?” there's a sharp intake in the room, whispers break out and you can feel Seonghwa’s eyes on you as both him and his workers start moving to the kitchen- they know what comes next and they hate having dirty uniforms. “And where did you get that information from?” you call out to the two rumor spinners as you face them, one leg crossed over the other and hood still covering your face.

“Hey lady, no need to yell from all the way over there. We're hunters ourselves, you can trust us. ” The smaller man gives a slimy smile but the larger one stays quiet, almost like he can feel something is wrong. “Dilin Royer, Veteran of the West war, although the word veteran is a stretch given you never actually fought in it, only trained for a year before running away-” the man stands up, his glass of beer being thrown at you head, you simply move to the side as it smashes against the wall, internally cringing for the scolding Seonghwas going to give you for that. You pick up a piece of the glass that had landed on the counter next to you as you start using it to clean your nails, some leftover blood from your last kill still being stuck underneath.

“Who do you think you are? Do you know who I am? Who he is, ” the tiny man, Dilin, points his hand to his friend as his face turns red in fury, “Rayder Terkem. Son of Commander Terkem- well estranged son given the fact that you had multiple of your squad members killed and took credit for their work, ” you tilt your head looking at the two despite knowing that they can't see your eyes. The bigger man, Rayder, stands up now finally, “Listen here tramp, I don't know where you got your information from but you've got it wrong, so say one more word and I'm feeding you to Visha’s beast myself, ” he throws his glass down just as his partner had threw his at you. Internally you cringe at the fact that another broken glass only means an angier Seonghwa.

You watch the shards of the glass splatter, hitting some of the young hunters who were gathered around Dilin and Rayder, cuts on their faces and open arms, much smaller versions of the scars they'll receive in the future of this career. “Really? You're that close to Visha Odessa? The legendary Visha Odessa?“ you force your voice to sound a bit surprised, and Dilin smirks as Rayder nods. “Well that's funny because I know I'd never acquaint myself with a coward and a traitor, ” you huff out laughter as you pull down your hood, staring at them and finally they see your face.

The dots littering your cheeks, proof of your work under the mother-suns watch, the scar running over your nose a tell-tale sign of who you are. It's something every young hunter is told, a warning, for as much as they admire the legend there's a reason Visha stays just that - a legend.

“Visha’s loyalty to our nature-mother had granted them a constellation of their own, littered on their face, the scar running across their nose a reminder of the pain they receive in honour of our nature-mother. ”

You never minded the name they'd given you, didn't care enough to fight back when they called you Visha for poison, you had known your blood was poisoned for a long time now. Visha for the poison in your blood and Odessa for the pain you receive in order to carry out your duties to mother nature, to fulfill your purpose.

You didn't mind the name they'd given you, but you did mind when they used it in vain, when they used it to fulfill a status they saw as important without carrying out their own duties. “Oh yeah?” The men had clearly realised their mistake, but Dilin seems like a man with a big ego, one who even when faced with the hunter known to bring death, won't back down. It's not a brave act, it's a stupid one, one made in an act of self preservation of an ego rather than a life.

“You wouldn't acquaint yourself with a coward nor a traitor, but you would with a beast?" The moment the words have left Dilins lips, the last syllable barely escaping, an arrow shoots through his throat, pinning his frame against the wall behind him with it's force. A gurgle leaves his mouth, blood dripping down to the couch he was previously sitting on and you know Seonghwa will absolutely tear you a new one, but you don't care.

Rayder looks at you, eyes filled with anger as his gaze darts between the strung bow in your hands, the new arrow you already have pointed at him, and his friend, dead, lifeless pinned up against the wall like some sort of warning, like a message. A message Rayder chose to ignore, his bulky arm raises, an axe in his hand that he's ready to throw but you're quicker, letting the next arrow hit his wrist, pinning it to the wall and causing his own axe to imbed itself in his freshly dead friend's head. He lets out a scream, one you ignore as you start nocking your next arrow.

Rayder blabbers on, trying to call the younger hunters around him to help out but they don't move, they know better. His voice is background static as you aim the next arrow at him, now between his eyes, he looks at you with disdain. “A coward- only a coward would kill the two opposing he-” his words aren't finished as the arrow hits him. You sigh, slinging your bow on your back and downing your last bit of cider before putting your glass back down, pulling up your hood as you start to walk out.

The tense atmosphere breaks as the young hunters start screaming. The workers come out from the kitchen, not in a rushed pace because they already know what's happened. It's much too common of an occurrence for you to have to deal with people like these for Seonghwa and sure you may have went a little far this time, indenting the wall and executing them so publically, but they pissed you off, the words from their vile mouths seeped in beneath your skin, mixing with your tainted blood, creating a more intoxicating poison flowing in your veins.

You catch Seonghwas eyes as you reach the back door, his lips are pressed as he looks at the scene and then at you, as if he can't decide between being angry at the mess, or worried at the unusual display of inhumane violence from you. You don't give him a chance to decide as you open the door and disappear from the tavern without one last glance.

You know how the story goes, how long the travels take and the possibility of never being able to come back, one last glance at your friend's tavern could be all it takes to distract you. The last glance is not motivation to return, it's hesitation to go, you can not share Seonghwa a last glance, you cannot hesitate.

The night air hits you, the wind blowing the fresh smell of the trees and berries up the mountain down to the mouth of the woods where you stand outside the tavern. It's 's quiet, save for the few noises of the night and voices from the quiet growing town, it's the complete opposite of the inside of the tavern where your comfort person resides, and yet, you enjoy this more.

Enjoying the cold breeze, the smell of everything around you, the awareness the earth brings, the figure lurking in the shadows of the Taverns outside walls as it waits for your call. You take a breath, deep as you inhale almost tasting the scent of strawberries that lingers in the air, you're tired and yet you know within the next few seconds you will have to aim your bow again, lest the figure believe you've gone soft.

“Why do you defend me?” his voice asks, playfull, as if you can hear the smirk even if you have yet to see his face hidden in the night, “I do not defend you, I defend myself” you state, “and yet you shot them when they spoke of me” he steps into the light, and you can see his face, almost hopeful as he looks at you, “I shot them because I didn't want to be associated with you, and I'll shoot you too if I need to” you draw your arrow and he steps closer, as if daring you “You won't, you won't kill me [Name]? ” the smirk from his face has disappeared, the daringness now replaced with something else, something more desperate that you can't quite place.

“Why won't you kill me? ” his voice is almost a broken whisper, the words falling from his mouth with a curiosity, an intense desperate curiosity, a broken curiosity only heard from those who had been at their limit. You don't answer him, you don't give him the words he wants to hear, you don't do it because you can't. It's the same question that had been plaguing your mind countless nights, hundreds of hunts spent looking down at the beasts you've killed wondering why the image of Wooyoung in the same position sent a nauseating bullet through your skull. You don't answer, instead you shoot your arrow, hitting him in his right shoulder, in the exact same spot you've hit countless times before. “I'll kill you Jung.. just not tonight” not tonight, not tomorrow night… there's always a reason not to, when the time inevitably comes, will you be able to complete your duty?

Wooyoung hisses in pain as he grabs his shoulder, he seems more affected by the shot than he should be, seems weaker, he pulls out the arrow with another hiss before he walks over and hands it to you. A bloody hand slightly trembling, as if the nerves in his shoulder were damaged, he’s not healing, not fast enough. ‘He hasn't fed’, a voice in your head tells you, “You haven't fed, ” you say bluntly, looking from his injury, to the trembling bloody hand holding your arrow, Wooyoung's eyes narrow at you, grabs your hand with his own bloodied one as he places the arrow in your palm, it's a frustrated action, but not rough by any means. He pulls his hand away, hiding the trembling behind his back as the other goes back to holding his slowly healing wound.

“You don't like it when I feed” he states simply, and he's right, he knows you feel like a failure whenever you're reminded of the fact that not killing him causes him to drain more humans every night. “I try to limit it” he says, as if looking for some sort of praise, as if he wants you to be proud of him for starving himself. You hate it, whether he feeds or not, both ways you feel the guilt of knowing you let a beast live. Wooyoung makes you feel a wretched guilt, one buried deep in your heart, that seeps into your bones and wraps around your soul. Maybe that's why you can't kill him, he's a part of you, it's not easy to kill a part of yourself. If it was, Wooyoung wouldn't have been standing in front of you, if killing him was as easy as killing any other beasts, then you wouldn't even have known his name.

You sigh, looking back down to the arrow before placing it with the others, you don't say anything when you turn around, and it's your lack of words that informs Wooyoung he should follow you, it's always like this with you, you'd never accept him outright, but the moments of silence, of you trusting that he'll know what you mean, those stolen little moments mean the world to him, ensures his undead heart beats just a little bit faster each time, as if you bring him closer to mortality with each glance.

He follows, quiet as you walk, watching as you bend to pick up your bag that you had stashed away at the edge of the woods before you enter them. It's only then when Wooyoung starts speaking, when the two of you are in the cover of nature and he knows you'll speak freely, because you feel safer here, away from people. “How long are you staying?” he asks softly, almost afraid of the answer, you don't know why, he usually follows you wherever you go anyways, but to him it means more, the more you stay in one place the greater the chance you can rest, that you'll think, that he gets to spend more time with you. The more time you spend in one place the greater the chance will be that you'll settle down there, with him. At least that's what his deluded mind tells him.

“My work here is done, I'm going by sunrise” Your original plan was to go by nightfall, but Wooyoung doesn't know that, and you don't have to tell him your travel was delayed due to him, he doesn't need more of an ego boost. Wooyoung only nods at your words, the cogs in his head turning as he thinks of how he only has a few hours to spend with you.

You loved the woods, it was the reason you preferred camping in your travels rather than staying at an inn, nature would surround you and you were far gone from men, you loved nature all its soft sounds of life, the leaves blowing and water running, but when Wooyoung was with you, you always had a sense of paranoia. His steps would follow you, silent always until you reached your campsite, he had a habit of going quiet when surrounded by the very thing he is an abomination of, the phantom noise of his steps would haunt your thoughts when you traveled without him, and if you were to ever allow yourself the possibility of forgetting them, then he'd remind you by the next travel.

Always following, his lonely soul drawn to yours, both outcasts in your own communities, a hunter who let a beast live- let a beast feed from her, let a beast poison her with his touch; a beast, not feeding unless given permission, following the every order of one of those vowed to kill him. But the thing was you never did, for all the injuries you had caused and the words you had threatened, for all the times you'd clutch your unsheathed dagger as you stared at him, you never held a true bloodthirsty thrill in your eye, not like he'd seen you hold for others of his kind.

Sure you'd hate him, but was hate not the closest emotion to love? In his mind, it's simply a blessing that you think of him so much, that he's so deeply bedded in your soul for you to even hold such a feeling towards him. Sure you may shoot him with your arrows, you may stab him, but at the end of the day you choose not to kill him, choose to have him feed from your neck, choose to have him keep you warm under the cold blanket of night. Could you really be so sure you hate him, when you let him do things that only make him fall deeper in love?

You reach your campsite and Wooyoung perches himself on a large log of wood as he watches you work, he's tried to help before, but you'd only get mad at him, claiming that you could do everything yourself, he doesn't like it when you're mad, so he sits, he watches, staring into the fire after you'd set it aflame to use the light for constructing your tent. He'd sit and think, maybe even reminisce on all the times he's seen you like this, not knowing that you were doing the same.

The setup of the fire and construction of the tent was muscle memory at this point, you did not have to think of your actions, the motions second nature and so your mind was left free, stolen glances at the usually injured Wooyoung- injuries usually caused by your own hand- would always send you back to the night you had met him.

It was your first hunt, sent out to kill an amature beast, amature was a name unbefitting of him, if he was an amateur you would've been able to kill him. No he was completely new, worse than an amature, turned not even a day before your arrival, having been caught by you during his first feed, he looked so young then, not that he'd aged since, but his bones were skeletal, hair cut choppily, he clinged to the dieing body in his lap, tears flowing from his eyes, mixing with the blood messily dripping down his chin as he fed. His eyes were wide, frenzied as he looked up at you in fear, and yet he could not detach himself from the body.

His sobs still haunt your dreams sometimes, he didn't want this life and yet you had almost killed him for it. He makes you think, makes you question your duty, if each beast you kill had started out like that, it's a dangerous thought, one you wouldn't dare voice nor entertain for too long, but a thought that passed through your mind whenever you look at him in these moments nonetheless.

When you're done, you remove your coat, not undressing but riding yourself of most of your protective gear, a small sign of trust you subconsciously show him, in the presence of anyone else you'd keep it on, and yet when with him you'd leave your weapons, still in reach but not on your person. You sit beside him on the log as you stare into the fire, he moves down, knows its not yet time for him to be sitting next to you, his head rests on you lap, and your hand rests on his head, you don't scratch his scalp yet, it's too early in the night for that affection, it's a routine you two have built, certain actions only happening after the other. You look down at him, his gaze on the fire, as if studying the flames. They cast a light that shines on his face, a warm light that compliments his tanned skin much more than the soft white light of the moon. You guess fires are the closest he'll get to being seen in the sun.

It's dangerous for beasts in the day, when most humans, most hunters are awake, so they hide away, this had spread rumors, rumors that they're nocturnal, others that they're allergic to the sun, but real hunters know it's not true, they're simply afraid, afraid of the hunters that stalk them as they do humans. You look down at Wooyoung, his breathing even and eyes starting to close, for a moment you allow yourself to believe he's human, that maybe life had not dealt the both of you these cards, that you'd met under different circumstances, but as you lift your had to finally pet his head, and your long sleeved shirt rides up just enough to reveal the almost faded marks of his bite on your wrist, reality sets in, even if just enough to remind you of the fact that he is still a beast, yet not enough to remind you that you are a hunter.

You run your fingers through his hair as you lift his head from your lap, making him look up at you as his cheek rests on your palm, he looks pathetic like this, but not in a sad way.. no, it's a picture you'd want saved in your memory, he looks up at you with those big eyes, ones shining as they line with tears, you don't know what for. “You haven't fed, you're weakened” your statement is unnecessary, its information shared before you even stepped foot in the woods, but your statement is not just that, a statement. Wooyoung knows that, you'd never tell him to feed outright, it would go against your very nature just as not feeding goes against his, but at times like these you give him access to the nectar running through your veins, your words spark something in him, a fire in his stomach hotter than the one now behind him.

He turns his head to kiss the inside of your palm, bringing up a hand which he uses to hold yours, fingers slipping between your own as he keeps your palm against his lips for a moment before he moves down, placing featherlight kisses against the coulessed skin before he reaches your pulse point, his other hand moves to push your sleeve away, fingers tracing lightly over the faded marks before he rests it on your wrist to feel your pulse, the most calming beat, your heart. “They've faded” his voice is soft, sad, disappointed at the fact that you've healed, “they have” your own is soft as well, softer than normal at least, although yours is not in disappointment, its inviting, reassuring him to recreate them.

His eyes lock with yours, you watch as they start to shine, big and brown now holding a pathetic type of desperateness. You see his jaw tighten, an action signaling the growth of his fangs and before you know it his teeth puncture your skin. You bite your lip at the subtle pain and he makes a stifled whimper against your skin. His hand that was holding your arm gently now tightens as he feeds, his eyes closing as he relishes in your taste, the one he's missed, the one he's longed for. You try to focus on the feeling of his lips on your skin, not on the fact that he's poisoning your blood further.

You know he's almost done when the edges of the world start to blur, it's a good feeling, a free one. His feeding acts almost like an aphrodisiac, the venom in a beasts veins being injected into their prey to keep them calm and willing, you feel light headed, not enough to faint, but enough to float, to be able to release yourself of the stress, the inner turmoil your actions bring you. Your mind is only consumed with thoughts of him, thoughts of the peace of this moment, not of the wrongs you've committed, not of the failures you've created by being this willing to keep him alive.

You feel his fangs retract from your wrist, his lips still on your skin as he softly kisses off the last drops of blood, he looks up at you, watching closely as his lips start to move from your wrist up your arm, your skin cold due to the drained blood and night air, his lips warm against your arm, once he reaches the part where your rolled up shirt covers the rest of your skin he decides to finally remove himself from your arm. His hand moving to your face, thumb gently moving across your cheek as his eyes trace over the freckles adorning your face as you lean against his hand. He takes in the moment, your eyes fluttered closed, your body lax, face relaxed and void of your usual faux resentment aimed at him, he takes it in because he knows he won't be seeing it any time soon again, won't be given the grace of your true feelings ever, this is the closest he'll ever get to a confession.

The sight warms him, the soft sound of your breath, of your blood thumping in your veins, the pulsepoint in your neck staring back at him tauntingly as your head is leaned on his face, he takes his chance, very little does he get it. The faded marks on your neck almost invisible, more so than the ones on your wrist were mere moments ago, his lips still against the skin of your pulse, feeling it beneath the skin before his teeth sink into you again, careful not to nick an artery, with practised precision, it's not to feed, no he's had enough, but the intimacy of the act, of his lips against your neck, teeth feeling the flow of your blood, injecting his own venom to keep your stress away, the way you don't push him away rather, your hands trace his spine, holding his shoulders.

He knows he needs to let go soon, that you need your rest, but he loves having you in his arms, even if it's just for tonight. He stays like that until you gently squeeze his shoulder, letting him know he needs to retract himself, and he does, with great hesitancy, his lips instead trailing a path up your jawline, your blood that's coated his mouth trailing with him, and he wouldn't be himself if he let the delectable nectar you offered him go to waste, he licks a stripe back down your neck, cleaning you like animals do to one another, before his lips move against your jawline again until they reach your own.

It's only now that he looks at you for permission again, your eyes are barely open, but they catch his, full of love and a warmth that could rival the fire behind him, he doesn't ask, knows better than to speak, whispers in the night could only be carried by the wind, and this is a moment he wants, he needs to stay between the two of you. You simply nod, and that's all he needs, his lips, warm and wet, still covered in trace amounts of your blood find your own. It's a slow kiss at first, as if he's uncertain, he’s testing the waters, but when your hands that were resting on his shoulders move so that your arms could wrap around his neck and pull him closer, he lets himself deepen it. He familiarizes himself with the feel of your mouth against his own as he's done many times before, he guides your body, off the log and onto the ground without separating himself from you, he forgets that he needn't breathe sometimes, that it's only an action he does to make him feel more human.

Why would he need to breathe if the action would interrupt him kissing you? Its a sin, truly a tragedy that you pull away for a moment, even if he lets his mouth explore down your jaw again while you regain your breath, you're tired, he can tell, and as your breathing becomes normal again, and he feels your neck slumps against him, he knows you're down. He sighs as his lips finally detach from your skin, admiring the marks his teeth have left, he moves your head to rest on his chest, he knows you'll wake up before him, and even though he doesn't have to sleep, even though he doesn't want to because he knows when he wakes up you'll be gone, he can't bare to stay awake and have to plead with you again.

Too many times has he asked you to stay, to actually kill him in lieu of leaving, and too many times have you stabbed the dagger, he knows is strapped to your thigh, into his heart while he slept, disappearing into the early morning with his blood coating your most prized weapon as he regains consciousness just a moment too late.

He looks down at you, the dimming fire beside you illuminating the freckles on your face, he wishes to kiss every single one, he wishes you'd let him hold you as a lover all the time, not just in moment of weakness in the middle of the night when nobody can see. He wishes he doesn't disgust you, but Wooyoung has learned a long time ago that wishes are a force of nature, and nature doesn't take too well to his kind, after all she created yours just to end his own.

The tent you had built is long forgotten as you lay in Wooyoung's arms, his eyes closing with the last sparks of the fire burning out, the gentle purring of his chest lulling you into a deeper unconsciousness, in theory it be easy for Wooyoung to kill you. You're in his arms, completely at his mercy, but that's only in theory. If you were easy to kill he would've done it already.

When the sun starts to rise, and your eyes open, you silently prop yourself up on your elbows to look down at the sleeping man- sleeping beast beneath you, for someone who doesn't need sleep, he sure doesn't wake up easily. The dagger strapped to your thigh seems painfully heavy as you look down at him, reaching up to move a peace of his hair out of his face, you lean down to kiss his forehead, the action of love accompanied by your hand unsheathing the dagger and pressing it down into his heart.

He won't die, not if you pull it out, but he'll be passed out long enough for you to leave, and even if he'll probably find you within the week, you can still give yourself the delusion of believing you'd done your job.

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[macknus]

Febuwhump Day Fourteen

Prompt: Becoming the Monster

Happy Valentine’s Day guys!!!

Febuwhump Master-post

Whumpee was dragged in by two of Whumper’s dark knights; the soulless demons of men that stood over six-feet tall and were the monsters parents told their children about at night. Inhuman, built by pure muscle and power and spite, like loyal dogs that followed their Master’s commands flawlessly.

Whumpee had fought against them when they came. Thrown himself into the fight, grabbing one of the knight’s giant cleavers and slicing through the only weakness Whumpee knew about in their armour; under the armpit. The black blood from the beast sprayed Whumpee’s face and clothes, choking as the foul stench invaded his senses.

Blinded by the blood, he didn’t see the gauntlet flying for his face until the last second. He dodged but the blow caught his jaw and he went spinning before he fell. He rolled to his stomach groaning as he pushed himself up, but another blow came to the back of his head and he went down. Barely conscious he felt the dark knights grab his arms and drag him to a carriage bathed in black, velvet fabric with a red symbol embroidered into the door.

Whumpee couldn’t even fight as they threw him into the carriage, couldn’t catch himself before he hit the metal grate on the bottom, smacking his temple against it. He groaned again as somebody climbed in behind him and the doors shut behind him.

“Hello Whumpee,” a playful, honeyed voice said above him. Whumpee groaned again. Even in his semi-conscious state, he’d recognise that fucking cultivated voice anyway. The voice of a snake dressed as a dream, a viper in the skin of a man.

“Kaeto?” Whumpee murmured, the world spinning even before the carriage took off on the road.

“Ah, wonderful. The brutes didn’t hit you too hard then. Get up, Whumpee. A man of your breeding shouldn’t be on the ground of a carriage,” he purred.

“I’m fine here, thanks,” Whumpee clipped.

A hand of slim fingers bunched into Whumpee’s shirt and in a flash Whumpee was dragged from the ground and thrown into the plush, crimson seats across from Kaeto. He smiled a vulpine smile, his jaw length white blond hair radiant even in the darkness of the carriage.

“Now. Much better. I can get a look at you,” Kaeto said, his silver eyes searched Whumpee from head to toe. His gaze felt like hands, stroking cold fingers over his body, making sure to dig his nails in when he found something he disapproved of.

“Paint a fucking portrait why don’t you?” Whumpee snarled.

Kaeto’s face remained disgustingly pleasant. He tilted his head to the side as he leaned on his cane, silver cat-like eyes alight with interest.

“You’re thinner since last I saw you, though you don’t seem to have lost your strength. And… your beard,” Kaeto said, his lip curling back with distaste. “Not to worry, a hideous addition that can be swiftly removed. Hmm, maybe a haircut too. And—” Kateo sniffed the air. “Gods, boy, did you sleep with wolves while you were away?”

Whumpee smiled coldly at Kaeto. “Always happy to displease, Kaeto.”

Whumpee glanced at the doors to the carriage, but before he could even form a plan of escape the end of Kaeto’s cane pressed into his chest, pushing him back against the leather. Kaeto’s face didn’t morph from pleasant, but his eyes burned with a sadistic light.

“Do it, boy, I haven’t had the thrill of a chase in a while.”

Whumpee swallowed, his hands tightening into fists at his sides, but he released his fingers and relaxed into the seat and put his hands up.

The crazed light dimmed in Kaeto’s eyes a little, his pupils returning to normal size. He pulled the cane back and put it on the ground. “Hmph. Seems you have learned some things in the wild.”

“I wasn’t in the wild,” Whumpee huffed. “I just wasn’t in Whumper’s dead, stone palace. What does he want with me anyways?”

“You know exactly what he wants, boy.”

Whumpee didn’t flinch or bristle at the confirmation.

“Well my answer remains the same.”

Kaeto let out a melodic laugh that was anything but warm. “Oh, sweetheart,” Kaeto cooed. Whumpee clenched his jaw. “You don’t get a choice this time, I’m afraid.”

Whumpee’s lips curled back. Kaeto laughed again. “You do look like a wild brute when you do that, boy. It’s the dishevelment I think. It gives you a je-ne-sais-quoi.”

“I’m a bastard, remember?” Whumpee snarled. “I can’t inherit his title no matter how much he wants me to.”

Kaeto leaned back in his seat and spread his hands, showing his palms in an almost shrug. “And yet, here we are. In the middle of the Hollows, retrieving you. You were difficult to find, Whumpee, almost as if you were trying to hide from us.”

Whumpee didn’t answer.

Kaeto leaned forward again on his cane. His eyes shining with amusement and something older. Something wiser. “The world works in mysterious ways, bastard. When you live long enough to see it all, there is an intrinsic magic to life.”

“Are you a philosopher now?”

Kaeto smirked. “While looking this good? Absolutely not. I’m far too vain for that, boy, as you well know.”

Whumpee scoffed but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He glanced out the windows of the carriage. Yeah. He knew.

They passed for a while in silence. A furrow formed in Whumpee’s brow as he glanced back at Kaeto. Kaeto never took his eyes from Whumpee while he contemplated quietly. But they lit up when Whumpee turned an inquisitive eye to him, a question under his tongue.

“Would you bow to a bastard, Kaeto?”

“Not one with a beard, boy,” Kaeto replied smoothly.

Whumpee’s eyes narrowed. “I mean it. Would you? If I am to be his heir, that’s what you’ll have to do you know.”

Kaeto’s pupils dilated with interest, until his pupil nearly eclipsed his iris like a terrifying, killer cat. “I have been aware of that since I sensed the power on you years ago, Whumpee. The gods have ordained you to be the heir. How could I, a humble servant, refuse what is divined?”

“You’re far from humble.”

“That’s true.”

“Or a servant.”

“Also true,” Kaeto sighed, scowling. “You couldn’t let me be dramatic for a moment?”

“You’re always dramatic,” Whumpee told him.

Kaeto rolled his eyes. “I didn’t miss your lack of enthusiasm for wordplay. If the future of this court is to be all plain speaking I will have to form a rebellion against your rule.”

Kaeto shot Whumpee a grin, exposing his sharp teeth. Whumpee scoffed and went back to staring out the window. His chest tightened as they passed from the Hollows into the outskirts of the city. Green grass and lush trees with changing leaves gave way to stone and moss and dirt as they past the poorest neighbourhood in the luxurious carriage.

Whumpee scowled as he stared out the window.

How his “father” could let this kind of poverty and sickness run through the most vulnerable of his subjects angered Whumpee. But then again, his father wasn’t known for being warm. Not even to his proper children.

He hated the man, and everything him and his infernal family and court stood for.

That’s why when the carriage stopped and Kaeto stepped out into the courtyard of the palace, Whumpee slammed the door shut and held it tightly in place. He wished there were locks on the inside of this infernal thing. But it didn’t take long for one of the dark knight’s to rip the door open and drag Whumpee out, snarling and kicking and fighting until he was subdued again, this time by Kaeto, whacking the back of his head with a cane. The silver eyed man told him to behave and Whumpee groaned in response.

They brought him straight to the throne room, Kaeto leading the way. They paused outside the doors when they opened and Kaeto stepped through, spreading his arms wide.

“Whumper, my darling friend. I have retrieved your renegade son.”

Whumpee caught a glimpse of Whumper in his throne. He sat more like a rake than a King; half sprawled across it as if he was bored, an elbow rested on the arm of the throne, a fist on his chin, propping his head up as he stared with his midnight eyes at the giant double doors. He had the same wavy, raven coloured hair as Whumpee that fell to just below his chin. The same strong jaw and straight nose.

In fact, many from the court said, Whumpee had more likeness to the King than any of his pure blooded children which served to anger Whumpee’s half siblings to an unnerving degree.

“Bring him in,” Whumper said, his voice deep, apathetic, like a tired God that was bored of life and all it had to offer because he had seen it all. But the moment Kaeto stepped out from in front of Whumpee, Whumpee saw the cruelty that was carved into his father’s face.

He looked at Whumpee with complete disdain, which was saying something since he usually only ever looked disinterested. The king glanced at the dark knights who dragged Whumpee in and held him before the raised dais to the throne.

His father nodded at the knights and they forced Whumpee to his knees in front of Whumper. Whumpee swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to still his racing heart.

“Where have you been, boy?” There was no affection in the question. No love or concern. Simply irritation for having caused so much trouble to be found.

Whumpee didn’t answer.

Whumper’s eyes flickered to Kaeto. “He was deep in the Hollows, your majesty. Hiding amongst the common folk.”

“That is where he belongs after all,” a snide voice interjected from behind. Whumper’s eldest son. In all respects Whumper’s spiritual successor, every bit as cruel, sadistic and evil as his father. And yet, the gods bestowed Whumpee with Whumper’s inheritance. “Isn’t that right, bastard?”

“A coward too,” another voice crooned, this time high pitched and beautiful, like a song floating through the throne room. Whumper’s eldest daughter added.

“Enough,” Whumper grumbled to his children who bowed their heads to him.

“Of course, Father.”

Whumpee rolled his eyes. Whumper snapped his attention back to him and Whumpee had to stop himself from swallowing. He couldn’t show fear. Nor any sort of emotion. Not in this den of vipers.

“Well boy?” Whumper demanded. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Nothing.”

Whumper’s eyes narrowed. He shifted in his throne, sitting up straighter. “I assume that you knew I wanted you home before your twenty-first birthday.”

It wasn’t a question. Whumpee shrugged. “Lost track of time.”

“You arrogant little cunt,” Eldest said, and before Whumpee could reply, Eldest was in front of him. Whumpee’s eyes widened only slightly at his brother’s speed as Eldest lifted his hand to strike him. A hand caught Eldest’s wrist before he could make impact. Eldest whimpered as Whumpee’s saviour dragged him away from Whumpee.

To Whumpee’s surprise it was Whumper himself. “He was disrespecting you, father.”

“I know that,” Whumper growled low. “But discipline of any and all of my unruly children remains with me, boy.”

A thinly veiled threat. Whumpee couldn’t help the satisfied smile that graced his lips when Eldest shot a glare at him.

Whumper squeezed Eldest’s wrist and slammed it back in his chest. Eldest gasped, cradling the injury as he turned back to his sister. “Leave,” Whumper ordered, and the two did, staring murderously at Whumpee as they left.

Whumpee smirked then at Whumper. “When I inherit your crown, will I be able to discipline all your unruly children?”

A slap echoed through the throne room as Whumpee’s head whipped to the side. After a pause of registering he was slapped, did Whumpee feel the coppery tang of blood in his mouth from the smack.

“Petulant child. If you didn’t have a trace of my power when you were born I would have drowned you in the river.”

Whumpee curled his lip back revealing blood stained teeth. “Maybe you should have. It would have saved you a lot of headaches.”

Whumper glared down his nose at Whumpee before his lips broke into a cold, hungry smile. “You have the nerves for the power, at least.”

Whumpee blinked at the praise. His mind going back to how Eldest whimpered and balked at his father’s discipline.

Whumper clapped a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder. “But we both know violence won’t make you accept my legacy, so Kaeto and I came up with a different means to get you in line.”

Whumpee bristled at the mention of the cat-like courtier, who was more subtly sadistic than his father. Whumper’s eyes went over Whumpee’s head to Kaeto behind him.

“You did bring her?” Whumpee stiffened under his father’s hand.

“Of course, Whumper.”

His heart thundered against his chest as Whumper nodded. “Bring her in.”

Whumpee didn’t loose a breath, he didn’t dare a door to the side of the throne room opened. Whumpee turned his head and his heart dropped into a pit of his stomach. He jerked to his feet but Whumper’s hand pressed him back to the ground with ease.

Caretaker was being escorted in by two dark knights on either side of her, dragging her in, a cloth tied tightly around her mouth cut into her cheeks that Whumpee knew would leave bruises as she fought and kicked. Blood streamed down her hairline and from her nose and Whumpee shot up again but he didn’t get further than before, his knees cracked against the marble with such force he thought they would have shattered.

When Caretaker’s eyes met Whumpee’s she stopped walking, but the knights continued to drag her. Tears filled her eyes as she looked at Whumpee, then Whumper then Kaeto and she started screaming profanities at Kaeto as she was dragged closer and closer.

“What’re you— how did you—” Whumpee stammered, his head twisting to see Kaeto leaning on his cane, cat-like eyes bright with satisfaction. “You’re a bastard, Kaeto!”

Whumpee would have lunged at him if he could, but Kaeto just smiled. “Not as much as you, darling boy.”

Whumpee turned back to Whumper, eyes pleading. “She has nothing to do with this! Let her go.”

Whumper put a hand under Whumpee’s chin and tilted his head up further until Whumpee’s neck was strained. “Did you just demand something of me, boy?”

Whumpee’s eyes went to Caretaker as she was dragged up the steps of the dais and wrestled to a kneeling position beside the throne.

“Please!” Whumpee cried. “Please, just… just let her go.”

Whumper tilted his head. His eyes darkened. “And what do I get in return?”

Whumpee’s heart hammered against his throat, his mind racing as he stared at Caretaker who kept trying to push herself to her feet in vain. The knights stood on each side of her, keeping her down.

Whumper let go of Whumpee and stepped back, half turned and walked up the steps to his throne. Whumpee lunged but two gauntleted hands grabbed each of his upper arms and restrained him, keeping him down too.

“The way I see it,” Whumper continued, walking over to Caretaker who glared up at him without fear. God. Whumpee’s heart jumped into his throat as Whumper reached a hand to Caretaker’s hair and stroked her head like a pet. “Either you accept my inheritance, take your place as the next ruler of this kingdom and all that comes with it, or I’ll be forced to incentivise you further.”

Caretaker’s eyes shot to Whumpee’s in shock. He never told her who he was, what he was to Whumper. He wanted to have a normal life with her. To settle down with her. Not… not this.

God, not this.

Whumper sat in his throne again, his hand drifting to the nape of Caretaker’s neck and pinching it. Caretaker cried out, struggling to get away but with her hands tied and the knights holding her down she couldn’t move an inch and neither could Whumpee.

“Come on, boy,” Kaeto crooned, sitting on the steps of the dais now. “Don’t force us to bless this mortal with our gifts.”

Whumpee’s eyes widened. “What?” He whispered.

Whumper smiled coldly at Whumpee. “One of you will be turned today, Whumpee. It’s your decision who that will be.”

Whumpee looked at Caretaker. Caretaker… who smiled at him with so much happiness and joy. Who taught him how to hunt for the stewing kind of mushrooms in the woods. Who taught him about the simple joys in life. Who opened herself up to him, her body to him under the stars by the lake. Who’s eyes twinkled with mischief when she was about to kiss him.

Caretaker who was so full of life.

He wouldn’t let them dull that sparkle in her eyes. In her heart. In her soul.

Caretaker flinched, as if she heard his thoughts. Then her struggles became more forceful and violent.

“Nngh! Nngh! ‘Umpee nngh!”

Kaeto’s eyes gleamed. “You’re doing the right thing, lad.”

“You better fucking watch yourself when I inherit his legacy, Kaeto,” Whumpee growled, struggling against the arms holding him.

“I sleep with one eye open every night, child.” Kaeto purred.

Whumpee turned his glare to Whumper then. “She goes free before we complete the rite.”

Whumper stroked Caretaker’s hair again. “I’m afraid she is the only thing that will ensure you keep your word.”

Whumpee swallowed. “But… when I— she’s human.”

Whumper smiled a rotten smile at him. “From what I’ve heard you two have been intimate already,” Whumper said, and Caretaker’s face flushed the same lethal red as Whumpee’s. “There’s nothing more intimate than being your first drink as a vampire, son.”

Caretaker stiffened. Whumpee turned his head to her, because he had to. He had to see her shivering, trembling as she looked at him now. Like he was a monster. It’s what he would be after all this was over. Just like his siblings. Just like his father and Kaeto.

“I don’t want to feed on her,” Whumpee said, his voice strained. “I’ll only agree to the rite if you bring me other humans to feed on. If you guarantee me her safety. That no harm will come to her.”

Kaeto let out an exaggerated sigh. “Wouldn’t you rather she be your queen? Hmm? Rule eternally by your side?”

“No,” Whumpee said a little too harshly. He turned to Caretaker. “I mean… I wish I could make you my wife, and guarantee your safety by my side forever, but my family… my siblings, you would always be a target. Always be threatened here. To hurt me they’d hurt you.”

Tears streamed down Caretaker’s face as she wept, sniffing, no longer struggling to escape as he spoke so gently to her.

“I love you,” he said. “I love everything you are. I love how you’re smarter than me, and like to let me know it. I love how you sing when you’re picking herbs in the garden.”

He felt his own tears bubble over his eyes as he continued. “I love how kind you are to strangers. How full of life and love and light, and I can’t dim that by locking you away in a black castle like this.”

She shook her head as she wept audibly now, muffled by the gag. “I can’t do that. Not to you. I love you so much that I’m willing to become a monster so you get to live a long, happy life free from court skulduggery and threats around every corner.”

“Nngh,” she cried in reply.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffed and turned back to his father who watched with interest and something unreadable in his face. “I’ll do it as long as she remains human. Before, during and after the blood rite.”

Whumper’s grin exposed his sharp fangs and Whumpee knew he sealed his fate. “Deal.”

*~*~*~*~*

Tag-list: @whump-in-the-closet :)

[nochukoo97]

boyfriend drabbles (pt.21)

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: the one where you fall asleep whilst waiting for jungkook

word count: 900+

boyfriend drabbles masterlist!

As you avert your eyes from the glaring screen of your laptop, you check your phone to see if a certain someone had responded to your texts.

you: kook when are u coming home?

delivered

you: text me back when u see this okayyy 🙃

delivered

Your eyebrows furrow, creating a small crease between them as you begin to grow frustrated by Jungkook being MIA.

He has told you that he would be back to eat dinner with you after his boxing practice, but it was currently already 9pm and the said man was nowhere to be seen.

“Bam, where’s your daddy,” You’re whining at the doberman who’s ears perk up at the mention of his name, Bam makes his way to your desk and lays his head on your lap.

You stroke the long and soft ears of the dog, Jungkook having decided not to clip his ears, and you would assume Bam is extremely grateful for his dad’s decision.

Bam’s mouth opens, letting out a squeaky yawn as you catch the yawn yourself, your eyes tearing up slightly under your glasses.

For now you simply assumed he stayed back at his practice again and forgot the time, something Jungkook often did when he was really into the lesson.

But there’s an assignment waiting for you to be completed, the thought of it snaps you out of your daze and forces you to continue to type away with the screen shining right into your tired eyes.

“Bam, house,” you point to the large dog bed in the corner of you and Jungkook’s shared office. Every room in your apartment had a dog bed for the spoilt dog.

He obediently walks over to the bed, plops down and lets out a huff before drifting off to sleep.

However, progress with the essay you were supposed to write was not going too well, with every word you typed onto the keyboard, your eyes were fluttering shut closer each second.

-

“Jagi, I’m home,” Jungkook’s voice echoes into the silence of the apartment, as he frowns, expecting you to run up to him and ask him a million questions as to why he was back so late.

Instead he was met with a dark apartment, the office room down the hallway lit up as Bam excitedly huffs around your boyfriend.

“Bam, where’s your mommy?” The dog only perks up at the mention of his name again, he trails behind Jungkook who’s making his way to the only light source in the apartment.

A smile tugs at the corner of Jungkook’s lips as he spots you laying over your desk, head propped against your folded arms as your mouth emits soft breathing that fills the room.

He pulls out his phone, opening the camera app to snap a picture.

But the flash function had not been turned off, causing a bright glare to emit from his phone as he clicks the button to take a picture.

“Oh fuck-“

You squint your eyes as you slowly sit up, groggy and mind hazy from your previous slumber.

“Baby?” The small voice that comes out from your mouth makes Jungkook soften his gaze on you, stroking your cheek as he pecks it gently.

“Sorry Jagi, I got caught up again because I wanted to master this technique that they taught me today,” He gives you another apologetic kiss on your forehead as you close your eyes, the bright light on the ceiling way too glaring for your tired eyes.

“Mm, missed you,” You hum, stretching out your arms to wrap them around Jungkook’s waist, as he chuckles and fondly ruffles at your hair.

“Have you eaten Jagi?”

“Mm-hm,”

“Okay come on, it’s already 10, we should wash up and get ready to sleep,” He attempts to pull your body up but you freeze, remembering you still had that unfinished essay to do.

You point to the laptop screen, opening your mouth to explain to your boyfriend that you had to sit here and finish it up before you could do anything else.

“Baby you can do it tomorrow, come on, you’re tired already,” He manages to convince you to follow him into the bedroom, as you trudge slightly behind him.

Jungkook smiles fondly at you as he watches you plop onto your shared bed, spreading out like a starfish as you take in the coldness of the AC.

Soon, there's a large mass that climbs over you, sinking the mattress down as Jungkook pecks your lips, his hands on both sides of your arms.

“Kook I’m too tired to do my skincare today, let’s just sleep,” You yawn, arms reaching up to pull the man above you down.

But Jungkook resists, tutting at you, “You’ll regret it in the morning, come on, I’ll help you,”

You shake your head, grouchy as you whine and cover yourself with the duvet under you.

“Hop on,”

“Huh?”

You peer curiously at where the voice was coming from, Jungkook propped up on his knees as he signals for you to get on his back.

You giggle, sliding out of bed as you climb onto him, tightening your grip on his shoulders as he carries you to the bathroom, letting you down gently on the closed toilet seat.

It takes a while for Jungkook to find out which of your skincare does what, but he manages in the end.

[ohitsjae]

Skz as your Long-Distance Boyfriend...(Pt2.)

tags: Stray Kids x gn!reader, set in canon, sfw

summary: How Stray Kids would be as your long-distance boyfriend (Maknae Line)

(Part 1 with the Hyung line can be found Here)

Jisung

watching the same film at the same time over video call so you can talk while you watch

ordering the same takeout as well (depending on the timezones) so you can pretend you're having a proper dinner date

him sending you loads of song clips either of potential songs or random things he's sung/made when messing around/procrastinating/in a slump etc

you send him flowers each week with a little notes that have bad puns or jokes/you wishing him a good studio session/telling him a fun fact/etc

watching the same anime/documentary series at the same time, or just the same pace if the time difference is too big, so that you can send call/send each other voice notes about your thoughts and theories

you send each other your schedules each week so you know when you're both free.

Felix

playing multi-player games together or playing 1v1 against each other. Laughing at the each others' failures and just catching up whilst you play.

sending each other things off of your guys' Amazon wish lists - sending them with the 'gift notes' option so you can send little jokes or memes with each gift.

sending each other tiktoks. You find and send him loads of dance challenges and funny trends he and the members could do as well as finding Felix/skz edits that you think will make him laugh. In turn he sends you his favourite tiktoks of your favourite animals/shows/games/etc.

buying each other's favourite perfume, buying diffusers with the same scent and sending each other stuffed toys that have been sprayed with your perfume/washed with your laundry detergent.

sending each other silly BuzzFeed/quotev quizzes and finding couple questionnaires/quizzes to do together over video call.

going on cafe dates together! When you both have the time you video cal and each of you go to a cafe and order drinks and food. You find different cafes to go to each time and sometimes you make him jealous by going to cat/dog cafes and showing all the cute kittens/puppies there.

Seungmin

putting together personalised boxes of goodies for each other to be delivered. You each send the other reminders of you, their favourite snacks from your country, one of your hoodies or shirts to sleep/lounge in, etc.

virtual karaoke nights! Either through a a game/app or just setting up a video call and taking it in turns singing and dancing to your guys' favourite songs.

putting together a playlist for your karaoke nights!! Adding all of Seungmin's skz-record songs just to see him get shy and flustered when you sing and dance to them!

getting videos of him making the other members jump/of him pranking the other members and sending him ideas for his next jumpscare/prank

video calls when you have things to do - just existing on call together and not needing to talk. Seungmin just preparing for his next schedule whilst you do chores/get some work done/etc and just enjoying each other's company without needing to fill the silence.

getting photos or screenshots of potential lyrics, clips of him singing covers and little bits of tracks that 3racha have made asking for your opinion or sometimes just giving you a pre-view of soon-to-be-released content.

Jeongin

fashion runways!! After one of you has been shopping you always call the other one and put on a fashion show for them. Asking for styling advice and clothing recommendations - and reminding him that he doesn't need 200 pairs of shows!!

depending on the time difference, having a spa day together. Doing skin care, face masks, etc while on call and just relaxing while catching up.

bowling date! Each of you going to a bowling alley and video calling each other. Taking it in turns, trying to beat each other and laughing when he inevitably falls over!

you two definitely have at least one app where you can play against each other/take turns so even when the time difference stops you from having dates or when his schedule is really busy you can still have fun together by playing a game.

sending him loads of selfies, photos of friends and family and any skz meme/tiktoks you find when you know he's busy/had a bad day to cheer him up and give him something to look forward to looking at after the long days.

he sends you videos from all the photoshoots he does, little clips he has the members film when he's recording, dance practice photos/clips where he asks for any advice and also just little voice notes and videos of him in the 'normal' part of his life doing chores/shopping/etc

---- Hope you enjoyed this!! 🦦

[gottawhump]

Dogs

115

CW/TW: pet whump, BBU/WRU, noncon, drugging, starvation, food mention, vomit mention, biting. Multiple whumpers?

He shivers in the locked cage, in the cellar. The thin, coated wires bite into his skin. No blanket to warm him or to provide a bit of comfort.

Comfort is earned.

Warmth is earned.

Food is earned.

The owner graces him with a bottle of water each day. It’s bitter, and makes him sleepy, so that he wakes aching with a throbbing headache.

There’s shouting upstairs. Two voices, hers quieter but still raised, and the owner’s, enraged. Hard shoes stomping on the floor. Then down the stairs.

A few clicks, and the cage door opens. He lifts his head, and the owner clips a leash to his collar.

“You want to go out so badly? Come on.”

He’s allowed to sit in the passenger seat this time, and he looks out the window, unable to stop gaping at the unfamiliar sights.

The owner laughs. “If I rolled down the window, you’d stick your head out like some stupid mutt.”

He stares out at the city lights, and the night.

“Come on.” The owner tugs hard at the leash, dragging him forward into the dingy warehouse.

Inside, he blinks under the bright lights. There’s crowds of people here, cheering and yelling.

As they get closer, some greet the owner by name, slapping him on his back. In the circle, 115 hears snarling and growling. Then a scream. A breath of silence, followed by curses and cheers.

“Pretty lapdog you’ve got there, Did you bring him for bait?”

“Nah, I’m going to want him back. Though I’d lend him to the club as a reward bitch.”

An active participant in my owner’s desires. If there was anything in his stomach, he’d throw up, adding a new stain to the old concrete surrounding him. If there was some way to run, he’d run.

The only times he spent in the Facility clinic were after being given to Guard Dogs.

Fighting Dogs lost a lot of the inhibitions built into Guard Dogs, he’s heard. That’s why they were illegal.

He turns his head as the door opens. A big, bloodied man comes in, a slow smile spreading across his face when he sees 115. “Go ahead and run. I like it when they run.”

He runs, useless in the small space. He’s caught, tackled to the floor, sharp teeth pricking his throat. He screams as his arm is twisted hard behind his back. Knees spread his legs apart.

This is only the first one.

The owner helps him into the car, tossing a rough blanket over him and buckling him in. His eyes are too swollen to let him see the rising dawn out the window.

Before they get home, there’s a stop, and then the owner tosses a hot paper bag in his lap. His stomach growls at the smell.

At home, the owner points to the guest bedroom. “Go clean yourself up. You can use warm water. Eat, then sleep. Don’t bleed on the sheets.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” The words come out with a bit of a lisp, over his split lips.

“Maybe now you’ll appreciate how easy you have it, little whore. Maybe now you’ll be grateful.”

Old Friends taglist: @painful-pooch @justplainwhump @redwingedwhump @maracujatangerine @honeycollectswhump @tragedyinblue