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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

Note

Hello! I've read your soap and price fics and you are amazing!!!

I had an idea for a fic for Ghost. The reader would be Soaps slightly older sister who isnt like Johnny at all. Im thinking she either picks up soap from base after an op or from the bar. I'll leave alot of this up to you but i just wanna see Soaps Sister meeting Ghost!!

Brother's Coworker

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Soap's Sister!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In the dim illumination of the streetlights, Ghost lays eyes on a woman leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp.

WORDCOUNT: 4.2k

WARNINGS: Little bit of angst, but mostly fluff and pre-relationship pining, loads of sibling banter, conflicting emotions, etc.

A/N: Finally able to use my sibling experiences for a fic lmfao, enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The woman was leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp, the custom color a deep forest green along the sides and a cream white coating the upper third. Ghost stared at her as the rest of the men filed out of the bar one after the other—Johnny and Gaz being especially loud. He blinks slowly, hands inside his blackened pockets.

Across the way, your ears perk slowly at the sound of rapturous shouts, but you only continue to look down the sidewalk at the long illuminations of street lamps and the glints of broken bottles on the ground. Over your chest, your hands shift in their hold on your biceps, your thin jacket crinkling. Light dances in your irises.

“Oi, is that who I think it is?!” Familiar Scottish drawl brings a smirk to your face, and you turn slowly to huff, snapping out of your silent thoughts.

“Who else would it be, ya bloody git,” your voice carries, but it lacks the sheer volume of your brother’s; the great boom that reminds you of the bombs he’d used to make out of your mother’s hair spray bottles.

Never a dull day in your childhood home, really.

“‘Bout gave me a heart attack, not answerin’ my calls like that!” Johnny laughs loudly, obviously drunk, and stumbles over merrily. You’re taken into a chest-breaking hug in mere moments, leaving you squirming with a deep grunt. “Should have your head, MacTavish.” You manage to squeak out, “Put me the fuck down, you horror. And what in the hell have you done to your hair?!”

“Oh, my dear sister.” Your brother lets you go as the three other men slink over, amused with the scene but some momentarily confused by the sudden introduction. Gaz laughs, and the Captain huffs a chuckle before fixing the position of his beanie on his head.

Ghost, as always, chooses to watch like a looming shadow above the rest.

Johnny puts a hand to his chest, the other remaining on your shoulder, “You wound me. Such cruelty stuck in your black soul; I say now, mother was always right—”

You smack the side of his head and Johnny grunts.

“Ow!” He yells, glaring at you. “What the fuck?!”

“Open your mouth again and I’ll wring you out, you arse. You know I will.” Grumbling, the Scot rubs the side of his head as you raise a brow at him. The stare-off lasts for a decent bit, and before the rest of the group knows what’s going on, the two of you are embracing each other once more; laughing loudly.

Ghost’s eyebrows pull in slowly.

“Ah, it’s good to be back!” Johnny chuckles, holding you close as you pat his back.

“Of course, I’d find my kid brother at a damn pub on his first day home.” Taking a step away from the hulk of a boy, you brush down your shirt and jacket with a scoff. Looking up, you come to face the remaining men with an exasperated look. “He’s full of shite half the time, y’know, now. Can’t imagine what he puts you all through.”

“Bloody hell, Soap, you were holding out on us,” Gaz chuckles loudly, sticking out a hand for you to shake while he glances at the mohawked Scot who looks giddy despite being insulted by who’s very obviously his older sister. “Never knew you had siblings, Mate.” You take the man’s hand as he smiles brightly at you.

“Kyle.” He says, and you beam back, “But Gaz’ll do just fine.”

“A pleasure,” your voice carries to John who you raise a brow at teasingly. “Well, look who the Reaper’s yet to drag down…Good to see you again, Captain.”

Price shakes his head, a smirk peeling his lips as Gaz steps back.

“Still on that land of yours, then, Love?” The brunette asks gruffly, leaning back on his heels for a moment while you sag your side into Johnny’s arm. Your brother scoffs and loops his limb over the bridge of your shoulders as you nod.

“You know it. Proper quiet when the neighbors aren’t up to a ruckus racin’ down the streets. Christ, those kids are devils—worse than Johnny and I when we were young.”

“Now that’s hard to believe, eh?” The man beside you laughs through his slurred words and you roll your eyes.

Chuckling in return, you blink, spying on the intent black figure behind everyone else. Piercing brown eyes dig past flesh like a scalpel while you tilt your head to the side, interest alighting behind your skull. He doesn’t move or even greet you, just looks over you and then turns his attention to the street like a roaming bear would; hell, he certainly could be a bear with how big he was. Bigger than Johnny, even.

This stranger wears a large brown leather jacket, the hood of his underclothes pulled up to cover most of the pale skin that would otherwise be visible. The long swish of light lashes captures you as you study the way he blinks slowly across the road. On his chin and on the top of his forehead, the fabric of a skeletal-painted balaclava shrouds him. Cargo pants and large black combat boots sit on his feet.

He stands like a statue.

“Who’s this then?” You call easily, and those eyes travel back to you even as the head doesn’t. It’s strange the way you seem to brush aside the blatant intimidation he exudes simply by standing.

“Ah,” John grunts, chuckling, before stepping to the side. “Simon, introduce yourself.”

A low voice lowly wafts after a moment to silence, Manchester accent spearing you in the ears with its rough make-up, “Ghost.”

You blink over at the Captain, but he just shakes his head and you move on. Johnny chuckles and whispers to you, “Don’t mind ‘em, Lt’s a bit rough around the edges.”

Plastering on a polite smile, your chin moves in a nod, “Pleasure to meet you, Ghost. Good to know the other two who look after Johnny out there.” The man beside you feels his face burn, free hand going to itch at his neck.

Ghost grunts and shrugs off the veiled praise, large muscles stiff.

“You’re actin’ like I’m not the one savin’ their skins half the time,” Gaz interjects on the Scot’s point.

“Is that what you call it?” You share an amused glance at John.

Though, your eyes always sway back to Ghost, or Simon, depending on who you ask. He listens to the chatter, obviously, but he seems much more content to only stay with his hands inside of his pockets and study the street for...what exactly? The beast wasn’t shy, no, just…silent. If you didn’t know better you’d call him aggressively casual with the way his shoulders sit.

Stance relaxed but the underlying threat was palpable on the wind. Like a wolf rubbing his cheeks on the ancient trees of his territory. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ - it seems his very DNA states that.

Brown eyes suddenly lock with your own as if snapping into place and before you can release a squeak of alarm, you swiftly dart your gaze away back to the arguing Sergeants; face burning.

Christ, how long had you been staring at him?

“Alright, you two, ease off it!” Trying to distract yourself, you wave a hand. “You’re both too drunk to be gettin’ into street fights at this hour. Johnny, into the car ya fool.”

Your brother slashes you with a grin.

“Fuckin’ finally, a decent bed!” It was tradition to give Johnny the spare room when he was back home—proper meals.

“You’re callin’ mother, y’know.” You unlock your car and motion to the passenger seat with a frown. “I dinnae care if you’re trapped for hours—give the woman a rest of all her worrying.”

“You heard the woman, Sergeant,” John forces the gravel out of his throat, rubbing at his beard. Something hits your chest as your brother opens his door as you stand in the cold. You glance at each man in turn; eyebrows pulling in with thought.

“Ah, what the hell,” your voice huffs out. Ghost watches you closely, blinking as he lifts a hand to itch at his neck from under his hood. The leather jacket crumples with tiny shifts of worn-out material.

“Don’t suppose you boys need any good beds to rest your heads on for the night?” Wiggling your keys, you pat the top of your Hillman as you slide to the driver's side. Johnny slinks inside his own and chuckles as he closes the barrier with a careful thunk.

“Hospitality finally leakin’ in?”

“Next time I hit ya,” you send him a bland look, “I’ll aim for the neck.” Fake flinching towards him, the man squeaks and snaps quickly back into the car door as you snicker lively.

“Beast!” Johnny exclaims. You roll your eyes and shimmy down the window behind him, calling out as the rest share glances.

“Get in if you’re comin’ over! If not all the food I made yesterday’ll go to waste!” That seemed to get Gaz into the back, with only Price and Simon left behind.

Brown meets blue and John’s beard pulls back with a smirk. He clears his throat, “Well, I’m not one to spit in her face.” The Captain walks over and grunts as he bends down.

Ghost sighs under his breath and follows, impartial as to where this night is going. He wouldn’t sleep tonight, no doubt. The hard and unforgiving beds on base were the only things he could rest on now save the ground. And food? He could go without food for days.

Though, being Johnny’s sister bought you some favor, trust wasn’t something that Simon gave around freely. But the car you drove was nice, and the company of his Task Force was easy to basque in until they shipped out again.

Simon sits down on the refurbished seat and softly closes the door behind him. Dead-eyed, he stares at Johnny’s headrest as you glance at him from the rearview mirror—seeing his shoulder dig into the glass of the window.

You shove down a joke and hum. “Good, then, it’ll free my fridge at the very least.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Gaz offers as you start up the engine, “it’s awfully nice of you to do this for us.”

“Ah,” Simon hears you dismiss as he turns to stare out of the window; so often feeling his gaze drawn back to you as a leaf attached to a tree might act. “Don’t worry your head about it. I like the company.”

“Aye, just how she is,” Johnny says earnestly. “Was always the one to let me over with my pals when the football games were over—’cept we were usually covered in mud.”

“I’m still finding grass in my rugs, Johnny Boy,” you mumble, focusing on the road as a slight squeaking emanates from the front of the car. Simon picks up on it easily, not preoccupied with speaking. He glances at you but mentions nothing beyond a shuffling of his thighs.

Outside the land slides past in shades of verdant green and gray as the town falls away.

He was confused, rightly. You’d seen his standoffish nature but had chosen to extend hospitality as the old Greeks did just off a growl of his name. But maybe it was just because he was your brother’s coworker.

Simon grunts to himself and rubs at his wrist. Throughout the ride, the two of you would glance at each other and try to forget that you had; when the long driveway of a large secluded home expands out above the car, Gaz whistles lowly.

“Bloody hell, Ma’am,” he states and John chuckles. You easily smile and roll your eyes.

“Trust me, it was more work than it was worth.” Ghost’s attention is slightly peaked.

“You worked on it?” His tone implies he doesn’t care, but his eyes gore into the mirror to lock with your own. Blinking in surprise, even the others seem to be taken aback by the man's lack of venom in his speech.

Ghost wasn’t afraid to speak his mind when he needed to, but he didn’t do mindless chatter. Your eyes cycle between the driveway and the masked Brit before you clear your throat. Johnny glances at you with a raised brow, slight confusion in his brows.

“Mostly—left the nasty bits to people more knowledgeable than I am, but I did most of the grunt work, eh?” Simon hums as the car pulls to a stop inside the garage, eyes not leaving the back of your head.

Your neck bristles at the sensation of unrelenting contact, but the burning that joins it is telltale. Licking your lips you twist the keys out and quickly shuffle out of the door to dispel the electricity in the air.

“Alright,” you say, “out. All of ya…Johnny, you’ll be helping me with the bedding.”

A groan is cut by an unimpressed glare. “...Yes, Ma’am.”

You huff and smirk.

“Trainin’ him well I see,” teasing John as they all file out of the car, he shakes his head at the two of you as Simon scoffs. Gaz openly laughs as Soap’s offended look grows.

You all enter the house as you direct them to the kitchen after they’ve taken off their boots and hung their jackets. “It’s all in the fridge, heat what you want, and don’t bother fightin’ Johnny if he takes too much. Tell me and I’ll make him sleep in the back near the chickens.” Your voice tells them as you pat your brother on the shoulder.

Johnny grumbles and kisses the top of your head. “You’re horrible to me,” He jokes but his eyes shimmer with affection. As you leave to get a head start on the rooms, you smile and call out to him.

“That’s my job!”

Backing out into the hallway, you leave with a deep well of happiness in you. You don’t even realize that the party had only contained three men instead of four until you’re in the linen closet and a shadow suddenly blacks out the light from the bulbs. Jumping slightly, your head swivels as you carry very many sheets and pillowcases in your grip.

“Oh,” you mumble through cotton, smile growing as the flip in your stomach does, “Ghost! Done eating already?”

The man is still and silent as he glances from your face to the sheets. Without a word, he halves the load and steals them as your jaw loosens in shock.

“Johnny’s outside callin’ your mum.” Ghost turns and walks out, but waits for you in the hallway to be directed.

You push down the tightness to your throat and see the man’s feet shift on the hardwood. He looks funny, such a big man carrying bed sheets. His actions make your heart speed up. Brown eyes blink at you like a cat.

“Well,” you chuckle, “always was one to get out of housework.” Trying a smidge more, you shift past him and turn off the light. “His barracks room dirty?”

“Pigsty.” Simon blandly states, walking slightly behind you. Your pace slows so you can stay beside him. He side-eyes you but says nothing.

Leaning in slightly, you quip as Ghost tenses, “Can’t say I’m surprised. The man’s used to me bailin’ him out.” Chuckling, you go into the first bedroom and put everything on the bed.

Simon grabs the pillows and starts to dress them quickly and efficiently.

“But thank you,” you say, and the Brit pauses to look up at you, something swirling in his murky gaze. Earnestly, you tilt your head with a smile. “Ya can go back and eat more if you want. No need to help—you’re a guest.”

“Not hungry,” is all he answers, and gets back to work. You watch for a moment, perplexed, but not at all about to deny the assistance. A genuine grin twitches your lips.

“Johnny writes about you, y’know,” your fingers pull at the fabric and you chuckle as Ghost’s incredulous look turns to you—face hidden but confusion is obviously seen. “Says he looks up to you quite a bit; something about Mexico.”

Your face dips slightly, and Simon’s body stills. Along the pillow, his grip carefully tightens. He can’t find it in himself to walk out of the door and stand outside even if he knows he should.

“I really can’t imagine what it’s like,” you mutter, shaking your head. Gazing at him, you study his wound muscles and secret flesh like a tapestry—wondering if he hides himself because of the safe anonymity or a sense of numb fear.

He wouldn’t admit to either, you know. But something about Simon had captured your attention and now you had a face, or just a body really, to put to the written name like a puzzle piece.

You take a long breath, “But you’ll never know how grateful I am.”

By the way his chest stops moving and his body goes frozen, you think you hit something inside of him; the minute widening of his eyelids like pedals opening in the light. Simon peers at your expression, his eyes sliding from one point to another.

Like he can’t really pinpoint what you want.

Ironic really, because you didn’t want anything.

“Don’t thank me,” is what he settles on, moving back to the pillow as if your words hadn’t stabbed him. “Johnny knows what he’s doing.”

Your small snort enters the air above the sliding sheets. “There’s no argument there.” A sigh echoes as you finish up, putting your hands on your hips. Across the bed, you two stare as Simon tosses down the pillows. The remainder of the sheets sit on the end of the bed.

The man’s eyes narrow on you, and he clenches his jaw under his balaclava.

“The only thing that I do know is that every time my brother comes back he smiles less than he did before.” You side-eye him seriously as you move. “I can only guess what all of it does to the others who don’t have anyone else to go back to.”

Simon’s breath halts in his chest before he finds the means to take down a slow inhale. Brown eyes glare intently, jaw tight, but it’s not the fire that gets to you…it’s the lack thereof.

Ghost doesn’t like this feeling, and your candidness was something he hadn’t expected.

“So,” you drawl, “I’m thanking you for giving him someone to joke around with—a distraction,” a teasing smirk, “no matter how blunt.”

“I just told you—”

“Well, I don’t bloody care, do I?” Huffing, you smirk and tip your head back before snatching the rest of the sheets. “C’mon, we have three more rooms.”

Simon watches you leave and tries to fight the rampage in his chest; the merciless slam of his heart to his ribcage. What had you done to him? A hand comes up and rubs into the bridge of his nose, fingers heavy and tight.

What in the hell was going on?

Growling under his breath, Ghost stalks out of the room only to see your back disappear into the next. In the hallway, he takes a long inhale and closes his eyes to steady himself.

“Fuckin’ hell,” the man grunts. The tension in his shoulders was plainly visible.

For the remainder of the room, Ghost would send you tight glances as he worked but didn’t utter another peep. You had taken his voice, or what little left of it there was.

In many ways, you were like your loudmouth brother—your snark and your stubbornness. But you were different too.

He feels his eyes trail down your form slowly from time to time. Capable; hardy. Simon blinked away and grunted under his breath aggressively.

When everyone was done with their food and Johnny had come back in from his call to his mother, with a soft smile on his face, you knew it was time for bed.

“Alright,” you strut into the kitchen with Ghost on your heels—his large arms crossed over his chest as he caught Soap's intense stare. The Lieutenant's brow raises, but Johnny only frowns in conspiracy before he looks over to you and itches at his chin. “Beds are made. You can all thank Simon for that, seein’ as Johnny used our mother as an excuse yet again.”

“And she was very pleased to hear from me!” Your brother points to you.

“She’s our mother,” you deadpan, “It’s her job to be, ya arse-face.”

The boys all follow you down the halls as you point to the rooms. Gaz shakes your hand again and gives you a tiny hug in thanks while John pats your shoulder and calls a soft, “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

Both close their doors and you hear the large sighs through the wood. You have to wonder when they’d had a good bed to sleep on and a good meal. Last was your brother and Ghost, the latter of which kisses your head and hugs you tightly.

“It’s good to see you, truly. Been missing you, little Hen. Thanks for lettin’ me over all the time when I’m home.” You melt and grip his shirt.

“You’ll always have a place here, you know that. One call away…Now go to sleep. You smell like a pub.” He lightly chuckles against you. With a bond this tight, the two of you never had to say that you loved each other—it was just known.

Johnny squeezes you one last time before pulling away and slinking into his room, giving an unrecognizable glance to Ghost on his way in before the barrier slips into place with a quiet thunk of wood. The two of you look at and stare for a moment.

“Lucky you,” your voice is quiet but easy to hear, “you get the room with a view of the field.”

“Color me surprised,” he mutters, not looking enthusiastic. Against the tone, the look makes your mouth jerk in a laugh, and you cover your lips after a moment.

Simon’s eyes unconsciously soften.

You wave a hand, chest light, “Let’s go then, you brute.”

“Brute?” Simon grumbles, “Gettin’ familiar?”

“Please,” you shake your head and walk to the last door in this section of the house. “You all became familiar the second we met.”

The man rolls his eyes but has his smirk hidden as you open the door for him. He tilts his head in thanks and strolls inside.

You hum, crossing your arms ahead of you and leaning on the doorframe as he looks around, “Don’t think too much over it… The baseline is, you’ll always have a bed here if you need it.”

Ghost slips out, “What are you? Bloody boarding house?” The swelling in his chest made his words harsher than intended, but you just smile cheekily at him as eyes lock.

“Hell’s bells, if you want ta’ get me a business card just go ahead and print ‘em off already. I’ve no problem with it.” He stares and you laugh, shrugging. “Makes me feel good.”

Splaying your hands, you back out.

“I know you probably won’t sleep,” Simon pauses, feeling caught but not showing it. “Libraries down the hall—if you smoke, use the back door. Kitchen is free game.”

“Why?” He asks and you blink, confused.

“Well, why not?” Simon glares.

“You shouldn’t trust people like that.” A loud laugh echoes and makes the man annoyed with you.

“Simon,” you say, and he finds himself hanging on every word that falls from your lips in the moonlight. “Not everyone is out to get you. If you’re friends of Johnny’s, then you’re friends of mine. That boy can sniff a cheat faster than a hound can find a hare.” Perhaps it was the way his shoulders went back at that, or how his brows loosened, but you finish off with a soft explanation. “You’re safe under this roof.”

You wondered, not for that last time that night, if he’d ever been told that. From how his balaclava moved with a sharp jerk of his jaw, you assumed never. It made your lungs hurt.

With a few more seconds of quiet gazing you nod and move back.

“Goodnight, Simon.” You leave him staring at the door as you close it—eyes boring into the grain so harshly they might catch fire.

Ghost doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but his ears twitch at the echo of running water and soundless footsteps. He should leave, he tells himself; this is dangerous, a voice hisses. It’s not safe here, how could it be? There were no guards—no weapons. If someone were to sneak in there wouldn’t be an alarm.

A secluded home. Nothing around.

Then why had your words seeped into him?

“You’re safe under this roof.” Simon closes his eyes harshly.

—

In the morning once everyone’s gone back to the base, you admit you don’t know if you’ll see Simon again; you probably won’t. But you find that you can live with that. The memory of his loosening tension is all you need to feel special in your own right. Those brown eyes that, if but for a moment, had bled so effortlessly feelings of something other than blood and death.

As you sigh a dreamy chuckle to yourself, you get ready for the day before heading to your Hillman. The silent drive to work joins with the strange mix of weight and levitation to your chest. But halfway into town, it hits you.

Silent.

There is an obvious lack of squeaking from under the hood of your car as you slide along the countryside.

The smile doesn’t leave your face for weeks.

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michele7962 · 2 years ago

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Finding Love

Whether your first, second or last – it is possible. True love is a beautiful thing. It shouldn’t be downgraded to a pipe dream for the lonely-hearts-club. True love is something that everyone should strive for. Life is a lot more fun when we can share it with a person who brings out our bright light. Have you presented your request to God? Give it to God and he will fill the desires of your…

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#ex #goal #God #lonely #love #love yourself #Michele Banister #Michele Sfakianos #Open Pages Podcast #Open Pages Publishing #partner #plan #soul mate #true love

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shiro41 · 11 months ago

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Fluffy ears- Alastor

Summary: You always want to touch his ears but unfortunately for you, he rejects the very idea of it until he lets you.

Warnings: sub!Alastor, blowjob, brief mentions of a tentacle, drools, him in a rut?, dom turned sub reader, humping.

Note: this is my first time publishing a smut piece-- im anxious.

You always wondered how the fluff of the man's ears sit atop of his head, moving in sync with his moods and reactions. It wiggles, sometimes pinned on his head like a saddened pup, most times relaxed and stood proudly on his head. You wonder how they feel like.

"Please, Alastor?"

You put your hands in front of you, batting your lashes the best you could as you begged the overlord to let you touch his ears. His fluffy, fluffy ears. Knowing Alastor, he despises any form of physical contact unless he initiated first and touching his ears is a positive no. Which you got.

"Pretty please! I'll do anything!"

The smile on his face never wavered, staying the same size yet, his red spheres glowered with the slightest bit of irritation.

"My dear, touching my ears is a no. I'd appreciate it if you forget the ever thought of it."

He tapped your nose with his microphone, leaning down to your height and close his eyes-- smile still remaining. This resulted with a huff from you, growing equally as irritated and curious as he is. You watch him walk off, probably towards his radio station to broadcast yet another episode of pained screams of the unfortunate souls.

"I swear I'll get to touch it!"

You murmured to yourself, forming a fist as a rush of determination flowed through your ever being. You run to your room with the thought of his fluffs, ignoring the shaking heads of the staff.

"You think she'll ever touch 'em?"

Angel asked, turning to his cat friend who shook his head in disagreement.

Weeks passed and you still ask for the same thing to the radio demon, consistently begging for your hands to land on top of his head and within those weeks, he's been rejecting the idea nonstop.

"Come on, Alastor! Just five minutes!"

"No."

"Fine, four!"

"Still a no, darling."

Another interaction failed, it left you puffing smoke out of your nose from the forming irritation boiling in your blood. At this Point, the both of you find one another annoying. How persistent despite the many times of statements with the same content.

Of course, even the most patient man has his limits and it didn't happen until dozens of months passed where you took the advantage of the radio demon's vulnerable state of mating. He's a deer, it's perfectly normal to have these cycles once a year--maybe twice. You're not an expert with animals.

"Alastor, please let me touch your ears!"

You come to him again, noticing the relaxed posture yet the shaking of his grip on the microphone gave way to the battles inside him at the moment. He simply gave out a sigh, grabbing ahold of your hand and teleporting you to his room that's resembled the forest.

"Can I touch you now?"

A growing excitement evident in your voice, gasping as Alastor agreed and sat down on the cold ground covered with lush greens. His claws simply guided you to lay on his lap, like a father would comforting his child. They nestled and made home on your hips, occassionally brushing the skin beneath the clothes you wore as he lowered his head to give you full access to the red ears that heated due to the rushing blood and hormones he's experiencing at the moment.

"Be careful, darling. I can't promise a night of only receiving the pleasures of touching my ears."

He warned, reminding you he may not restraint himself from the animal instincts and growing need to reproduce. You, aware of the situation, nodded in understanding. So long as you can come to contact with the deer's ears, nothing is worth regretting.

You notice the first touch, it twitching in a manner so gentle you let a coo of compliments to him. The static noise of what you believe were small grunts and moans coming from Alastor deafened your ears, the pair only tucked more to his head when you massaged the base of it until the tips.

Soon enough, you find yourself touching his sensitive ears as he occassionally quivered underneath your touch, head burrowed in the crook of your neck and saliva running down his chin. His claws threaten to dig deeper into your hips, constantly restraining himself from hurting you physically. The statics have worsened, now sounding similar to purring yet, still with the whines and murmurs of encouragement from him.

He's melting in your touch.

"A-ah..please keep it u-up..! Kngh--"

He whimpered, feeling your hands travel from his soft ears to his small, hard antlers. It was rough to the touch, feeling like branches but the softness of the fur of his ears brushing up on your wrists was enough to get you going.

"Ooh it seems l-like I can't handle it a-ah..any further, chèr..!"

He breathed, moving your hips to grind on his crotch in a slow pace. You didn't mind the movement, opting to focus on your goal at hand and that is to savour every moment with the two pairs sitting atop his red head. Your skirt is pushed up until your thighs, barely showing the pink panties you wore today. It's patched with slight wetness in the middle, indicating your aroused figure in the situation you're in. Alastor underneath you was not far from your state, bucking his hips every time you brush your fingers against his head and occassionally travel to his cheeks and jaw before circling again on top.

The grinding didn't maintain its pace, now only moving faster the longer you went and the harder Alastor's hips thrust to meet your clothed cunt that's soaked with wetness resulting in his pants to stain too.

"Oh, Mon cher! I'm about to cum...!"

He breathed, continuing to produce whines after whines as you nip at the sensitive ear of his while the other's been massaged by your hand. You can feel Alastor drooling, the evidence being your discoloured shirt that's wet from his saliva, sliding down the cleavage of your chest. He whimpers with every meeting of his crotch coming to contact with your clothed pussy, almost rolling his eyes back as he feels himself getting closer by the minute.

"Oh darling, please let me cum."

He begged, eliciting a moan from you. Your stomach flipped with butterflies with every word of him begging you to let him have a satisfying release, you feel his tongue slither from your collarbone to your jaw, moaning while doing so. He's drooling a ton, almost bathing you in the process.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck--"

He chanted, voice echoing throughout the forest of his room like a broken record- statics incoherent and almost deafening until warmth spread from his crotch and feeling it on your pussy. He's creamed in his pants, the tent evident that he's been uncomfortably hard yet, you continue your abuse to his already sensitive ears, not letting him ride his release which caused a shriveled whine mixed with scream at the sudden sensation.

"Oh fuck! Oh, I can't take it! I can't take it, I can't- I can't-"

Again like a broken record, his voice transmitted a series of incoherent noise. The hands on his ears suddenly disappeared, cutting off the source of his scarce pleasure before he felt the belt of his pants being unbuckled and removed, not at the very least ashamed of the cum covered boxers once you pulled down the thick material of his pants.

You no longer towered him, instead kneeling in front of his sitting figure. The sight of the thin fabric that covered his obviously hard, wet cock made you moan. It was leaking with precum, pouring out of hid boxers before your tongue decided to take a taste of heaven in hell.

"Aahh..!"

A long drag of Ahs and a claw at the back of your neck has Alastor throwing his head back until his head collided with the tree behind. Your head pressed against the heat of his dick, rubbing your cheek affectionately against it as you look at those reds of his through the clumps of your eyelashes, eyes covered with thick lust.

His hand wiped the saliva off the corners of his mouth, now removing the stray of locks from your face and slowly taking out his angry red dick that's been begging to be released and aching to be touched. With its size, it slapped you in the process resulting with sticky cum kissing your cheek, the overlord repeating the process time and time again, swaying the hard organ across you and enjoy the sight of your tongue poking out ever so slightly, enticing him to fill it up with his thick cock.

"A-ah..ah no..let me savor this first, dear girl."

He tried to create dominance, continuing to tease you with his dick encircling your mouth but never in it. This resulted with an impatient whine coming out of your mouth, a hand coming to travel to your gaping pussy still clad in pink, wet panties but unfortunately, a tentacle wrapped itself onto your wrist- effectively preventing you from giving yourself pleasure.

A small sigh escape his lips, looking at your hazed lustrous expression before finally inserting his dick inside your awaiting mouth. The tentacle still was on your wrist and come to binding both of your hands behind your back, preventing you any self pleasure with the exception of his dick inside your mouth.

"Take it in, Darling..!"

He murmured, his hand massaging your aching scalp whilst his ruby spheres looked down at you with a hint of sadism that matched his mischievous smirk.

He could only hear your muffled whines as you tried to claw the tentacle that wrapped your wrist together, he could see the evident teardrops forming and sliding down your cheeks as your throat caved in and took the shape of his cock perfectly.

"Mhn, such a good girl...!!""

He praised, hand travelling from your scalp to your chin that's covered with a thin coat of saliva and cum. He's been so lost in pleasure that he lost track of time how long your mouth has been stuffed by his cock.

You feel the sudden pull of your head, forcing you to release Alastor's dick from your mouth that stood tall, thick and angry red from you sucking him like an infant to a mother for the past minutes. Alastor glanced at the streaming saliva that travelled down from your chin to the valleys of your perky breasts, mixed with his thick, white semen that you seem to not get enough of.

"I'm sorry about this, love."

#alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #smut #x reader #alastor x reader #tentacles #ITS MY FIRST TIME WRITING SMUT #HELP

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ao3-rex1223 · 2 months ago

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𝕿𝖊𝖊𝖙𝖍 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕿𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖊𝖘

Pairing: Werewolf!Leon x fem!reader

Tags: Pheromones, monster fucking, knotting, breeding, mating for life, slightly dubious consent (reader is into it), pussy eating, fingering, multiple orgasms, squirting, implied impregnation.

Summary: You and your friend Micah venture with a mysterious man, Leon, in the woods to look for a werewolf, unaware that Leon is the very creature you're hunting. Leon takes a liking to you and makes sure you want to stay with him.

“C’mon, don’t tell me you're scared,” your friend Micah taunts. He looks down on you with crossed arms, his smirk daring you to acquiesce to his challenge. Your friends, all sitting in the living room of your shared house, show various expressions, ranging from annoyance to copies of Micah’s confident stare.

“There’s no such thing as werewolves, Micah! That’s ridiculous!” you defend yourself, leaning forward in your seat and glaring at his audacity. What is he; a child?

“Where’s your Halloween spirit, wussy?” Micah fires back. “And who says there’s no such thing as werewolves? The stories about them have been around for hundreds of years. They wouldn’t be so popular if there wasn’t some truth to them,” he rationalized. “I even know a guy who can tell us all about ‘em!” Micah gestures for the door. “So, come on, fraidy cat! Let’s go!”

You roll your eyes hard, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. You gracefully rise from your spot on the couch. “Fine, I’ll go if you shut up after this. And when I prove you wrong, I’m publishing an article about it in the university paper with a giant picture of your shocked, stupid face!”

Micah smirks with an air of victory. You both hop in his pick-up, bound for the edge of the city where there’s a dense forest. As you pull off of the road and onto the mixture of dirt and grass, the car lights illuminate a man standing near the woods. He’s a tall, thickly built blonde, maybe only a couple years older than you and your roommates. He wears a dark gray T-shirt and cargo pants, leaning leisurely against a tree. He watches you and Micah curiously. The man makes you uneasy, at best. Something tells you that you shouldn’t trust him. As soon as you step out of Micah’s truck, the man’s eyes snap to you, but not in the way that one takes in the arrival of a new person…he looks at you like he’s been searching for you, waiting for you for months…years…centuries. Those eyes…those intense eyes look into your very soul.

“Micah…I think we should leave…” you whisper, the entirety of this mystery man's existence unsettling you.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Micah scolds, throwing your earlier insult to him right back in your face.

“Please Micah! This place is creeping me out!” Well, not the place so much as the inhabitant.

“Hey, Leon!” Micah shouts, ignoring your complaints. You watch as he casually approaches the man who finally turns his glance to Micah, with none of the reverence he gave you. He looks at Micah like it's a chore. “Micah,” the man greets noncommittally with a baritone voice, smooth as butter. His eyes return to you, like you're a precious piece of art he simply enjoys viewing. You find yourself getting a bit lost in his eyes then quickly shake your head and look away.

You hear Micah call your name. “This is Leon, our town’s foremost werewolf expert!”

A devilish smirk slowly creeps across Leon's face as he hears Micah’s words. “Oh no, I just read a lot of crap online,” he jokes, his gaze never leaving you.

“Thanks for meeting us here,” Micah adds. He holds out his hand for Leon to shake. Leon finally turns his head to face Micah and begrudgingly returns the handshake with a forced smile.

“I had nothing else going on,” Leon replies and turns to face you. Still addressing Micah, he asks, “Who's your gorgeous friend?”

Micah laughs as if he thought Leon was making fun of you by calling you ‘gorgeous’. Leon shoots him a quick and annoyed, almost offended, glance before approaching you. “What's your name, sweetheart?” He gently lifts your hand and kisses your knuckles.

You feel your stomach fill with butterflies and somehow, you're embarrassed to admit, your pussy begins to heat up and tingle, slick starting to trickle into your panties. With a hard swallow, you open your mouth to answer him when Micah interrupts and tells Leon your name himself. Leon narrows his eyes and glares at Micah, still holding your hand tenderly in his. He turns back to you and purrs your name. “Beautiful.”

“Hey, we gonna look for some werewolves or not?” Micah asks impatiently. His frustrated stare lingers on your and Leon’s joined hands. “I didn't bring her here so you could gawk at her!”

Leon snorts, glaring at Micah as if he’s thoroughly surprised by his audacity. We should leave, you think to yourself. Something about this guy seems dangerous…

After the tense exchange between Micah and Leon, the three of you set off into the forest, Leon having positioned himself strategically between you and Micah. While you venture forward, Leon recounts his vast knowledge about local werewolf legend. “The one here is the son of the original werewolf in this area. And he wasn’t always a beast…he was once only a man. He was cursed by witches who inhabited this area…you know, before all the Salem Witch Trial stuff.” He chuckles almost with a hint of satisfaction that so many women were killed. What’s wrong with this guy? You ask yourself. He continues, “But when you’re the son of a werewolf, you don’t have all of the power and glory when you’re born…you have to earn your stripes, so to speak,” he explains. You notice that all this time, Leon has been talking to you and barely acknowledging Micah who walks silently beside.

“How?” you ask, surprised by your sudden question. You catch yourself feeling a little enthralled.

He smirks, pleased by your interest. He leans in so only you can hear and whispers, “Mating.”

Your eyes widen a bit as the comment hits you way harder than you would have thought. Your heart races, your body tingles, and your cunt warms and leaks slick. What is happening to me?

Leon straightens once more and continues on, “Once a werewolf pup grows up and finds his mate, he achieves his full potential; a potent motivator to breed, if you will. As if there wasn't already enough.” His eyes bore into yours, locking your gazes together; you couldn’t look away if you wanted to…

“So where do we find this guy? I gotta meet him!” Micah chimes in enthusiastically.

Leon snorts with a light smirk and subtle eyeroll. “No one has actually seen him…but there are a few reports every year of hikers mysteriously going missing. They say it’s the work of the beast sating his hunger for human flesh…”

Micah huffs out a proud laugh. “I knew it!”

“Like that’s proof!” you shout back at Micah in response with your nose upturned.

Micah leans in to Leon, who still looks thoroughly annoyed by Micah’s mere presence, and whispers, “She’s a non-believer.”

“Is that so?” Leon turns to you and murmurs, “You don’t have to believe it for it to be true, sweetheart.” Another shiver runs down your spine, drawing you to him even more.

It’s like every time he looks at you, you feel this magnetic pull towards him get stronger and stronger. Your mind starts to swirl with images of his hands all over you, touching and caressing your curves, cupping your breasts, and fingering your tight cunt. You swallow hard and hope he can’t see you blush. “If we’re lucky, we’ll come across his cabin…I’ve seen it before myself…but never the beast.”

“Have you been inside?” you ask, your eyes glued to his handsome, chiseled face.

“Sure, I have,” he confirms. He lifts his hand to trail a finger gently along your jawline. A shiver runs through you at his touch. “Would you like to?”

“Yes,” you reply as if in a trance. Leon smiles as he leans in, his lips closing the distance from yours.

“Hey! There’s the cabin!” you hear Micah exclaim happily. The trance breaks at the sudden noise and you move away from Leon. Just then, you swear you hear a low growl coming from him…but you shake your head and chalk it up to the ambience of the forest and the background noise.

You take a moment to compose yourself and move toward where Micah is standing. “Let's get this over with.” Your eyes find the cabin. It's simple, plain. There's no lights on, so maybe whoever lives there isn't home…or maybe they're asleep.

“Let's go inside!” Micah starts for the cabin, his steps crunching the leaves underneath his shoes.

You grab the hood of his sweatshirt and yank him back. “Micah! We are not breaking and entering someone's home!”

“Werewolves don't care about the law!” Micah argues. You give him a dumbfounded stare, wondering if he realizes how ridiculous he sounds.

“Micah! This goes one of two ways! Either your stupid werewolf theory is true, and you walk into his…lair and he rips your face off! Or, the more likely explanation, it belongs to some hermit who's fed up with society, and you walk in just to get your face blown off by a double barrel shotgun!”

Leon chuckles from behind you. You turn to face him. “What's so funny?” You try to hide how affected you are by his sexy laugh.

He turns to Micah briefly. “You go ahead. There's no one in the cabin. Go poke around.”

“What!?” You reply in disbelief.

Leon offers you a charming, reassuring smile. “Trust me,” he says, his warm eyes soothing you. Micah begins to walk towards the cabin, but you barely notice as your gaze is locked again with the mysterious man who feels more familiar by the minute.

“Good girl,” he purrs softly. He reaches out and places his hand on your shoulder, feeling you shiver. His eyes widen just a bit and his smirk grows. “Are you cold, little one?” He gently pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. “C’mere.” His body is warm, warmer than it should be, especially since he's only wearing a T-shirt.

He nuzzles the crown of your head, carefully taking in your scent. “You smell so good.” His embrace tightens almost imperceptibly. He groans, low and soft, almost a growl and you start to think it really was him a moment ago…

His hands rub your back and his lips begin gently brushing against your temple. He lets out a quiet moan. You feel a soft kiss graze your cheek. You don't hear your own delicate whimper; you're too focused on the rampant tingling and slick cream leaking into your panties. Fuck, no one has made you feel this way in your entire life…which may be why you're still a virgin. For now…the scandalous thought burrows its way into your consciousness. Lying with this man feels less like a strange, crazy idea and more like a necessity; an inevitably.

Leon chuckles, clearly noticing your reaction, and you can feel him smirking against your supple skin. He plants a few more kisses to your face, each one stoking your desire like a carefully woven spell. Your heart dances in your chest, aching to jump out of your throat. His lips finally find yours and with his tender kiss, your knees nearly buckle. The molding of your lips against his heats up and turns more feral; before you know it, you're pinned against a tree with his hot body covering yours and your arms firmly around his neck. The night is chilly and yet you're on fire! You lose track of the noises you're making, lost in the haze of his dizzying aura. His tongue slides into your mouth, making you gasp slightly. You can feel the beginnings of his thick cock hardening, and you can tell that if things go well tonight, he's going to split you in half! Somehow, that doesn't deter you, though. This man will swallow you whole and you'll let him with a big grin on your face.

“Guys there's nothing in there!” You hear Micah shout from near the cabin. You hear Leon mutter ‘fuck’, then he begrudgingly releases you. Micah trots over to you two, looking disappointed. “It's just a boring, old hunter’s cabin.” He sighs heavily. “You were right,” he admits to you. “Let's head home.”

No!

You don't want to leave!

“Um, you go ahead…I'll catch a ride back with Leon…” you say. Micah quirks a brow at you.

“What?” He asks. “You didn't even want to come out here in the first place.”

“I'm more than happy to return her home later,” Leon chimes in.

Micah looks unsettled, distrusting. He reaches for your arm to try and lead you away. Leon steps in front of you, unwilling to let Micah take you from him. “I believe she said she wants to stay with me.” Leon's eyes, hardened and threatening, bore into Micah who backs away. He watches your expression which only supports Leon’s claim.

“Well…okay, I guess…be careful, okay?” Micah replies before turning to head to his car. You nod, having no doubt in your mind that you're safe with Leon.

Leon turns to face you, his eyes full of hunger. “Let's get you inside where it’s warmer, yeah?” He wraps his arm around you and guides you to the cabin.

Puzzled, you turn to him and ask, “wait…why are we…?”

He smirks and chuckles. “It's my cabin, sweetheart.” He opens the door leading you inside. It's a simple cabin, a nice soft couch, a fireplace, a full kitchen, and a hallway that you assume leads to a bedroom and bathroom.

“Why didn't you just tell Micah that?”

“Because I wanted to be alone with you,” he reveals as nonchalantly as one might discuss the weather. He steps toward the mantle and lights the fire to warm the cabin. There's something soothing about the warmth that comes from a genuine fire. It's as though it warms your soul as well as your body.

Leon returns to you and guides you to the couch. He wraps his arm around you once more, continuing where you left off in the woods. His lips find your delicate neck and the lustful tingles begin to swirl inside you once more.

“I still don't understand…why do you live out here in the woods by yourself?” you ask, your brain getting fuzzy as arousal starts to overtake your logical reasoning.

Leon pauses his sensual ministrations. He smirks, chuckling somewhat maniacally. “My father built this cabin…no one wants to live in town with a monster.” He resumes his licking and sucking of your neck. His palm reaches up to cup your breast.

You force a laugh, thinking he's just trying to be funny. “Oh yeah, I forgot, you and Micah are both into the whole werewolf thing.” A moan escapes your lips as his hand palms your plushy mound.

He pulls back to look into your eyes, his groping hand sliding back to your waist. “It's true, sweetheart. The creature you were both looking for tonight is none other than me.” His pupils seem to glow an ominous shade of gold, but you explain it away by attributing it to the glow of the fireplace.

“Haha, very funny.”

“I'm not joking,” he replies somewhat darkly.

“Oh c'mon, Leon…werewolves aren't real.” You scoff, thinking he's just trying to scare you.

He pulls away from you and stands. “I guess I should bring you back home then.”

“Wait what? I-I don't want to leave yet…” you sit on the couch, shocked.

“I'm not going to mate with you if you won't even listen to me. It'd be far too traumatic for you.”

“Leon, what are you talking about? It's just sex…sure I've never done it before but…I still want to…with you…”

“It's not just sex. It's mating,” he argues, “if we do this, I get my full powers. I'll gain the ability to shift into a full werewolf whenever there's a full moon.”

“Leon, this is-”

“Crazy?” he asks sarcastically, turning to stare into your eyes. “Tell me, do you normally jump into bed with guys you just met?”

You recoil slightly from his risque question. “No, never.”

“Then why are you here with me now?” He asks, obviously trying to lead you to a particular conclusion.

His challenge stumps you. “I-” You pause, trying to rationalize why you're so eager to offer your untouched body to this man you met mere hours ago. “I don't know…”

“Pheromones, sweetheart. Werewolf pheromones,” he explains. At your curious expression he continues, “I release pheromones to attract a mate. I only needed a few hours to let them work.”

“So…I'm like…drugged into wanting you?” You start to feel tricked.

“Not exactly. The pheromones only decrease your inhibitions, letting you pursue what you truly want. Believe me sweetheart, you want me just as much as I want you.”

His explanation makes sense and yet still sounds crazy…but how else can you explain how badly you want him even though you just met!?

“So…why can we just…you know?”

“Oh, we can…but you need to understand what's going to happen when we do.”

You stare at him, waiting for his explanation.

“Werewolves mate for life. If we do this, you're mine. Forever. I'll breed you until it takes. I want a lot of pups from you.”

His words hit you like a blow to the head. Though you don't quite believe him, you can tell he's as serious as a heart attack. “C'mon Leon you don't really believe-”

“Hey, if you don't believe me, you can walk away now, I won't stop you,” he explains with a shrug.

You know you should walk away; this is all crazy! Yet, you can't. There's nowhere you want to be but here. It's like some otherworldly pull keeps you from running. You stay rooted in your place on the couch, refusing to leave.

Leon smirks and rejoins you on the couch. He kisses you possessively. “As soon as I'm inside you, I'll change. Don't let it scare you. I promise, I will never hurt you.” He nibbles on your lip and his hand resumes its uninhibited exploration. “Are you truly a virgin, little one?” he purrs.

It's all you can do to answer through the mind numbing pleasure he's making you feel with every touch. You nod with an affirmative moan.

“Perfect. Then our bond will be even stronger.” He smiles almost victoriously, thrilled by your admission. His hungry grin only grows as he begins removing your clothes. “Don't need these.” His lips and teeth take in every inch of your body, little by little. Each stiff peak of your breasts and each luscious curve of your waist meets his hot mouth in pleasure inducing suction and nibbling. Your mouth runs dry as you writhe beneath him, never wanting to leave his arms.

His torturous kisses move to your inner thighs and he takes in your intoxicating scent. “Mine,” he growls, staring into your eyes as his lips descend on your dripping wet cunt. Pleasure surges through you, dowsing your nerves with delightful tingles. His tongue swirls around your clit, caressing it, mapping out each slippery centimeter of your delicious sex. He keeps his gaze locked with yours until the salivating taste of you pushes him into a frenzy. His lids close and he moans as he continues to eat you out.

You're writhing in ecstasy, breaths hot and ragged as his masterful tongue devours you. He hikes your legs over his shoulders as your contortions become more erratic so he can hold you in place. He's not one to let his meal escape. His tongue slips inside your tight, virgin channel, coaxing even more unholy noises from your throat. He's got you, hook, line, and sinker. You're in deep and you have no desire to get out.

“Cum for me, little mate,” he purrs. His tongue returns to your clit as he slips two fingers inside your tight hole. Panting, you let out a hungry wail, a cry of passionate euphoria. The band of hot arousal inside you snaps, your walls clamping down on the fingers inside you.

Leon continues to work you through your climax, stroking that sensitive spot in your vault. You feel a sudden rush of fluid from your oversensitive entrance, a complete shock to you.

“That's it, my pet,” Leon growls and laps up your essence like it's from the fountain of youth. His shoulders keep your legs high and thus your body pinned as you ride out the aftershocks. When the last wave subsides, you collapse onto the couch, limp but perfectly satisfied. “We're gonna need more space for what comes next…” Leon announces cryptically. He lifts you into his arms and carries you to his bedroom. He manhandles you onto his large bed, on your stomach. He disrobes, all while staring hungrily at your naked form. He growls in approval. “So fucking perfect. My little mate. Gonna breed you now.” He crawls in bed behind you, lifts your hips into the air, and gently rubs your ass. You're gushing slick yet again in anticipation, your desire to carry his offspring as strong as his.

“Please Leon…breed me…” you beg, your mind complete mush at this moment.

Leon groans and grips his cock, prodding the tip against your slick heat. Your heart pounds in your chest as he presses slowly inside, the burning sensation you feel a delicious pain. He pushes further, stretching you, molding you to fit his massive girth. You let out a long, desperate moan and rock your hips back to take more of him inside you.

He grips your hips tight and slides in the rest of the way, his hips against your ass. You feel a sudden surge in heat coming from his body. He groans again, this time sounding strained as well as aroused. His growls become deeper, more gruff and you feel his length inside you shifting…changing. It grows even thicker and longer, the tip crushed against your cervix. “L-Leon…what's happening?” You turn your head, eyes blurry but perceptive enough to see none other than a massive furry beast looming over you, it's massive cock buried inside you. “Oh my God…” you whimper, breath taken away. Your first instinct is to scream, but a sudden feeling of peace and acceptance washes over you. It's Leon…your Leon. You know it is. You can see it in his eyes.

You nod subtly, granting him permission to continue. His long, hairy claws wrap around your waist as he begins to thrust hard inside you. He leans down, growling possessively. He licks your neck then bites gently, enough to leave a mark but not enough to break skin. Your body feels so full. You drop your head down to gaze at your belly, seeing the bulge that forms each time he fills you. The sight makes you moan louder. The hot juices from your stretched sex coat his red, throbbing cock. Your eyes widen when you see a knot forming at the base of his length, fat, thick. You resume rocking your hips back against his thrusts, fucking yourself on his cock as much as he is you.

His movements become more frenzied and you know he's close. His grip on your hips tightens further, claws digging into your flesh. The knot, fully inflated, knocks on the entrance to your quivering pussy. Each time making you moan and beg for it. “Please Leon…fuck…knot me!”

With a loud, wall shaking howl, his knot breeches your cunt, locking you together. The pressure, combined with his cock stroking your g-spot, sends you spiraling again, cumming hard and screaming his name. He stills inside you, his cock buried deep, knot locked in place. You feel the hot jets of his cum filling you up, so much so it leaks around him.

Dizzy from your shared orgasm, you fall limp on the bed, exhausted but fulfilled beyond measure. Leon lowers himself on his forearms, gently pressing his warm fur to your back. He licks your neck tenderly, soft howls filling the room.

It's a seemingly endless night, Leon breeding you over and over and over. When the sun begins to rise and his werewolf form fades, he cradles your exhausted body in his arms, human hands coming to rest over your stomach, wishful thinking for your fertile womb. “Mine,” he purrs again.

#leon kennedy x you #werewolf!leon s kennedy x fem!reader #resident evil smut #leon kennedy x reader

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cutehoons02 · 2 months ago

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˚🕯️Run,ma belle ˚🕯️

TEASER: RUN,MA BELLE

*pairing: vampire Jungwon x human reader (rivals to lovers)

*tags: bites,kiss,teasing, fluff,smut, Jungwon is obssesed by her especially by her perfume and the smell that emanates her blood

*synopsis: Being among the few humans in one of the most famous universities in the world entirely composed of non-human creatures is not ideal. Still, the problem of Y/n is not so much to feel inferior or to be respected especially by vampires but to be the soul mate of Jungwon. Among all the vampires that populated the campus, nobody expected that the soul mate of the leader who ruled for centuries the campus and the peace between vampires and humans was a human being but this Y/n did not know, Y/n loved to have Jungwon as a rival during the countless lessons they had in common because even human beings could compete with such intelligent and intelligent creatures like vampires, but she certainly did not expect to come up against the human world and that of vampires only because her fate had been written hundreds of years ago and she had to be with that vampire.

The first chapter about the first couple will be released on the weekend, if you are interested in this story leave me your @ so that when i publish the story you will be the first to read it. I chose the version "vampires enhypen" but as a lover of F1 surely later i will publish the version "enhypen pilots of F1" who knows maybe when the season of F1 will be over for lack of races and content begin to write it.

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wangxianficrecs · 1 month ago

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Rewind 2024 - Part II

WangxianFicRecs - Rewind 2024

Part two of our favourite stories published in 2024. If you also want to give a shout-out to a story, submit an ask and we will share it in an upcoming post featuring Follower Recs and Proud Author Spotlights.

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Now it's just too late to turn around

by kokozy

G, 1k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Cloud Recesses had never truly felt like home to him; Lan Yuan's home was wherever Hanguang-Jun was and sadly, Cloud Recesses was not Hanguang-Jun's home either.

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💙 and taste the stars

by lowlightt (@lowlightt)

T, 1k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: “When a living person enters this place, there’s no coming back—for the body or the soul."

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🔒 Story of a Dream

by Bamboo_Gden

G, 1k, Wei Wuxian & Jiang Yanli | Kay's Rec

Summary: She tried to shake away any sad thought, this was supposed to be a merry reunion, after all. A-Xian had always been someone very especial to her. A solace of gentleness and kindness within a house so filled of grudges and hatred. She knew it was the same to him. Blood didn’t tie them, but they were undoubtedly family. Jiang Yanli pays a visit to her A-Xian to catch up with him.

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A Promise in Ink

by Witch_Nova221 (@witchnova221)

G, 1k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Lan Zhan is given a pen pal in school. For ten years, they write to one another, sharing their lives but never seeing each others' faces until, one day, Wei Ying comes home.

~*~

🔒 jujube

by colbygege

T, 4k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Wei Ying thinks back on the last month, collecting all the clues that, really, should have tipped him off far sooner than he allowed them to that he was married to Lan Zhan. He has no one to blame but himself, but also? Maybe he's not so mad.

~*~

🔒As good as

by apathyinreverie (@apathyinreverie)#

T, 6k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Cangse Sanren would be disappointed. (Where LQR, right smack in the middle of the war, realizes that WWX doesn’t have a Core. He promptly enlists his own pining nephew in ensuring that, after winning the war for them, WWX is going to end up with GL instead of YJ. He owes that much to Cangse Sanren.)

~*~

Only if for a night

by sacrificial_fawn

M, 7k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: During the Sunshot Campaign, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian become stranded in the middle of a storm, the situation is far from ideal, especially to go into labor. Even more if Wei Wuxian didn't even know he was pregnant.

~*~

Winter sun (back in my arms)

by barisan (@barisan-no)

T, 19k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Still, he cannot keep himself from seeing it. The way the corners of his mouth curl when he smiles, the way his eyes crinkle. The way he lets out a little snort before he laughs. The way he rubs the bridge of his nose when focused. Now that he has let himself see it, he cannot keep his mind from noticing each and every detail, cataloging what is his, what isn’t, and what is fully, simply, A-Yuan. His A-Yuan. The little mole by his lip, the shape of his eyes, his nose. A-Yuan, A-Yuan, A-Yuan. The Bio Dad WWX AU I’ve been screaming about for months.

~*~

Ebb and Flow

by trulywicked (@trulywicked)

M, 10k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Wei Wuxian has not been having an easy time of it since his mate left to reclaim his home and now he's beginning to wonder if the promise to return had all the substance of seafoam.

~*~

divine, divine

by sunflowersfield

T, 3k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: “Wei Ying. May I ask…what are you doing?” Wei Ying doesn’t glance up from the assembly manual he is reading. “I have to at least scan the instructions before I build your end tables, Lan Zhan!” “But…why are you building my end tables?” Now, Wei Ying does look up from where he is crouched on the floor. “Because you paid for assembly, of course!” he responds. Lan Zhan shakes his head. “I don’t believe I did.” Or: Lan Zhan accidentally adds assembly service to his furniture order and meets Wei Ying in the process.

~*~

till death

by darjeelinh (@darjeelinh)

M, 7k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Near death after destroying the Stygian Tiger Seal, Wei Wuxian has one last wish. He wishes to see Lan Zhan one last time. The universe grants him this final act of kindness. In the dead of night, Lan Wangji wakes up with a surprise visitor.

~*~

‘cause it’s worth the sacrifice to finally be strong

by MichelleFeather

G, 4k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: "Why does no one believe you both are in a relationship with each other?" he asked over dinner, Lan Huan not in attendance. Lan Zhan and Wei Ying shared a glance filled with years of that exact same question - along with the rage, anger, sadness, and acceptance that came with such a thought. Wei Ying swirled his drink around with his straw, the ice softly clinking against the clear glass. "They don't believe us. That's the only conclusion we've ever been able to come to Uncle." he responded, hesitantly looking up at the elder. "Uncle, you and the Wen siblings are the only people who believe Wei Ying and I are together, that we are married. Brother has always said we were best friends, soulmates, then immediately offered to arrange dates for me." ------------------------------------------------ Reverse trope: "instead of fake dating, everyone is convinced that you aren't actually dating"

~*~

duo xie

by Inventorofchairs

E, 1k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: oops

~*~

New, Little Bit Better

by LydeNicoKITE

G, 3k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Wei Wuxian comes back from the dead after six years, and he's exactly like anyone remembers him, but also entirely different. He has a different face, the same smile, a less conspicuous laugh, the same worn t-shirts of obscure bands Lan Wangji doesn't try to listen to at full volume because he cares too much about his hearing. He is not the version of him Wangji obsessed over in the past six years of insomnia, the Yiling Patriarch with a mind poisoned by dark magic, but he's not the boy he fell in love with, either. Having him back would would be an impossible type of joy, endless and complete, if Wei Wuxian was not avoiding him.

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for these hard-working authors if you like – or think others might like – these stories.)

#wangxian fic rec #wangxianficrecs #rewind 2024 #the untamed #wangxian #fandom event #long post #Kay's Rec #Kay's Favorite #The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation #MDZS #Mo Dao Zu Shi #December 2024

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just-a-ghost00 · 7 months ago

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Where is your path taking you?

Images are from Pinterest. I do not own them. The decks used for this reading are the following : Crystals oracle to determine the imagery representing each groups energy, Threads of fate oracle shadow edition, below the surface oracle, White Numen tarot.

Group 1 - Meteorite - Connect to your "star stuff"

If you were drawn to the meteorite, you might consider yourself a starchild. You may have a fascination for stars, astronomy and astrology, science fiction and alien theories. You may find it difficult to connect with people and feel like you belong in a group. You may struggle with your sense of identity. The meteorite oracle card states the following :

" When to use it : When you're looking to conduct more spiritual energy, try Nickel-Iron meteorite. When you're looking to chat with a friend in another galaxy, go with Chrondrite meteorite. When you want to feel aligned to that universal energy that pulsates through everything, try Pallasite meteorite." It feels like you're doubting whether you'll ever find people that are on the same wavelength as you. Well, good news for you. You're getting closer to your soul fam. As you're intuition and connection to the universe are getting stronger, you're able to sense people with whom you may match or your magnetism is doing the trick for you, since you're raising your vibrations. This card also tells me that you may be deepening your connection to the spiritual realm. I'm especially picking up on your ancestry.

Now let's take a look at your other cards. You got the card n° 35 from Below the surface oracle : Oarfish - Be the bigger person. Your kindness is your strength. Here your spirit team is reassuring you on your ability to love and be loved. They're asking you to trust yourself and your qualities. You also got the card n° 34 : Titan triggerfish - Your bold side. Make the first move. Oarfish is a very long fish that adapts well in the depths of oceans. It seems that in different cultures, it is a symbol of misticism, intuition and inner work. It invites you to uncover hidden talents and truths that will help you on your journey. The titan triggerfish is known to be quite protective of its territory and rather aggresive, especially during mating season. Though being bold is a great quality, it shouldn't lead to arrogance and agressivity. Looking at these two cards together, it seems like your journey is taking you to a new territory. You might start a new project, discover a new interest or find a new job that gives you the opportunity to meet your people. Other cards that you have include "dare to dream" and "self love" from the Threads of fate deck. The first card is related to air and the second to water. "Dare to dream" is an invitation to "step wildly into your dreams, to visit them often, to ask them what they need from you". The guidebook insists that though we feel like our dreams are out of reach because we don't know how to reach them, we should still pursue them as dreams coming true is a collaboration between you and the universe. "Show up forthem and they'll show up for you too". To me this also means that lucid dreaming could be a way for you to either manifest these connections faster or to help you identify them when you meet them. Pursuing a dream could very well be the door to new friendships and alliances. Have you ever dreamt of starting your own rock band or publishing a book? Now might be the time to give these dreams more substance by taking a first step towards them. On this card, an eagle's claw is depicted holding tightly to a ruby. The claw is surrounded by Buckthorn. The eagle, the buckthorn and the ruby are symbols of resilience and durability. The Eagle's energy allows you to see clearly through people and situations, to spot the connections between events and people. While the buckthorn helps you deal with external influences that might deter you from following your path, the ruby helps you with the internal factors such as self limiting beliefs. The "self love" card provides a similar meaning as it figures a magestic peacock. Your journey is leading you to a higher perception of yourself and more acceptance of your identity.

It also leads you to success, personal and material accomplishment as well as more opportunities to grow, for your last two cards are the ten of pentacles and the two of wands. On the first card can be seen three animals that resemble white dogs and on the other is a snake. These animals could be reprensentative of the energy of the people you're about to meet. You could be traveling a bit more in the future.

Group 2 - Chrysocolla - Be your own mama.

If you chose this crystal, you may feel quite vulnerable lately and emotionally overwhelmed. You may ask for external validation and help in making decisions for yourself, as you don't trust your ability to be objective and thorough in your analysis of situations and people. You might be in a state of confusion and exhaustion because of someone or something going on in your life. You may feel anxious about the future. Your path is taking you to more control over your life and being your own parent. Meaning that you'll learn to nurture and provide for yourself. You'll learn to be your own mental and emotional suppport, as life may take you away from loved ones. Specifically, I'm picking up on the energy of students or young adults that are leaving the parental home for the first time to pursue their career or studies. It could also be that you're leaving a relationship and being single again scares you. You will be healing your heart chakra on this journey to your independence. Maybe some of you were taught at a very young age that they were unable to live on their own for some reason, that they would always need somebody else to succeed in life. These false and self limiting beliefs became your truth and made you depend on people when in reality you only needed yourself. Looking at your cards, I can tell that your path is taking you to reclaiming your power. Your cards from Below the surface deck are the following : n°23 Coconut Octopus - You're on the right path. Keep going through the in-betweens. n°14 Giant oceanic manta ray - Life is a marathon. Don't burn yourself out in one sprint. I get a strong feeling here that you were manipulated and belittled by people around you, made to feel like you were incompetent or even unstable. That you were worthless, untrustworthy, following the wrong path. Your spirit team is begging you to wake up. "You're not crazy, they are" is what I heard. Your gut feelings are accurate. Your vision of yourself and the world is accurate. Your opinion is valid. You have to keep pushing and keep going. Don't doubt yourself, your skills or your intent. Your mind is clear. People want you to belive otherwise because they are scared of your light, your influence and your power. You mirror back to them their BS and it makes them uncomfortable. The reality is that they dispise themselves more than they dislike you. You have done nothing wrong. Your journey is thus taking you back to clarity and to your inner truth. The octopus is a very clever creature. Its brain functions in ways that are so complex even humans fail to grasp its potential. Your energy is so intense and deep people fear it. You are not to be blamed for their inability to grasp your potential. The giant manta ray invites you to slow down and meditate, to take a few steps back in order to see the bigger picture. It is a symbol of healing, adaptability and focus, as the manta ray is a swift navigator that knows where its going and never loses sight of its destination. The manta ray is also called the "devil fish". People have been misinterpreting its nature which could be something that oftens happen to you. The manta ray highlights the importance of choosing your source of help wisely, if you ever feel the need for external support.

Following these cards are "fate" and "The Magi" from the Threads of fate deck. These two cards are related to the element of Ether. There's a quality to you that people can't grasp. They can't put you in a box basically because you were never meant to fit in one. You are meant to expand and grow beyond anything they could even comprehend. Your path will lead you to great manifestation and a better sight. You could be among the people whose influence in life will be meaningful and well known. You could find your calling in spiritual and divination practices such as tarot, pendulum or chiromancy. Fate and Magi card remind me of Doctor Strange and the multiverse. Similarly to this character, your path may lead you to the awakening of the ability to consider all alternatives and roads to achieve one goal, but also to predict which are likely to be more successful. These cards remind you of the importance of boundaries and the power our actions and words hold. Especially the power and meaning of saying no. The fate card figures an egg resting on a pillow while the Magi shows a hand supporting an eye. It feels like you are currently incubating but soon you will hatch and be able to see the world clearly with your third eye.

Your last two cards are The Chariot and The Empress. The energy of these cards feel welcoming but also extremely powerful. Your path is leading you to stepping into your feminine and leading your life with dignity and grace. The Empress here is depicted as being active contrary to traditional tarot. She stands proud and ready to battle with anyone that would try to dethrone her. She is fierce and with the Chariot in her shadow, she is a force to be reckoned with. She knows where she's heading and will not stop until she reaches her destination. The energies of Cancer and Taurus accompany you on your journey. The Venusian energy of Taurus will help you attract love and nurturing experiences. The lunar energy of Cancer will help you see beyond the veil and understand the threads of fate and their intricate design. You will slowly but surely become the Weaver of your life. Like a manta ray, you will swiftly navigate through shallow waters and like a spider weave your way through the lies and deceit people might want to trap you in.

Group 3 - Rhodochrosite - Soften your heart.

If you selected this group, you may be going through a break up or mourning the loss of a loved one. A situation that was important to you might have ended unexpectedly which left you feeling lost and resenting what was happening. Rhodochrosite is to be used when your heart hurts. It reminds you that though you're hurting, you will heal and love again when you are ready. Your path is leading you to forgiveness and acceptance of that which you can no longer change. It will lead you to detachment and renewal in matters of the heart. The card n°18 from the Below the surface deck is associated with the broadclub cuttlefish. It states : rapid changes, let your flexibility serve you. The following card is the n° 12 represening the ambon damselfish. It states : don't be afraid of your voice, your opinion matters. These two cards suggest that this state of mourning won't last too long. You will quickly be presentend with new romantic opportunities or new projects and spirits are reassuring you. You will be able to move on and start anew. When these opportunity rise, don't be afraid to step in the light and let yourself be seen. The cuttlefish and the damselfish are both very unique and bright. They live in deep waters and can adapt pretty well to their environment. Like these two species, you are resilient and can make your way back to the top pretty quickly. Your other cards tell me that any limiting belief regarding love and relationships will be purged, as you have the destruction card followed by the versatility card. It was important that you do through this experience as it was meant to bring to light the toxicity and limits of your reality. Destruction is associated with fire whereas versatility is related to air. The versatility card reminds you that timing is very important and that forcing a situation to be when the timing is not right will only hinder your growth. It asks you how you can shift what is already existing in order to progress or to consider moving on when no solution can be found. Your path will lead you to a spiritual "spring cleaning". You will be going through your life, your possessions and relationships and ask yourself whether you truly need them now. You will be reassessing the value of your environment, your beliefs, your routines. Your approach to dating and entertaining relationships will be complitely different afterwards.

Ultimately, your path leads you to a new offer. An opportunity to be the main role in your life instead of a spectator. The knight of pentacles and The Emperor bring a message of patience and faith. You have to trust that at the right time and in the right place, what is meant for you will find you and you will be able to recognize it. They also invite you to be clear on your intentions. Especially if you consider dating again. Make sure you are clear on what you expect from a relationship, what you appreciate or what triggers you. Be mindful though of the power you exert over your life. Allow yourself to receive but do not shy away from your responsibilities. Your next partner may be a little bit controlling but also guarded. They need to take things slow and can be quite stubborn. But they will also teach you how to ground yourself and be in the present moment, not to burn any steps and feel things through to ensure you are on the right track. The signs of Aries and Taurus could be significant.

#pick a card #spiritual guidance #pac reading #tarot

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f14fun · 6 months ago

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pixelated love (!simmer x mv1) - chapter 6

synopsis: in which the famous three time world champion max verstappen wants to learn how to play the sims 4. except, he doesn't really know how to. so what does he do, search up a youtube tutorial. low-and-behold, y/n's video is the first he watches.

smau ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ prev | next | series index ˚୨୧⋆｡

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 187,306 others

yourusername: living out my best sugar baby life thanks to @/maxverstappen 1 😈😈 ty schatze ❤️💦🤤

view comments:

maxverstappen1: You're welcome mein leibling ❤️

user1: BYE what alternate reality joke thingie have i stumbled upon🧍🏻🧍🏻🧍🏻

user2: i feel lost, confused, and BETRAYEDDD

user3: she got that million dollar baby life coming her wayy 🤑🤑💸

user4: chat... i fear that the flirting... erm... m-m-may not be a joke anymore

yourusername: hmmm... maybe not... do you agree?? senpai-san? 🥹🥹🥹

maxverstappen1: GTFO my face with that bullshit.

user5: deffo still friends (that fuck) BUT FRIENDS. 😭😭

user6: BYEEEE 😢😓

landonorris: Well well well... aren't YOU the reason why Max is "booked out" for the next week.

landonorris: YOU TRAITOR 😡😡😡

yourusername: @/maxverstappen go tell your girlfriend, that i'm your girlfriend

user7: WHAT?

user8: ???? I AM CONFUSION

maxverstappen1: Now Y/n, what did we say about quoting pop culture references/song lyrics to me...

yourusername: 😢😢😢 i'm super duper sworry

maxverstappen1: @/landonorris GTFO 🚪

landonorris: WHAT WHAT WHAT???

landonorris: I'm just friends with a big bunch of traitors 😓

georgerussell63: Wtf mate??

oscarpiastri: Hello?? So mean Lando... Not chill at all 😞

user9: BACKTRACK?? IS SHE FR DATING MAX???

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taglist: @hiireadstuff @sinofwriting @mehrmonga @the-untamed-soul @glai1023-blog @loloekie @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @sheastri @llando4norris @gwginnyweasley @carmenita122 @ririyulife @pausmoon @ur-fav-ave @eveninggstar @maddie-naps @erin-odonnell04 @rexit-mo @ems-alexandra @si1ver06 @iamred-iamyellow @bibissparkles @percypie @formula1blog @lanadelray1989 @rylieverstappen-sargent @luvsforme @eiaaasamantha @kaysmiles42 @mvaldez7821 @stinkyjax @sweate-r-weathe-r @laneyspaulding19 @mingyusbigrighttoe

some of these didn't get tagged, and i'm having trouble (?) it's being very weird, idk, so please let me know if your name is here and it didn't tag you ❣️

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author's note: ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾

pls let me know if this chapter was funny, i'm feeling extremely unfunny these days y'all's (ik right, impossible 🤡🤡😞) just because i've been burdened with the task of *unfortunately* summer school

soon, all the next published parts will be published on a schedule, and i won't really be able to add anyone to the taglist for two-ish weeks

comment if you want to be added to the taglist! ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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cha-melodius · 25 days ago

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2024 Writing Roundup

This one went around last year but I don't THINK I've seen it turn up this year? If it has, please excuse me, especially if you tagged me. 😂

This month marks the 36th month in a row that I've published at least one fic—since January 2022. Insane, I know, but I'm very proud of this streak, especially keeping it going in the midst of writing/posting long fics. I published 17 fics this year, which was considerably fewer than my 31 last year, but my wordcount was almost the same (more stats coming in my year in review at the actual end of the year). Here they are, by month!

JANUARY

Trying My Patience (Try Pink Carnations) (RWRB, E, 5.7k) Florist!Henry and cake artist!Alex have to work together for a wedding last minute

FEBRUARY

Ain't No Place for a Better Man (Lokius, M, 3k) Old west AU, the notorious bandit Loki tangles with gun-for-hire Mobius

MARCH

False Dichotomy (RWRB, E, 62k) You've Got Mail AU, indie bookstore owner Alex and corporate bookstore heir Henry fall in love over email

APRIL

So Close to Something Better Left Unknown (RWRB, E, 20.2k) CIA agent Alex and MI6 agent Henry unwillingly collaborate a mission where Henry gets dosed with a sex pollen drug

The Hazards of Unsolicited Toy Advice (RWRB, T, 2.2k) Henry gives Alex dog toy advice at the pet store.

The Impossible Soul (RWRB, M, 7.2k) Westworld-esque AU. First Son Alex falls in love with an android named Henry at Kensington Palace

MAY

No Ordinary Friend (The Pairing, M, 3.5k) The Calums' story, from Monaco to Palermo

JUNE

Kiss Me Like You Mean It (Firstprince Edition) Kiss Me Like You Mean It (Lokius Edition) Various kiss ficlets from tumblr prompts

Body and Soul(mate) (RWRB, E, 39k) Soulmate bodyswap AU featuring MI6 agent Henry and lawyer Alex, who gets unwillingly pulled into the thick of a mission

JULY

Our Get Along Oodie (RWRB, E, 7.7k) Grad student AU; 3 times Alex and Henry were forced to share the couples oodie and 1 when they shared because they wanted to

AUGUST

Tonight, You're Gold (RWRB, M, 6k) Olympics AU feat. beach volleyball Alex and sailor Henry, accidental roommates in the Olympic Village

SEPTEMBER

Flowers Only Grow Where There Are Seeds (RWRB, T, 4.1k) FSOTUS Alex falls in love with a White House gardener

OCTOBER

Infinitely Late at Night (RWRB, T, 2.7k) Alex is pretty sure the man at the Waffle House in the middle of the night is a vampire

NOVEMBER

Desperate Measures (Lokius, T, 5.3k) When a mission gone wrong strands them on a hostile planet, Loki pushes himself to his limits in order to save Mobius' life

DECEMBER

Since I Memorized Your Face (RWRB, E, 24k) Alex and Henry hooked up in college and find each other 20 years later—oh yeah, and they're soulmates

Not the Hero (RWRB, E, 61k) Fall Guy AU. Stuntman Alex and Director Henry are exes who have to work together on a movie, until the lead actor disappears

[Redacted] (TMFU) My fill for the annual TMFU winter holiday gift exchange.

Ok! Tagging a bunch of folks! @cricketnationrise @rmd-writes @clottedcreamfudge @tintagel-or-cockleshells @firenati0n

@blueeyedgrlwrites @iboatedhere @pippinoftheshire @porcelainmortal @thesleepyskipper

@kiwiana-writes @justabigoldnerd @three-drink-amy @eusuntgratie @faketrex

@orchidscript @loki-is-my-kink-awakening @14carrotghoul @sparklepocalypse @too-young-to-fall-in-love

@welcometololaland @indestructibleheart @myheartalivewrites @ninzied @suseagull5914

@leaves-of-laurelin @nicijones @mirilyawrites @onthewaytosomewhere @getmehighonmagic

#rwrb #lokius #rwrb fic #lokius fic #firstprince fic #firstprince #year in review #fic year in review

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voidpidgeon · 10 months ago

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The last months I have been working in collaboration with @diggingfordragons one doing some illustration for her Space AU fic! (there was a big bang involved at some point but uuhhh) I will be posting the other artworks I made as they publish new chapters!

Please eviscerate her with kindness from me, she has been working so very hard on it, and it turned out amazing!

Summary:

“He’s our soul-mate!” George hisses. “He’s a criminal,” Sapnap hisses right back, wide eyed. “You don’t know that,” George says with a haughty sniff. That would work better if not for the looming space-raft in front of them. Sapnap flatly looks at the high obsidian walls, tall and foreboding. On its side, in tall, blocky letters carved out of glowstone, the words Pandora Vault - High Security Prison Raft stare back at him. George presses his lips tight together, but doesn’t falter. “That doesn’t mean anything,” he says.

Or When George comes into his life with visions of a divine quest, Sapnap signs up for fun and adventures. Maybe even love. And, it seems, breaking their third soulmate out of the most secure prison of the Galaxy.

Go check it out here!

#my art #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #sapnap #dreblr

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icycoldninja · 10 months ago

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hey so i was thinking: Sparda Boys and V with a writer S/O? take as long as you need to with this (writer's block is kicking my ass rn sadly but) , i don't really mind

Hey I feel that bro, enjoy and hopefully your inspiration will return to you 💜

Sparda Boys + V x Writer!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-He's not a scholar and knows next to nothing about books since he rarely reads, but if his sweetheart is writing stuff, by God, he will read whatever they put out there.

-Uses you as a human dictionary whenever he comes across new words, not understanding that that's not the purpose of a writer.

-"Hey babe, what's this word?"

"What word?"

"Uhh...Ink-Can-Dress-Ant."

"What?"

"Ink-can-dress-ant, I think that's how you say it."

"How's it spelled?"

"I-N-C-A-N-D-E-S-C-E-N-T."

"Incandescent, Dante, not ink-can-dress-ant."

-He'll be the first to read your work and is very proud of this fact. He, Dante, the Legendary Devil Hunter, is also your private beta reader. Awesome.

-Oddly enough, him reading all your works results in him developing a larger vocabulary--something that shocked everyone, especially Vergil.

-Congratulations! Thanks to you, Dante can use big words now!

■ Vergil ■

-You, a writer, are dating Vergil, the biggest bookworm on the planet? You are now Vergil's goddess.

-He wants to read everything, regardless of its quality. He'll visually devour all the words off the page, absorbing every word.

-You two now have yet another topic to nerd out about; you can spend hours chatting about books, writing techniques, and so on.

-Vergil is filled with a sense of pride whenever he reads your published writing; it pleases him so much to know you're growing your talents.

-He has an entire bookshelf dedicated to your books and takes special care of these books. They're more than just words on pages bound by cardboard and leather; they're treasures.

-Will take up writing as well, just so he can be closer to you.

□ Nero □

-Nero is not a bookworm by any sense of the word; he's read a few books in his time, but he's more combat oriented.

-Doesn't mind being a beta reader for anything you write.

-Your works have inspired him to take up reading again, and in doing so, he unleashes his inner book nerd. Like father, like son.

-He's always looking forward to whatever you write, and when you get writers block (as we all do) he'll take you out to a park, or a peaceful lake, in the hopes that the natural beauty of your surroundings might restore your creative juices.

-He, too, has a collection of all your works and keeps them proudly on display on a nice bookshelf in his house.

-Encourages you daily to keep writing because now he's addicted to reading your work. You really have changed him.

● V ●

-Oh congratulations, you've found yourself a soul mate.

-V loves to read (he totes his copy of William Blake poetry around and reads from it all the time, even in the middle of battle) and is more than happy to read your books.

-V is also a writer himself; he writes poetry, as we know. Because of this, he understands more than anyone the pain of writer's block and knows just what to do about it.

-He'll arrange for a relaxing movie/reading night, which in his experience, helps restore your creativity.

-If that doesn't work, Griffon's loud mouth and wise-guy (yet funny) jokes will take your mind off of things.

-V understands literature and knows all sorts of obscure things about famous literary figures; so much so that you two can converse for hours on end just gabbing away about books, their authors, and other interesting tidbits of knowledge.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

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Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 12.0k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, body horror, horror, angst, mutilation, violence, wounds, blades, death, many religious imagery/references, nudity, protective!Simon, NSFW, soft/loving smut, fingering, mating press, implied virgin!reader due to time-period standards, pretty vanilla, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Simon’s skin is bare to the moon, and he can taste your blood on his tongue.

Eyes wide, the man’s lips are loose; jaw slackened at the horror that lays below him as crimson drips down the swell of his Adam’s apple and between the dip of his chest. He can’t move, even as the chill sets into his spine, the hair over his arms and on the back of his neck standing on end.

All he can see is your body.

You don’t move, you don’t smile or send him that stern look of stubbornness—the snow falls to your head, it collects on the side of your face and limp corpse. Your torn clothes show the weeping wounds and jagged remains of flesh.

But none more so than one on your neck. The gaping tear made from his fangs.

Not me, Simon’s fingers twitch at his sides, your body in a pool of red. Not me.

It was him, though, wasn’t it?

He doesn’t remember what happened, cannot recall the memories in his brain—a demon, the Lord of this forest, and a prisoner all in one. You hadn’t killed it, no, there was no way to do that. Silver could only do so much.

But it had done something to you, to make your scent twist and rot. Your soul didn’t smell right.

“I…” Simon’s voice fails him.

His body is broken and bent, his entire side burning with pain, but none of that matters. Brown eyes quiver, and the man goes to lick his lips only to gag at the taste of copper, snapping his eyes away to pant quick breaths into the tree line.

Simon’s hand raises to hover above his stomach, shaking.

“I didn’t bloody do that,” he mutters, the evidence on his chest and stuck in his pores. The forest is silent. “I didn’t do that.” The man says it louder.

You stare forward numbly with a broken neck and a torn-out throat.

Foot twisting him around, he levels his back to you, hands coming up to his head as his jaw clenched so tight his molars scream at him. What had happened? What had gone on? Simon closes his eyes and hunches his shoulders forward.

“No,” he growls. “No, I didn’t fucking do that to you.”

The night continues to keep him in its black hold, the snow absorbs the blood and black liquid. He can smell the rot—the infection under your skin as it brands your corpse.

This forest was like a beacon to every monster in its vicinity. It called them here and made them lose themselves. Under the light of the moon and sun, whenever its branches told him to run and hunt as a beast, Simon Riley had no option but to obey. He would come here on a moment's notice when he felt the change coming over him, to his hut and his glade.

There were few times he could predict it, and no matter how much he wanted to stay with you, that just wasn’t how it worked.

Every monster that was called here was bait for that demon, and no monster had the ability to wield anything that could kill it. No silver. No holy water.

But a mortal could.

Every hunter entering these dark bounds had been hunting the wrong colossus and never had the chance to know it.

Simon bends slightly forward to hold his head tighter, grunting out whimpers as if trying to keep his brain from falling out.

“Fuck,” he breathes. Then louder than a scream and longer than the first, “Fuck!” The trees shiver.

Simon harshly pulls at his hair, feeling the strands snap before he slides his hands up and down his face; trying to push off the crimson yet he only succeeds in spreading it. He can’t hear your heart beating anymore, can’t hear the swell of your lungs. Nothing.

Hand lashing out, his knuckles connect with the hard bark of one of the tree’s trunks and he sends it back and forward three more times until his fingers crack and bend. When he’s done, the man doesn’t even notice the tears freezing on his cheeks as his breath puffs out in clouds.

Simon silently stifles a ragged inhale and sags forward, unable to turn back and look at you—he can’t bear it after everything he’s been through. Forehead tapping the rough bark, his pain-filled body flaring, the blond clenches his fists like an angry child.

He should have told you in the glade—in the safety of consecrated ground where holy men and women had been buried for time immemorial. He should have explained why it was only you that made him whole.

But Simon was a silent creature; a creature of silent glances and hidden softness that borders on a fear of abandonment. He would never tell you until you happened to figure it out yourself or if it became undeniable.

Oh, you should have stayed away.

His knees threaten to give out, so he lets them go until he can move his body to the side and lean against his tree. Barely breathing, he cares not about the cold. As he did when he was a child, all those years ago yet still shrouded in pain and hate, he loses any and all expression from his face—brown eyes dark as they stare at nothing.

There had been a moment that he’d come back to himself as the Ghost. A brief moment.

Simon wants to hang for the memory he now holds.

Your eyes, blood-burst, looking into his own as his fangs rend your flesh in two. The feeling of your neck snapping under his jaws. Tongue lolling in blood and licking its muzzle; whiskers dripping.

This time Simon gags, but he also hurls up his guts, too.

Bending his aching spine, his forearm keeps him up, bare thighs tensing and nerves quivering as his abdomen bunches. Simon pants staring blankly at the bile in the snow, saliva pooling in his mouth. He still can’t look at you.

With little left for him, the man curls up in the snow and resigns himself to freezing to death, arms loose around his waist and injuries screaming at him.

He’d killed you—is death not the only option left for him as well?

Simon lays there until his eyelids grow heavy, only thinking of you and how you had been. Your kindness, your wit. He enjoyed your loudness, and there was no one to perfectly challenge him but you.

From the first time he’d seen your form, it had only ever been you. He was yours, utterly; wholly. He should have told you to stay away.

“M’sorry, Love” he whispers into the ground, shivering violently, lips blue. His head is turned away as the trees hold their breath. “All my bastard fault—should’ve been me. It…fuckin’ hell,” Simon breathes, clenching his jaw. “Should’ve been me.”

He mutters his self-hatred until he falls silent and his chest rattles. Until the forest listens.

Until it answers.

Simon’s eyes snap open to the sound of a world cracking in two and finds your body gone.

—

This place isn’t real.

You sit in a mirror vision of your shop, but nothing is correct. Looking into the corners, shadows slip away with quiet laughter, and the door rings but no one walks through. It’s…repetitive. It never stops, but you can’t seem to leave.

You think it’s been days, weeks, even. Always it feels like there’s something watching you, and the window of your shop shows nothing but black night outside and flickering lamps.

It doesn’t feel right to speak.

If you speak, whatever is standing out in the street will know you’re here.

You shake as you watch it now, silent and swallowing down saliva. Its eyes have been ripped out, and the chains along its wrists drag so loudly you can hear them even through stone and wood; they make you flinch and shiver. For whatever reason, the phantom of the man cannot find you, though he has been looking.

He even knocks on the door.

It was a clanging, dead, thing. With a slam of a gnarled wrist and a raspy cry of your name on his slit tongue. You don’t want to ask how it knows your title, so you only hold your hands to your mouth to stifle your sobs. But for all of this, you still contained self-awareness.

You’re in Hell, or some strange, twisted version of the middle point. Purgatory.

But why? Why here of all places—your soul had been branded, you heard that curse and felt the blackened nectar in your flesh. Had known what Simon had…

You blink quickly, looking away from the twisted man and taking down a shaky inhale.

Whatever this place was, you and this shade were the only ones here. The only once-human ones, anyways. You didn’t exactly want to go out and meet him.

“Please!” It bangs on the door again and your head snaps up in panic, hand whipping to your mouth to hide the sharp gasp. If you ever got out of here, you never wanted to see your home again. This version ruined it. “Please, let me in. I can’t see—it took out my eyes! Please, please I need my eyes.”

Your eyelids close tightly, your heart clenched and beating fast.

All of this terror lets you think about Simon. And so you do, and try to not blame him for what he did even if you know in your heart it’s not his fault.

You remember the first time you met him, and you think that’s perhaps one of the best memories you hold.

“If you expect me to fix this, you’ll need to hand over half of your soul and a blessing from God himself,” you frown at the remains of a pair of tweed pants, blinking with your mouth agape. “I’d ask what happened, but I think that would put me on a list of some kind, Sir.”

Simon stares.

“How much?” You sigh and shake your head.

“Really, there’s very little I can do here short of just offering you a new pair.” Placing the scraps on the table and lightly pushing them forward, the man moves his large hand out to take them from you.

Your fingers touch, and you blink as a slight spark makes you flinch. Simon as well, you remember, had snapped his hand back to him, his eyes slightly widening and his throat holding down a breath.

“Woah,” you mutter, touching your head as you suddenly go lightheaded. “S-sorry about that, I don’t know what—”

“Both.” Simon slides the fabric back to you.

Your senses come back in a slow sweep and you clear your throat. “...Both?”

“Fix the pants and sell me another, yeah?” A quirked brow, but something else swims in that dark gaze, something that fights with itself. “I’ll pay. Money’s no problem.”

“Oh,” you blink, taken aback. The both of you stare at each other.

You’re struck by the thought that this man’s eyes are far more deep than anything you’ve looked into before.

“Of course, if that’s what you want.” He grunts, tipping his head and looking to the side for a moment. He wears that strange covering, too. The one that sits on his nose.

“Good.” Simon backs up a step before pausing. “You have a name, then, Tailor?”

You tilt your head and cross your arms, eyes narrowing carefully. “Just as you do.”

That silk fabric twitches, gaze sparking.

“Simon Riley.” Your smile slowly pulls at your muscles, and for the first time throughout the day, you truly mean it.

You don’t know how time works here, but you also can’t really understand that you’re dead. Of course, the thought of an afterlife crossed your mind in your living hours, but you’d never thought you’d go to one so soon.

But every time you blink, you don’t think you’re meant to be here.

So, again, why? The question was mulled over incessantly after every memory of Simon, and you start to believe he’s the catalyst.

What were you missing?

The man himself had hinted at it, talking about how your scent to him was opium—like a drug. It kept him…him even when a monster.

“Please!” You’ve discovered that all of the windows are bolted and the front door is locked, but it never becomes daytime here. A perpetual night and a pleading soul guarding you. In the long hours where you sneak from one empty room to another, so similar to real life that it makes you sick, you wonder if this place is an exact replica of the city you called home.

If some of the other houses are not so vacant after all; the inhabitants hiding like you are. Purgatory sounds about right.

Chains drag and there are garbling sobs and you stare at the door without the key to open it.

The thing was blind—if you could sneak past it…your eyes looked out the window to Simon’s home across the street. There was a pull to all things that included him. A sanctity. Despite how your life had ended, how you’ll surely still think about it and sob out of pain, you can’t blame him for it.

He didn’t have control.

You begin to think of a plan to break out without making any noise as you close your eyes tightly, hands clenching at your sides.

“Back again, Mr. Riley?” Your bell rings and you glance at the intimidating figure walking through. He takes a deep breath when he enters, nodding in greeting before lumbering to the counter.

“Any trouble?” He had a habit of asking this when he’d been gone on a longer trip of his, always back disheveled and with bags under his bloodshot eyes. As if he gets back and the first thing he wants to do is come see you.

The thought didn’t bother you.

You laugh, “I’m happy to report the only thing that happened was that a pigeon ran into the window.”

Brown eyes glance over his shoulder to blink at the impression of feathers on the front glass.

“Poor Bastard,” he huffs, amusement in his accented tone as he slips his hands into his pockets. “Get any feathers out of it? New pillow if you’re lucky.” He tilts his chin. “If you know how to pluck a bloody corpse, that is.”

“You’re incredibly strange, Mr. Riley,” you laugh, nodding your head at him. “I’ve never heard a man state such things.”

“I wrong?” Simon grunts, but you hear his slight smile in his tone.

You only roll your eyes. “I highly doubt a pigeon would give you enough feathers for a pillow.”

“Well, you’re just not fuckin’ trying hard enough then, yeah?”

“Are you here for a reason, Sir?” You can’t stop smiling, holding back your loud laugh as happiness is plainly stated on your face. “Or are you just here to speak to me about the feather-quantity of the local birds?”

Simon’s eyes are crinkled slightly, and you try very hard to imagine him beaming just as you do, though you know it’s slim.

You want to make him smile; you want to be the reason he does. And you don’t even know why.

Your very soul leaps when you see him from across the street, it tightens and calls out like a reaching hand desperate to grasp into another counterpart. You’d never felt like this about a man before, much less one you barely knew anything about on a personal level.

You liked Simon Riley.

“I was thinking ‘bout a new undershirt. Black.” A hand moves up and a pile of money is placed on your counter. “Anything’ll be good, just need a new one.”

“Of course,” you easily slip into business, not bothering to look at the sum. “Special occasion?” You pause before fake laughing. “A lady to impress, perhaps?”

Your heart sinks more than it should; nearly hurting. Did Mr. Riley have a courtship?

He blinks at you carefully, long lashes caressing his scarred cheeks. You swore his lips under the silk twitched.

“No,” is all he says, blunt and casual, thighs shifting.

You stare, hands touching themselves on the counter as heat burns your cheeks.

“Okay,” you mutter, embarrassed, though you don’t know why. “That should be no trouble at all. I’ll just need your measurements.”

Simon nods once, staring at your hands before he takes off his jacket and places it on the wood. You grabbed your long measuring tape and slipped to the front, asking lightly for him to hold out his arms.

Heart hammering, he does so; great torso flexing and face blank.

You begin with the chest, sliding your hands along his clothed body to flatten out the tape until you can see the mark it rested at. It would be false to say you didn’t lose your breath slightly, being so close and able to freely feel the swell of his muscle. Under your fingers, his pulse was like a hammer, and he was so large you actually had to give him a hug to connect the other side around him.

“S-sorry,” but Simon’s eyes are entirely blown, body tense and slightly shivering as your hands feel him.

“Don’t be,” he breathes, and you feel the push of his lungs to his ribcage; molten heat.

Your lips tingle, and heat seeps into your stomach as you shift your thighs to quell it.

Simon grunts, and his head turns down incredibly fast.

You blink. “Mr. Riley?”

“Nothin’,” his lips flinch, and his brown eyes, more like black now, dart to your lips. “M’fine. Keep going.”

You do so, oblivious to the coil in the man’s gut that mirrors yours, flaring with every gentle poke and prod.

It was when you’d almost given up that there seemed to be something else on your side in this god-forsaken place. You found your knife.

It was in the same drawer where your tape measure should be, just sitting there where all else was absent. You stare and slowly reach for it, sliding your fingers over the hilt and the glint of the blade before picking it up.

But you’d checked this drawer a million times over, what had—

There’s the sound of a fluttering of wings outside of your shop, and you’re unimpressed with yourself at how your mind immediately goes to a helpful pigeon spirit. You hold a hand to your lips to stop yourself from laughing, despite it all.

A spark alights in your heart.

“Thank you,” you whisper to nothing, turning the blade over in your hands and smiling.

Walking slowly, you avoid every creak in the wood—unlooping your belt for the small prong that would come in handy. Placing the blade into the slit of the lock, you insert the prong above it, twisting and waiting to hear a series of clicks; putting your ear next to the wood.

The dragging of chains is far off, the loud wailing distant.

Now or never.

You hold your breath and listen to the sounds of the lock, sweating and grimacing. It’s so very silent outside—you’re so used to the clanging of metal and the clop of hooves that it scares you more than the monster. Like you’re standing out in a field but there’s no wind, no air even. Unnatural nothingness.

So hard at focusing, when the click of the door lets you know it’s open, you don’t notice the heavy breathing on the other side. Standing and taking out your knife, you silently celebrate plucking your belt away just as the handle jiggles.

Only you’re not touching the handle.

Blood leaving your face, you can only skitter to the side as the hinges squeal like a dying animal, the barrier slowly opening as your back flattens against the wall. At first, nothing happened.

The door is open and you stare wide-eyed as no sound enters your ears. Lamp-light seeps in, creating a long glow along the floors.

A ragged breath makes you want to shrivel up, and then the wailing starts.

“Please, please, where are my eyes?” Too close.

You flinch wildly as chains are dragged into the room, the scent of dead wood sticking to your nostrils. Up close, the man’s skin is dripping water—seaweed over his shoulders and hanging off his restraints.

He walks inside and the gaping wounds of his eyes make you nearly gag. “Where did you take them? I want them back, please, let me borrow yours until I find mine again.”

He drags his heavy silver chains far into the shop, stumbling and groaning through sobs. Those things seem to have no end to them, and he bumps and walks into the back room right as you slip outside.

Immediately, you rush out into the street, crossing the cobble and hopping the long metal ahead of you as you re-loop your belt with one hand and grip your knife tightly. Getting to Simon’s house, you grasp the handle of the door and pull.

It jerks with a bang of metal.

Locked.

“Shi…” you trail your curse and bite your lip. Silently, you take a step back to quickly think as the warden still calls hopelessly from your shadowed shop. Where else would you go? The inner city? The town?

Your eyelids blink.

The forest. That had to be it—there had to be answers there, right?

You were beginning to grow more fearful that you would be stuck here forever, in between life and death. A branded soul and yet, you weren’t in Hell. Or, at least, you imagined Hell far more hot than this.

Turning, you slip down the steps and speed walk down the road, not running for fear that your shoes would make too much noise. That was also strange—all of your clothes were mended here, stitched back together as if never cut; wounds healed and nonexistent. You weren’t one to complain.

“Where are you going?” The Warden is on the steps, and he falls down them in a shattering of bone and a slurp of wet skin. “Please, give me my eyes! I can hear you running away—I can smell your souls! Let me have what little is still free! Let me see!”

Souls?

You start sprinting as the great wail of chains lets you know you’re being pursued.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your lips expel, skirts swish, and muscles tense all at once. Like a race, the man’s panting breath is almost felt on your neck, bare feet far faster than he should be. “I don’t have your eyes—I’m sorry, but you’ve really got the wrong person! T-try down the block?!”

You call loudly behind you in hopes that it will get him to give up on you, legs pumping harder as he screams with rage and you curse yourself with every breath. He’s gaining on you, somehow, this blind beast is gaining on you.

There was no way you were making it to the forest.

In a split-second decision, your shoes skid over the street, and, steeling yourself with what little sanity you have left, you turn with your knife at the ready.

Hell, you’d already died once.

But you’d never forget the image of this beast running towards you with a wailing mouth and dragging chains, the things so heavy they wrench back his arms. You falter for a moment, but shake your head and raise the knife in one hand, gritting your teeth despite your unimaginable fear.

Bravery was far too hard at this moment, but there was no more running. You take down a shaky breath and will your arm to stop vibrating with its sweaty palm.

“My eyes!” It screams. “Give me your eyes!”

Seven feet, five, four, three—

A familiar rageful roar takes over, and a black shadow covers the street lamp light from above as if a storm of vengeance. You watch as the gargantuan body flies over you and wastes little time for pleasantries.

The Ghost slams its body into the Warden, and they go down in a flurry of feral snarls and wails. You watch, frozen still with shock, as black claws can be heard tearing through flesh and rending meat, a slick slapping of pig slop as black blood spills to the streets.

In the utter absence of all else, you listen with a quivering body, the fear extending down to your spine. Not of the other thing on its back, wailing and sobbing about its eyes even as its gut is invaded by a large muzzle and ivory fangs, but of that muzzle-owner itself.

You didn’t realize how much of a shock it would be to see Simon again. Like this.

Your eyes stare blankly at how an arm is ripped from its socket, shredded from a shoulder, and tossed to the sidewalk with a rabid jerk; the body of the Warden lifted as the Ghost rises to his back paws and grips tightly. Hands on the lower half, mouth on the top, your jailer is torn in two with nothing more than a tear and a sound of vertebrae popping.

Black splatters over your cheeks, but you make no move to swipe it away.

Simon drops the body to the ground, and it twitches—it speaks as it bounces. Brown eyes dig into its mangled face, ears erect.

“My eyes…M-my…eye—” A large paw pad is pressed into its head, and pressure is leveled. Brought down like an anvil.

The Ghost crushes a skull under his foot and the resounding pop is enough to make you snap out of your frozen terror. He turns to you seconds later, mouth stopping its snarling and going silent all at once.

The beast blinks slowly, ear twitching once.

Averting your gaze, you completely give up in light of this new arrival and clench your eyes shut. Your neck hurts—burns—like it’s being ripped open over and over again, snapping, and the light getting sucked away.

Great feet take lumbering steps forward; you take one back.

“I…I don’t,” you shudder and shake, hand holding your knife. Your mind can’t comprehend him being here—in this void with you, leaping in a great bound to tackle the monster to the ground. No, no, this was another phantom. He was going to kill you again.

Wasn’t his fault. Wasn’t his fault.

You back up some more until there’s a soft huff. It’s tiny, small as if coming from a lap dog that Mrs. Ida would own. Your eyes are firmly shut, yet he tries again.

A wet nose is leveled to your forehead, pressing in and tapping you lightly. A chuffing noise echoed in the back of his throat, gruff and low as he breathed you in. You hide a whimper as that nose dips to your neck, imagining the ways he’s going to sink his teeth in and how your bones will—

The Ghost sags into you, and with a flick of his ears, the large head begins to rub into your flesh as he grunts. Your eyes snap open as his gargantuan hands circle your waist, anchoring you to his chest as he leans back on his haunches; small noises bouncing from his breast as he curls his head behind yours. You’re lifted gently as you squeak, hands snapping to dig through fur and, like logs, your feet dangle from under you.

You don’t speak as Simon begins running out of the city, down the black outskirts. Into the midnight shadows the two of you disappear in the direction of the mirrored forest, your body in his grip and the side of his head never failing to lean into yours. You can feel his eyes roving, darting down and around, before always coming back to you regardless of the things he smells here.

Like a candle in the dark, he had already scoured the bounds of this purgatory for you—waiting for that small flicker of something to grasp onto that would let him find your light. And it hadn’t been your scent or the way you’d yelled. It had been the very call of your soul, or, at least, souls.

Because that was what it was.

The reason you were here instead of Hell was because that corruption had only marked your soul. Not realizing that half of it didn’t belong to you.

Simon knew little about how it worked, but sometimes people are only born with a fraction of their soul as theirs—the other pieces snapping into place when a match is met but still not held as theirs. Your other half, the reason you stayed here, was because Simon’s soul had held you up like a rope to an anchor.

That spark in the tailor’s shop; the longing and the insatiable pull to be near you—marked as two pieces of a puzzle sitting right next to each other, the image leaking from one to the other.

A Fated Pair.

The Ghost breaks through the treeline and you curl into him as he covers you with his arms, eyes watching the black trees and the void of space above him. There were no stars here—no moon. You can’t see anything, but he can.

Simon rushes your intertwined souls back to the place he had dragged himself through; a great fissure in the earth that had opened and swallowed your body who knows how long ago. Weeks, months—years, even. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered.

His instincts brought him through, and his guilt had kept him going; this all-consuming and deathly guilt. He’d never forgive himself, but he can’t leave you here.

Simon finds the fissure as great screams begin to wail out from the city, echoing off the trees and over the air. A scream and a plea. Hundreds, thousands.

He doesn’t bother to stay, because you’re in his arms and his nose breathes in your scent. You grip onto him tightly, shaking with a fear-bathed quiver to your lips, and those large arms hold you ever closer; a large grunt and a rub of his chin.

Simon stands on the very edge of a void, and he jumps.

—

You wake to the large dog curled around you, softly breathing and using his body to shield you from the gentle snowfall. So warm does his blood run, that you don’t even feel the cold on you, only the brush of silk and the hard press of his hands.

Simon’s breath ruffles your hair, his spine shaped in such a way that not a sliver of you is visible to the world beyond your head in his neck, resting on the swell of his softness like a pillow. As if he was a swan, keeping you in a bed of feathers.

Your eyes flutter open, and you take air down to bathe in the scent of earth.

The Ghost shifts, grunting and not letting up on his grip.

You’re in the very same place you died, yet there’s no evidence of that—the blood is gone, the broken trees are surrounded by young ones, and the snow is deeper than it had been before. But your clothes are…

You shift, and the beast lets you go easily, though his eyes don’t leave your face. He stays on the ground as you sit up, looking down at yourself.

While the forest may have moved on, you, it seems, have not.

Your clothes are back to the state they’d been in before—torn and ripped open, long gouging marks and stains that would never come out. You tense at the sight, swallowing saliva down as if wine with a grimace. Like a magnetic link, your eyes slowly turn up to meet Simon’s.

He waits. He watches. That muzzle of his closed and his breath slow. If you told him to get away, there would be no doubt that he would—he would disappear and never come back to you, a memory that fades into a dream and then farther on.

Your fingers twitch as his large claw lifts, a finger pointed and slowly coming up to your face. You try not to balk away as it draws near to your nose, where a tiny snowflake rests. The blackened sickle pauses, Simon’s chest expands, and then he slightly brushes it away with little more than a twitch of his finger.

The knife is only a foot away, sitting bright and glinting in the morning light. You look to the sky to distract from your burning cheeks; your internal war.

Light. Real and glowing above you from a globe set into the heavens.

Gazing at it with wide eyes, your sockets fill with stinging tears, blinking until they slip down your cheeks and you put a hand over your mouth as a small sob wafts out. You bend your spine forward and cry, gasping.

Simon keeps himself away, unknowing if he should reach out or if he would only make it worse. His great body is tight with agony, souls raging with pain. Everything in this form was more instinctual, more in tune, he wanted to comfort you—to make it alright again, but even as a human, when had he ever been good at that?

The Ghost watched, body wound up but still deathly still; ears pointing straight. His hands twitch.

You sob until your lungs hurt and your head feels light, not knowing how to process this in the slightest. When you’re done you numbly stare at the ground below you, trying to rid your mind of death, demons, and wool.

A human hand on the top of your head makes you startle.

Snapping your red eyes up, you meet tight orbs of brown, a face twisted with remorse and a deep inner hatred.

“I…” Simon’s lips utter out, his voice low and pale skin in the snow. “M’sorry, Sweet Girl. I can never fuckin’ give you an apology that matters, eh? But I need to say it—I need you to know.” You stare and feel his fingers caress your scalp. He looks away, breath small. “It’s all my bloody fault, yeah? So don’t you dare think for a second that anythin’ comes back to you.”

The hand threatens to leave you, to slip back down and return to his side, but with a small noise of alarm—one that had Simon’s eyes widened in concern—your body darts forward.

Connecting with him, you make him grunt as his biceps press into your side, shocked as his first reaction is to make sure you don’t fall.

“Get me out of here,” you plead. “Please, Simon, get me out of here.”

There’s no hesitation as he lifts you upward, a bridal hold like the same he had used to lift you above the thorns and mutters into your hair as he quickly walks into the trees.

“C’mere, I’ve got you. Don’t cry, c’mon now, you’re back. You’re back.” The knife is left far in the past, and there it will stay—far away from the two of you. “Breathe, then.”

You bury your head into his neck, breathing hard and shaking not from the cold but from memories; things you shouldn’t know.

“M’sorry,” Simon says again, voice cracking. “Christ, I’ll never say it enough.”

If you hated him he understood—would welcome that Hell in its own right. Of all the things he’d done, this was the worst sin he could have ever committed. He’d spend the rest of his life thanking whatever power was out there that had broken the earth for him; had led him to you. His tailor.

You sob through a panicked chuckle. “Y-you already have, you brute.”

Simon rubs his face into your hair, holding your quivering souls together and opening his mouth in a shaking exhale as his eyes flutter.

“Breathe,” is all he says, repeating everything like a record and an order as you hone on the stiff tone—getting you to focus.

You follow the pulse in his neck, lips pressing into his flesh as your head tilts.

You’re both back at Simon’s hut as you still try to calm yourself, the man’s face turned into yours and his forehead pressing into your scalp. There’s so little for you to grasp onto besides him—how he feels, the dig of his fingers, and the sound of his breath.

He sets you on the bed and he pauses, kneeling down slowly as his hands come to gently clutch your cheeks.

“Can you look at me, Love?” Simon asks you, voice gruff in its low tone. You shiver, sniffling, before your eyes stutter over his features and land on those burial mound browns. He releases a tiny puff of breath—a flicker of his lip.

“Atta girl, jus’ like that, then.” The man blinks slowly, tilting. Simon looks you over with a heavy expression, one that shows the pain and the weight he carries. “Need to get these off, okay?”

A finger lightly travels to your neck, tapping the remnants of your shirtwaist as a few more tears slip out when you blink, shakily nodding. Simon’s lips tighten.

“Want to do it yourself,” he breathes, “or is it alright if I touch you, Sweetheart?” Your hands are too unstable to do it yourself, he knows that just as well as you do.

So, in a small broken whisper, you simply utter out, “Please.”

Simon nods once and the topic is settled; he knows.

The man’s fingers deftly undo the buttons, one after the other as the light from outside seeps into the small square of a home. He doesn’t comment—doesn’t make a sound—just does what he can to help you and get you sorted out; Simon could hear the rapid set of your heart, feel your pulse like a rampaging storm.

When you’re down to nothing but your flesh, the man grabs the covers from behind you and wraps you in them, his eyes not once flickering downward until you’re entirely swamped by fabric. A hand on your waist squeezes.

By now the brush of his skin atop yours had sucked you in as if lighting had struck with every pass or small press. The glide of his scars and calluses grounded you here.

There were very few beings that would hunt for you through life and death and fewer that stayed that course. Thumbs once more brush away the water on the swell of your face.

“Sleep,” he utters, even if there’s light outside.

You gaze at him, at his stubble and his pale complexion; the wind rustles outside. What would he do? Guard the door most likely, perhaps even think of how to get into town and grab new clothes for the both of you, food, and necessities. Simon’s mind was fighting itself, just as it always had but now there was the largest stain on his consciousness that he could ever remember having.

He was worried if he handled you, you might break under him. You…you already had. Avoidance, even if it killed him inside, was the best course of action.

Your mouth is filled with wool, tongue heavy, but in your heart and whatever feeling you have burning in your chest, you know you can’t let him move away from you. Simon being this close made it…easier. Even if a piece of you was still hesitant about black fur and sharp teeth. He had said it himself, hadn’t he?

Simon wasn’t the Ghost, but at the same time how could they ever be apart from one another?

Yet, your lips are already moving just as he’s about to stand up.

“Stay?” Simon’s lungs take in a silent breath, a moment of long silence as he tries to understand why you would want to be around him at all. His hands twitch, your eyes catching the way his Adam’s apple bobs with a slow swallow. “Please, Simon,” you breathe. “I don’t…I can’t be alone again.”

He grunts and is already lifting you.

Simon shifts your body back and lays you nearest to the wall, shuffling his body until he can lie with his spine facing you; his face to the door as he stays unblinking.

“Nothing's going to happen to you,” he says, and you turn so you can lightly rest your head into the span of his shoulder blades. Simon’s jaw clenches. “It’s safe here. We’ll figure it out when you’ve got your energy back.”

You want him to explain, but perhaps right now sleep was the best option. For all intents and purposes—you can’t even remember when you last had true sleep. So you stay there, skin to skin, and breath to breath as the sun still shines outside; the wind travels slowly.

As you slip off, Simon has to restrain himself from turning around and pressing you into him—leveling his head above yours and breathing you in like how he wishes he could. But no. Too much.

He’d explain it all when you were better.

So he settles on the fact that all he can do is watch the door with a far-off expression, his body sagging back into you as your heat meets his.

—

You slept for three days, and in that time, Simon had only left once. On day two he went into town where he’d snuck like a thief—and there truly was no better analogy. Wearing only a blanket once more, the man breaks into your closed Tailor’s shop; boards on the windows and a sign out front to set it for sale. Inside, everything was as it had been left. Dust and layers of stale air, but there was never a better place to be for Simon.

It was where he met you, after all.

He takes everything he’s able to carry. A large trunk of clothes, personal belongings, and anything that looks of great importance; clothing himself in a simple undershirt and pants along the way. With that, he goes to his own home and grabs all manner of money. Come morning, people would believe it was a robbery, and that was perfectly fine with him.

Mostly everything belonged to you, anyway. They could have his sparsely furnished home and its cracking foundations. It mattered not. But he knew you needed your work—your passion.

As he grunts and lifts the trunk, a knicker echoes out behind him. Blinking, dark eyes look behind to find a meeting pair—a long horse’s neck leaning out of a stall. They stare at each other before Simon huffs a chuckle and turns to the shadows.

When you finally did open your eyes again, deep in the third night, everything was different.

You blink at the bright roar of the fireplace, the flickering of the candles that push back any darkness—curtains on the windows to hide the blackness of midnight. There are your belongings on the cleaned table; the foot of the bed and, there, on the desk. Measuring tape, fabric scissors, and yards of materials are stacked in the spotless corners.

There’s no doubt that the broken window is fixed for the moment as well.

New sheets sit on the end of the bed, waiting for you to get up before he can fit them. Jaw loose, you glance all around as the fabric pools at your waist, bare body glistening in the light as your head moves like a bird back and forth slowly. Dare you say it, the place felt…homely. Warm. Small, yes, but the definition of comfort rarely mattered when speaking on size.

There’s a shuffling sound outside the door and you realize you’re alone.

Face stuck at the door, your sudden tension is somewhat lessened by the small grunts and puffs of a large nose and heavy, clawed, feet. Somewhat.

An open maw bites down on your throat with a tearing of flesh before your neck fully snaps.

Your hand lightly comes up to your throat, pressing very loosely as the sounds continue, spiking your cautious curiosity. You know you shouldn’t be holding this against him, but, you had…died. You had felt your neck snap and your blood coat his fangs.

Somehow, Simon had brought you back from that, but he had been the one to do it in the first place.

No, you think, feet very carefully sitting on the floor. No, not Simon. The Ghost.

Yet again—aren't those the same? It was a constant question.

Your lips are thin as the dagger in your heart digs ever deeper, but it is your dagger, and it is also your heart, too. Yours. Standing, you cover yourself with the thin sheet, hearing it drag behind you as your body takes you to the door with quiet and even steps.

So much the two of you have gone through—it seemed hard to comprehend it in this world of black fire and battling beasts; hell and purgatory. He’d tracked you down…how? As your hand meets the handle, slowly walking feet coming closer from beyond it, you tighten your hold on the fabric near your neck and breathe slowly.

You first see crimson, and then the beady brown eyes of a large dog and a stained muzzle. Breath tight, you stare at the dead bodies of two sheep in the Ghost’s maw, limp bodies hanging from the legs out of puffed cheeks. The both of you halt your courses.

Simon’s eyes slash down your nearly-naked form, and he drops the animals to the ground before his head darts to the side; snow splattered with blood and the imprint of large woolen bodies. He snorts and takes a single step back, seemingly hunching down lower as he sniffs the air in distraction.

His feet pivot, one clawed foot moving away.

“Simon,” you say, breath puffing over the cold air. He waits, head only slightly tilting your way; eyes pointing down. You don’t know why you speak, why you call to him like this.

The silence settles as you struggle to articulate, mouth opening and closing like it was a choice between speech or the metaphorical blade to your throat. You close your mouth and look to the side, the lids of your eyes tightly shut.

Without another word, you’re setting your feet in the drowned snow and walking up to him, fingers shaking before your hand extends from the elbow. It rests above the side of his muzzle, hovering with a tiny quiver as you fight with your own fear.

You can feel Simon’s eyes on you now, watching. Always watching. Forever watching. Eyes like hard earth; like the dirt under your nails.

Simon’s throat grumbles, and before you can make a decision, he helps make one for you.

He softly moves his great lumbering head down and to the side—slotting it under your hand as you gasp, feeling the strands of fur under your grip. Immediately, your eyes snap to meet his, seeing long lashes holding snowflakes. The Ghost’s so large that he has to bend low in order to give you a comfortable resting point for your hand; sitting in between his sharp ears.

You swallow down your nervousness as the seconds draw on, your heart rate slowing until you can properly move closer and feel the waves of fur beneath your fingertips. Playing with them, you card your digits in gentle strokes, hearing the low purr that rattles your bones as a great weight is leveled into your torso.

A tiny giggle emanates from your chest, and the beast responds by only pushing himself deeper into your stomach.

“Easy,” you mutter, eyes light as a smile forms on your lips.

The chill seeps in gradually as you both stand there, a werewolf and a barely-clothed tailor. Before long you’re shivering even as you feel content next to Simon and to steal some of his furnace-like heat.

You pull back and the wolf momentarily tilts to find you, only to open his eyes when he can’t feel your sturdy body. He blinks, before slowly standing back up to his full height.

The light from the hut seeps out to cover you, and you take comfort in that—if the door shuts on its own, you’d be left in a darkness you know you’ll fear for many, many years. With its illumination, you speak freely.

“I don’t know how you did it, Simon,” his right ear twitches. “But…but I want you to know that I don’t blame you for what happened. I should, I know I should, but for the life of me, whenever you’re near I can’t think straight. Please, when you’re back to,” you huff a tiny laugh, “whenever you’re back to walking in a man’s skin, explain it to me. Explain why I can’t think of anyone else but you.”

Avoiding the sheep, you step back into the hut and close the door as those dead eyes follow loyally, the wolf not breathing beyond a thin line of condensation wafting into the air.

You only make it five steps back to bed before the wooden barrier is opened loudly, hitting off the back wall and shutting closed on its own. Turning back quickly, startled, you’re met with a fast panting chest and a human hand that swipes blood away from his lips. Bare skin is close to yours, and your eyes widen at the instantaneous blown feeling of your pupils.

Simon’s face is above yours.

“Because you own half of my fuckin’ soul,” he breathes into your scalp, accent rich and heavy with implication. “Just as I own half of yours.”

Literal or a metaphor, you care not.

You both stay there, hearts pumping and skin tingling as the air increases in temperature—the sheet around you held in a tight fist suddenly seems almost suffocating. Your arms itch to drop it. Drop it now and let him see you; let him feel you like no other has. Where did these thoughts come from? Or…had they always been there?

The man hasn’t moved, and you know he won’t do anything unless you ask it of him, but you can smell the sweat on his skin, the scent of blood and musk. Quick death and dragging claw.

If he was fire, it would be a blessing to be burned.

“Simon,” you say, voice tight. He grunts like a damn dog, hands at his sides twitching as his bare chest shines. So many scars. You want to trace them, to feel them writhe. “You’re no good for me.”

“I know,” he growls.

You press your lips to his and breathe him down as the sheet falls from your shoulders, all-encompassing hands finding the swell of your hips and sliding behind them; gripping tightly. Your own dig at his waist, finding the bulk of his abs and the deep tapper of his v-line before you gasp at his hand kneading the flesh of your arse.

At the motion, Simon takes the opportunity to smirk before letting his tongue slip into your mouth. You release a small noise from the back of your throat, and he groans—one hand coming up to grip the base of your skull and maneuvering your head farther upward. He pulls back and presses into you, your face growing hot as he finds your neck and starts leaving deep open-mouthed kisses as his chest vibrates.

Lips swollen and sensitive, you whimper as he bites down at every other interval; arms around his waist and nails running up and down his spine. Simon shivers, hips lightly bucking as you press on the small of his back.

“Fuckin’ hell, Love,” he nuzzles under your ear, pupils wide and blackened, feral-like. “The things you do to me, yeah? Drivin’ me up a damn wall whenever I caught a whiff of what I did to you.”

Your stomach is rolling in tight knots of desire, lungs heaving as his hands squeeze and travel. At your core, you can already feel the slippery effect on your folds—a stain of sin that leaks out with nothing to hold it hostage inside of you. Face tightening as Simon groans long, he leaves hickey after hickey, as if unable to not mark your neck and under-ear.

The feeling of teeth there doesn’t even startle you, no, not now.

You ache with need, legs threatening to close in on themselves before Simon loops a hand in your inner thigh and keeps them open. The world around you blurs as your body tingles with a yearning that almost hurts.

“C’mon now, Sweetheart,” his lips come back to yours and you let him ravish you with long, deep kisses as his hand moves up. You balk forward and shiver as you feel the deep press of his growing lust for you against your stomach. “Don’t wanna know how long I’ve been dreamin’ about this.”

Your eyes flutter, and you gasp out through the joining of your hungry mouths, “Show me, Simon. Show it to me.”

His teeth bite slowly into your bottom lip, easing you into this game of wolf and sheep as his half-closed eyes open and dig into you. Simon’s fingers flex but don’t move, the other still at the base of your neck; your own have been leaving crescent-shaped marks on his back for a while, absentmindedly pulsing along with the heated blood in your veins.

There are still the remnants of sheep’s blood on his cheek—slashed up the side of his face and over his deep-set eyebrow, but you find you don’t care at all.

With how his fingers tap so close yet so far to that sensitive bundle and the dripping mess of your insides, nothing matters.

“My Girl wants that?” Simon hums, and as easily as if he were picking up a shirt from your shop, he lets his thick fingers push you open as you suck in a quick breath and sag into him. Into his neck you sigh, hitched airways making it seem tight. Instinctually you open your legs wider, whining at the press of calluses and scars in your clutch and sliding up your sensitive walls.

Simon stops and waits mid-way past his first knuckle with two fingers, groaning as you tighten and flex around him at the foreign sensation. His thumb at the back of your head moves up and down, his own thighs hard with eagerness and a stain in his abdomen from the lack of attention—but he cares little about his own leaking head, content only when able to give you pleasure in the purest form.

Your stomach as well as his are wet from his weeping tip, the chill of it making you both shiver and try to mash your bodies ever closer as the sheet below you two is tangled at your feet. The fireplace crackles.

“Simon,” you keen, and he answers with a bite of your shoulder before rubbing his head into your neck. Like opium, he’d said. If only he could tell you your scent now was convincing enough to make him lay on a bed of burning coals if only he could smell it for three more seconds.

Arousal. Lust. Animalistic desperation that Simon’s eager to bring you to the brink of—face sick with pleasure and eyes blown with numb satisfaction. Open and bare to him.

“Attagirl, that’s it,” he slides his digits deeper as your hips buck, making him grit his teeth to hold back a grunt as his dick is jostled. “So wet for me, fuckin’ perfect. Let me help, yeah?”

“Fuck, Simon,” he buries his fingers at the base, wasting no time in crooking them back toward him and pulling his wrist down. You moan loudly, stretching and being played like an instrument. Simon’s fingers repeat the motion until you’re a mess of rutting thighs and shaky legs.

The man takes down every moan and whimper—every sigh and jerk with a growing sense of pride. His dick is begging for friction, and the little bit he gets is from your stomach rubbing against it with every slippery sound of his fingers entering and exiting your core.

Simon’s mouth is open with a tight pant for breath, mirroring yours before the pad of his palm rubs against your bundle. You arch into him, whining and pleading instantly with a burning face, half convinced something had overtaken your body to make you act in such a way.

The man moves his fingers faster, making sure to maneuver his limb in such a way as to get your clit harder and harder with every pass, leaving you limp in his arms. Simon anchors you to him with a hand on the back of your shoulder blades, grip hard and knuckles white.

As your face screws up and a fire burns in your core, nails leave long scratches down the back of his torso as if he was a wooden trunk to tie a horse to—a rock in a storm.

“Simon,” you sigh out, head stuck under his chin. “S-so good, keep going.”

He opens his mouth as he rubs his chin on the top of your scalp, mixing your scents together potently.

“Look at me,” Simon utters, in his desperation to bring you to the edge, his accent is as deep as you’d ever heard it. “Look at me, Love. Wanna see your eyes watchin’ me as you fall apart. I’ll make it good, promise.”

“K…” You gasp as everything keeps building up and up, teeth clenching together and legs fighting to close around his hand—Simon bullies you open through the overstimulation; the flood of your senses. “Know you will!”

“So good to me, Sweetheart,” he grumbles, taking you by the side of your cheek and leaning back slightly so he can still let you rest on him but also watch.

Your eyes flutter with every rapid intrusion from Simon’s digits, tight and textured walls giving in to him as he pushes and prods, searching for something as his brows crease and his abdomen bunches. The man’s biceps flex and strain, feet wide open and lips parted as he locks onto your gaze.

“Fuck, what a bloody sight to see. Yeah, you enjoying that, then?” He mutters, and only when he pushes those teasing words out does he find a point inside of you that leaves your mouth opening and your toes curling; that he truly loses his breath.

Holding your head forward, Simon’s jaw slackens as your face contorted with pain-like expressions of confused pleasure, sweat glistening your forehead and your lips swollen—neck nothing more than raised skin from all of the man’s biting.

You strangle down such an instinctive and leg-shaking moan that Simon nearly forgets that he’s not even truly inside of you yet; balls tightening with building excitement and his length begging to be squeezed, used for nothing but that same expression on your face.

“Christ,” he breathes, teeth grinding and feeling you fight to keep his fingers in. Slick drips down his wrist, tapping the floor in a clear stain that could bring him to his knees.

You can’t even speak, spine curling with such raw electric sparks. If Simon isn’t careful, your legs will entirely fail you.

“Sim-” Your voice is high, mixed with panic as you let him hit that same point again and again like a hunter. “Simon!” You chant, fighting to meet his eyes as your vision blurs.

Everything was too hot, the scrape of his calluses on your flesh like a knife raking through your insides with pleasurable stabs.

“Jus’ like that, Love,” he breathes, not blinking. “C’mon know you feel it. Squeezin’ my fingers just right. Look at that pretty little face.”

You’re building and building, standing on the precipice of a large chasm. There’s nothing to stop you from going over the edge—and you don’t want anything too.

Your body tenses gradually, knees wobbling and your abdomen pulling into itself. A sharp claw seems to play with the string of your impending release, fiddling with it and taking it into its fingertip; rubbing it back and forth in a slow game.

Your breath comes out in short gasps, moans getting higher and more cut, Simon’s eyes are transfixed, panting like a dog, and, in an instant right before you break, moves his fingers at a break-neck pace.

Your sharp cry is caught on his lips, sucking it down as your orgasm floods his hand, leaving it a sticky mess that he continues finger-fuck you through with firm strokes. He’s whispering praises on your lips, keeping you up as his hand snaps to your waist when your legs buckle. Your walls move like a noose, letting the man fantasize how it would feel to have you speared open in his lap as you writhe and take him down in the low light.

All of these thoughts, this sight, make him harder by the second.

Simon keeps moving his fingers, drawing your explosive release out until you plead quietly for him to stop from overstimulation. The sensation makes your abused clit cause your spine to arch with every touch of his wet palm. He obliged, the sound of slick slapping halting, but his fingers didn’t leave your spasming cunt as your limp head fell to his shoulder.

Your chest heaves, aftershocks leaving your mind blank to all else but the press of skin and sweat. The air reeks of sex and hot breath.

Simon’s head clacks yours, fingers flexing as you whimper and dig your hands into his sides. He chuckles and slowly pulls out, taking long strings of cum with him as they string his fingers together and dribble to the floor from your slit. He holds you up, uncomfortably shifting his feet when your body jostles his raging erection—making him hold back a tight gasp.

“Good?” The man asks, gruff and casually. Your open mouth lays a firm kiss on his burning flesh as he side-eyes you waiting for a response.

“Yeah,” your voice is far off. Simon chuckles lowly.

In an easy sweep of his arms, you’re picked up and carried to the bed; set down to the plushness that’s down one sheet. You lay on your back, gazing up at the man as he stares down at you in turn.

Neither of you speaks until Simon has to rip his eyes away, clearing his throat. Your eyes travel down before widening at the violent red of the man’s length—the thing twitching and dripping pre-cum down to the base in an obvious plea for stimulation. Yet Simon makes no move to do anything.

“You should get some more rest—”

“Let me help,” you whisper, eyes widely innocent as they meet the browns that snap your way, those orbs slightly widening. “I own half your soul…right?”

Simon watches you, jaw loose.

“It looks painful,” you ease out, pointedly moving your gaze downward with unabashed boldness.

“Is,” he utters. If he was being honest, he was worried that he had been coming on too strong—that this part of the night might be going a bit far. You were a lady, after all, and he respected you as such. He needed confirmation.

“Then let me help, Simon.” Your eyes blink at him, hand coming up to trace the bulk of his thigh muscles. His breath goes shallow, self-control fraying fast. Just a little more. You lick your lips. “I want to feel you take me like no one else has. I want you to stay in this bed with me until the fire goes out and the light outside peels through the curtains. Can you do that for me?”

Your wet core pulses again, wanting—waiting for something more. Something only Simon could give you.

The man’s chest rattles. “Yes,” he relays, words low.

After a moment of eye contact, the man places his knee on the bed, shifting so that he has himself in between your legs; hands coming up beside your head. Your lungs are heavy, fingers coming up to rub over his blood-stained cheek as his nose brushes yours. Simon’s stubble itches you, but you still sigh constantly as he kisses you once more.

This was slower than the previous—less desperate though you don’t know how as you could feel the strain of his length prodding like a hot iron in your inner thigh. It made you slightly nervous, the size and the action itself, but you didn’t doubt who you wanted to be the one above you.

Simon kisses the side of your lips, nipping at the skin as he grunts out, “You sure?”

Brown eyes never waver as they stare you down. Any ounce of hesitation would be found immediately and the action would be over; Simon paraded around as a cold and heartless beast, but never had there been a man more considerate of your own safety. He didn’t want to hurt you.

You drag your fingers through his hair and he shudders, one grip sliding to your legs as the drag of barely-there claws makes your breath hitch. Your lips mutter, quietly, “Yes.”

“Gotta make me believe it, Sweetheart,” Simon kisses over all of the marks he left, slowly dragging the warm press of his mouth and side-eyeing you.

You glare down at him and feel his smirk on your skin, how he hooks his hand under your knee and lightly lifts the limb. Your muscles flex at the sudden spread of your legs, your hand in his hair grasping tighter. Simon sighs low as your body shifts, shivering at the slick heat he restrains himself from rutting against.

Face burning at your bare excitement, the man’s eyes glaze over.

“I’m sure, Simon.”

“Don’t wanna make you feel like you have to—”

“Simon,” you interrupt his comment, and the blond huffs, the air sliding over your heated skin.

“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.” You smile softly and drag his face back to yours, kissing him deeply. “Let me try…” Simon mutters on your lips, and soon both of his hands are pushing up your knees as you widely blink at the openness of your core before your legs are folded up.

You whine at the stretch, the embarrassment of having your dripping folds on full display. This was foreign to you.

Simon hums, looking down and groaning. He taps his forehead to yours as you breathe deeply, letting him take control.

“Okay?” He asks, and your heart skips a beat.

“Are you going to keep stalling,” you breathe, looking into his gaze teasingly. “Or are you going to show me how you can’t function without me beside you?”

There’s a stretch as he lines himself up, hips moving back and abdomen sliding over yours—your lungs stutter as his eyes glint at you; lips flicking in a smirk.

“You going to keep me here?” You breathe, voice breathy as Simon’s length begins to steadily press forward, your face twists as you take him down, lines forming on your forehead. “Make me,” his hands keep your legs up beside you, open as they tighten. His lids narrow in concentration at the tight vice of your walls, having to slowly bully his way into you inch by inch. “Make me tailor your clothes a-and spin your wool?”

The sounds from your joining bodies are vulgar. A slide and a coating of flesh with natural assistance as Simon’s jaw clenches, not able to help the jump of his pelvis as you moan and arch your back as he moves even farther into your clutch.

You both writhe as he bottoms out, bodies shaking at the intensity of the moment and the sparks under your flesh.

“Ah,” Simon strangles a whine, eyes tight shut as yours follow. Quick kisses are placed on your lips. “Don’t tempt me, yeah?”

The great stretch of your insides leaves you sighing, tiny waves of pain pushed back by pleasurable pulsing and the scrape of veins. His head lays in the hold of your womb, slick leaking out from the ring of your core.

“We,” your hips jerk, and Simon’s hands on your knees tighten until you know there’ll be bruises come morning. “We’re beyond temptation.”

Simon chuckles—his eyes dark and glimmering in the firelight. “Smart girl.”

He lets you adjust there for a moment, even if his dick is pleading with him to move and drive your back into the mattress; to see your face crease in rapture. But that wasn’t what his head wanted, no, he wanted this done right.

When you look at him and your thighs stop shaking, he carefully grinds himself into you, letting your bundle of nerves meet the wirehair of his happy trail and give himself the slightest feeling of relief. You bite your lip, one hand on Simon’s cheek and the other still in his hair.

The angle of your legs makes you feel him that much deeper, even as he simply grinds himself inside of you and doesn’t move much beyond that.

“Feels good, y’know that?” Simon mutters as your mouth takes down a slow breath, eyes stuck on each other as the man fully begins to remove himself and softly flinch his length back into you; exiting just enough before letting him re-enter. “Tight; warm.” He shudders, gritting his teeth. “C-can smell you like this—how much you want it. Always have.”

You whine at the words, tightening around him as he begins gently fucking you in earnest, the slap of skin and tight walls joining the crackle of wood. The scents on the air are a perfect mix of addictive pheromones—so potent even you can smell it as you try to meet every dig of his hips.

Simon’s face goes to your neck, nuzzling into it as his eyes go tight.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes out a groan into your ear, mouth open.

The heat returns easily to you, the burning in your gut. Simon’s pelvis hits you, stimulating your clit every time in the perfect way, as if he’d glanced at your body once and immediately memorized what made you tick. His sweat drips and pools with your own, slick leaking out to the mattress and making you feel dirty in the best way as your cut-off sighs hit the ceiling. It's hot in here; nearly too hot to focus on the slide of skin and dig of your nails into his hair. It’s telling how fast you seem to hit that peak again, at the constant scrape of his veins and the push of your walls as if trying to force him in.

Your back arches into him, and Simon cants his hips faster, biting on your chin and pulling at your lips as his eyes watch with eagerness. His abdomen bunches at the sheer pleasure he feels making you feel like this, chest heaving and large build all but swallowing you below him.

“Simon,” you breathe, kissing him on his lips eagerly, growing desperate.

“Let me take care of you,” the man grunts hard, getting harder to focus, “trust me?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, clenching your jaw as he brushes a spot so deep inside of you that your eyes go blurry for a moment. Your lips move without your brain understanding the slurred words. “Yes, I trust you. I…I…oh, fuck.”

He sighs and bites a whimper down as your walls flex, gripping him tighter and tighter.

“Knew I’d find you,” Simon pushes your legs harder into the mattress, form slightly shaking. You moan high into his mouth, eyes fluttering and knot growing tighter. “Knew I’d make it right, eh? Death can’t keep you away from me, not now. I’ll find you.”

You gasp, itching cord snapping and release spilling out around the plug of his dick as he continues on as you jerk and rut out of order; eyebrows pulled in. It isn’t long after that Simon follows you, shoving his lips on yours as his mouth parts with a tight cry. Inside of you the spill of his seed fills your womb and he fucks through it, hands releasing your legs to rub up and down your sides.

Your core floods as he stays there, resting and stationary above you, his weight heavy but not crushing. The both of you stare at one another and breathe down the heated air; all of the scents and the desire there—the unspoken bond that extends life and death.

Simon grunts and forces out, breathless, staring through blown pupils.

“I’ll always find you.”

In the morning there’s a pile of wool sitting in a cloth sack against the wall, and the sound of chopping wood outside. The curtains are drawn to the bright rays of the morning sun as they meet your softly smiling face, visage half-covered by the newly fitted sheets.

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