#stalking whumper

[pendarling]

Stalking Whump Prompts

Closing windows and doors only to find them opened again

Scattered messages and notes throughout their home, car, school and/or workplace

Hearing noises everywhere

Power turning off

Never feeling alone

Waking up in the middle of the night from fear

Stuff is being moved or rearranged

Whumpee taking a picture of objects to make sure they know they left it exactly as it was

Getting messages and phone calls from no one

Everybody calls Whumpee crazy

If Whumpee had a previous stalker that’s in jail or dead then they constantly visit them to make sure it’s not Whumper

Random scars and bruises in their body

Receiving a package or “gift” as Whumper calls it

Food being tampered with

Moving temporarily to a new home

Hiding their things and keeping secrets

Seeing shadows or strange movements in the corner of their eye

When someone Whumpee had been suspicious about mentions something they had kept to themselves

Whumpee wishes that it really is someone because at this point there’s never enough evidence

Losing their mind and accusing others like Caretaker of stalking

Eventually stalking Caretaker because they’re so certain it’s them

Constantly people watching when they’re outside in the hopes of figuring out who it might be

When Whumpee gets closer to the truth they receive warnings like property being destroyed or stolen

A Whumpee that is sleep deprived and hallucinates the experience

Whumper is present with Whumpee who claims there’s a third person stalking them and Whumper always has to do the reassuring (Whumper turned Caretaker)

~~~

MASTERLIST

[whump-mania]

More Whumper Lines

In honor of my first Whumper lines post getting over 1,000 notes, here’s some more! And in some fun categories!

Tag me if you end up using any!

~

Playful/Cheery/Lighthearted

1. “Aw, that was cute. I almost felt that excuse for a punch. Why don’t you try again?”

2. “My favorite part is right before you lose consciousness.”

3. “Caretaker, you know how to do stitches, right? No? Oh well.”

4. “Hm. Your blood’s darker than the last one’s was.”

5. “Sounds like Whumpee’s having fun in there…would you like to go join them?”

Dark/Violent/Rough

1. “Get the fuck over here or I’m dragging you.”

2. “Look at me. Look at me while I hurt you.”

3. “Nothing you say is going to stop me. I have a job to do, and I don’t give a shit how it happens.”

4. “Don’t you get it? I’m not being careful. I want this to hurt you.”

5. “Stay still, you motherf—Stay STILL!”

Creepy/Intimate

1. “Come on, scream like you mean it…there we go. Much better.”

2. “It’s so cute when you fumble with your keys everyday when you come home.”

3. “Your pretty little screams are only for me to hear, understand?”

4. “It’s a shock to me that you’ve never considered modeling. I mean…red just looks so good on you.”

5. “Ah, you remember this scar, don’t you? The day we met…god, what I’d give to break you like that again.”

Reluctant/Hesitant

1. “Look, I’m—I’m sorry, I just need to get this over-with. Bite on this.”

2. “They’ll check for bruises. I have to.”

3. “I’m sorry, boss, I’ve…I’ve never done this before. I-I’m trying.”

4. “Don’t look at me like that when the others are here. Please. They’ll know I’m faking it.”

5. “I’m sorry, I had to say it—you know that’s not how I actually think of you, right?”

[whumperofworlds]

A Whumper who was hurt so much that they don't know what kindness is like.

Then one day, Whumpee shows them that kindness, even for a few seconds.

Whumper fell in love then, wanting to know who Whumpee is and get close to them, even to the point of stalking Whumpee. They learned so much about Whumpee, someone who showed them kindness for the first time.

This culminated with Whumper eventually kidnapping Whumpee, to keep them all to themself.

[whumppromptoftheday]

whumpee not being able to get help about a stalking whumper because they've had a history of paranoia

[whumpers-inc]

The scariest thing about hearing your name called in the dark is the intimacy.  They know your name, what else do they know?

Your name whispered, a siren, a lure to destruction. It lingers in the air like summer fruit, a sickly sweet, rotting trail. You follow. Compelled, chosen, blind.

A shout. Unsteady feet halt. Your name echoes like a command. By friend or foe? How much will it cost to halt a moment?

A cry. Desperate. Turn back, it’s the Samaritan’s instinct. Pain and fear lurks somewhere behind you. But for whom is it destined?

Someone knows you, someone knows your name. This is not their first encounter with you, though you may not have seen them before. 

But they know your name.

They know you.

[montammil]

TW: Stalking, yandere whumper, kinda nsfw? really just suggestive, whumpee is just as batshit insane as whumper

...

Imagine an obsessed Whumper who stalks Whumpee all day.

NOW imagine a Whumpee that enjoys the attention. They tease Whumper while keeping their innocent and unknowing facade, all while Whumper becomes more and more obsessed, their patience and limits being pushed.

It's very amusing to just imagine Whumpee purposefully dressing up in revealing clothing because they know it'll send Whumper wild (and hurt/kill anyone who flirts with them).

Whumpee knowing Whumper breaks into their house at night and going to sleep naked/wearing lingerie on purpose, sometimes making movements that they know Whumper loves.

Whumpee crying when someone (especially their coworker) says something mean to them because they know that person will never be seen again.

They're just happily waiting until Whumper can't take it anymore.

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

whump prompt 187

Whumper stalking Whumpee after their escape / rescue / release.

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

What's so special about you, huh? Why did you get to survive?

[whumpitisthen]

Artificial guest

Cw: mentioned torture, creepy/intimate/possessive whumper daydreaming about whumpee, captivity whump, stalking, conditioning

They are lost in a foggy forest.

They are cold. They flinch at every sound, expecting a wolf or something to jump out at them. They are lost, so utterly lost. They have no idea how they even got here, having woken up under a tree with nothing but their winter coat and a narrow path leading deep into the misty woods.

They come to a clearing, eventually. There is a pond in the middle, similarly misty and foreboding. Past that pond, past the spruce and up a hill in the distance, they see a palace. It stands tall and lonely, all slim towers and pointed roofs; it reminds them of the shadow of a terrible beast of claws and wicked teeth, perched up high and surveying its territory.

Storm clouds are congregating overhead. They decide, with nowhere else to go, to see if the intimidating looking mansion has someone there that can help them out. If they could let them stay just as long as the storm lasts, that would be enough. They could give them directions, or even a ride. Some food — they are starving...

Unbeknownst to them, the owner of the palace watches them from afar, leaning up against a tree somewhere near the clearing, hidden by the fog and grey light preceding a deluge. They follow their guest, pleased to see them walking the path they had carved for them so perfectly. They will come across a crossroads a little bit from now, and they will have to choose where to go next. They may choose wrong, and end up lost once more. The tempest may catch them outside, thirsting them into a fever, a terrible cold.

By the time they arrive at their doorstep, shivering and small and weak, the owner of the mansion will be waiting for them. They will open up their doors to the poor thing, letting the warm air and the smell of a delicious feast dizzy them into a desperate hunger, a quiet need to enter. They might play around, act like they are suspicious of the lost lamb, think it over for a good minute; — their guest will surely beg to be let in. Their voice will quiver, their eyes will widen in terror at the prospect of having to spend the night outside, and they will beg, make promises of behaving, of not taking up their time for long, that they don't need anything just a roof over their head, just a little mercy.

Standing off to the side, hidden, they feel a chill down their spine at the pleasant thought.

And they will let them inside, of course. They will help them out of their dirty, torn, wet clothes. They will offer a warm bath, lend a bed to sleep, dinner to enjoy. Their guest will find it a little scary, all alone in such a huge, strange home with a stranger, but what other choice do they have besides freezing to death in the mud outside? They will be so sweet, so timid, quiet and unobtrusive. They will feel guilt for bothering someone like this, demanding them to let them in their home like this. They will go to bed — lie their head on their pillow, in their magnificent guest room, among the softest duvets, in a bed surely ten times the size of their own back in their own home, — feeling remorse at needing help, feeling like a burden, out of place, a nuisance.

Like they don't deserve good things. Like they have to make up for being useless, have to earn their mercies.

When day comes, they will wake slowly. Their clothes will be thinner, their stomach empty. Their bed will have morphed into concrete. Their wrists will pound with the force of their pumping veins, finding chains tethering them to the floor. Their hands will clasp around a metal shackle ensnaring that beautiful, toned throat, their pupils blown wide in the near pitch black of the dungeon, and then —

Then they will know. They will know fear. They will know helplessness, vulnerability. They will get acquainted with the way the air around them turns thin sometimes. They will recognise — if not right then, then a bit later on, — but they will recognise that they are trapped; truly, completely, hopelessly trapped. They will yell, and no one will come. They will scream, and no one will hear. They will beg, and cry, and sob, and keen — and the only one who will listen will be the kind stranger that let them stay.

They will come see them, of course. They will descend the long staircase leading down to their Hell, and they will tell them, simply, that they will be hurt. They will hurt, and they will hurt, and hurt, and hurt, until they know nothing but pain. Until their entire existence becomes agony; a trembling, uncertain, exhausted, meek little life between these four unforgiving cement walls, living at the whims of their saviour, their one connection to what was once a livable, if not pleasant life, with friends and family and things they knew, things that made sense.

They will see no one but their captor. They will hear no one but their captor. They will feel no one, but their captor. They will learn soon enough, a crushing, terrifying truth. The truth that their life has become their captor.

They will only think about them; they will not be allowed to have thoughts about anything else. They will only look forward to seeing them. They will live for the little moments in-between two sessions of suffering, where they are told they did well enough to receive dinner that day, for the proud, fond words of praise that humiliate and bring tarnished, disgusting delight at the same time, at the kind touches running down long healed scars and deep-purple bruises and bubbling burns, gently promising more, admiring the carnage and letting them know that the one person in the world that matters is pleased with their pain, and that they will return again soon to see more of it.

For late nights, where they will weep, brokenly, weakly, sweetly, into the embrace of their captor, their worst nightmare, the only one that cares, the only one that matters, and they will hush them, gently rocking them back and forth, keeping them warm, pressing a loving kiss to the top of their head, hair wet with sweat and blood, and hold them.

They will remind them of the day they became theirs. How they were allowed in without issue, even though they didn't really know how to beg yet. How they were allowed food, their own bed, their own room, a fireplace, a bath. How they took it all, so flustered and nervous they barely remembered to say thank you. How later on, once their cold had really shown its ugly, feverish colours, they were given things like medicine, a blanket, tea, painkillers... And not only had they refused to thank their captor, but cursed them out, too outraged and afraid to accept their generous gifts. They will remind them of the day they saved them, and their little lamb will cringe at the memories, curl up in shame, apologising every time, earnestly, for all their stupidity and ungratefulness, forever regretting ever thinking they were anybody but their saviour's little broken toy, a sweet little pet spending all their time waiting for their owner to return and play with them so they can earn their little mercies one by one.

Theirs. Hopelessly, utterly, irreversibly theirs.

Their guest has long disappeared into the fog, climbing their way up the hill, all hope and full of life. Perhaps it's time to return home. Set the fire. Fish out the fluffiest blanket from deep within the closet. Pick out replacement clothes in their size. See how the chef is doing with dinner. Make sure the chains downstairs are holding steady, the blades are all sharpened, the collar won't cut off too much air, the cement floor won't scrape at their delicate flesh too deep. Many things to take care of before their guest arrives.

They shiver in excitement. Finally, someone new to keep the dungeon warm.

<3

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Taglist (tagged in everything I write): @morning-star-whump @whumprince

[serickswrites]

Well, Well, Well

Warnings: pursuit, stalking, kidnapping, drowning, cruel whumper

"Well, well, well," Whumper said as they crossed the sand to Whumpee. "Look what we have here."

Whumpee had been running. Running and running to get away from Whumper. But it hadn't been enough. They had thought they could get across the beach before Whumper got to them. Had thought they would be fast enough. But as they ran along the wet sand at the water's edge, Whumpee tripped and fell. And that was all Whumper needed to catch them.

"I have been longing for this moment," Whumper said as they continue to stalk forward.

Whumpee crab walked backward trying to get away from Whumper. "Please," they begged as the cold sea foam reached their fingers, "you don't have to do this."

Whumper's hand darted out, grabbing Whumpee by their collar. "That may be," they said as they dragged Whumpee from the water's edge and into the surf, "but I want to do this."

Whumpee opened their mouth to scream, but the wave crashed over them, submerging them completely in the water. Whumpee tried to swim up, but Whumper's firm grip kept them under.

And just as Whumpee thought they couldn't hold their breath for much longer, the water receded. They sputtered and coughed, expelling the sea water they had swallowed. "Please," they whispered.

Whumper continued to drag them into deeper water. "And miss out on all the fun? I don't think so," they laughed as they shoved Whumpee's head under the next wave.

[pendarling]

Closer

CW: Kidnapping, stalking

Did someone forget to turn off the car light again?

Whumpee was confident it wasn't them this time. None of their friends used their car, and they lived alone too. Their anxiety had grown worse over time, the fear of constantly losing something. Lock the door, turn off the sink. Are there still some groceries missing?

It wasn't just at home; Whumpee never felt safe at work. Every person was suspicious. Someone must've had an ulterior motive. They had never felt this way, but the creeping feeling of being watched had grown over them like ice over a lake.

Their mind was left exhausted, tracking how many spoons were in the kitchen or where they last left their sticky notes. It was just small things that didn't add up. The doctor never said any signs of memory loss were present so that they could continue their day. That they shouldn't overthink it, they were careless, forgetful, and maybe even a bit clumsy.

Did someone forget to turn off the car light again?

Whumpee struggled to keep their eyes open. There was heat surrounding them. Fire? In their car?

It was so bright.

Whumpee fought the suffocating black smoke bellowing up to their face and down their lungs. They heaved and coughed out the remnants of whatever had been locked in their throat. They couldn't breathe— tears blocked their vision; where were their legs? Their arms?

The seatbelt. They needed to take it off.

It's so hot.

Whumpee's face turned to meet the shattered window next to them. There was a dark silhouette standing. Watching.

They watched as a hand reached in and grabbed them firmly from the car. It was a person much larger than them, and that sudden dread returned to Whumpee's consciousness despite being rescued. Their face fell against their body as they felt themselves carried off into the cold night.

Everything hurt, yet their head kept sending them signals to run. Sprint, get as far away as possible from this person.

Whumpee sensed their heart beat rapidly; it hurt to breathe, but it hurt more not to escape from the shadow's tight grasp. They stared at each other; the mysterious figure turned down at them with a dark smile tracing their lips, "Relax, dear, you're safe now."

~~~ MASTERLIST

[oddsconvert]

i remember felix said he watched josh for a year before starting their relationship together... is there anything that felix has incorporated into their lives from that time of surveillance? that maybe josh notices a few small things like always having his favorite dessert and/or wine, playing his favorite musician/songs, full stocked on his favorite hair products, etc and maybe after a while josh puts two and two together that it's not just coincidence, but that felix knows all of this from stalking him?

and how would that make josh feel?? 🫠🫠🫠

DINGDINGDING! YES YOU ARE EXACTLY RIGHT AND THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVOURITE DETAILS ABOUT PLAY PRETEND THAT I HAVEN'T GOT TO TALK ABOUT MUCH!!

Felix knows so much about Josh, he probably knows things that Josh didn't even realise about himself! He knows all that and more. And he'll definitely try and win Josh over with all he learnt 😌 with his favourite music, favourite food, favourite films - hell, Felix knows what schools Josh went to, that he's a night owl and never an early bird, the street he grew up on, how Josh's dad died-

I'm not sure I've mentioned this but Felix would BREAK into Josh's apartment. He wouldn't just linger in shadowed streets. He would rifle through all of Josh's belongings and steal from him. Any photographs, hairbrushes, underwear, his aftershave, his mail - literally anything and everything that caught his eye that he could get his hands on. And Felix would hide in the apartment and watch him - he'd even watch him having sex... 🤢 Felix has a wholeeee load of photos and videos that he took of Josh during that year of stalking him, along with his little trinket box of stolen goods.

And obviously, Josh is MORTIFIED to find this out. Sick to his stomach. Things start making sense. Things that went missing, when he thought he'd heard a creak in his flat. As if he couldn't feel any more violated, and any less in control 🥲

[whumperofworlds]

Whumper grew to have a crush on Whumpee. So they stalk Whumpee, gather information about them, even learning small things like what coffee order do they like.

Eventually, the crush turned into obsession, and they kidnapped Whumpee.

BONUS: Whumpee is dating/married to Caretaker, and that angers Whumper.

[whumpshaped]

HUNTER BECOMES HUNTER FOR THE BINGO

i didnt mean to lump so many of these together but i had a Vision and i couldnt figure out how to Not lump them together- also it got super long i am so sorry

masterlist bingo card

tw vampire whumper, vampire whumpee, mind control, death, murder, a whole massacre really, stalking, loss, grief, minor burns, conditioning, manipulation, threats, memory loss

As the days passed, Beck found it harder and harder to ignore the memories. Helle had done a wonderful job at making him remember, even when he wanted nothing more than to forget. All that conditioning, manipulation, paranoia, gaslighting– it was all coming back, and it all made him fear them again. It made him see how rotten to the core they really were, no matter how desperately he tried to stay ignorant.

And he was stuck with them. Stuck with a monster who was more than happy to exploit all his fears and desires, his wishes and his vulnerability. They allowed him multiple more chances to practise his magic, entirely confident that he wouldn't be able to do it; and they were right. It was a wretched fucking situation to be in. Helle was giving him more and more reasons to want to run, while simultaneously blocking one exit after the other.

He was a rat trapped in an impossible maze, and the floor was getting hotter by the second — no matter how fast he tried to run, no matter how many times he thought he saw a way out, the only thing real in his life were the burns on his little rat paws.

He wanted the easy bliss of memory loss. That was the only thing that could've made this all bearable. He wouldn't flinch from Helle brushing against him if he didn't remember all the times he'd cried for them not to. He wouldn't question their sweet smiles and honeyed words if he didn't remember all the times they'd hidden traps and lies.

He tried to pretend he was still oblivious. He remembered what it felt like to be under the vampire's spell. He remembered the unconditional trust, the love, the adoration. He could replicate it. He could make it a reality again, if he tried hard enough. He could manufacture those same feelings, possibly even hold onto the last remnants of his rose-tinted glasses. He just had to try harder.

-

Helle was on cloud nine; had been for the past week. Everything was going splendidly! Beck was slowly remembering his life from before, and while he was getting more and more anxious in a way that might've otherwise been a cause for concern, now that they knew he was a runt, it was merely entertaining. Beck wasn't going to run off, nor was he about to commit some atrocities against them. No, he was just going to sit there and take whatever they decided to put him through, like a good boy.

The thought made them shudder with pure excitement. This was everything. Everything they'd wished for after their siblings had left. Everything they'd wished could've gone right was now going right. Beck was the perfect thrall and the perfect sired, he was their prized possession, their pampered little lapdog, their most important project for the next several decades, if not centuries. The first vampire they'd make so obsessed with them that he wouldn't ever want to leave.

That was where Lady Marie had miscalculated, they thought. She'd tried to use fear as the primary motivator. They weren't going to be so stupid. They were going to use something far more compelling.

Of course, being the perfect candidate he was, Beck was already working hard to make their job infinitely easier. He was practically deluding himself into loving them, they barely had to say a word. Even with his memories returning, he seemed to be trying his damnedest to push them aside and stay good. What more could they wish for, really?

Helle stopped in their tracks, and the enthralled human they had with them followed suit. As exciting as all the planning was, and as untouchable as they'd felt in recent days, they had to stay present sometimes. Especially when they got the distinct feeling that they were being watched.

They turned around, squinting at the empty road and the bushes and trees on either side. They couldn't smell any humans other than the one they'd brought here... nor any vampires, really.

Maybe they were wrong. Who would come to their mansion anyway? No one had attempted to kill them since that poor fucker Beck had tried to hire, and the last attempt before that had been decades ago. Still... They had just properly kidnapped him. If his family was anything like him, they might actually try to get him back.

Helle shrugged and turned back towards their house, throwing the doors open theatrically and announcing they were home.

-

He never fucking heeded any warnings, did he? And he never ever considered that he wasn't invincible, that bad things could happen to him, that maybe his mother was right to worry.

Joey's heart was pounding loudly in his chest as he lay — hopefully — hidden by an overgrown barberry bush, waiting for the vampire to continue walking. Fuck. Fuck. Why weren't they going? Did they spot him? Did all the things he had rubbed into his clothes to cover his scent fail? Please no. Please, he just wanted to see his brother. He couldn't die like this.

He held his breath for as long as he could, squeezing his eyes shut in utter terror. The night was quiet and chilly, and he tried his best not to shiver lest he rustle any leaves and give his position away. It felt like an eternity before he heard footsteps again — ones that were slowly fading.

Never in his life had he exhaled so slowly and carefully before. He couldn't even imagine what the vampire would've done to him, had they figured out he was there. Would he have been turned into a thrall? Or simply killed? Or scared halfway to death, then sent away to bring word of just how much of a terrifying monster they were?

It didn't matter. They'd left. He was safe.

He cautiously crawled out from under the bush, unable to resist a closer look at the mansion. In a perfect world, the vampire would've been away for just a few minutes longer, allowing Joey time to peek inside. But of course, the world wasn't perfect, and he couldn't be lucky in everything.

He flinched at every little sound, expecting the front door to open and the vampire to find him just a few feet away from the walls, lying in the grass like an idiot. The thought nearly made him flee at the last second, but he persevered, eventually arriving to a spot right under one of the huge windows.

Oh, how wonderful it would be to break those damn windows during the day, and let the stupid bloodsucker burn.

Joey took a few steadying breaths, then began slowly rising to his feet. Just a peek. All he needed was a peek inside. Just one glance at his brother, so he'd know he was alive.

He almost ducked back down when he spotted the vampire from before. Thankfully, they had their back turned to him, granting him just a few seconds to at least look around what seemed like a huge living room. Should vampires even have living rooms? A question for another day.

The setting was perfect for some stalking, really. With the lights on inside and the darkness outside, Joey didn't have to try very hard to pick out even little details. The vampire was holding the thrall by the waist, beckoning to someone else. Fuck, were there more of them? Taking out one vampire was difficult enough as it was, but a whole den...?

He shouldn't panic. At least he would have valuable information to bring back for the hunters, right? Thank god he decided to go on this rogue mission!

But all manner of conscious thought went out the window as soon as the other vampire arrived.

That couldn't be right. Was he hallucinating? Were the sleepless nights finally getting to him? That couldn't be right.

Joey felt like he was going to pass out. Why...? There was no reason– Why did they turn Beck into a vampire? Was this real? Was this actually real? Beck should've been kept as a thrall!

Well, he shouldn't have been held captive at all. But being a thrall would've been reversible, it would've been something– something he could fix! But this...?

He watched with wide eyes as his brother hesitantly approached the human, looking awfully distraught and apologetic. Of course. Beck would've never hurt anyone if he could help it. God, this must've been... this must've been...

Joey froze when Beck glanced towards the window. For the briefest moment, he thought it wouldn't end badly — that was his brother, his best friend, the person he would've sacrificed so much for. Surely, Beck would be happy to see that he came to rescue him, right?

But the fantasy was shattered when the other vampire turned and followed his gaze, their curious red eyes settling right on him. An intruder. The human they'd failed to notice just a few minutes prior.

He ran without thinking.

He knew this was the end of the line for him if the vampire caught him, and he also knew that there was no way he could outrun a monster like that. All he could count on was Beck somehow holding them back, or distracting them, or– or–

He didn't know. He just ran, as fast as he could, hoping, praying he would live to tell the tale.

Joey only stopped when it felt like his lungs would explode otherwise, collapsing on the sidewalk from utter exhaustion. He waved off several people who'd tried to help, assuring everyone that he just needed a moment to get himself together.

"I s-saw a vampire," he choked out. "I– I'll b-be fine, I just... I just got scared."

"Where?"

"Is the vampire close?"

"Are we in danger?"

Joey shook his head. "Several streets away. I ran a lot."

He didn't start fully processing the events until he got home. Tears of helplessness and sorrow were streaming down his face, washing away some of the dirt that had stuck to it.

Honestly? He could've lived with Beck becoming a vampire. It wasn't a good situation, not by any means, but Beck was his brother, and he was prepared to love him through whatever nonsense he'd got tangled up in.

The thing that absolutely ripped his heart to shreds was the fact that there was no recognition in his eyes when he'd looked at him. The two of them looked so alike, there was no way to deny them being brothers... and yet, Beck just looked startled and confused. Like he was nothing but a stranger.

-

"Don't!" Beck cried desperately, grabbing Helle by the hand before they could've gone after the stranger. "Please, don't, you've already kidnapped someone tonight! Please, let him go!"

"Do you have any idea who that was?"

He paused, slowly letting go of Helle's coat when he realised they weren't going to hunt him down. "I... n-not really." Now that they mentioned it, the guy did look familiar in a way. Nothing he could pin down, though. He already hadn't been good with remembering faces before dying, and death certainly hadn't helped. "But it doesn't matter, I just don't want– I don't want more innocents getting hurt. Please."

Helle considered him for a second. "Do you really have no idea?" they asked again, gentler this time. It was beginning to make Beck feel quite stupid. Was that person important? Someone who had been close to him in his life?

The brother Helle had spoken of?

No, Helle had said he'd left behind a twin brother. There was no way he could forget–

Beck frowned. He... had no idea what he looked like. How could he recognise his twin brother, if he had no recollection of his own face, and no reflection to check?

"Who was it?" He sounded timid, as though he was afraid of the answer; and in a way, he really was. Did he even want to know? Or did he want to simply ignore all of this emotional turmoil?

The decision was made for him when Helle waved him off. "I will tell you later. Or the next time he shows up. I have a feeling he will not be alone."

-

"I have to go with them!" Joey demanded, and his mother sighed.

"Listen... As much as I want to go as well, I think it'd be counter-productive. If we tell the hunters not to hurt him, then they won't! We don't need to be there to enforce it, or... or I don't think..."

"But you don't know! They're hunters! They want to kill vampires, that's what they do, they don't care who Beck used to be! Especially since he didn't even recognise me!"

"Joey, if he doesn't recognise you–" Her voice broke, and she abruptly turned away with a hand over her mouth. She was trying to hold back tears, and Joey tried to remind himself that he needed to dial it back. It was a difficult situation for everyone involved.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, and his mother shook her head.

"No, it's... It's understandable. You want to protect Beck. I do, too."

"I know."

"I think..." She took a deep breath, wiping away a tear that threatened to betray just how emotionally exhausted she was. "I think if Beck doesn't recognise us, then we can't really do anything to help. I can't drag home an unwilling vampire. Neither can you. I don't even know if..."

"If we should," he finished quietly. His mother nodded.

The implications hung in the air between them, unspoken yet still so loud. What was the alternative? Let Beck live his new vampire life? Never talk to him again? The hunters wouldn't like that. Unless they figured out a way to make Beck remember, a way to show everyone that he was still the same awkward guy deep down, and not a dangerous monster... there was no way he would avoid a stake to the heart.

"I have to go, mom. If I do, maybe– maybe he'll realise who I am, and..."

She dragged both hands down her face, visibly frustrated with the whole thing. They both wished it could've been easier. "I'm scared," she admitted after a pause. "I'm scared of losing him again. I'm scared of losing you. I'm scared of being killed by the vampire who took him. I'm scared of seeing those hunters hurt him... I'm scared."

"You don't have to come. I can go alone–"

"Again?" Joey stayed quiet. Clearly, his mom hadn't yet forgiven him his little outing. "It doesn't matter what I say, does it? You'll go either way."

He didn't see a reason to lie or pretend. "Yeah. I have to be there. I know he'll be scared of the hunters, he needs at least one... semi-familiar face."

His mother nodded. "We'll go. We'll bring him home."

-

Helle wasn't the least bit surprised when they woke up the sound of glass shattering. It was the middle of the day, and they were pretty sure they could hear the hunters tearing down the curtains downstairs.

Great.

"Go into every room!" someone shouted.

Oh dear. They were going to trash the whole place.

Beck barged in just a second later, slamming the door shut after himself. He looked terrified, and for good reason; if he had been found alone, he would've had no chance of surviving against a large group of trained humans.

Were they trained? They sounded trained.

"What's going on?" he whimpered, reminding them of their younger self. Their first hunter encounter. Oh, they had been scared too.

"We have visitors," Helle replied with a soft smile. "Your family must have worked very hard to find such a big group."

"M-my family?"

"Who else?" They walked over and patted his cheek. "They want their darling boy back."

"I don't want to– I don't want them to be here!" he blurted out. "I want them to go! What if their hunters hurt me? What if they hurt you? This is going to be a massacre again, I don't want this, I don't want any of this!"

"They're upstairs!" came the voice from closer than before, followed by the sounds of quick footsteps on the carpeted stairs. Beck was sobbing by now, and Helle realised they hated it. They didn't want anyone else to make Beck cry. Or scared. Or distressed.

"Stay here," they ordered gently. "You shall be safe and protected so long as you do not leave my bedroom. Understood?"

"A-and you? M-Master, you can't–"

"Beck, listen to me. Do you understand?"

In the midst of all that chaos, the sound of hunters kicking down doors and breaking windows, he finally nodded. They couldn't resist giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before they shoved him towards the back of the room, then walked out into the hallway.

-

Beck was shaking uncontrollably. His mind was so consumed with panic that for a moment he even forgot he was a vampire, attempting to pull the curtains aside to peek out– He abandoned that plan very quickly when his fingers got scorched, letting out a cry of pain.

Stupid. He was so stupid. Stupid, weak, useless, possibly about to be staked within the next five minutes. Maybe Helle had already been staked! What were they thinking?

He couldn't pick out too many specific sounds from the hall, and it made him anxious. He heard screams, and cries, and... and sounds he couldn't even describe. He smelled blood, a lot of it, and it scared him, and all he wanted to do was hide under the bed and never come out.

But Helle had said his family was out there. Was it their blood? Was Helle about to murder his family? Would he even recognise their corpses? He suddenly remembered the stranger from a few days ago. Would he be among the dead? He looked so hopeful that night, in the window. Almost relieved, for a split second, before Helle noticed him. Helle never ended up telling him who that was.

"Beck!" someone shouted desperately, and he felt an overwhelming urge to answer, to run out of the bedroom and look for the source of the voice. "Beck, please, we need to go!"

Go where?

Home, a little voice whispered. You could go home.

But he was home.

In the end, it wasn't the strangers' calls that lured him out. It was a pained hiss from Helle, one he would've recognised anywhere, finally prompting him to fling the door open and rush outside no matter the cost. Helle was all that he had, and they were risking their life to keep him safe. There was no way he was going to keep cowering in the corner of their bedroom.

The scene in front of him was something out of a horror movie. All he saw was blood everywhere, painting the floor and the walls bright red. There were glass shards, limbs, and guts scattered about, the mutilated bodies of several people dressed in protective hunting gear, there was sunlight pouring inside from broken windows, silver weapons stuck between wooden floorboards or uselessly lying several feet away from anyone who could've used them.

None of that mattered. His eyes went to Helle immediately, and he dashed between them and a half-dead hunter who was just about to pull the trigger on her crossbow.

Several people screamed his name at the same time, but it was mere background noise compared to the sharp pain that exploded in his chest. He didn't look down. He didn't dare look down. He looked at Helle instead, drinking in the image of them being okay and alive, almost giddy at the thought of having protected them.

"She a-almost hit you," he stammered between two wheezing breaths, as an answer to the question he saw in Helle's wide eyes.

What the fuck are you doing outside?

-

"No!" Joey screamed, abandoning all precautions and running over to his brother. He tried not to think about the bodies he had to step over, or the sound his shoes made as his feet landed in puddles of blood.

It couldn't be. It couldn't be. It couldn't be.

"Beck!" He tired to pull him away, only to immediately be grabbed and thrown across the hall. He heard his mother's scream before he hit the ground with an agonised cry and a dull thump, and he knew just from the way he landed on his arm that it had to be broken. Still, he tried to get up right away, desperate to help Beck.

"Joey!" His mother ran over to help him up, wincing when she saw his arm. "Joey, you can't–"

"Is he okay?" he demanded. "Is he alive? Is he fucking alive?" He could see the vampire on their knees next to the body, and he felt his blood boil. How dare the fucking bloodsucker pretend they cared about his brother? When they were the one who turned him, the one who put him in danger, the one who– who had possibly gotten him killed? "Get away from him, you fucking monster!" he yelled, but he didn't even get a reaction.

"Joey," his mother tried again, her voice shaky and urgent. "Please, they'll kill you–"

"So let them," he choked out. "Let them. If Beck's dead, then I don't even care. But I need to know." He yanked his good arm out of her mother's hold and tried to approach the vampire again, but she ran ahead, blocking his path with outstretched arms.

"Is he alive?" she called, way less hostile than Joey had been. "Please, we just– we just want our family back!"

"You almost got your family killed," the vampire replied coldly, and Joey could've wept from relief. Almost. The stupid hunter missed. Beck was alive, he was alive, there was a chance–

A chance for what?

He stared at the bodies in front of him, slowly processing what this all meant. They were all dead. The vampire had killed seven hunters by themself, and now they were trapped in here with them, almost completely defenceless, and with a broken arm in his case. And the vampire was angry.

"We just wanted to get him back," his mother went on, and she sounded so heartbroken and scared, he couldn't imagine anyone wanting to raise a hand at her. And the vampire didn't, not yet anyway. They stayed in the shadows with Beck, never even looking at the two of them.

"How sweet," they said sarcastically.

"You wouldn't fucking know the first thing about it, would you?" Joey snapped. "No, you kidnap and murder for fun, you tear apart families, you– you're a fucking demon!"

-

"Stop," Beck begged weakly, and the entire mansion seemed to fall silent at his request.

Now that the stupid piece of wood was out of his chest and Helle was holding his hand gently, the situation felt less dire, but he couldn't handle the anxiety of listening to others yell at them. Were these people really his family? The ones causing all this destruction and fear, all this death?

"Why would you try to protect them?" the man — his brother — asked. Joel, was it? Joey. "We almost– almost got them, and... and you stood between..."

"I had to protect them," he said like it was obvious, and Helle squeezed his hand a little.

"You are so stupid," they whispered. "I told you to stay in the room." Although they were scolding him, Beck felt like the tone was somehow simultaneously loving. Not quite grateful, but... close.

"Don't you want to come home?" Joey tried again, and he could hear the woman — his mother — sobbing. His chest ached for reasons beyond the stake that was shot through it, and he wished he could've just said yes and gone with them. But they didn't feel like the family from his fragmented memories, nor did he want to make Helle angry with him.

"I don't think I should," he forced out eventually. Helle squeezed his hand again. Good answer.

"Beck–"

"He gave you an answer," Helle cut in before his mother could've said anything more. "Do not assume my patience lasts forever."

"Go home," Beck asked, the urgency evident in his voice. He didn't want more bloodshed. He didn't want his family to be killed, even if they'd made an attempt on Helle's life. Even if they'd scared him half to death and one of their hunters almost finished the job. "Please. I'm sorry I can't go with you."

"Of course you can," his mother breathed. "Beck, we miss you so unbearably much. We love you."

"I love you too. I think. I, I know I do, it's just... it's so hard to remember..."

"We can help you remember, sweetheart."

Beck shook his head. "N-no, mom, I– I need to stay. I want to stay."

I can't survive out there. Who will feed me? Who will protect me?

"Will you visit?" Joey asked brokenly.

He glanced at Helle, and he felt a sudden rush of terror. He had no idea what it was, but something about their expression told him that nothing good would come from it.

Would they kill his family just to keep him to themself?

He didn't want to find out.

"No," he said softly. "I'm sorry."

"How tragic," Helle remarked without any emotion behind it. "I do believe that is the end of this discussion, then."

Joey stepped forward, his grief making him bolder than what would've been smart. "You can't do this! You can't keep him from his family–"

"If you take another step," Helle began slowly, "it will be your last. Do you want your mother burying two sons?"

Beck closed his eyes, hoping Joey would make the right choice.

Please. Please. Just leave. Just leave me already. Forget me, and let me forget.

"Let's go home, Joey," he heard his mother say as calmly as she could.

"Mom..."

"Our door is always open to him. But we can't force him."

Beck sniffled, and this time he was the one squeezing Helle's hand. They gently brushed a thumb over his skin, silently reassuring him. He was making the right choice for his family, even if they were being so difficult about it.

So why did it make him want to cry so much?

"You really just expect us t-to leave without you?" Joey choked out.

"Okay, I think I have been more than patient." Helle stood up from next to him, and Beck turned towards his family in a panic.

"Go!" he yelled. "Go, please, just go! Mom, do something, take..." He trailed off as he saw his brother's eyes become distant and hollow. Why? Why couldn't he just leave? Why couldn't he leave when he was told to, why did it have to go like this?

"Joey?" His mother gently shook him by the shoulder, worried out of her mind. "Joey!"

"It will wear off," Helle said nonchalantly. "Joey, be good and go with your mother."

She flinched when Joey turned to face her, his expression way too blank for someone who had been so heated a moment ago. "Are we going?" he asked almost impatiently. So eager to obey the command.

Beck couldn't even say goodbye to him.

"We are," she conceded. "Goodbye, Beck. You know where to find us, if... if you ever change your mind. I love you. We love you."

"Goodbye, mom. I love you too." He watched as she took Joey by the hand, as though she expected him to suddenly forget how to walk properly because of the enthrallment, and led him back down the stairs. "Goodbye, Joey," he whispered.

His tears didn't start in earnest until he heard the front door open and close behind them.

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik @pirefyrelight @there-will-always-be-blood @pigeonwhumps @echo-goes-mmm @whumpycries @morning-star-whump @d-cs @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @tauntedoctopuses @blueyellow8green @typewrittenfangs @whumpsoda @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @auroragehenna

[jglaltacct]

Dark Currents (Intoxicating Fear Fanfic)

I: Dark Currents

@chaotic-orphan

TW: choking, strangling, strangulation, stalking, drugging, intimate whumper, intimidating whumper, disoriented whumpee.

The night was a deep blanket of silence as Kit walked home, the distant sounds of the city fading behind him. After a gruelling shift at the hero tower, fatigue clung to him like a shadow. The dark alleyway ahead felt especially foreboding, its walls lined with graffiti that whispered stories of forgotten souls. Streetlights flickered, casting unsettling shadows that danced across the damp pavement, creating an eerie mosaic of light and dark.

Just as Kit turned a corner, a figure lunged from the depths of the shadows—Ambrose.

Before Kit could react, Ambrose tackled him to the ground, the impact knocking the wind out of him. He gasped as Ambrose’s hands tightened around his throat, panic surging within him like a tidal wave. The chill of the concrete seeped into his skin, contrasting sharply with the heat of his rising fear.

"You thought you could escape me?" Ambrose’s voice was cold, filled with a twisted satisfaction that sent shivers down Kit’s spine.

"Let me go!" Kit shouted, desperation creeping into his voice. He strained to summon his electric abilities, but Ambrose’s grip was like iron, dulling his spark, leaving him feeling powerless.

Ambrose leaned closer, a cruel smile curling his lips, the flickering streetlight illuminating his features in a sinister glow. "You’re not in control here."

Kit’s heart raced as he twisted beneath Ambrose, trying to break free. With a sudden burst of strength, he managed to throw Ambrose off balance, but it was temporary. Ambrose was on him again, pinning him down, his hands constricting around Kit’s throat like a vice, the world narrowing to a painful focus.

"Why did you come back?" Kit gasped, struggling for air.

"Because you need to come with me," Ambrose replied, his tone unyielding, as if he were delivering a decree. "You belong with me, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen."

Kit’s mind raced, memories flashing like lightning. The last time he had seen Ambrose, it had been under vastly different circumstances—filled with a familial solidarity, occasional laughter echoing in the air, not this violent chaos.

In his mind's eye, Kit recalled Ambrose and Jude, silhouetted against the city lights, locked in a passionate kiss, their joy stark against the backdrop of a darkening sky. They had looked so carefree, so oblivious to the storm brewing around them.

It was just a rumour, Ambrose’s voice echoed in Kit's thoughts, a haunting refrain. Jude and I... it meant nothing.

With a sudden surge of adrenaline, Kit managed to shove Ambrose off him, scrambling to his feet. But Ambrose quickly recovered, grabbing Kit’s arm and pulling him close again, the smell of sweat and cologne enveloping Kit in a dizzying haze.

"Let’s talk," Ambrose said, his grip still firm, the intensity of his gaze unyielding.

Reluctantly, Kit followed, feeling the tension crackle in the air between them like static electricity. They walked to a nearby bar, its neon sign flickering ominously, casting a ghostly glow on the cracked pavement. Inside, the atmosphere felt heavy, thick with unspoken words and the scent of stale beer mingling with the faint aroma of cigarette smoke.

Max, the bar owner, greeted them with a nod, his weathered face a map of years spent in the dim light. "What’ll it be?"

"Two shots of whiskey," Ambrose ordered, his tone lacking warmth, as if he were merely playing a role in a dark theatre.

As they settled onto the bar stools, the faux leather cracked beneath them, and Kit couldn’t shake the unease that clung to him like a second skin. "What about Jude?" he pressed, muted anger flaring again, the question like a lit fuse.

Ambrose waved a dismissive hand, irritation flickering across his features. "Forget him. We have more pressing matters."

The whiskey arrived, amber liquid glinting under the low light, and they downed the shots, the burn cutting through the tension like a knife. Ambrose leaned in closer, his voice low and conspiratorial. "You still don’t understand, do you? You’re meant for more than this life."

Kit narrowed his eyes, anger bubbling beneath the surface, a tempest ready to erupt. "You think you can just show up and demand I leave everything behind?"

Ambrose’s gaze was intense, as if he were peering into Kit’s very soul. "This place is holding you back," he replied. "You need to step into the light with me."

Kit felt the weight of Ambrose's words, but the alcohol was dulling his resolve, making the room sway slightly.

Unbeknownst to Kit, Ambrose had slipped something into his drink. After another sip, a wave of dizziness washed over him, the world spinning around him like a carousel gone awry.

"What did you do?" he slurred, struggling to stay upright, the edges of his vision blurring.

"Just a little something to help you relax," Ambrose said casually, a predatory glint in his eyes that sent a shiver down Kit’s spine.

Kit’s strength faded, and he felt the ghost of Ambrose’s hand tighten around his throat again, the imaginary pressure making it hard to breathe, suffocating him with fear.

"Why are you doing this?" Kit gasped, panic rising like bile.

"Because I need you to understand," Ambrose said, his tone chilling, devoid of warmth. "You’re mine."

As they stumbled back to Kit's apartment, Ambrose’s presence loomed over him like a storm cloud, dark and oppressive. Inside, Ambrose closed the door with a slow, deliberate motion, the sound echoing ominously in the small space.

"This isn’t over," Kit whispered, fear and anger churning in his chest like a storm at sea.

Ambrose stepped closer, his expression shifting to something darker, more primal. "We need to talk about us."

"Us?" Kit echoed, scepticism lacing his voice, as if he were trying to make sense of a riddle with no answer.

Ambrose held his gaze, eyes intense and fierce. "I didn’t abandon you. I had my reasons, but now I’m back for you."

Kit’s heart raced, caught between anger and the flicker of something darker, something he didn’t want to acknowledge. "You think it’s that simple?"

The pressure around his throat returned, tightening just enough to send panic coursing through him like a wildfire. "You need to listen," Ambrose commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"You can’t just expect me to forgive you," Kit managed to say, breathless, the words escaping in a whine.

"I came back for you," Ambrose insisted, his grip still firm, unyielding. "You have to understand."

Kit felt the pressure building, the edges of his vision blurring as darkness threatened to creep in. "You’re hurting me," he gasped, his voice barely a whisper.

Ambrose released him slightly, but his eyes remained locked on Kit’s, a predatory intensity that made Kit’s pulse race. "I won’t let you go that easily."

"What do you want from me?" Kit managed, desperation creeping into his voice, the weight of the world pressing down on him.

"I want you by my side," Ambrose replied, voice low and menacing, each word dripping with a power that was both alluring and terrifying. "But first, you need to know what you’re getting into."

Kit glared at Ambrose, heart racing, feeling trapped. "This isn’t love—or whatever you think this is. You’re just trying to control me."

Ambrose stepped closer, the tension between them palpable, electric. "I’m trying to save you. You don’t see it yet, but I’m the only one who can."

"I can take care of myself!" Kit shouted, his anger finally boiling over, a defiant spark igniting in his chest.

With a swift movement, Ambrose seized Kit again, his grip tightening until Kit felt the world closing in around him, darkness threatening to swallow him whole. "You’ll understand," Ambrose said, voice cold and unyielding.

Just as Kit felt he might pass out, Ambrose released him, stepping back, breathing heavily, as if he were wrestling with his own demons. "I want you back, Kit. But you need to accept that I won’t let you go."

Kit staggered, gasping for air, the fear mingling with something else he couldn’t quite place, an unsettling mix of dread and yearning. "What have you done?"

Ambrose’s expression turned serious, the weight of his words heavy in the air. "I’m not playing games. This is about survival."

As dawn broke, pale light filtering through the grimy window, Kit knew he had to confront Ambrose and figure out what he truly wanted. The weight of the night pressed down on him, suffocating yet exhilarating, but he couldn’t ignore the twisted bond that kept pulling them together.

This was only the beginning, and Kit had no idea where it would lead them. The struggle for control would continue, but one thing was certain: he wouldn’t back down that easily.

Continued here

[montammil]

Just a writing of Rowan and Sawyer pre-kidnap, showing a little bit of what happened before Rowan took him.

TW: Vaguely NSFW descriptions, yandere/intimate whumper, stalking, mentioned kidnapping, alcohol, attempted noncon, Rowan being a freak as always

...

Rowan swirled his whiskey glass idly but kept his gaze focused entirely on the man on stage. For the first time in a while, Rowan didn't drown in sorrows out in alcoholic despair. He couldn't, not when Sawyer was there. He wanted to be completely alert and aware to keep his attention on him. Not to mention, Rowan knew how he was when drunk, and he didn't want to make a fool of himself.

Even a sip too much, and he was either crying or giggling on the floor. Sawyer didn't deserve to see such an unsightly thing.

...even if the idea of Sawyer taking care of him while drunk was a nice thought.

No, he needed to keep a cool head. He needed to be calm and composed. Rowan couldn't let himself lose control. Not when Sawyer was in front of him.

So for the next two hours, he watched Sawyer from his usual table in the back corner of the bar and listened to the sound of his beautiful voice.

And Rowan found that he never could get enough. He still wondered what it would be like to have Sawyer sing only for him, alone where no one else would bother them. It would be perfect.

Then maybe, just maybe, Rowan would know true bliss. It was already such an amazing feeling watching Sawyer sing some old love song, wearing that charming smile he grew so fond of.

Rowan imagined the love song was meant for him. He swore Sawyer even glanced at him! Surely that meant something!

But the performance eventually came to a close. The band started packing up their instruments, and Rowan saw Sawyer start gathering his things.

With a disappointed frown, Rowan took another drink and downed the rest of his whiskey in a single gulp before getting to his feet and making a beeline outside, waiting for the raven-haired man to exit.

The winter air bit at his skin, but it only fueled Rowan's determination further. He stood silently with hands in his pockets and waited, scowling to himself. But finally the door to Indigo opened.

Sawyer stepped out into the freezing wind with nothing more than a thin jacket and scarf. Rowan tsked to himself. If only he had a way to offer his coat.

Just like always, Sawyer made his way down the street, pulling out a cigarette and lighter while he was at it. Rowan followed after him at a safe distance. The snow crunched under his feet as he tailed behind, careful to remain quiet. Thankfully, Rowan's footsteps were silenced by the cold wind howling in his ears.

Rowan was excited for when he could finally take Sawyer to his real home with him.

The anticipation and excitement thrummed within his heart. Just thinking of it, his heart pounded, and it grew hot in the freezing wind. The image of him cooking dinner for Sawyer, serving him wine, and eating with his lover was almost overwhelming.

Just on the usual time, Sawyer made his way into his apartment, and Rowan watched outside his window.

The usual.

Rowan was used to this by now.

Sawyer settled down on his sofa, flicking through the channels. He didn't even pay attention to the shows anymore. The television served as a sort of background static for him while he ate.

And, of course, he was eating his favorite Chinese takeout. How predictable, how very like Sawyer. Rowan thought he enjoyed routine, but Sawyer seemed even more stuck to routine than Rowan was.

Not that he minded. Just made his job easier, really.

An hour went by when Sawyer headed to bed. Rowan waited an extra thirty minutes after that just to be sure he wouldn't wake up. Only then did he creep closer, grabbing his lockpicks and cracking the front door open without a sound.

This wasn't the first time he snuck in, and certainly not the last. With practiced ease, he slipped through the home. Rowan's feet knew the creaky floorboards, the furniture in his way, and every nook and cranny of the apartment. It was almost like it was his own. He knew this place like the back of his hand.

Rowan went straight to the bedroom and carefully, quietly opened the door, peering inside with a hushed sigh of admiration. The moonlight peeking through the blinds lit the sleeping figure perfectly.

His gaze lingered over Sawyer's features, noting every detail of the man he adored so much. His dark hair was messy and tangled, the locks falling over his forehead in a way that had Rowan grinning.

It felt intimate.

Rowan slipped inside the room, closing the door behind him with the softest click. Then he slowly approached, reaching out. Hesitating. Was it too early? Could he touch Sawyer yet?

Sawyer unconsciously responded to Rowan's internal debate, moving in his sleep until he lay on his side with his face pointed towards Rowan. An unknowing invitation. A go ahead.

Rowan couldn't deny the permission offered to him. He swallowed thickly and caressed Sawyer's cheek.

Warmth radiated off his skin. Tension melted from Rowan's shoulders as he touched Sawyer's warm face. Careful not to jostle Sawyer, Rowan bent over him and brushed his lips against his temple.

"I love you," he whispered, pressing his nose against his hair and inhaling the scent of his aloe shampoo. Rowan sighed contentedly and moved away despite wanting to climb into bed with him.

Rowan spent a couple of seconds to find some discarded clothing he knew Sawyer wouldn't miss. When he found a sweaty tank top, he lifted it to his face and breathed in deeply.

Normally he would've thought the act was disgusting, but this was Sawyer's dirty tank top. It was normal to enjoy your lover's scent, was it not?

After taking in another whiff, Rowan tucked the tank top into his coat pocket and snapped a picture of Sawyer's sleeping face. Rowan then looked around and grabbed a few pairs of underwear for himself before slipping back out into the chilly night air.

...

The next night went a little differently.

It started with the same routine: Sawyer singing, Rowan watching every little detail, and drinking in all that was his precious Sawyer.

But Sawyer approached the bar, sitting a few seats away from him.

This wasn't rare from him, even if it weren't also common by any means. Sawyer would stop by at times after his show to have a drink or two and chat with whoever was manning the bar that day. Usually it was some guy named Lucien, which the two seemed to have the most chemistry with each other. Rowan found the guy's behavior around Sawyer detestable—a slimy, repulsive slug of a human.

But Rowan knew when he should keep his head low, and now wasn't the right time to intervene between them. No. He usually just watched on with narrowed eyes while he ordered another glass of wine for himself.

Tonight was not like that.

Rowan only gathered the courage to open his mouth for a second before some man sat in between them and struck up a conversation with his Sawyer.

He smelled of cheap liquor and was clearly looking at his lover in all the wrong ways. Rowan gripped his glass with a tight grasp, fuming inside.

"My name's Brooks. Your voice is very pretty," the bastard purred. "What do you say about you and me have some time alone together?"

Sawyer hummed indifferently. "I'm not interested."

Brooks chuckled. "Oh, come on. You don't gotta play hard to get with me."

He reached forward and put a hand on Sawyer's thigh. The singer barely gave it a glance and took another drink. "That doesn't work on me," he replied monotonously, never letting his eyes leave his half-empty glass.

Rowan became a pro at reading Sawyer; he could see the subtle changes in his expression that indicated discomfort.

It was no use though, because the stranger simply kept his hand where it was and leaned closer. "Then what will work on you?" he asked. "I'm really good in bed. Give me a chance, babe."

"I said I wasn't interested." Finally, Sawyer looked up, and Rowan caught a glimpse of his gray eyes in the dim lighting.

"I like a challenge, pretty boy." He licked his lips. "Why don't we go back to my place? I promise to make you feel really good."

Rowan was about to stand, to do something, but Lucien beat him to it.

"Get out, man." The bartender grabbed Brooks by the shoulder. "He's not interested, and he's made that very clear."

Brooks scowled but stomped out anyway. Rowan watched Sawyer thank Lucien. Even though he despised the bartender's guts, he was thankful Lucien did his job. Rowan could feel the tension bleed out of his body, and he finally took another drink, his mind buzzing with a mixture of rage and anxiety. What would have happened if Lucien didn't step in?

Sawyer ordered another drink, chugging it down in record speed. It must've been a tough night, Rowan figured. He was sure that pervert didn't help, making a mental note to get violent if he ever laid eyes on him again.

Lucien replaced Sawyer's empty glass with one filled with water. "Take it easy there," he warned.

It was clear Sawyer was drunk now, judging by the playful way he stuck his tongue out at Lucien.

He knew the two were friendly, but it was rare to see the singer be anything but solemn or serious, unless he were home alone... or rather, when he thought he was home alone. But here was Sawyer being childish; it was strangely endearing.

Even better was that he was actually showing emotion, albeit from the alcohol. He imagined when Sawyer came around to loving him back, he'd be playful with him like that, too.

"That's enough for you," Lucien snorted. "If you wait thirty more minutes, I can drive you home."

"Nah, I got a cab outside," he mumbled, words slurring. "I'll be fine."

Rowan knew damn well that was a lie, but Lucien seemed to believe him since he merely nodded and helped the next customer down the row. He watched Sawyer push the glass back to Lucien and wave before getting to his feet and stumbling outside.

Like always, Rowan followed after him. As expected, Sawyer wobbled and almost tripped a couple times.

Now Rowan was less doing this for his own needs and for Sawyer's. Someone had to be there for his love, whether Sawyer knew or not. Because who knew if someone else would try to take advantage of Sawyer's drunken state?

As if to confirm his suspicions, a car rolled up next to Sawyer and called out to him. God, did this entire town want to fuck him?!

"Hey," a different guy drawled as he pulled up next to Sawyer. "You need a ride somewhere?"

"No," Sawyer slurred. "Don' needa ride..."

"Aww, don't say that. It's cold and snowy out! Let me bring you home. Where's your house?"

Rowan decided enough was enough. He nearly jogged up to Sawyer and wrapped a protective arm around his shoulders. "My boyfriend already has a ride; thank you very much."

"Oh uh." The man's eyes darted between Sawyer and Rowan. "Didn't mean to intrude or anything. Sorry, buddy." He drove away, leaving them standing there on the sidewalk.

Sawyer stared at Rowan with dazed confusion. His brain obviously wasn't working properly. But even when he was completely wasted, he still had some common sense left in him. After several seconds of staring at him, Sawyer snapped back into reality.

"Thanks," he managed to hiccup out. Sawyer stepped out from under Rowan's arm and stumbled towards a random direction.

"Wait!" Rowan quickly grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. "I... um... I just want to make sure you get home okay." Sawyer blinked at him with unfocused eyes. Rowan wanted to snatch him up right then and there, but there were still so many things to prepare. He needed things to be perfect for him.

"Cool," he said after what seemed like an hour of silence.

He slumped into Rowan's hold and grinned. Without any trouble, they both walked in silence, with Rowan occasionally adjusting Sawyer in his arms.

Sawyer was underdressed as always for this type of weather. It only worried Rowan. Did anyone care for his well-being at all besides himself? He draped his coat over Sawyer's shoulders, to which the shorter man muttered a thanks.

At Sawyer's door, he struggled with his keys and kept failing the lock, hands shaking too hard to work it. So Rowan plucked the ring of keys from his hands and opened the door, dragging him into his apartment with ease.

"Hate it when that happens. Thanks, man."

"Anything for you."

Rowan looked through Sawyer's cupboards for a glass. Sawyer sat down and watched Rowan work, and his expression remained unreadable as he poured water.

Sawyer drank big gulps. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, so much that Rowan had to tear his eyes away before he got too excited. When finished, he slammed the cup back down onto the counter and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up further.

Sawyer rubbed his eyes. "'M so tired."

"Then why don't you go to bed? Here, let me help you." Rowan didn't even care about overstepping his boundaries anymore; he doubted Sawyer would remember much of tonight anyway.

Rowan helped Sawyer off the stool and led him towards his bedroom, pulling off his scarf and jacket as they went.

He sat him down on the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of him to pull off his boots. For the first time, he allowed himself to enjoy such an intimate moment. He could pretend that he and Sawyer were married and Rowan was helping his beloved husband get ready for bed. Then he would climb under the covers, and they would cuddle until they fell asleep together.

God, just imagining it caused an overwhelming warmth to bloom within his chest. He had to shake those thoughts out of his head before he got carried away.

Sawyer tossed the shoes to the corner and glanced up to see him leaning back on the bed. His shirt was hiked up to expose his belly, his pants unzipped. Rowan sucked in a sharp breath, a familiar stirring happening below.

"Stay here 'till I fall asleep," Sawyer rasped. He didn't understand what he was even saying. He was vulnerable and drunk—the most beautiful thing Rowan's ever seen. It was like a gift was handed to him.

Rowan nodded quickly, trying his best to keep his cool. He sat next to him, watching him shimmy out of his slacks. Sawyer was wearing tight briefs.

The sight of it all nearly had Rowan drooling. He covered his mouth to hide his lewd grin. This was a testament to how long he was waiting for this moment, but it didn't matter, because now he finally had it.

After just a moment of hesitation, Rowan slid into bed with him and pulled him into his arms. Sawyer reeked of alcohol, but he found himself not caring one bit.

Finally, he was going to sleep in the same bed as the one he loved. He buried his nose into the crook of his neck and held him tightly. Nothing would ever compare to the feeling of holding him in his arms, warm and solid, safe.

...

Sawyer woke up to an empty bed and a pounding headache. His memory from last night was foggy, but he vaguely recalled falling asleep after bringing himself home. It was odd, because normally he'd be hanging halfway off the mattress with limbs sprawled out across the bed, yet he was comfortably tucked in. In fact, the sheets weren't even kicked down to the foot of the bed but neatly pulled up to his chin.

Perhaps he just imagined most of last night. Oh, well, time for a new day.