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joannasteez · 6 months

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stay, please

pairing: roman reigns x blackreader warning: ANGST.. smut . explicit descriptions! so minors please do not interact! word count: 10k ... now that we found love, what are we gonna do, with it? ...

all that time ago, when you'd first met him, your acknowledgement of roman was flimsy, a shell of nothing, but the simple words and pretty smiles made him run warm all the same. "my tribal chief", you'd say, airy and teasing, void of awe. he was big and strong, hubris making him this mountain of a man, but he was just that, nothing more than a man, and you'd seen enough men to know that they did not differ much. they groaned in time with their irritations, made their problems yours. lusted wild and unapologetically. they demanded everything, in their time, in their way, and gave what little that they wanted. and roman reigns, the tribal chief, was no different.

his eyes, suggestive and sharp, had taken to the fit of your ring gear easily. the shaping of the fabrics in places and in others, the lack thereof, pulling his interest till his fixations melted something warm and devious into your skin. he'd approach you wolf like, this stalking pace as if to circle prey. grinning amused. "i think you can do better than that for me. a little more enthusiasm".

and he was a tower then, still is now, strides long, full of leisure. your eyes peered from under the fan of your lashes, indulging the domineer of his presence with the coyness of good prey. you'd done well to make the game, the chase, or whatever this was for him, at least somewhat entertaining if not completely so.

you'd indulged. leaned into the mass of him, one small step forward after another till the air had no choice but to be shared between the both of you. a finger lifting to trace faint over the lettering of his shirt. and it'd taken everything not to fall then, not to give in to the pull of him, like some small wayward celestial object fighting against the orbit of a great star. the heady note of his smell, the strong comfort of his warmth, the height of him, the sure soft ways his eyes drifted over you, like he'd just known without complete expression of words or deeds that you were his.

your touch had turned more firm then, from one finger to your palm, slipping down till it played at his abs. and a grin had curled, amused now too, feeling the rushing in his blood. "i can be a whole lot better for you, you gotta earn that though".

but your words, so teasing and strong then, built firm and made off your tongue to last, were not as reliable as you'd thought they'd be, for the gravity of him was this overwhelming thing. and before the rush of it could settle, before the excitement of lust could wane, you found yourself with him at every corner or surface available. your legs wrapped in his, your lips wet and your tongue tangled, pushing and licking to taste him. your breaths caught forever, short and desperate as they fought to be full. he felt good and the heat of him melted the worry in your bones, until it didn't.

until the fun of it became dense, so much so that it was unbearable. his touch becoming more nailed into the skin of you, and his words fixing quiet, each more vulnerable than the ones before them. these heavy sinking whispers in the night, your bodies laying sated and damp, thighs aching and your blood rushing smooth just after release. arousal still sticky between your legs where his hands and mouth had been. from him came these words, forming to sound like something similar to forever. but by then it was too late, to stop, to take back, to slip away from under him.

and in the midst of fighting and failing to keep away from his body, and his quiet bed time passions, creatives of the smackdown brand championed the idea of a more feminine edge to the bloodline. someone who could rough and tough it, take a bump and bounce back for more. someone who could smile and charm and manipulate. someone who could, in the blink of an eye turn vicious if need be. a character that had draw, that could have the crowd eating from their palm. and though yes, roman was not starved of womanly support by way of the viewership, the faction was in sore need still of a lighter touch. something, or rather someone less naturally brutish, that did not wreak of ego or that larger than life self importance. and so, from a charismatic mid-carder, to the upper echelon, you rose and dominated as an entity connected to the infamous crew.

the full silver of your ring gear slowly altered to accommodate the overwhelming red and black, his colors, till there was a more even mix. and it all spoke without words, the black and red these leading lines, binding you to the one called the tribal chief.

a botched spot in the ring kept you away for some time. a few months of recovery, the perfect amount of time to go cold turkey from roman.

and though he called and texted and face timed, his constant travels and your inconsistencies left him hallow. an emptiness that soon would leave his ego to pulse with a bruising pain. he thought, in the midst of all those months of your recovery, that it was just the tingling in his fingers that he needed gone, these simple bouts of lust that could be easily remedied. but it was more than that it seemed. aches in his chest and this drawing pull in his skin. a helpless sort of longing.

he wrestled harder in those months, brutal, bordering relentless. when you wouldn't answer at all, or would only answer with few words, he pushed the fire of his anger, drove it through muscle and nerve, about the bones that built him till it was all he could feel.

why the fuck were you dodging him?

and all that fire, that white hot anger, attempting to purge his bones of you, flared and burst wild till it could no longer. flared to consume him till it proved shallow and here you were, under his eyes again. the silver-red-black of your ring gear calling his fingers to run against it, the tips where his nerves live itching to flex and curl into your skin. the curve in there where your hip dips, the muscles in him remembering well as the feelings there form back to life with excitement.

you look as good as you did pre-injury. maybe even a little better.

he makes himself known, the tone of him rich, stunning. something dark amidst the allure. you'd forgotten how well it arrested you.

"hows your arm?"

"bendable, so it's fine".

you do little to acknowledge him, afraid of what even a little eye contact can do to the strength of already weak resolve, but you move your newly healed arm about rather flimsily, showing him just enough so he can go about his business.

the carpet ruffles with his every step. closer and closer he gets. your heart knocking into your chest. "recovery must've been good, should've been", his breath warm and feathering along your neck. your fingers moving with a slight shake as you make to clean an already clean vanity. "had to have been", his fingers taking a small trace over your shoulders to hold you there, "cause i barely heard a thing from you". his thumbs sooth into the fabric, soft and remembering.

your breath hitches, the tip of his nose running small at the line of your neck. and none of those months of recovery mean anything in the slightest, save for the healing of your arm. your pulse quickens and beats harsh, same as it did before, skin taking to a slight tremble as the warmth of him surrounds you here. and your own fingers, working to burrow into the hard shape of the vanity, itch to touch him too, though something nags at you to fight against him. to war with the resolute way his touch fastens to your body.

"i didn't realize you were my keeper".

he sighs, slightly annoyed by the way your words fight to push against his own, but it doesn't stop the straying of his lips along your skin. skimming where they please till they pull in to leave a faint kiss at your pulse. "you've been ignoring me".

"apparently not enough".

he laughs, pulls your hips close till they flush against him, and laughs some more. his mouth parting just at the shell of your ear. "you're not convincing", his fingers flexing, a firm pulling as they make their way to play between your thighs at the fabric covering where they'd itched and feened to be. "not even a little bit".

and how you'd gotten here, falling so fast back into him to be consumed, back into the deft maneuver of his fingers and the heat of his mouth, was not at all lost on you. just as similar as it was not all that lost on him either, to feel your skin and the faint release of your breaths. fighting on his own for months to undo you from him, all for nothing. both affected in full by the other, thirsty and bordering impatient. and when he curls in past the stretchy material to slip against the wet of your slit, your hips move with a mind all their own, seeking a harsher friction.

heat braces your skin, head lulling forward. your hips shifting rigid, fighting to still and losing as they chase the smooth circling of his touch. "roman", breathy. urgent.

"no, no, no, no, no", his free hand firmly at your neck. an upward motion to reveal your eyes again. "you don't run from me, not when you want it this badly". his finger slipping further to sink in knuckle deep. the push in of them lax and patient. a pace he takes to feel you throb for him. with every second, the length of it steeping in the soaked mess of you.

you gather words, a sloppy attempt to fire back at him and it fails as you moan through it. "who said i wanted this or you".

"you know what it is babygirl", the speed of his touch urged on by his ego. his need to prove you wrong. you want him, you want him and he knows it. if not for words then he knows it with how eager your hips grind into his fingers. the slip of your pussy easy and hungry as it pulses. so much so that it resounds into the dead air of the dressing room, the tune of it forcing his hips to rut into you. "you don't want it, you tell me and i stop". he breathes hot and hectic into your skin, into your neck, kissing between takes of air. fingers thick and glistening under harsh fluorescent lights as they curve in to fuck you deep. "c'mon, tell me how much you don't need it, how much you don't need me", eyes brown and blistered. of course you needed him, of fucking course you do how could you not? when he needed you. "c'mon sweetheart, tell me so i can leave". a tear struck the apple of your cheek, a simple roll that told of everything. your skin twitched and your muscles ached, ready to feel the draw out of release, but the cage of your chest rattled, flaming with a need to say something long unspoken.

but to do it, to say it, would be worse than breaking a bone. worse than the raw opening of slit skin. to give in to him, would be the end of it all.

"fuck", a whimper breaking. wrecking the strength of your voice. your hips working to rut against the curl in of his fingers. your head lulls at an angle to sink into his chest. hands free from the vanity as you grab to hold onto him. "keep it there baby, please".

"yeah?", his neck craning to take your lips with his. tongue messy and suckling. and his fingers move with vigor, arm taut and muscle bound, veins striking against his skin. something similar to lightning. "and when you come what do you say?"

your breath catches and the sharp ways of your vision blur. the coil wound up in your core bursting wild at the seams as you rut and drip against the softening thrust of roman's fingers. your lips trembling as words flow hot and feverish. "th-thankyouthankyouthankyou".

even if the body was not made to do so, you could fly high, tumble, knock into, break at, and push over just about anything in ring. it's what made the rise from the mid-card so satisfying. it's what made the star studded rivalries so well anticipated and stunning. women of a particular caliber, head to head, their bodies and their wits and their wills stressed and strained until only one remained. at it's core, the work all by it's lonesome was easy. tiresome yes, but the pursuit of winning, that bright gold belt about the waist, was all a singleminded affair. easy. but the presence of him was, is, a storm. difficult to escape. reckless. ungovernable. and it seemed that the drifting of his eyes to find you and the remnants of his touch could not be undone. like a deep soldering under your skin, at the hard make of your bones.

he lingered, and beyond the shallow 'i don't want you's', the cut of your eyes and that cold far away disposition, something like need teemed, warm and fettered to your fingers, pressing slow into his skin, the fabric of his t-shirt, slipping into his hair. just before the quiet, when ecstasy was it's loudest, he could feel it running into him like nails, 'stay', etching red and raw into his flesh. and then a soothing kiss, more passionate, wordless but tender all the same, 'stay please'.

your inconsistencies were nearly earsplitting. i want him, i won't. i need him, no i don't. it made even the prestige of the women's world championship lackluster.

you'd won, your waist decorated in gold, but the true excitement of such a grand moment could not reach you beyond the loose way liquor paints your tongue. skin racing warm and control undone. the floor moving with this deep hard shudder, bass bleeding out. the air is thick from bodies, from the unintelligible roar of people. but what is clear, beyond the blur that comes for the eyes after chilly shots of espolon, is him. roman smiling in that faithful way that he does, wolf like, suggestive. clever and telling in the way that it so clearer reminds you of how small and good you can be as prey. something for him to take. to hold and guide and pull and pry at till he’s full. but that look of allure is not for you, no he'd done something fucked. he'd gone and found someone else to look at like that, some woman near the edge of the bar too oblivious and taken by the size of him to know that it was all a game.

a game you were losing at. your lips wet from the bits of your next shot that seemed to miss your tongue. you were too loose, too hot, too lethal. it was just barely easy to play the game when it was you, denying him and tugging along that thinly wound string that tethered itself from you to him, but when he made his moves to do the same, it wrecked you well.

tore you asunder. this deep splitting at the heart till you were left raw to the open air.

'fuck him, you're the women's world champion', the espolon steeped so well into you that it speaks. 'say it', persistent. you turn from him, your head lulling as your mouth greets another shot of that smooth tequila taste. 'sayitsayitsayit'

"fuck him".

but is it believable? the harsh bite and break of words as drunk lips form around them, bound to such a severity that only comes with the pain of pain.

the harsh bass nearly breaks your ears and makes your body tremble. you would like to leave, to tear your eyes away from them, from him, but you would also like to stay.

"you play right into his hand when you do that", a mouth near your ear persists above the noise. the well fitted dress of a button up forgotten for something sloppier and indicative of the loose, dancing, club energy. cody rhodes' face just a few ways away from beet red as he holds chilly water in one hand.

and there are crueler things in the world, things that grind against the spirit till it's worn and faint, but nothing pricks against the heart more in this moment than that woman’s fingers lingering against romans. the charm of her smile luring him in as she mouths to him unrecognizable things. "he wants to spite me, let him".

cody snorts, lazily throws his arm about you. "it wouldn't be anything you've never done". and you think maybe you hate the sense of his logic and his friendship. the filterless way he says things. so forthright, so readymade.

"fuck you, wheres the loyalty".

his cheeks pull high into the creasing corner of his baby blue eyes. fully amused. he probably thinks you're a damn joke, and maybe it's true, in the petulant ways you avoid and revert inward.

he hands you the cup of water and you sip it willingly, wishing maybe though that its something else.

"he'll play cat, you'll play mouse, he'll fuck you and hint at what you fear most, you'll run and we'll be right back to where we are now. so what the fuck's up with the preamble".

you shove the cup of water into his chest, picking up one of the many shot glasses that stand still on a tray. the taste of it not so dissimilar to water. he frowns, watching on as you glare into the emptiness of the shot glass. sometimes, in these short moments, when you crave things you aim to kill, he worries.

"didn't realize all my shit was so entertaining". you look angry, sound that way even, but the melodramatic coupling of words tell him you drift more towards a sullen pain than to anger.

"no, entertainment isn't this boring", he quips and you jab your elbow into his stomach. just enough to make him grunt before the break into a fit of little laughs.

but then you set the glass down and turn in to face him, to nuzzle closer into where your forehead meets his collarbone. eyes forming with hints of a glassiness that lend themselves to vulnerability.

roman's eyes take to looking about the club, instinctively, falling against the warmth of your embrace with cody. fire forms in his chest, aches with a burning.

your voice leaves off soft into cody's ear, muffled in the fabric of his shirt. "it won't work. not in any way that matters".

"you don't know that"

"i've been played before. i'm not new to games".

cody rubs soothing into your shoulder, the compassion making you melt in that drunken way that leads to the welling of a tear.

"games aren't made to last, that's why they get played, and why people play them. if it's real then it's real".

"is this what it is now? you don't speak when you see me?"

dead air and his own words, tired in their anger. 'how long can i go, before i break?', but the break came quickly, the silence disrupting him. he rests but not really, stands there idle as if to feign the strength of a stable man but his nerves stir with ill-control. they flip and they twitch, crashing up against the inner parts of him. you won't speak, and your eyes don't meet. and when the job forces your hand, you grow cold in this subtle way. warm still but a biting chill just like at the cusp of spring. and your lips become these masters of brevity. and he wants to say it here —where his blood rushes irate, wrought by adrenaline— that he isn't too far from hating you. your skin, your touch, your voice, your face, the pull of your lips when you smile, all the things that make him lov-

"we work together, i talk to you all the time".

and even in all this, he couldn't not move closer to you. one foot in front the other till he was arms length. "promos and in-ring action aside, y'know what i mean".

you fight your own urges. to meet his eyes, to touch him, to fall beyond the bounds of those drunken whispers from nights passed where you cursed his name. "it should stay like that, professional. it's cleaner this way, safer".

he scoffs. something like a tower now the way he stands over you.

"yeah?", smirk mirthless. "and what, me fucking you out back behind an arena ain't clean? you bendin' over in a dressing room ain't safe enough anymore?" each word slightly louder than the last.

"keep you voice down", you hiss.

"or what?", his eyes sharp and narrowing. scrutiny burned into the brown of them. "everything you do is convenient for you". and his lips spread in that mirthless way again, bordering disgust. "you get scared so you pull away, you feel good again and come runnin' back. you ain't never fit me in for consideration, not once, unless it meant me sticking my dick in you".

and when blood is drawn, words like venom dripping into raw split skin, isn't it only appropriate to do the same? to do him in with the violence he so easily struck with first?

"once upon a time i didn't have to consider you", meeting him with words, cold and mocking. "i paid you fucking dust and when i did acknowledge you, you were grateful for it". vexed and thrilled, you watch the silent ways his rage manifests. the flaring in his nose and the shifting in his jaw. beneath where heaps of muscle lie, just there at his chest, falters this steady beating. a deep plunging of his ego. it makes you smile, nicks pain into your heart just the same. "maybe we should revisit that and stay there, and not be so damn emotional about it".

he recedes into something like pity. "whoever he was before me, he did a number on you".

it's this rupturing that hurts the most. the pain of it, a distant memory long remembered. this great big wound. raw and the skin so tattered still and messily undone. "you don't know me".

"exactly", roman urges. still above it all, wanting to know something. the slightest thing. anything.

you leave, slamming the dressing room door.

it was as if the spite of him, that which that'd already existed —a small, near idle thing, had reared it's head to tear through him again. seemingly more brutal than before. whether cruel or not, whether it worked or not, he'd made the effort, against his better judgement to see you bend. not to break no, but to see something other than the usual push and pull that became the mainstay of whatever this thing was between the two of you. that night at the club—his own go at drawing up some jealousy, an attempt at cracking your little shell of resistance, to see if you even cared, but still he didn't know. not for sure anyways. so here he was, needy, spiteful, and a short ways away from brutal as sweat broke from his brows and a frustrated groan from his lips. hips swinging in lethal, teeth gritting, and the core of him coiling tight.

he couldn't remember her name, no, but she was too similar to pass on. she ran just parallel enough to you that it could work. similar skin tone, the nonchalance, the coy silence of the eyes, sly slim touches that roughed into something harsh—near skin splitting. but when she spoke, the puzzle piece couldn't quite fit. her pitch too bright, not bitty enough. it didn't wreck through him the same, didn't rush in to him or thrum his blood but he couldn't complain about it, not when the chase of his release was so close. just palpable enough to satisfy.

roman took a mild shifting, hiking up a leg to leave the other bent, his foot nailing further into the hotel bed sheets, all to work his hips deeper.

her face ran into the sheets, mascara smudging dark into the clean white. "mhmm- fuck! i-", her hips fluid, rolling against the swing of roman's. words nearly undone, breaths close to finishing. "pleasepleaseplease".

she pulsed about him, hips rocking to chase the burning in her limbs, the harsh twist up of her core. and where he dug into her she fought to keep him there, soaked and clenching but it just barely came close. she hugged him for dear life, fucked on him till she couldn't take him to the hilt anymore. attempted to possess him even, with sultry moans and the allure of whispered begging. everything he liked, everything he wanted but it didn't quite fit. everything lacked by only half of a half step but it all mattered. and it was evident you made the difference.

the lazy trace of your lips, the delirium you took—even in rare bouts of aggression—the burn of your touch like a piercing in his skin. the dulling of your eyes, till they rolled overwhelmed and undone. the shivers in your skin and the submission of your body, the skin and bones of you left for him to form back together.

he missed you, and yes of course he wanted to fuck you, completely break you in that faithful way that he did in times past, where you'd rush in dainty, words like feathers, thankyouthankyouthankyou, but he also wanted to hold you. wanted to mold himself to you till he was unsure of where he ended and you began. he wanted breath stealing kisses that rolled lazy and thick. he wanted to still the shivers in your body, wanted to caress you through the burden of release and even after, he wanted to keep you there. safe in the strength of him.

and it was here, in these thoughts, where he found the feeling. the pulling in his gut strong and subduing, tugging away from the wet mess of her to release. thick ropes against her skin as he groaned.

"fuck......".

your name slipping through. unabashed and clear as day.

roman winces, feels the recoil of it in his flesh. this awkward reversion where his body fights not to cave in on itself out of embarrassment.

why the fuck would he do that?

but she's moving before he can do anything, cleaning herself till she's rid of him. and damn it, why can't he remember her name? his back flopping into the sheets, an arm thrown over his eyes. he's tired and ill feeling, somewhat ashamed.

the woman saunters in, some ways from disgust. such a beautiful man, so obviously successful, and seemingly hung up on a woman who cares less than a fuck about him. thats what she can gather anyways. her fingers helping her slip her clothes back on. she grows curious.

"who is she?"

roman looks to her, realizing just how much she doesn't look like you at all. beautiful but not you.

"what?"

her eyes roll. that small sliver of curiosity done away with as she shuffles to adjust her heels."if your'e gonna finish all over me, the least you can do is remember my name".

she makes for the bedroom door of the luxury suite, leaving roman to fall deeper into his own silence. her voice carries, sweet and mocking.

"your little nda is signed. thanks for making me come".

roman grunts in response. feeling the slight rattle of the slammed door.

from the chill of new york city winter weather, to the warmth of one of the city's many luxurious hotels, came a firm dulling of the nights mixture of cocktails and whatever other light liquor your dear friend cody rhodes had decided was good enough for you. and what a dear friend indeed, always so caring, so righteous and so fucking motherly. his every word soft and urbane — "slow down, take this water, no more of that drink"—and his every look one of knowing and pity, until his glassy blue eyes and lisp-y mouth became resolute, even when in their own drunkenness, going as far as to putting you in a car and shipping you back to where you were now, at the hotel. "you're not even having fun, go sleep", his lips pulling into a gentle pout. his arms a warm embrace till they were gone, and you were ducking sullenly into an SUV.

he was all you could think about.

...whoever he was before me, he did a number on you...

and with so little said, roman had done you in to a silent sort of suffering. this shoddily made shell of something —your heart— playing at nonchalance, completely destroyed. stripped now, naked and fearful of whatever is to follow. the possibility, whether with or without him, the unknown, left you stunned, ill even.

...should you call?... fingers itching to reach, to slip against his contact ...but would he answer?... or would he, and rightfully so, do you the quieted sort of violence you'd done to him, time and time again?... those brutal ways your lips refused to speak, and when they did their words like daggers. your eyes never meeting, and when they came upon him, they bore over him icy and displeasured. like he was a nuisance, or even worse, a stranger. and the desertion of your touch, once upon a time, when the drive of lust and adoration was new in him, seemed that it would never leave. yes, you'd understand, but fuck if it wouldn't hurt, wouldn't pierce the greater parts of you, where strength of the ego and desire lives.

but its only when the phone rings that all hesitancy of the moment breathes hard. knocks unceremoniously against free inhibitions till you're wishing for him to ignore you. maybe, right here, right now, making the effort is enough, maybe it's all you need to say ...i did it, i tried... and nothing else. your whispers rushed and a bit scared and waiting. "don't answer, don't answer don't answer".

the ringing stops. he answers.

your breathing is soft, but present, the only thing that sings amongst the silence of him. what is this? after the callousness, the hardy stones you'd thrown into the glass of his resolve in an attempt to break him.

he's tired but not really. done but not really. he sighs, fingers roughing through his beard. "yeah?"

you giggle, breathy. a bit unnerved. your words rolling off, slightly slurred still. "thought i'd get your voicemail", you wonder how he looks, if his heart threatens to beat beyond the cage of his chest the way it does yours. "didn't think you'd answer".

he's quiet. breathing. "why'd you call?"

"you sound nice". the little thats left of the tequila pouring over your tongue into words. even in his tiredness he sounded beautiful. rich and dark and alluring. "did i wake you?"

"no". but he can't help himself, in being curious, in caring. "you alright?"

"i'mfine, ijust...i-"

"you sound drunk".

"tipsy".

"how much did you have?", a question but more so a command. the authority threaded in his voice lulling you in. it makes you shiver with need. makes you want to touch him.

"mhmm idon'tknow rome". and he can hear your shifting over the sheets, as you shift over answers to give him, that would satisfy him. you wanted so badly, despite your fears, to satisfy him. "a shot, a drink or two".

"lightweight for real", he chuckles. "who were you with?"

"cody. he got my uber".

is it so bad?, when the hour is late?, to think of seeing you, even if the thought is little and fleeting and ways away from dangerous? "you here at the hotel?"

"damn", and you're laughing. giddy at the way he worries. reeling with sarcasm "you want me to share my location?"

"watch yourself".

"yes sir".

and here the air is hesitant, forming fragile and ill-informed of whats to come. it shapes about the both of you wearily and groans even in it's stillness of how ill-suited it is at holding the ambivalence of this... love, lust, longing or whatever it is twisting about the both of you. it yearns for something new, for something unweighted and free and sweet.

roman asks you again. curiosity breaking a heaviness into the weight of him. "why'd you call?"

your bed sheets pinch and ruffle between your fingers, taking on the burden of your anxieties. "i figured if i went out...i'd-i'd get a little courage yknow? a drink or two and then i could call you, could hear your voice".

"hear my voice huh?", his jaw clenching. tone one of full mocking and scrutiny. after everything, all that was said, something like venom off your tongue in a means to poison his resolve, and now you wanted to hear from him? "and all that big talk, all that mouth and bravado, paying me dust and keepin it how it used to be", smiling mirthless. "what happened to that? where'd that go?"

you shiver, cold despite the warmth of the room. "i don't know roman".

"you don't?"

"i don't wanna argue with you".

"what do you want then? tell me so i know".

"it doesn't matter", something like a grin running through your lips, sullen and wistful. formed only by the sweet safety of what if's and what could be's, because those were always easier. "you'd leave". a single tear slips against your cheek. "you'd get bored after a while and you'd leave".

...but he isn't him, whoever that other man was, or could be, the one that'd seemingly broken you...

he sighs. "you're afraid of somethin that ain't happen".

"yet", you add.

"it's not going to".

"you don't know that".

"you don't either". and of course the fight is natural, this insistent war where true desires of the heart are subdued to the will of something comfortable and simple, because love, even at its easiest, proved always to be tedious and demanding. "i don't make it a habit of getting played".

"i don't make it a habit of playin", sincerity filling him whole. "how i've felt... how i feel still, about you? it's always been real sweetheart".

another tear and then another, till your skin is warm and nerves flustered. your chest tightening as your mouth trembles. "don't fault me for being scared, please?"

"clean slate. we can start over".

"ok".

and that restless buzzing, the harsh rushing of the city — cars and trains and people— works easy to overcome the natural fall of silence. breaths passing, his and then yours, one after the other and then together, in waiting, eager but unsure.

the emptiness is unsettling. makes you restless. urges the drive in his muscles to move.

your hand splays against a pillow, fingers curling in soft, your voice even softer. "what side of the bed are you laying on?"

"left side".

you hum. imagining him. hair splayed, long and gentle. "i hate the left side".

"i know", he smiles, small like and imaginative. thinking of older memories, where your legs find themselves curling against his own.

"it's empty, my left side".

"yeah?"

"yeah".

possibility, this mighty rushing in his blood.

"whats your room number?"

there was nothing flimsy about this, the gentle pull of his lips, tongue slipping cautioned but ready all the same, his fingers and palms seemingly made to do and withstand the brute force of many things but taking the time instead to hold you dearly. to savor with his touch what his lips cannot. but when the well of patience in him fills to the brim, when it overflows and floods him unsparingly, his persistence has no choice but to do the same. and your knees threaten to buckle, threaten to kill your resolve, as he cradles your head with one hand and the other anchored firm at your jaw —thumb and pointer— his kiss growing wetter, tongue sharper. because the time away —where neither of you could do more than fight and throw stones and break and avert, gazes and words and touches and thoughts and feelings— felt like forever. and then came the standstill, the white flag. clear air and even clearer intentions, over a phone call of all things. with simple words of the heart.

roman figured if anything, he was making up for lost time. your palms taking to his beard, thumbing over his cheeks, mouth forming soft over his.

you felt good, he felt good, but not so much that it couldn't be true.

and here, where you feel the abandon of his control grow, you break from his mouth, trying and failing to grab for something on a nearby shelf. but he's faster, reaches to grab the outstretch of your arm, flying it over his shoulder. his breath warm and enticing, rushing a thrumming in your blood as he nips the skin there. teasing.

your nails take this tender clawing into his nape, dipping into silky hair. "i thought we were taking it easy?"

his words mix between the twist of his lips. "we are. your clothes are still on". kissing along your neck.

but he doesn't loom here, statuesque in his anger. doesn't suffer your resolve to threaten a breaking or diminishing to fold under the weight of a harsh truth. knowing whether or not if his words would split you raw for a vicious bout of bloodletting. no he doesn't loom here, but his standing is firm all the same. gentle minded and secure. immovable in the way that it refuses to let you go.

you wonder if jimmy and jey and solo and naomi can hear him in the pantry from where they are in the living room. hear his groaning, and the smack of his lips as he takes yours. hear his lust and his love and his longing.

you hum against him in bliss. "you make it very obvious that you want to eat me alive when you look at me like that in front of everybody".

"am i supposed to feel bad about that? because i don't".

"being lowkey goes a long way sometimes".

"yeah a little too long".

but that night had only been one of the first nights of this mending, this slow cautious maneuver of putting back together the broken pieces of whatever this thing was that had been brewing for sometime. and it isn't until you're sitting in a shared comfortable silence, sipping wine and tasting sweet deserts that the realization comes to you. that this —the sex and the passion and the strife— has only ever been a thing, something ill formed and without definite shape. uncategorized and hesitantly spoken of. it had all been rushed with hushed pleasures and secrecy, rendezvous and an inherent longing that would not, for fear of realer things, be spoken of.

but it was very clear now, as he dipped a spoon into tiramisu, that you needed him.

and the pace here is easy, as waiters and other patrons breeze by your table without rest, without wait, his eyes and his stillness forming well over the hold you have as you touch him idly. your palm at his knee, raising to take his hand in yours, fingers folding in, shy and feathered and bursting with a wordless affection.

from where you are, just a short lean in from his lips, his features are not so intimidating, not so all consuming in that daunting way he's perfected. his cheeks are freckled and round and the brown of his eyes are bright.

you kiss him, take that short lean in and meld your lips till he hums and thumbs your chin. because he isn't him if he doesn't touch you. doesn't hold fast to your warmth.

and even after you part, the intimacy laced in the air breathes slow and lingering. "thank you for being so patient with me, with everything". your fingers fiddle and caress over his. "i know i haven't made it easy for you".

"when it's something i want, i wait".

and wait he did, with a statues patience. but even the strength of statues fail, worn and weathered if left to stand against time and their own stillness. eventually they all crumble, some in such a poetic fashion that its destruction means more than its birth, and other's with a simple, unceremonious falling. but the undoing of roman's patience is fierce and alluring. and as you breathe short, in between the firm pull of his lips, water hot and raining against your skin, you feel the chipping away of that patience as well. and it isn't just the pouring in of the shower and the sweet warmth of soaps and candles, but the influence of him as well, melting underneath flesh and bone.

6:17 PM

the steam forms something amorous. thickens the anticipation and lulls your resolve into a surrendering. and the tight feeding of his fingers into your thigh doesn't help any, nailing sharp and greedy as they have your leg hooked about his waist, his tongue licking against yours. and here in the kiss his lust grows slow and exacting, in a means to savor. making you moan and forcing your hips to grind mindless. his body hard and wet and safe.

your fingers curl into the hair just at his nape, tugging to pull, to break his lips from yours, but he's fast and wanting, rushing in for another sweet assailment. groaning in time with his pleasures as his hips rut at your soft skin. you try again to break from him, to breathe even if the air suffocates you so, and he gives in. settles for fastening himself to you elsewhere, to supple skin, and to grinding his hard dick at you. his mouth roaming about your neck, nipping with his teeth and kissing gentle. a meager attempt to reigning himself in.

your touch wanders further into his soaked hair, mouth moving to trace his, to tease him. "we have a reservation for 9", you kiss him lightly. "i don't wanna be late".

he hums, rests his forehead to yours. taut fingers working your hips to a slow grind against his dick. working what nerves lay dormant in you to life.

"the restaurant is a 30 minute drive", his nose and mouth nestling into the plains of skin where your neck ends and your shoulder begins. drinking in the small breaking off of your moans. "plenty of time".

7:29 PM

and the minutes wandered away fast and teasing, forcing in an urgency as you fought hard to slip away from him and the heaviness of his desires. and it took much control, to part from his warmth and the heavy lust of his eyes. from the way his touch and his mouth maneuvered —with seductive method— and the heat of his cock laying at your skin, so terribly close to where you need him. but how odd the fear is here, after the pulling away of all that nasty pettiness and the settling of it, no longer scared of how much he would love you, or how well he could etch himself to the inside of you —with touches and deep words filled with passion— but now, weary of just how unbearable you would be. because it seemed now that he was stuck with you, and that if he would continue his affections with such an intensity, that you would have no choice but to return it. and even in this, your fears, your weariness of this love and lust and longing, were not so frightening at all. but exciting.

you're excited.

"tie or no tie?"

the bulk of his arm, where tattoos paint the skin, slip through a white button up. fingers deft as they take the time to do in each button.

"no tie".

your hands soothing over your skin with a warm smelling body butter. eyes trailing to his as he watches your hands work over your skin.

"and the jacket, yes? no?"

"yes to the jacket", but your answer barely registers, and how could it possibly do so clearly enough when the fabrics of your underwear form over your body the way that it does. everything about you soft and inviting to the touch as you approach him. your fingers undoing the top most buttons. the intricate designs of tattoos here at the curve of his pec peaking through. "and just leave this open a little". your palms smoothening away at the rest of his shirt, over his shoulders to adjust the already adjusted collar, fingers slipping against already buttoned buttons, and when the smallest wrinkle catches your eyes, you're already flattening it to straighten. and here he takes you in, arresting with silence and a never ending depth to his eyes that leaves you without words.

his mouth close enough, breaths are shared. and there is no other word to describe the scent of him other than divine.

you want to fall into him, as free as air and without hesitation.

his lips smile. "you're staring".

but it is justified, because shouldn't all beautiful things be looked upon with awe and a speechless sort of appreciation? shouldn't they be touched, the way you touch him, your palms possessing him to hold as you kiss him greedily and without wait. your tongue lashing through firm and without the mind to yield. moaning gentle into him and if not for his own strength he would fall to his knees. is this not how beautiful things should be treated? should they not be adored and reverenced? should he not pry at your skin the way that he does? dull nails sinking in to remember the forms they take as they go. your leg found slipping around his waist again as his fingers move swiftly to claw their way down till your panties push away helpless.

and he groans, lips parting only to find yours again, finding you warm and wet as his touch slips through the mess of your slit. and he wonders how long you've been like this, stewing in your own desires. his blood rushing hot and fast, feeling the heavy throb your body takes as he plays a teasing touch at your opening. something whiny and dainty tumbling off your tongue as you fight to reign in that wild burst of lust so loosely falling off your skin.

"roman", you warn. so small it nears a whisper.

"shhhh, relax", his finger dipping in to feel the heat of your pussy. a neediness to see you break bursting in the cage of his chest, his heart hammering at the sweet daze in your eyes. "just a little bit baby".

"we're gonna be late". you fight.

and you want to say how much you hate him, how much you hate the ease of his touch—such a terrible gentleness— and you hate how it makes you swoon, and throb harder, feeling the depth of his artful handlings. you fucking hate it, hate him, fuck, and your breath labors harsher than before, feeling the seam of his lips as they sit to hover above yours, and shit, his fingers stroking firmer than before, a slighter urgency in the pace that catches your breath and his eyes dim low but they hypnotize you, and no you don't, but, well yes you do hate him, but you don't, a moan stretching in sync from him and from you, and damnit you love him. love his touch and the proof of his lust, how naturally it is born from his love and his longings.

he can see the prickling in your eyes, the glassiness just before the burning brown of them. and you ruffle your face into his chest, into the balminess of his skin but he does not relent. and the sound your arousal makes as it coats his long fingers is lewd but it brushes over you warm and inviting. drives your waist to grind into his every stroke till release is sweet and so close.

the undoing is palpable, a licking flame against the skin. short tremors starting in your legs as you call to him. little whispers that beg, "please...please...please", hushed and slurred.

and just when it's there, it isn't, his fingers slipping out of you slow, wet still and gripping your ass to stop the mindless grinding your hips take.

"roman, no, what are you-", his lips kissing yours to stop the words and the worry. but he's kilt weeks, hell, months of such a lengthy build up, and your body rushes confused and unsatisfied. you pull from him, just enough to speak, feeling his palm caress into where he holds you. "what are you doing?"

"its almost eight", his body forsaking yours to step out of the bedroom. "need you to clean up and finish getting ready".

8:18

at your wrist

at the bend of your inner knees, your elbows

the skin of your neck just behind your ears

and just where your ankles roll inward.

his dress shoes click back into the bedroom to be met with an immediate assailment. but this violence is no violence at all, but rather a sweet, sultry thing. enticing. and he holds his wrist forward to check the time. 8:20. fuck the reservation, he thinks, stepping till he's behind you. eyes peering through the mirror, watching the delicate way you curl a thin brush over your eyelashes. a dark mascara that thickens and pulls the length and when you check the fruits of such minuscule labor, beautiful and satisfied, the crotch of his pants prove too thin, and uncomfortable. and as he dips his nose into your neck and molds his fingers to your hips, flushing you against him easy, you work into your nerves an air of dispassion. cleaning the dresser of miscellaneous things, fighting the urge to let him do whatever he wants with you.

and here, just behind your ear, the perfume proves to be intoxicating. his grip nailing in, curling to bring you impossibly closer. but his eyes never break. they hold, piercing hot and mischievous through the mirror.

in the silence you both suspend, weighing the importance of your plans.

he nestles into you. the fabric of your dress raising as his fingers pull.

and his voice makes you weak. thrums your blood.

"how important is this dress?".

"important enough", you hold against the balling his fist takes. "i paid money for it".

roman eases to his knees. undoes the neat knot he's made of his hair. he knows just how much you adore the feel of it. he pushes the fabric to rest above the curve of your hips. taps your right leg.

you lift it, angling it to rest your knee on the dresser. breathing labored. excited.

his own breath is warm at your skin, "and if we miss the reservation?" the sweet spice of your perfume meets him here too. his thumbs spreading you in a leisure manner.

anticipation consumes you. voice ragged. "it's not important".

he hums, delighted, his tongue lapping soft. testing and teasing. and your body leans forward, sensitive and longing, hips shifting away at such an intimate touch. but he holds firm, slipping wet through your slit again, continuously, his thumbs caressing where his grip tightens into your skin. and now that he's here, his patience to leave you undone forms new. bleeds a vigor about his every muscle and bone. your senses growing pliant above him, resolve melting as your hips shift to brush along the wet sweep of his tongue. and why he takes to such a leisure pace, you have no idea, but the pleasure simmering, fighting its way up the slope of your spine, grieves. wishing for something harsher. something less controlled.

the silence is remedied with a tender "please". teeth taking your lips to bite.

his mouth kissing, lingering, and you feel it spread. a smile. his mischief slipping into your skin before the inevitable pulling in, your clit caught, pulsing and needy as he sucks, thirsty and unstopping. and you feel arousal drip slow, glistening, his tongue catching it to savor. throat groaning as he shifts back forward to taste the fat of your clit. and though you stand above him, your hips shift ill-controlled and your voice leaves you soft and broken. belly coiling tight as his ministrations grow more singleminded by the second.

the nails of your fingers find their way to the roots of his hair, pulling him closer and running to soothe into his scalp. jaw dropped and gasping."feels so good baby".

and the slip of roman's tongue is lewd, caresses the swell of your clit as his mouth works your pussy. and as desperation mounts your bones, your other set of fingers tighten to hold against the dresser, arousal dripping its way past the onslaught of his mouth to run through his beard. the pricks of the hair there, rubbing your inner thighs to burn raw.

he grunts. "fuck", muffled and heated. dipping his tongue through till he's caressing the warmth of your walls. slow and reverential, savoring the tight clutch that holds him there.

white heat blankets your skin, fingers slipping to nestle through your slit, laying a dulcet touch to your clit. his tongue wide and gentle as it fucks you. and the sensation there is terribly sweet, solders hot and binding till your legs begin to tremble above him.

"roman", you call for him. tender and broken. he feels a blooming in his chest. heat and an eagerness. " 'm coming".

and the burden of that mounting coil shatters. pulses hard as you ride the sensation, fingers rubbing over the mess of your clit. thumb catching the soft nub to press against your pointer, trapping it to prolong that rich thrumming that flows about your skin. and roman takes to kissing you again, licking his tongue through the messiness of your release and kissing over your fingers.

8:50. the dinner reservation long forgotten.

but there are many other things forgotten besides white table cloth, wine glasses and intimately lit candles. the once so perfect button up he'd tucked into expensive slacks, now strewn about the floor, creased to hell next to the shine of abandoned shoes. and with all these things, left to be unremembered, is that mischievous sort of patience born from his teasing. where his touch was once salacious and mocking, unforgiving in the way it played well and denied pleasure better, is now just a filled shell of desperation. need running like flares of wild fire. and it shows here, as you sit atop the dresser, legs wrapped about him, the way roman aches and throbs, hot and demanding. cock thick and hard, reddened and leaking as he slips it through the stickiness of your slit.

his tongue growing sloppy, drunkly slipping over yours, pushing in the taste he'd savored so dearly. his skin teeming with a rushing, this great throbbing in his spine and the muscles in his core as he nestles the tip of his dick through the tight clutch of your heat. groaning in time with his pleasures as he sinks in, corralling your thighs forward to control the pacing, and deeper he goes till you're taking him to the hilt. the build of him seeming to crumble before your eyes, this mountain of a man trembling and undone by the warmth of you. delirium coursing fluid over bones as he stills to feel the softness and the pulsing. everything he'd missed, finally at his finger tips again.

and if not for the pain and the violence of it, you'd pull your nails through him. over taut skin and the great build of his muscles. not in a means to destroy, no, but in the hopes to consume him. a more permanent etching beneath his flesh where blood flows, just as he's done to you.

you hiss, breaths stuttered. mouth falling where the freckles at his cheeks live, balmy and heavy, attempting to find his mouth amongst the fall of his hair. to kiss him as he stretches you to take him. your fingers combing over the strays and flyaways, roughing your legs tighter to deepen the weight of him inside you.

you moan. something feathery and gentle. the fullness of him threatening to split your ears. and when his hips slip forward, fluid and strong, your fist knocks against the marble of the dresser. pain in your hand turning to pleasure else where.

"mhmgmh", his groan dark, feeling it rough up your body. and the carved marble of the dresser becomes more tainted by the second, the drag of him against the pulse and flutter of your heat so terribly charming. a soothing take to your pussy thats rigid enough to leave you breathless. and when your spine curls forward, head lulling to kiss the mirror, he leads with tongue to kiss your skin. "that's it right there huh?", but he needs no answer. pure evidence here, his dick rutting forward through the mess of you.

"yesss", stressed and drawn out.

the gentle pull of you, flexing wet and tight, a cureless addiction. his words slightly slurred, lips at your cheek, trailing to your neck, over your shoulder, plush and kiss swollen. "so soft babygirl". the draw in of him singleminded, throbbing and rutting. groaning as dazed eyes catch the feed in of his cock, a deep burying that shudders his skin. "love when you let me touch you like this", driving his fingers to form further up over your hips, dull nails curling at your back. "when you let me fuck you good", his hips pressing in as he stills, grinding slow, for you to feel him there, where he belongs. "how you need it".

you cry, a tear staining your cheek. the tremble of your lips forming over his as you kiss him. body molding to him, the go of his thrusts mindful as they work to fill you. and here, he slips in easy, steady still but with a gentler purpose. and his fingers, even in their dullness, don't run as brutal and the deftness of him proves with a tender rocking of his hips. arousal soaking him sweet as it sounds above the silence.

and the shock of everything takes hold. the ways you fought so terribly against him, to suffer in what you thought would be some less harsher fate than to live lovingly with him.

your voice stretches out delicately. into the safety of him. "don't leave me", quivering as you feel the building pressure in your body. "stay please".

"not going anywhere sweetheart", a hand at your cheek, thumb caressing there, "i'm right here", and the other pulling you impossibly closer by the thigh. lips over yours, sharing breaths. "you feel me? i'm right here", words whispered and groaning, the stroke of him deep and easy still.

and as he'd wanted since the beginning, your resolve crumbles as he holds you in his hands.

your heart heavy. fearful, excited. "....love you....", trembling as you come undone. "i love you".

he twitches, releasing thick and warm in you. pulling your lips in, passionate and relieved, tongue rolling to taste the words he'd waited to hear from forever ago, when everything about your attitude towards him was flimsy and hollow. and the bursting in his chest is undeniable, a smile slipping across his lips as the heat of the air sits easy about the both of you.

he kisses you again, lingering, with love and lust and longing.

"i love you too".

325 notes · View notes

doumadono · 8 months

Text

Warnings: violence, viking!Dabi, viking!Shoto, earl!Endeavor, viking!Hawks, fem!reader, viking themes, seer!Mirko, blood

Summary: the Earl sought counsel from the seer, seeking guidance after Shoto's proposition to send him and Touya on a mission to the north. Concerned about the rumors surrounding the mission, you resolved to extract information directly from Shoto

Word count: circa 6.5k

A/N: if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series, please let me know ♥

MASTERLIST KVITRAVN - MHA VIKING AU

PREVIOUS CHAPTER • NEXT CHAPTER

ACT III - SEEKING ANSWERS

The cold winds of late autumn swept through the rugged hills as earl Endeavor rode toward the dwelling of the renowned seer, Mirko. His thoughts were consumed by the intriguing proposition his youngest son, Shoto, had presented regarding a land rich in goods. The idea of sending his eldest son, Touya, to oversee this promising territory crossed the earl's mind, a strategic move that could secure his settlement's prosperity.

Upon reaching Mirko's abode, the atmosphere seemed to change. The air grew thick with an otherworldly aura, and the eerie silence made the settlement's seer even more intimidating. Mirko was a young woman with a fearsome reputation, her presence alone sending shivers down the spines of those who sought her guidance. Mirko was not beautiful in the conventional sense; her appearance held an unsettling allure. Long, wild locks framed her face, and her eyes, intense and piercing, seemed to hold secrets of both past and future. Tribal markings adorned her skin, marking her as a conduit to the spiritual realm.

Earl Endeavor, a man hardened by battles and strategic decisions, felt a twinge of uncertainty as he approached the seer.

Mirko's dwelling, draped in dark fabrics and adorned with symbols, exuded an aura of mysticism. She welcomed him with a knowing smile, her eyes gleaming with ancient wisdom. "My lord," she spoke, her voice a haunting melody, "what brings you to seek the guidance of the unseen?"

Endeavor hesitated momentarily before speaking. "I come seeking counsel, Mirko. My youngest son has spoken of a land rich in goods. I contemplate sending my eldest, Dabi, to oversee it. What do you foresee in the tapestry of fate?"

Mirko, seated in the midst of her mystical domain, gestured for Endeavor to sit.

Endeavor unfolded his plan, explaining the potential prosperity and influence this land could bring. "I intend to send Dabi to ensure our dominance over this territory. What do your visions reveal?"

The air thickened with an unspoken power, and her haunting hums echoed through the room. The earl observed, a sense of unease settling over him as he witnessed the seer's transformation.

Her eyes closed, Mirko began to sway rhythmically, her body guided by an unseen force. The haunting melody of her hums intensified, creating an otherworldly atmosphere within the sacred space.

Endeavor found himself being on the precipice of something beyond his understanding.

Her voice carried a spectral melody, and the room seemed to pulse with an unseen heartbeat. Mirko's eyes, still closed, painted visions of impending doom with her words.

"In darkness veiled, the land awaits, Echoes of sorrow, at destiny's gates. A wolf, fierce, prowls in the night, A dance with death, a sinister delight."

The seer's hands moved gracefully through the air, as if conducting an unseen symphony of fate. Her words painted vivid images of a land consumed by shadows and the imminent clash between two primal forces.

"An eagle, majestic and bold, Descends from heights, its destiny foretold. A battle fierce, 'neath the moonlit gleam, In shadows cast, where spirits teem."

The eagle and wolf, symbols of opposing forces, danced in the tapestry of Mirko's vision. The room echoed with the weight of her words, each rhyme a forewarning etched in the annals of fate.

"Blood on feathers, and darkness entwined, A struggle unfolds, destinies aligned. In the land cursed, where choices are made, The echo of battle, in shadows will fade."

"What does it mean?!" The earl growled loudly. "Tell me, now!"

As Mirko's body moved, a voice emerged from her lips, yet it seemed detached, as if another entity spoke through her. The words, laden with an eerie resonance, foretold a grim fate awaiting those who ventured into the land Shoto had spoken of. "The path you tread is bathed in blood, earl Endeavor. Death dances upon the horizon, and shadows darker than the night itself await those who dare to grasp the threads of destiny."

Endeavor felt a chill coursing through him. Mirko's words seemed like a macabre prophecy, a dire warning wrapped in a melody that resonated with the spirits of the unseen.

"Blood will stain the soil, and death will be the echo that reverberates through the ages. The spirits speak of a land cursed by the choices of the living," Mirko continued, her voice carrying the weight of the ethereal.

Endeavor, despite his stoic exterior, couldn't shake the disquiet settling in his chest. Mirko, in her trance, spoke as if guided by forces beyond mortal comprehension. The grim portrait she painted clashed with the earl's visions of conquest and prosperity.

As Mirko's humming reached a haunting crescendo, she opened her eyes, the once vacant gaze now piercing through the fabric of fate. The trance lifted, leaving the seer standing before Endeavor, a conduit between the living and the unseen.

"The spirits have spoken, my lord. The path ahead is shrouded in darkness, and the choices you make will echo through the very essence of time," Mirko uttered, her words lingering in the air like an unspoken decree from the spirits themselves.

Endeavor leaned forward, his expression stern. "Speak plainly, Mirko."

Mirko's voice carried a weight beyond the present. "The flames may consume not only the intended but all who stand too close. Choices shape destinies," the woman replied mysteriously.

Endeavor emerged from Mirko's dimly lit hut, the weight of her prophecy hanging in the air like a shroud of uncertainty. The pale light of the moon bathed the settlement nearby in an eerie glow as the earl took a moment to collect his thoughts.

Silence enveloped him, broken only by the distant sounds of the night. Endeavor closed his eyes, reflecting on the words Mirko had spoken. Despite the foreboding visions, a resolute determination burned within him. He knew the risks, but the allure of wealth and power beckoned him forward.

Turning to Mirko, he offered a nod of gratitude. "Thank you for your insights, Mirko. May the spirits guide us through the shadows." As a token of appreciation, Endeavor gently took Mirko's palm in his hands and pressed a grateful kiss upon it.

The seer's eyes, still veiled in the mystery of her visions, met his with a knowing gaze.

Mounting his horse, Endeavor set forth, determined to confront the future that awaited him. The night held its breath as Endeavor rode back to the settlement, a lone figure against the canvas of the darkened landscape. The journey ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but the ember of ambition burned brightly within him, lighting the path toward the destiny he sought.

Dabi sat in the dimly lit corner of the tavern, his presence almost like a shadow against the flickering candlelight. The rhythmic sound of a whetstone against his sword filled the air, a comforting repetition that matched the beat of his troubled thoughts.

The raucous atmosphere of the tavern buzzed around him, but the glances thrown his way were not ones of admiration or desire. The courtesans, usually attentive to potential patrons, seemed to cast him disgusted looks. Even though he was the heir to the earldom, the one who would sit on the throne after his father's eventual passing, they all were disgusted by him. His status brought him no favors in this realm of longing and fleeting connections.

Dabi's eyes occasionally flickered across the room, catching those disdainful glares. He couldn't deny the sharp pang in his chest — a mix of frustration and a longing for a connection he had been denied for so long. He had grown accustomed to rejection, so much so that he had stopped actively seeking companionship. Still, the yearning for the warmth and softness of a woman's touch lingered, a desire he had learned to bury deep within.

As he took a swig of ale, the bitter taste seemed to mirror the bitterness that had settled in his heart. Dabi continued to polish his sword, the repetitive motion a way to distract himself from the disapproving looks that haunted him. In the midst of the crowded tavern, he remained a solitary figure, surrounded by people but untouched by the warmth of human connection.

The loud thud echoed through the quiet walls of the Great Hall, jolting you awake from your shallow slumber. Concern etched across your face as you rushed out of the room you shared with Hilda, following the source of the commotion. The dimly lit corridor led you to Dabi's chamber, where you found him struggling to regain his balance, a victim of the ale's intoxicating effects.

"Easy there," you said, your voice soft but laced with genuine concern. "Need a hand?"

Dabi looked up at you, his turquoise eyes momentarily clouded with confusion before recognition set in. He grunted in agreement, accepting your offered help. Together, you steadied him, and he leaned against the wall for support. The flickering light from the fireplace cast a warm glow on both of you, creating an unexpected intimacy in that late-night encounter.

"Thanks," he mumbled, his usual aloofness momentarily giving way to a hint of vulnerability. The moment was fleeting, but it lingered in the air as you helped him back into his chamber.

You assisted Touya onto his bed. The warmth of the hearth seemed to soften the edges of the usually stern and enigmatic man. However, as you turned to leave, his hand shot out, gently grasping your wrist. When you met his eyes, you were met with a vulnerability that seemed to pierce through his usual façade.

"Stay," he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of desperation.

You hesitated. The rules that governed your roles in this Viking settlement were clear, and getting too close to someone of higher standing could invite trouble. Yet, the sadness in his eyes and the unspoken plea tugged at your empathy.

"I… I shouldn't," you started, but he tightened his grip ever so slightly.

"Please," he whispered, his tone a mixture of loneliness and longing.

In that moment, you found it difficult to resist. Against your better judgment, you stayed, settling on a bed beside him. The room was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

Touya's eyes never left yours.

The room was shrouded in shadows, and the warmth of the fire seemed to cocoon you and Touya in a fragile bubble of shared vulnerability.

With a hesitant yet genuine smile, Touya broke the silence. "Tell me about your homeland," he requested, his eyes showing a glimmer of curiosity.

His request hung in the air like a delicate thread, and you couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh before responding. "You want to hear about the place you tore me away from? Like a flower ripped out of the life-giving soil?" Your words held a weight, a mix of resentment and sorrow.

Touya met your gaze, his expression carrying the burden of understanding the pain he had caused. "Yes," he admitted, his voice low and sincere.

In the flickering glow of the fire, you began to weave a tale of your homeland. Your words painted a vivid picture of quaint cottages with thatched roofs, their walls weathered by the salty breeze that swept in from the sea. The narrow cobblestone streets echoed with the laughter of children playing and the rhythmic sounds of craftsmen honing their skills. "Near the shore, where the cliffs stood tall and proud, we built a small chapel—a haven of solace and prayer. Its stone walls echoed with hymns, and the air was filled with the scent of incense," you recounted, your voice carrying the nostalgia of a place left behind.

As you spoke, Touya's piercing eyes remained fixed on you, absorbing every detail of this distant world he never truly understood. The contrast between the harsh Viking settlements and the idyllic Christian village seemed stark.

"The coastline, painted in hues of blue and gray, witnessed the ebb and flow of tides. Fishing boats set sail at dawn, their sails billowing in the morning breeze, while the cliffs provided a vantage point for the villagers to gaze upon the vast horizon," you continued.

Touya's features softened as he envisioned the serene landscape you described, a world far removed from the tumultuous life he had known. Touya's eyes closed, a faint smile gracing his lips as he absorbed the essence of your words. "You must have been missing the place ever since," he pointed out, the words carrying a gentle understanding of the yearning that comes with reminiscing about a home left behind.

You nodded quietly, the flames of a fireplace reflecting in your eyes. "Indeed. The memories are like whispers of a distant melody, a reminder of a life that once was. I can almost feel the salt-laden wind against my face, hear the distant hymns in the chapel. Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, I close my eyes and pretend I'm back there, surrounded by the familiar comforts of home."

Touya's smile faded, replaced by a somber expression, as the echoes of your quiet sobbing reached his ears. He opened his eyes, and there he found you, tears streaming down your cheeks, your gaze fixated on the dancing flames in the fireplace.

His heart constricted with an unexpected ache. A flicker of empathy illuminated his usually guarded gaze.

"But it is all gone. All gone. You and your people took everything from me. And now I'm here, locked in a cage of a shadow of something once called life. Apparently, this was God's plan for me," your voice carried a weight of bitterness and sorrow.

His gaze softened as he watched you, the firelight casting shadows on your tear-streaked face. "Gods have their own way of weaving destinies, entangling lives in threads that stretch across time and space. Perhaps, just perhaps, there's a reason our paths crossed in this tumultuous journey."

You gave Touya a searching look, the flickering firelight dancing in your eyes, and asked, "What do you mean? Why would the God bring me here, to this… place of captivity?"

Touya looked at you with a glint of intensity in his eyes. "Our gods are different, you know. Freya, Odin, they're not like your Christian God. They're not confined to a single doctrine. They're free, just like the wind that sweeps through these icy lands. And I believe, with all my heart, that the Allfather sent me to your village for a reason, and that reason was you."

You couldn't help but snort at his words. "You're drunk, Touya. Those gods of yours aren't guiding anything. I'm here because of the whims of men, not gods."

Touya locked eyes with you, his gaze intense and filled with unspoken emotions. Slowly, he wrapped his arm around you, drawing you closer until there was barely any space between you. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, "You're beautiful."

His breath sent shivers down your spine, and before you could fully comprehend his words, his lips boldly found yours. Shock coursed through you at the unexpected kiss, your first taste of such intimacy. The heavy scent of alcohol lingered on his tongue, but amidst the surprise, you felt a strange warmth. You hesitated at first, unsure of how to respond, but the gravity of the moment pulled you in.

As the kiss continued, you found yourself brushing your lips against his, a hesitant exploration of uncharted territory. The flickering firelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, bearing witness to a connection that transcended the roles you were assigned in this harsh world.

The following day, Endeavor summoned Dabi to his side, his face stern and determined. The air in the room felt heavy with an unspoken gravity as Dabi approached his father. "Touya," Endeavor began, his voice cutting through the silence, "I have a mission for you."

Dabi's eyebrows furrowed in curiosity and apprehension. "What kind of mission?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on Endeavor.

Endeavor's eyes bore into his son's, revealing a mix of authority and expectation. "You, Shoto, and a selected group of warriors, including Hawks, will be sent to the northern part of Sweden. There's a land there with potential, rich in resources. It's time to expand our influence, and you're crucial to this endeavor."

Dabi nodded, acknowledging the weight of the task ahead. The mention of Shoto and Hawks in the same mission stirred a sense of unease, but he kept his emotions in check. "Understood," he replied, his tone resolute.

Endeavor continued to lay out the details of the mission, his plans unfolding as a complex web of politics, power, and strategy.

Little did Dabi know that this journey would lead to unforeseen challenges, testing not only his strength as a warrior but also the bonds that held his family together.

Hilda approached you with a furrowed brow, a concerned expression etched across her features. The flickering light of the torches in the chamber cast shadows that danced upon the walls as she spoke. "Y/N, I need to talk to you," she said in a hushed tone.

You looked up, sensing the seriousness in her voice. "What is it, Hilda?" you asked, your eyes reflecting a blend of curiosity and apprehension.

She took a moment before responding, choosing her words carefully. "I think I just need a listening ear. Touya is going on another mission. But what worries me more is that Shoto, his younger brother, is being sent alongside him."

You furrowed your brows, recognizing the tension between the two brothers. "Isn't that a cause for concern? They don't exactly get along, do they?"

Hilda nodded solemnly. "No, they don't. The earl's decision to send them together is raising suspicions. It's a risky move, and I fear it might not bode well for the stability of the mission."

Concern etched across your face as you contemplated the potential consequences of such a decision. The dynamics between the two brothers were already strained, and sending them on a mission together seemed like a recipe for conflict. Hilda's worry mirrored your own, and the uncertainty of the future weighed heavily on both your minds.

You finished brushing your hair, the strands flowing smoothly through the comb. The flickering candlelight in your chamber created a soft ambiance, but your thoughts were far from the present moment. Hilda's words echoed in your mind, and the worry for Touya settled like a heavy stone in your chest.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to Hilda, who was quietly arranging some furs in a corner of the room. "Hilda," you began hesitantly, "is there really nothing we can do for Touya? I can't shake off this feeling of unease."

Hilda paused, her gaze meeting yours. The lines on her face spoke of years of experience and wisdom. "Y/N, sometimes the currents of fate are beyond our control. All we can do is navigate the waters as best we can. Right now, the best course is to stay vigilant and hope for the best."

You nodded, understanding the weight of her words. The unpredictable nature of the situation left you feeling powerless, and it frustrated you. "But what if something happens to him? What if Shoto…"

Hilda placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "We can't predict the future, dear. All we can do is be prepared for whatever comes our way. Keep an eye on the situation, and if there's an opportunity to help, we'll take it. For now, focus on your tasks and be vigilant."

You sighed, acknowledging the wisdom in her advice.

Hilda observed you with a shrewd gaze, her eyes filled with curiosity and a hint of concern. As you finished your nightly routine and settled onto the furs, she couldn't help but voice the question that lingered in her mind. "Y/N," the woman began, her voice gentle yet probing, "forgive me if I overstep, but your interactions with Touya have been minimal. Why this sudden concern for him?"

You hesitated for a moment, considering your words carefully. The truth was, your initial reservations about Dabi were not baseless, but something about Touya's vulnerability had stirred a different emotion within you. You looked at Hilda, deciding to share a part of your thoughts. "I may not like him, but I can't shake off the feeling that there's more to Touya than what meets the eye. The way he spoke about his past, about losing everything, it resonated with me. It's not pity, Hilda, but a sense of understanding, maybe empathy. And now, knowing he's going on this dangerous mission alongside Shoto, it's hard to ignore the worry."

Hilda's smirk widened as she spoke, her eyes glinting with a mischievous light. "Oh, my dear, I can see your cheeks flushing when you speak about him so fondly. You're having a crush, am I right?"

Hilda's smirk didn't go unnoticed, and you felt a blush creeping up your cheeks. Her teasing words struck a nerve, and a flicker of irritation danced in your eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about, Hilda. It's just concern for a fellow human being," you retorted, your tone defensive.

Hilda chuckled softly, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Concern, my dear, often wears a different face. There's no shame in admitting you care for him. After all, this world is full of unexpected twists, isn't it?"

You pursed your lips, attempting to maintain composure. Deep down, you knew there was a kernel of truth in Hilda's words. The concern for Touya had indeed taken a different form, and your heart acknowledged a connection that transcended mere worry. Yet, admitting it to yourself felt like navigating uncharted waters.

Ignoring Hilda's knowing gaze, you turned away, feigning disinterest. But within, a storm of conflicting emotions raged, and you couldn't deny the impact Touya had made on your guarded heart.

As the night wore on, sleep eluded you. Tossing and turning in your simple bed, a peculiar yet potentially useful idea began to form in your mind. The notion of extracting information from Shoto about his plans took root, and you found yourself contemplating the details of how to execute this risky but potentially advantageous scheme.

The flickering light of the dim chamber barely illuminated your face as you hatched a plan to subtly and strategically approach Shoto. The urgency of the situation and the looming mission compelled you to consider taking matters into your own hands, even if it meant navigating the treacherous waters of deceit. With a determined resolve, you prepared yourself mentally for the intricate dance of conversation that lay ahead.

In your best dress, adorned with the finest that could be salvaged among the thralls, you made your way to the tavern after learning from Natsuo that Shoto was seen going out with a warrior named Hawks. As you stepped out, the cool breeze of the late afternoon caressed your face, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within you.

Arriving at the tavern, you could hear the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking mugs seeping through the wooden door. Taking a deep breath, you pushed it open, revealing the warm, dimly lit interior. The air was thick with the scent of ale and the low hum of conversations. You scanned the room, finally spotting Shoto and Hawks in a corner, engaged in a conversation.

Shoto's two-colored hair caught the wavering light as he raised his tankard in a toast. "To power and the thrill of the hunt," he declared with a smirk, taking a long swig.

Hawks leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his golden eyes.

The duo seemed engrossed in conversation, their laughter mingling with the low hum of the tavern. Female thralls, drawn by their presence, attempted to engage in conversation, but the exchanges were marked by a darkness that hinted at their underlying intentions. Shoto and Hawks were having fun in the company of two thralls with exotic features that hinted at a southern origin. The air was charged with an unmistakable tension as the men engaged in flirtatious banter.

One of the thralls, feigning coyness, asked, "What brings you to our humble company tonight?"

Shoto, with a sly grin, leaned in to the thrall seated by his side, and said, "Oh, just the usual – seeking a bit of warmth in this frigid place. Perhaps you ladies could provide some, hmmm?" He mused, running his hand up and down the girl's shoulder.

The other thrall, playing along, responded, "Warmth, you say? Well, you might need to work hard to earn that from us."

Shoto frowned a little, yet his voice stayed low and smooth, "You seem to be unaware of my position, woman. I am the heir to earl Endeavor, and I demand that you address me with the respect befitting my status," he forcefully grabbed the other woman by her shoulder, causing her to tumble off her chair and land on the floor next to him. "So, I suggest you watch your manners, for I am the best you can find in this establishment. Consider your words carefully before opening that foolish mouth of yours next time."

Hawks nodded in agreement, "Indeed, the gentleman here is right. Shoto, don't scare the lady."

The conversations continued in this bold and wry manner, each word dripping with innuendo as the men skillfully navigated the delicate dance of desire. The atmosphere in the tavern buzzed with anticipation as the thralls played their part in the seductive exchange, the one that previously ended on the floor now sat quietly, letting Hawks wrap his strong arms around her shoulders as his hand was playing with her breasts from time to time.

Summoning your courage, you approached them, the rhythmic thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. As you drew nearer, you caught Shoto's eye, and a subtle smirk crept onto his face. Hawks, on the other hand, eyed you with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. The atmosphere shifted as you prepared to enter a world of alliances and secrets, uncertain of what the outcome might be.

"Well, well, what brings you to this den of sin all alone? Where's your precious Touya? Couldn't keep up with his demands?" the youngest Endeavorson taunted, his tone laced with amusement.

You brushed off his wry remark. "I think it's time for us to bury the hatchet. Our relationship didn't start on the best note, and I believe we can find a way to coexist peacefully."

He looked at you, seemingly surprised by your suggestion. Shoto considered your words, and after a moment, he offered you a seat with them.

Throughout the interaction, Hawks observed the scene. You gave him a brief smile, trying to maintain a cool demeanor in the company of the two men.

Shoto turned to you with an air of faux politeness, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I believe we can have a civilized conversation, don't you?" His eyes darted towards the thrall who had been seated beside him, and with a dismissive gesture, he uttered, "You, leave us."

The thrall shot you a cold glance before complying with Shoto's request and vacating the space.

Now alone, Shoto leaned back in his chair, a smug smirk playing on his lips. "There, much better. Now, let's chat, shall we?"

You took a deep breath before speaking, "I must admit, despite the fear you instill within me, there's a certain charisma about you. It's hard not to notice."

Shoto's grin widened, appreciating the acknowledgment. "Well, I appreciate your honesty. And by the way, I quite like your accent. It adds a certain charm." His compliment was laced with a hint of mischief as he reached his hand out to briefly rub your shoulder.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as Shoto's hand landed on your shoulder. Suppressing a wince, you decided to play along with his casual demeanor. When he asked about the real reason for your visit, you hesitated for a moment before responding, "Well, I just wanted to get to know you a little better, my lord."

Shoto raised an eyebrow, considering your words. "Interesting choice of words. Here, have some mead." He poured some into a wooden mug and handed it to you, a sly smile playing on his lips.

You accepted, trying to keep your nerves at bay.

Hawks, with a twinkle in his golden eyes, couldn't help but comment, "Quite a beauty you have here, Shoto. Earl Endeavor's thralls are indeed a treasure."

Shoto, taking a sip of his mead, glanced at you and replied wryly, "All Christian women have this softness within them. I just happen to enjoy breaking it." His words were delivered with a certain darkness that sent a chill down your spine.

Trying to maintain composure, you played along, responding with a forced smile, as you looked at Shoto's companion, "Well, thank you for the compliment, sir."

As Shoto continued to drink, you couldn't shake off the unease that settled in the pit of your stomach.

As more mugs of mead were emptied by the men and the atmosphere in the tavern grew warmer, you mustered the courage to bring up the topic that had been gnawing at your thoughts. Leaning in, you addressed Shoto, "Forgive me for intruding, but I overheard that you and Touya are going on a mission. Is it true?"

Shoto's eyes, a mix of icy determination and something unreadable, met yours. He took a moment, swirling the remnants of his mead in his mug before responding, "Yes, a mission to the north. Father believes it's a land rich in resources, and he wants us to secure it for the settlement."

Hawks, who had been listening attentively, chimed in, "Aye, a mission of great importance. The north can be treacherous, though. Many dangers await those who venture into the unknown."

You nodded, though a lingering concern for Touya flickered in your eyes. "What kind of dangers are you talking about? Is it just the harsh conditions of the north, or is there something else we should be aware of?"

Shoto's stoic expression betrayed little, leaving you to wonder about the true nature of the mission and what it might mean for both brothers.

Hawks took a sip from his mead, his golden eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and wariness. "The north is a wild place, full of untamed landscapes and creatures. Wolves, bears, and more roam freely. Not to mention, the weather can be brutal, especially this time of year."

Shoto's gaze never wavered as he observed your reaction to Hawks' nonchalant explanation.

You sensed there might be more to the story, but both men remained guarded in their responses.

Shoto's sudden shift in demeanor caught you off guard, his hand landing on your knee with an unexpected boldness. He began to rub your knee casually, his gaze steady as he threw a question your way. "Let's change the topic, my dear. The ruggedness of our upcoming mission might be a bit too much for a delicate female mind like yours to comprehend," he remarked, his fingers tracing small circles on your knee, playing with the hems of your dress. Then, with a smirk, he leaned in, his tone low and almost conspiratorial. "Tell me, has my older brother had his way with you yet?"

You felt a mix of discomfort and annoyance at his audacity, but you tried to maintain composure. "That's none of your business, Shoto," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "And the mission—"

"Oh, don't play coy," he interrupted, his lips curling into a smirk. "I'm genuinely curious. After all, I'd hate for you to miss out on experiencing the full range of pleasures in our little settlement."

The situation had taken an unexpected turn, and you found yourself navigating the conversation with a mix of caution and defiance, unsure of where Shoto was leading with his intrusive inquiries.

You met Shoto's audacious question with a bold response. "No, my lord, I haven't been with anyone, ever," you asserted, trying to maintain a sense of control in the conversation.

Hawks chimed in with a cryptic comment, "Well, isn't that a rare treasure in these parts. A thrall with untouched cunny, how intriguing."

You shot a wary glance at Hawks, uncertain about the implications of his words.

Shoto, however, seemed more amused than surprised, his smirk widening as if he had expected such a revelation. "You're missing out on experiences, thrall. I could show you what it's like. I doubt my older brother knows how to please a woman. Look at him, covered in scars, a truly disgusting sight. No normal woman would willingly lie with such a damaged man."

You felt Shoto's hand sliding beneath the fabric of your dress, making your breath catch in your throat. His audacious suggestion hung in the air, and the atmosphere became charged with tension.

You pulled away, a mix of surprise and discomfort evident on your face. "Maybe… Nut I didn't have enough mead yet, my lord," you asserted, trying to maintain a semblance of control over the situation.

Shoto, undeterred, leaned in with a sly grin. "Afraid of a little adventure? I promise you, it'll be an experience you won't forget," he whispered, his mismatched eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity.

As Shoto poured another mug of mead for you, you discreetly took small sips, ensuring that the majority of the liquid found its way into Hawks' cup while the two men were engrossed in conversation. The effects of the mead were beginning to show on Shoto, but you remained clear-headed.

The conversation in the tavern continued, filled with laughter and raucous chatter. You observed Shoto's growing inebriation and wondered if this was the opportune moment to extract information about the mission.

As Shoto, in a visibly inebriated state, decided to make his way back to the Great Hall, Hawks was more than willing to accompany him. However, seizing the opportunity to gather more information, you stepped forward and offered to walk Shoto back on his behalf. Hawks, busy with the two other thralls he managed to lure, readily agreed.

With Shoto leaning on you for support, you began the journey back to the Great Hall. The night air was crisp, and the sound of distant revelry echoed through the settlement. As you walked, you subtly steered the conversation toward the mission, aiming to extract any valuable details Shoto might unwittingly reveal in his inebriated state. As Shoto stumbled beside you, you ventured to ask, "Shoto, why do you harbor such resentment toward Touya? It seems like there's a lot of tension between you two."

Shoto's response was punctuated by occasional hiccups, and he spoke with a slurred cadence, "Touya… he's always been the favorite. Father sees him as the rightful heir, even after he attempted on killing him… When he was a baby… I'm just… the spare. I've had to fight for every scrap of approval, every shred of acknowledgment. It's fucking infuriating."

His words were tinged with a mix of bitterness and vulnerability, and you couldn't help but wonder if there was more beneath the surface of their strained relationship.

Shoto's alcohol-laden breath hung in the night air as he delved deeper into the caverns of his animosity. His words spilled out, laced with venom and a fervent desire for retribution. "You see, Y/N… Touya has always been the golden child… Father dotes on him, oblivious to the struggles I faced. I fought tooth and nail, but in his eyes, I'm still the disappointment." His voice resonated with a toxic blend of envy and resentment. "I wish he'd disappear, fade away… It would be so much easier without him overshadowing me at every turn… Fucking Touya. Father might finally see my worth."

As he spoke, you couldn't help but sense the profound wounds that fueled Shoto's disdain for his older brother, wondering if there was any way to mend the frayed bonds between them.

With a heavy sigh, you opened the huge, wooden door to the Great Hall. In the dimly lit hallway, you guided Shoto with careful steps, avoiding any unnecessary noise. As you reached his chamber, the weight of your question hung in the air, and you couldn't help but ask, "My lord… Do you plan to harm your older brother during this mission?"

He paused, his drunken demeanor momentarily overshadowed by a serious glint in his eyes. "Hurt him? No. But if fate has other plans for him, who am I to intervene?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if Shoto's words held any truth or if they were merely intoxicated ramblings. As you opened the door and let go of his waist, you couldn't shake off the unsettling feeling that there was more beneath the surface of his seemingly casual response. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across his face, adding an enigmatic air to the entire exchange.

The sudden force of Shoto's grip on your waist surprised you, and before you could react, his lips collided with yours in a messy, drunken kiss. The taste of mead lingered on his breath, making the encounter less pleasant than you might have imagined. You winced, feeling a mix of discomfort and confusion as the moment unfolded.

Shoto's hand slipped beneath your dress and moved up your leg, resting between your thighs. As he pulled away, his eyes were glazed, and he chuckled under his breath, resting his back against the wooden wall. "You're an interesting one, Y/N," he slurred, releasing his hold on you and stumbling into his chamber. "I'll make sure you're mine, not his." The door closed behind him, leaving you standing in the hallway, processing the unexpected exchange with your palm pressed against your mouth.

As you turned around, your heart sank, its rhythm momentarily disrupted - there, in the corridor, stood Touya. His expression held a mixture of surprise and shock as he observed you, and an unspoken tension hung in the air.

Touya's harsh words hung in the air, stinging like a bitter truth. "I can't believe you're like that, Y/N, letting my brother touch you this way. I thought you were different, not like every other thrall, but I guess I was wrong."

A lump formed in your throat as you desperately wanted to explain, to make him understand, but before you could utter a single word, Touya turned on his heel and left, the resounding crash of the door slamming shut echoing through the dimly lit corridor.

Now, you found yourself standing alone, the weight of his accusations settling in. The corridor seemed colder, lonelier in the aftermath of his anger. You replayed the scene in your mind, the hurt etched on Touya's face, the disappointment in his voice. It was a bitter cocktail of emotions that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

The truth was, you never intended to betray or hurt Touya. You considered chasing after him, explaining that it wasn't as it seemed, that your intentions were never to betray him. But the finality of that slamming door weighed heavily on your shoulders.

A lone tear traced the contours of your cheek, a delicate testament to the waning emotions within. It was as if you had relinquished something profoundly vital, a precious fragment of your life slipping away, leaving behind a poignant void.

heathen wolves: @indignant-alpaca @misafiryanki @roast-toast @within-eyesight @crystalwolfblog @haseki-huricihan @violet-forgetmenot

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mdinudi · 7 months

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Tribal Pattern - Aztec, Wood

Coffee, tea, or art? Have it all with this eye-opening ceramic mug.

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dinoburger · 1 year

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9 masks based on the mercenaries + alternate team designs

some notes on inspiration under the cut

Soldier

Chinese war mask

camouflage (paint, netting and "scrim")

Scout

based on Hermes (Greek bronze and marble statues)

Pyro

wood Indonesian boar mask

Heavy

porcelain mask

matryoshka

Engineer

scrap metal and leather

cowboy themed

Demoman

Celtic masks

Scottish thistle

Medic

wood/fabric German festival masks

Spy

art nouveau inspired (treated papier mache)

Sniper

wood masks inspired by Aboriginal and Māori art respectively

metal eye holes inspired by Ned Kelly

fern and flowering gum

I want to note that while tribal masks were an inspiration, I didn't want to directly copy or draw anything resembling Māori face tattoos on Sniper's face, so I just left it roughly hatched with his sideburns more referencing a generic New Zealand fern. I understand that tribal masks and tattoos are very important and more so just want to respectfully acknowledge the culture than misuse it.

#dbarts #tf2

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oddclan-askblog · 2 months

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More slig stuff plus lore below the cut (there is a lot.)

Slig growth differences:

free sligs can see well and do not need goggles. They maintain their lower set of mandibles which are used to feed food into their moths as well as taste. Teen sligs steel guns, ammo, and goggles from older sligs when they're not looking. While most of this goes to new escapees sometimes cool stuff "slips through". Teens don't really need any of it, they're seldom allowed to fight or raid. It all just looks really cool so of course they snag it.

Adult tribal sligs new or original, are expected to leave the old gear behind in favor of copper jewelry and tattoos. Some keep their old gear but most move on.

Slave sligs are blinded and their lower set of mandibles are removed while they're young. This makes tough food harder to eat and disincentives them from fleeing the factories in adult life. Additionally their tails are bound and cut short making movement without pants very painful.

Occasionally baby Sligs are smuggled to freedom but very very rarely. Rescuing a squawking sadistic slug is quite difficult compared to a mud egg.

New blood:

Slaves who try to become free can not enter the community at will. They are required to bring their weapons and gear (unloaded), whatever they can snatch food wise, and must mark themselves to show their commitment. A mark consists of a very obvious "X" across the head or chest, anything hidden is likely to be missed and the latter will be shot on site. The X must be scarred over by the time they arrive unarmed.

When this policy was first implemented there was a lot of success and their numbers grew by the day. Once the cartels caught on the deserters thinned out significantly. Recourses have dwindled. Some suggested the policy be changed so marks could be carved across other parts of the body, so as to be more hidden. Treun will not allow it he wants the mark to be obvious.

Village life:

There is only one above ground settlement left in Oddworld, the rest are numerous connected by a maze of caves. Escapees are allowed to congregate at the aboveground settlement but no further. Any interaction from the other clans require natives from above or below meeting in the middle. A free queen is rumored to exist but this has never been verified. The sanctuaries constant need for new support and supplies suggests otherwise.

Sligs live minimalist lifestyles, their tents are woven fabric with leaf littered over the top to blend in with the ground. Each member hunts and gathers together for the clan. Trade with mudokon allow for the acquisition of new art and the occasional tattoo. Muds are not allowed into specially marked sections of the slig tunnels.

Underground is more complicated, most of the smaller settlements are only three to ten homes strong. The inhabitants feed on cave mosses when desperate but otherwise eat off of dead animals swept into the caverns. Their homes are short dead end tunnels dug into a horizontal "s" shape. A flood room is built into the lower curve so excess water stays in the front half of the home. At the high point of the second curve a long vertical tunnel is dug up toward the bedrooms and other chambers.

Almost everything is made of some form of clay with fabric and food being stored indoors. Rotten food and waste are disposed of ahead of the village by several kilometers so it flows down current come the storm. Sligs responsible for this travel on specific days of the week. In the interim, trash is carefully sorted and clutter is discouraged.

The Catacombs:

Under the swamps lie the ruined Slig cities and shrines. Tunnels and hidden enclaves dug deep into the earth over thousands of years weave a beautiful and dangerous tapestry out of the rock. They can be navigated and shrines can still be accessed but doing so requires careful effort. The biggest danger below is not getting stuck, crushed, or lost, its drowning. Rain is hazardous and inconsistent from above, mountain melt, swamp mog, and anything small enough to drag under, will flood even the largest chasms.

Bells and bridges connect the highest non flooding point of the caverns. They are specially designed with grooves on their exterior so they will ring as the rain pours. If one can not make it to a bridge above, death is assured.

The deepest settlements have specially dug water drain offs and bastions so other caverns remain safe. Many ancient cities and statues are closed off by collapsed tunnels or completely submerged underwater. All point to a powerful past where queens warred for power and free sligs thrived in abundance.

Some areas are inaccessible due to toxic gas which can spread to other caverns if opened. Sligs have a variety of ways for assessing the danger of rooms ahead. Birds are the old-school method, less preferred given the scarcity of food. Repurposed gear can be used especially gas detectors if stolen.

The most common method is tying a trained rat to a string and allowing it to skitter through a small opening. The opening will be closed momentarily with food occasionally added in. The short string keeps the animal close by, its breathing and squeaking being an indicator if the environment is unsafe. If the rat stops squeaking all together the chamber has no oxygen. If the chirps are frantic and it begins scratching at the lid the room is toxic. If all is normal the room is safe. When the results are in the string will be pulled like a leash and the pet returned. This keeps the sligs and their fuzzy buddies alive without wasting resources or much time.

As Ratz serve a vital role their is much cave art and carvings in their honor. Indeed it seems even ancient sligs understood these creatures genius. Rats and Mize are bred and sold across slig territory for looks, colors, size, and sometimes food. Other Odd races would find this disgusting but Sligs could give less of a damn about their opinions.

Beliefs:

Sligs are not religious or particularly spiritual at present, they are mostly focused on day to day survival. Some settlements are zealous in their practices and preach their own version of a coming end time. A world borne anew from a great ancient flood where only the most steadfast are saved! Treun blows these isolated settlements off, his people are experiencing enough pain as is. Wouldn't help to preach of imminent death even if most would ignore the rapture too.

#oddworld #oddtumblr #digital art #oc #slig #reposting this with the updated info #I was sick when I first posted it and couldn't be bothered to add all the extra lol

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eretzyisrael · 3 months

Text

By Nachum Kaplan

Hamas correctly identified that antisemitism was only dormant in the West, and that they just needed to wake the sleeping monster. They knew this because there were clear tells, such as the international media’s fixation on Israel, the over-reporting of the country, and that the Pavlovian way the conflict becomes newsworthy only when Israel responds to an attack.Hamas stuck to what has worked throughout history. The blood libel trope was modernized into accusations of genocide and deliberate starvation, while the trope of Jews being responsible for their persecution was updated with the notion that Israel had turned Gaza into an open-air prison.They leveraged their numerical advantage.With more than a billion Muslims globally, Hamas knew it had a huge virtual army it could activate on social media to reach a global audience.Hamas flooded social media with lies to exploit the Repetition Bias, a heuristic (mental shortcut) in which repeated information feels more true than new or unrepeated information. Social media repeated these lies exponentially, aided by extensive use of AI-generated “photographs.”The Palestinians also exploited another numerical advantage, the number of Muslim states, which is 48. This has given them weight in forums such as the United Nations and its various committees and bodies, creating a suited army of bureaucrats with credible titles to tell lies to the international press.Almost comically, Iran has just assumed the presidency of the UN Conference on Disarmament. That is the same Islamic Republic that funds, arms, and trains Hamas in Gaza, Hezbollah in Lebanon, the Houthis in Yemen — and ships arms to Russia to use in its invasion of Ukraine.They controlled the information flow.Hamas and the Palestinian Authority have used traditional authoritarian tactics to control the information flow from areas they govern. Reporters cannot report freely or unfavorably from Palestinian-controlled territories if they want to retain access. Threats of violence keep the few unsympathetic local reporters in check.Exploiting the inability of most media to report from Gaza directly, Hamas has used local Gazan “journalists” to feed lies, distorting images, and fabricated data to the credulous international media. Time and again, the foreign press has swallowed them, including claimed civilian death toll numbers that are demonstrably untrue (and presume every person killed was a civilian).Hamas has only needed the media to report its numbers, knowing that if repeated enough, they be treated as true and that no one will pay attention to the fine print stating they are unverified. Hamas at one point even had the media complaining that Israel was simultaneously not allowing reporters access to Gaza and targeting journalists there.They mastered the 24-hour news cycle.The internet has blurred the traditional lines between print and television news, turning all news media into digital services beholden to the 24-hour news cycle.Hamas has understood that as long as it keeps manufacturing outrages, the news cycle will move on quickly, and they will never be held to account. The Qatar-funded Al Jazeera, which has the veneer of a real news organization, has played a key role in this.They have exploited a ‘post-truth’ world.Hamas recognized that the post-Modernist rot has resonated in much of the West, including across its media and universities. The belief that people cannot only have their own opinions, but their own facts, sounds laughable, but it has become worryingly normal.Political tribes express opinions mainly as identity signals, and tribal loyalty is more important to these people than truth, or even reality. Hamas has understood that this liberates it from any need to have a fact-based narrative.They use simple slogans.“

#hamas #gaza #hamas propaganda #hamas media machine #Palestinians

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 1 year

Text

Faerie and Vampr

Chapter Five

Half the patrons of Marco’s Bar and Grill thought Erik had a hand in the markings on the women’s bodies. The other 50 percent thought that some of the vampire’s from bigger towns or cities had bitten Maudette and Dawn when they were out bar hopping, and they deserved what they got if they wanted to go to bed with vampires. Some thought the girls had been strangled by a vampire, some thought they had just continued their promiscuous ways into disaster.

But most importantly, everyone who came into Marco’s was worried that some other woman would be killed next. Tamara couldn’t count the times she was told to be careful, to watch her vampire friend who popped up in town recently, told to lock her doors and take the day shift instead. Lloyd came in for both commiseration and suspicion as a man who’d “dated” both women.

He had come by the house one day and stayed around for about an hour while Nana Sylvia and Tamara tried to encourage him to keep going with his work and doing what Lloyd normally does. But for the first time in Tamara’s memory, her handsome brother was really worried. She hated that he got himself mixed up with those women. It’s unfortunate what happened to them, but now her brother could be in trouble with the law for something he didn’t do.

Tamara didn’t try to dwell on the deaths of the two women. Although everyone else was suspicious of her brother and Erik, all she could think about was that kiss two nights ago. His lips, so soft and skillful, had her dreaming of what it would be like to roll around in the sheets kissing him all night long. The dream didn’t go further than kissing, which was enough to have her pink and white panties wet waking up that morning, but the possibility of sex with Vampyr Erik did cross Tamara’s mind.

It was the evening for Crimson Mist. Tamara finally pulled a simple dress from her closet after going through half of her dress collection and littering her bed. She felt it was perfect for the occasion. It was a nice date dress, if you wanted the personal interest of whoever was your escort. It was a body con dress. Tight and black. The fabric was clinging to every dip, curve, and valley. Her brown skin glowed and her cleavage showed. She completed the look with metallic silver high-heeled sexy sandals, a delicate sterling silver chain necklace that draped between her breasts, and silver hoops. She put on light glam makeup and wore her hair in a fresh wash-and-go.

Nana Sylvia’s eyes widened when she came out of her room.

“Sugar, you look beautiful,” she said. “Aren’t ya’ gonna be a little cold in that dress?”

Tamara giggled, “No, ma’am, I don’t think so. It’s pretty warm tonight.”

“Ya’ sure?” Nana Sylvia pressed. “a nice white sweater, the one I got ya’ for Christmas—”

“Okay, how about I grab my moto jacket just in case it cools down?”

Tamara looked and felt sexy. Something she rarely gets a chance to feel. She was pretty excited about going on a date with Erik, though she kind of asked him herself and it was more of a fact-finding mission. Plus, it’s his bar. Would it count as a date at his own business?

“See,” Tamara showed Nana Sylvia her moto jacket, “This goes well with it, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. I’m not tryna tell ya’ what to do.”

Tamara kisses her Nana on the cheek. A knock on the door had Nana Sylvia moving faster than Tamara to be the first to open the door. She fixed her silver hair that was styled in a low bun and adjusted her house dress with different tribal patterns on it. She gasped with excitement and opened her arms in true grandma fashion, pulling Erik’s cold body into a warm embrace.

“Erik! It’s so good to see ya’ again! How are ya’, handsome?”

“Takin’ it easy, Miss Sylvia. Ya’ lookin’ beautiful. I hope all is well wit’ ya’.”

“Oh,” Nana Sylvia blushed. “It's well. All is well. Come in! Come in! Darn moths…”

Erik chuckled, swatting a few away before shutting the door behind him. His eyes scanned the foyer with immense joy before they fell on Tamara standing awkwardly to his right.

Erik wore a white beater that left little to the imagination— an eight pack and pecs to match. Black jeans that fit tighter at the ankles and loose in the waist were on his lower half. He had on a moto jacket himself but it was black and white. Tungsten steel pendants hung from his neck and various rings in tungsten accessorized his thick fingers. Onyx earrings bejeweled both ears and high top black and white vans were on his feet.

When he saw her, Tamara wasn’t sure if she’d overdone it because he seemed really annoyed. His face went quite still. His eyes flared. His fingers curved as if he were scooping something up with them. Tamara had to remind herself that she couldn’t hear his thoughts. The one person who she’d give anything to listen in on.

“Is this okay?” Tamara asked anxiously. She felt the butterflies in her belly.

“…Yes,” He finally spoke. But his pause had been long enough to get Nana Sylvia’s attention.

“Look, sugar, ya’ got this man speechless!!” Nana Sylvia laughed, “My Tammy is the prettiest girl around!”

“Oh, yes,” Erik agreed, but there was a curious lack of inflection in his deep voice.

Tamara didn’t know what to think. She wanted to call the entire date off then. What was his fucking problem? Screw him. This isn’t a damn date anyway. Tamara stiffened her back and walked up to him, linking her arm in his.

“Ready?” She said with her own annoyance.

“Yes,” Erik turned to Nana Sylvia with a pleasant half smirk, “Good-bye, Miss Sylvia. It was a pleasure seeing ya’ again.”

“You as well, Erik, you two have a good ol’ time. Take care of my sugar foot!” she said, waving them out of the house.

“Nanaaa,” Tamara fussed with a whiny voice.

“Girl, hush.” Nana Sylvia said.

“Always,” Erik chuckled before he looked down at Tamara, guiding her down the porch steps.

Nana Sylvia waited in the door until they were both safe in his flashy sports car. It’s so black Tamara couldn’t see it until they were standing right in front of it. Erik took her jacket and held her door open as she slipped inside. He shut the door softly and like lighting he was on the drivers side and entering. His car had that new car smell and it was so pristine. The leather seat was warm and molded into her body comfortably. He kindly turned on the AC and she buckled herself in.

Erik took off and Tamara loved how smooth the car drove. Like the tires were gliding on water. Smokestack Lightning played from the Bluetooth in his car and Tamara glanced over at the way he drove one-handed with his left hand while his other hand rested in his lap. She gripped her clutch tightly in her lap, trying to find a way to break the ice.

“I’m sorry I’m not dressed to your liking,” Tamara said sarcastically, staring straight ahead of her.

Erik came to a slow halt in the woods just a mile from the road.

“Who said all that?” Erik asked, his voice very gentle.

“You looked at me like I did something wrong by wearin’ this dress, Erik,” Tamara snapped.

“I’m just doubting my ability to get ya’ in and out without having to kill someone who wants ya’.”

Tamara slowly turned to look at Erik.

“You’re being sarcastic.” She turned her gaze back in front of her again but her heart was racing.

Suddenly, Erik’s hand gripped her chin, forcing her to turn and look at him.

“Do I look like I am?” Erik asked.

His dark eyes were wide and unblinking.

“No…” Tamara admitted.

“Then accept what I say.”

He let go of her chin and Tamara sat back in her seat while he resumed driving.

“So…ya’ like it then?” Tamara asked with a small voice.

Erik licked his lips and then stole a look at her dress before turning his attention back onto the road.

“I love the dress. A lot.”

His eyes went to her again and he scanned her body from head to toe. He took a deep breath in and released it slowly. Tamara glanced over at his lap and she noticed that he was clenching his right fist.

“Thank you.”

“Ya’ welcome,” Erik shifted his hips. “What are ya’ wearing on ya’ skin?”

“Huh?” Tamara touched the side of her neck with her fingertips, “Oh, oh uh…Tom Ford. Lost Cherry.”

“That scent was made for ya’. It enhances your natural pheromones…”

Tamara jumped slightly when Erik pressed his face into her neck and inhaled. Her eyes flashed to the road and he was driving in a straight line to her surprise. He reselfaced and his eyes were low like he was on a super high. Tamara pulled down the mirror above her to apply more gloss to her lips. The choice of music went from blues to R&B and Tamara admired his taste in music. He’d been around long enough to experience it all.

“Can we roll the windows down? I’d like fresh air if that’s okay…please?”

“I gotcha,” Erik switched off the AC and brought the front two windows all the way down, “good?”

“Perfect,” Tamara’s long spirals blew in the wind and in her face. She smiled to herself, a surge of confidence overcoming her.

“What are ya’ smilin’ ‘bout?” Erik asked with a smile of his own.

“Nothingggg,” Tamara smoothed hair from her eyes.

“Do I have to get it out of ya, little one?”

“How will you do that?” She turned to look at him.

Erik simply placed his hand on her thigh and squeezed it gently. Tamara’s back stiffened and she looked down at his hand. She knew he could grip her harder than that, and the thought turned her on. He started stroking her inner thigh and she gasped. He caught that.

“Are ya’ gon’ tell me, baby girl?” His black eyes fell on her and he arched a single thick brow.

“…Okay,” She rolled her eyes, “I like that you like what I’m wearing…I like that I made ya’ happy.”

“Why was that so hard to say, Tammy?”

“I don’t know,” She blushed.

“I make ya’ nervous, Sugar?”

It wasn’t a question.

And why did Sugar sound so good Rolling off his tongue?

Tamara didn’t respond.

“It’s okay. You make me nervous too.”

Tamara didn’t believe that for a second. She looked at him with an accusatory stare. Erik caught her looking and cracked a dimpled smile.

“Seriously. It’s hard for me to act normal around ya’. I’ve never had this close of a relationship with a human in over eighty years. I’m constantly in my head, trying to impress ya’, tryna’ fight ma’ urges…”

Tamara let his words sink in. She didn’t know vampires could get nervous. She smiled again knowing that she made Erik nervous. This vampire sitting next to her.

“We’re not so different,” Erik smirked.

Tamara suddenly had the courage to kiss him. She leaned over in her seat and pecked Erik’s cheek. He blinked twice rapidly as if brought out of hypnosis and looked at her. She giggled and shook her head before turning her body fully in her seat. Tamara slipped her feet out of her sandals and brought her feet up to rest on his dashboard but paused when she realized what she was about to do.

“I’m sorry—”

“It’s alright—”

“I’m so used to doin’ it in Lloyd’s truck—”

“Put ya’ pretty feet up there, I don’t care.” Erik said.

“Ya’ sure?”

“Yes.”

Tamara stretched her legs. She noticed Erik admiring her toes with nails painted white and a gold anklet with the letter E on it.

“Thank ya’ for the kiss. But it wasn’t exactly the kiss that I wanted.” Erik said.

“You’re driving right now and I didn’t want to distract ya’ too much,” Tamara replied.

Erik pulled over on the side of the road and put the car in park. Without a word or a warning, he was out of the car and on Tamara’s side within one breath. She watched as he opened her door and held his hand out for her to take. After slipping on her heels, Tamara grasped his hand with a curious look on her face. Erik shut the door and walked her around to the trunk of the car. In a black night that hugged the skin, that brought full comfort to the soul, the headlights became like lighthouse beams.

“What are we doin’ out here, Erik?” Tamara questioned with an ethereal voice.

Her back is towards the car and he’s standing in front of her. He’s so close now that her ass bumped the trunk and she realized that he’d trapped her. She looked him in the eyes, waiting with bated breath. Erik’s hands molded into her waist and then he lifted her to sit on the trunk.

“I want a proper kiss.” Erik said.

“We’re wasting time.”

“Not when I own that motherfucka’…”

Tamara tilted her head in thought. What was there to think about?

“I’m trying to decide if you deserve it—”

Erik had his hand in her hair and his lips on hers. Tamara gripped his biceps and squeezed, her body leaning forward to press against his chest. Erik’s hands moved to cup her face and their heads swiveled from left to right. His tongue swiped her bottom lip to grant him access into her sweet mouth and she parted her lips for him to divulge.

The pouty softness of her bottom lip against the plumpness of his upper lip sent shock waves through her. The evening breeze blew her curls into Erik’s eyes and his locs fell over his forehead from the movement. Tamara broke the kiss and Erik’s eyes noticed how swollen her lips were. He could taste her gloss on his lips and tongue and their eyes met with emotions so strong words couldn’t describe.

“Maybe we should…get goin’,” Tamara said with a feathery voice.

Erik could hear her heart pumping through her chest. With his enhanced night vision, he could see the perspiration clinging to her exposed skin and the stiffness of her nipples. If only he had X-ray vision. Her hair is shiny; like black silk and she smelled like sweet almond milk and cherries.

“Why are ya’ in such a rush, Tammy?” Erik asked.

“I–I’m not.”

Erik gave her a disbelieving look with a smirk, “it’s just kissin’, baby girl. I promise I’ll excuse my hands and…other things…until ya’ give me the green light.”

He heard the tremble in her breath.

“Ya’ seem to enjoy our kissing a lot so,” Erik took one of her curls and wrapped it around his finger, “Ya’ want more?” His lips were so close to hers, “‘Cause I do.”

Tammy closes the space between them and with her arms around his shoulders she takes the lead. Erik’s right arm came around Tamara’s waist and her back arched, pressing her soft chest against his vigorous chest. As she nibbled on his bottom lip, Erik’s right hand smoothed down her back until he picked her up to straddle him. The split in her body con dress made it easier for her legs to come around his tapered waist. Both of his hands palmed her ass and his rigid dick would have caressed her sex if it wasn’t for him sitting her back down on the car. She would have been so ready to take him with how wet she is. He could smell her arousal and it was just as sweet.

“Ya’ right, let’s go.” Erik said between breaths.

His fangs had materialized during their kissing session and Tamara hadn’t noticed. She was having a hard time catching her own breath.

“Okay,” She smoothed her hair from her face.

She couldn’t hide her disappointment.

“Patience, baby,” Erik said, stroking her chin.

His fangs popped back in and Erik picked Tamara up and spun her around before dropping her to her feet quickly. She gasped, staring up at him flustered until a bright smile graced her face.

“I can’t stay mad at you for long,” She admitted.

“I wouldn’t want you to. It breaks my undead heart,” Erik replied jokingly.

They got back in the car and resumed their drive to Crimson Mist with his hand on her thigh and her feet on his dash.

Crimson Mist, the vampire bar and nightclub, was located on Bourbon Street. It was situated within an alleyway and secluded. The name of the place was spelled out in jazzy red neon above the door, and the facade was painted black, with a red door providing color contrast.

Erik walked around to open Tamara’s door, and he helped her out with one hand while shutting the door with the other. With an arm around her waist, Erik guided Tamara towards the entrance where two bouncers were carding people before entering. When they noticed Erik approaching, one of them opened the door for him to enter. She could sense that those men were both vampires and Erik detected her nervousness.

They were standing in a little boxy entrance hall with red lights.

“Breathe, Tammy,” Erik whispered into her hair, “Stick to my side at all times.”

Past a black velvet drape, Tamara got her first comprehensive look at Crimson Mist’s interior. Everything was black and red. The walls were covered with upholstered paneling that reminded Tamara of sound proof foam. There are two bars on each side of the club, a stage for entertainment and another stage with a throne chair situated on it. Random stripper poles with beautiful women twirling from them. The music was deafening, the people were dressed in leather, chains and whips. The lighting was dim, of course, nothing unusual about that.

Vampire groupies and tourists were among the majority of patrons and it made it easier to distinguish the undead from the living. Some of the living looked ridiculous with their capes, fake fangs, and painted blood. They were extraordinary, and extraordinarily pathetic. The undead were like real jewels in a bin of rhinestones. They mostly favored dark clothes too, but were more interesting.

With Erik still clinging to her, Tamara continued to look around with interest and amazement and some distaste. All eyes were on them, probably because of Erik. He leaned down to whisper to her.

“You look like a white candle in a coal mine.”

Tamara giggled, and then they strolled through the scattered crowd of people to the bar. There was a never ending supply of alcohol on fancy glass shelves behind the bar and Tamara could also see bottled blood either refrigerated or warm in cases for the vampires. The laminated menu attached to the sticky bar top in black marble had signature drinks like a bloodthirsty martini or a blood orange margarita. Tamara ordered a Fangria and accepted the drink from a smiling bartender that showed his fangs. Tamara returned a nervous smile.

“How’s it going, boss?” The bartender asked. “This pretty thing is your meal for tonight?” He nodded towards Tamara as he put her drink on the bar for her.

“This is Tamara,” Erik pulled her closer to him, “She has some questions to ask tonight. I figured I’d bring her along to see if she can get the answers she desires.”

Tamara looked up at Erik with a slight frown.

“Anything, beautiful,” the Indian bartender with long coal black hair looked at her with hungry eyes.

“Do you know anything about these two women,” Tamara retrieved her phone from her clutch, presenting the photos to the bartender, “Or this man here,” She pulled up a photo of Lloyd.

“Yes, to the women, no to the man, though he looks delicious,” said the bartender, smiling at her again, “Is that your husband?”

“No. That’s my brother. I just wanted to know if he’d been around here with any of these women. Have ya’ noticed any men around these women?”

“…that’s something I wouldn’t know,” he replied quickly, his face closing down, “that’s something we don’t notice here. You won’t either. Ain’t that right, boss?”

Tamara looked up at Erik again and he had an expression with practiced control.

“Thank you,” Tamara said politely, realizing she’d broken a rule. It was dangerous to ask who left with whom, evidently, “I appreciate it. Thanks for the drink.”

The bartender looked at Tamara considerably.

“Let me see the girls again,” he pointed at the photo of Dawn’s picture, “that one, she wanted to die.”

Tamara leaned in to speak closer. Erik stood behind her now, both hands on her waist.

“How do ya’ know?”

“Everyone who comes here does, to one extent or another,” he said matter-of-factly. Tamara could tell he took that for granted. “That's what we are. Death.”

He chuckled and Erik joined in on the laugh. Tamara shuddered. Erik’s arm found its way on her arm, drawing her away to a vacated booth. Tamara pulled her arm away from him, clearly irritated, and just then she was blocked by a statuesque woman covered in tattoos and wearing a black lace shawl with bell sleeves, a black corskirt that hugged her curves, and a patent leather black clincher. Her hair was styled similar to those pinup girls from the 40s and her bold red lipstick made her lips look sultry.

“Finally brought your play thing to the establishment. How sweet.”

Tamara arched a brow at Lana and she was ready to say something just as unpleasant but Erik cut her off.

“Lana, this is Tamara. Didn’t get the chance to speak last time with everything that happened.” Erik said.

“I don’t recall wanting to speak to her last time,” Lana cocked her head to the side, challenging Tamara to say anything with her deadly stare.

“Lana,” Erik’s eyes narrowed and his voice went deep, “Do I have to remind you of our discussion earlier?”

Lana’s demeanor changed with one look from Erik and a bright smile replaced her face. She gave Tamara a flirty wave that Tamara didn’t return because she could see that Lana was only playing nice because Erik told her so.

“Can’t return the gesture? Let me find out this sweet little fragile thang ain’t so sweet.” Lana teased.

“I don’t do well with fakes,” Tamara replied.

Lana’s brows rose with humor and her beautiful smile with sharp white fangs didn’t seem to affect Tamara. Erik was losing patients with her disrespect and from the way Erik looked, Tamara didn’t want to stick around to see what he had planned for his progeny.

“Trust, the feeling is mutual.” Lana replied.

Lana strutted away from them to the throne chair that Tamara gathered belonged to Erik. She left Erik standing there and slid into the booth. He joined her and sat across from her, his pitch black eyes scanning the room before they came to a stop on her.

“This is reality, Tammy.” Erik said.

“Do you think I came here with you to die? Because I didn’t,” Tamara argued.

Erik laughed, and if it wasn’t for her anger towards him, she would have folded. The smile and the dimples get her every time.

“What’s so funny? You knew I wasn’t going to get any answers coming here, didn’t you?”

“…And ya’ knew that yourself. Love the determination by the way, nice touch,” Erik smirked.

“You really get on my nerves,” Tamara glared at Erik.

Erik laughed harder, “Not so fast, baby girl. We just had a moment not too long ago. You want me to give ya’ a reminder?”

Tamara kissed her teeth and Erik puckered his lips to mimic their kissing followed by a deep chuckle. Tamara rolled her eyes at his childishness.

“C’mon, fuck those dead women. You know ya’ brother ain’t do that shit. Let’s just enjoy the night.”

“And you, right?” Tamara said.

“And me. We had this discussion two nights ago, baby girl. Finish your drink off so I can get ya’ a new one.”

“So, what is this then? A date? You didn’t even properly ask me on a date to even consider this a date—”

“It’s a way for you to see my world a lot closer. And for the record, princess, I would never bring ya’ here for a date.” Erik quipped.

“I don’t even think you know how to date,” Tamara fired back.

Erik slipped in beside her now, boxing her in. Tamara refused to look at him as best as she could.

“This isn’t the place to take a woman like you on a date. You deserve more than this. Just because I own it, doesn’t mean I like it.”

Tamara stared at Erik confused, “What?”

Erik exhaled frustratingly, “The only reason that I own this bar is because I have to. The vampire government forced me to. They wanted me to come up with a way to welcome humans for entertainment and fun. I’m bored with all of this…”

“Then sell it,” Tamara said, “Have ya’ thought about that?”

“Yes. But I would prefer that the vampire hierarchy not track my every move. This gives them a way to be distracted. Everything that goes on here stays here. That’s the rule. As long as I follow that rule, I’m all good.”

“What constitutes fun for you then?”

Erik’s eyes scanned Tamara’s body. She finished off the rest of her drink, the blossoming warmth of the alcohol spreading through her.

“Going for a long drive, flying, visiting a museum, cooking, reading, dancing…just to name a few…”

Tamara’s icy demeanor melted away. She was interested in knowing more about him besides the fact that he’s an attractive vampire.

Flying?” Tamara asked.

“Yeah,” Erik smirked, “It’s a rush.”

“I–I didn’t know vampires could fly.”

“We can do a lot of things,” Erik said with a half smirk.

“Then why drive?”

“When I’m with a human, I’d prefer to drive. Flying with you looking all pretty would be a disaster.”

Tamara giggled, “How considerate of you. Flying sounds peaceful.”

“I can show ya’ one night. Take you up into the clouds so you can see Louisiana from above.”

Tamara’s hazel eyes went wide with excitement. Erik couldn’t fight the smile that appeared on his face. She’s so adorable.

“I’m scared!” Tamara giggles, “I’ve never even been on a plane.”

“You’ll love it.” Erik took one of Tamara’s hands, staring at her nails.

“You said cook…”

Erik licked his lips, “Yes.”

“Were you a chef?”

“I was a food artisan. My parents had their own shop where we would sell our own items.”

“…so that means you could cook for me?”

“I will cook for you. I can tell ya’ when something is undercooked or overcooked. I could tell ya’ when something is toxic for ya’ to consume. I know what flavors work well together, how to make wine…better than most of these people who call themselves chefs.”

The music was loud and aggressive and it had everyone crowding the dance floor. The pole dancers worked over time to entertain everyone. Bottle girls went around to supply more drinks, and Tamara had a few more herself. She was too shy to ask Erik for a dance. But she could see that he wanted to. Three Six Mafia had the whole club banging.

A fang-banger with a banging body and a perfect weave approached their booth. Tamara was half-hidden by Erik finishing her drink, but still, they’d all seen him enter with her. She was gorgeous, like those models in music videos. She bent across the table with her titties almost popping out to get her mouth about two inches from Erik.

“Hi, dangerous,” She said with a sultry voice. She tapped Erik’s bottled blood with a long acrylic fingernail painted scarlet, “I have the real stuff.” She stroked her neck to make sure he got the point, “Why don’t you come with me so you can have a taste?”

Tamara took a deep breath to control her temper. Erik was her date. She waited to see what he would say and if it was anything other than turning down her advances, Tamara was leaving. She wanted to mush her in the face but she held absolutely still so she wouldn’t give Erik any cues on what she wanted.

“Ya’ don’t see that I’m with someone? Just actin’ all bold coming over here?” Erik said with narrow eyes.

“She doesn't have any puncture marks on her neck,” the girl observed, acknowledging Tamara’s presence finally with an amused look as if Tamara being next to a vampire was a joke. As if she didn’t belong at Crimson Mist.

“Like I said, I’m with her.” Erik said, his voice not so gentle this time. He grabbed Tamara’s hand and rubbed it with his thumb, “I’m sure you’ll find what ya’ want somewhere else.”

“They say you have a big dick to match those big fangs,” She licked her lips.

Tamara gawked at the girl. Erik wasn’t her man but the nerve of this bitch to boldly say that in front of her. Erik chuckled and it irritated Tamara. What the fuck is so funny?

“Don’t matter what you heard. You ain’t gettin’ nothing from me.” Erik said.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” She sat up, rolling her eyes at Tamara.

“Yes I do,” Erik said.

The girl kissed her teeth and stumbled away.

“You okay?” Erik turned to check on Tamara.

“Yeah.” Tamara looked down at her empty glass.

“Want another drink?” Erik asked.

“Sure.”

Erik didn’t have to get up from his seat. He just raised his arm and a server; a human from what it looked like with bite marks on her neck as well, rushed over. She was hypnotized by Erik’s presence and Erik had to repeat the order to her. She hurried away and Tamara noticed more women looking towards the direction of their booth, even men.

“You haven’t said anything since that chick came over to the table,” Erik said.

“There’s nothing to say,” Tamara replied, with great self-control.

“Why’s that?”

Tamara exhaled, “I shouldn’t have to say anything. You handled it respectfully and that’s all there is to it.”

Erik smirked, “You could have sent her on her way.”

“I’m not the one to get into petty fights with a woman no matter how disrespectful she was. And I wanted to see how you would handle it. I would have been gone if it was the other way around, Erik. You should be happy about that.”

“I am happy. And you’re the only girl I want, Tammy.”

Tamara’s stomach did somersaults.

“Do you want me wit’ you?” Erik asked her in a hushed tone that was similar to a ghostly whisper.

The hard planes of his body pressed into Tamara’s much smaller one, blocking her against the wall of the booth. The dim light above them made his skin glow and his perfect face was close to hers.

“What do you think?” Tamara looked from his lips to his eyes.

“Ma, I’m asking you,” Erik arched a brow, “That vampire over there scanned you twice.”

“You’re teasing me,” Tamara looked towards the direction Erik was focused on.

The vampire he indicated was handsome, in fact, radiant; a faded cut with green eyes, tall and broad shouldered, sepia skin without fault and iridescent. He was wearing boots, jeans, and a vest. He had this vicious look in his eyes and when Tamara looked up at Erik he had the same look but it scared Tamara more.

“His name is Dean,” Erik said.

“How old is he?”

“I’ve known him since the 20s. I’m the oldest vampire in this bar.”

“He looks mean. Why is he glaring at me?”

Erik chuckled, “We’re all mean, Tamara. Very strong and very violent. And he’s glaring because he’s trying to control himself from coming over here and taking you away from me. He knows that won’t happen.”

Dean gave Erik a mischievous smirk and started towards them as if gliding across the floor. Tamara’s breath hitched and Erik didn’t move. Dean took a seat across from Erik and Tamara with a bottle of True Blood in his hand.

“Erik. I expected to see you sitting on your throne.”

“Not tonight. I’m here with this beautiful girl.”

“Hmm, I can see that,” Dean smirked handsomely at Tamara, “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

“Tamara.”

“Ooo, I like that. And you smell,” Dean’s green eyes sparkled with intensity, “Delicious.”

“She’s mine.” Erik snapped.

Dean stared at him with annoyance.

“I didn’t come over here to take her from you, Erik. I know she’s yours. Every vampire in here knows. That’s why none of us came over here to take her ourselves. But I can’t deny a sexy woman when I see one.”

Tamara blushes. She tucked her chin bashfully at Dean’s compliment. He’s definitely a smooth talker. Erik was smoldering. Tamara’s hand on his arm kept him under control.

“I want to ask Dean a question if that’s okay?”

Erik’s jaw clenched, “Go ‘head.”

“Have you seen either of these women in this bar?”

Dean studied the pictures with his thumb grazing his bottom lip. Erik wasn’t going to take his eyes off of Dean. He knew exactly what he was capable of.

“I have been with this one,” Dean said coolly, tapping Dawn’s picture. “She liked pain.”

Dean shot a glance at Erik and there was an unspoken bond there that Tamara was curious about.

“This one here,” he flicked his finger at Maudette’s picture, “was a pathetic creature.”

“Thanks,” Tamara put her phone away.

“Erik, why haven’t you brought your friend around before?” Dean asked.

“Me and Erik are new friends,” Tamara responded with a bright smile to him, seeing that Erik was too irritated to speak.

“Aren’t you so sweet,” Dean observed.

“Not especially,” Tamara said.

Dean stared at her with surprise.

“Well, then maybe you should bring your new friend around more often. If she can handle Crimson Mist, she can handle anything.”

Dean reached for Tamara’s hand and Erik’s hand zipped past her to grab a hold of Dean’s throat. Dean laughed and Erik’s fangs popped out making him look like a true monster. Tamara had a hand pressed to her chest and she was frozen in fear. The speed at which they move will never get old to her. Erik squeezed down on Dean’s neck and slammed him against the table, standing above him. Dean hisses at Erik with his sharp fangs.

“She’s…mine. If ya’ don’t want to lose your head, I suggest you keep your fuckin’ hands to ya’ self.” Erik warned Dean with an animalistic growl.

“Erik…it’s okay, calm down,” Tamara said with a soothing voice.

Erik let go and Dean stood up with a smirk. Tamara was given a full on view of his perfect six pack and the v-cut of his waistline. The table had a crack in it and Dean’s bottle of True Blood was knocked over. Dean dipped his head in farewell at Tamara and glided into the crowd, disappearing from sight. He didn't want to stick around. It seemed as if everyone was immune to violence in Crimson Mist.

“You seem to be telling everyone that I’m yours,” Tamara muttered.

“It’s vampire tradition,” Erik explained again with annoyance, “If I pronounce you mine, no one else can try to feed on you.”

“Feed on me, that’s a delightful phrase,” Tamara said sharply.

“I’m protecting you,” Erik said, his voice not quite as neutral as usual.

“I don’t need—”

She was stopped short. Erik took her by the chin and he turned her head to him. He looked so hard into her eyes that she thought she had tunnels burned into her brain.

“You don’t need protection? Is that what you were gonna say?”

“…I was, but then I thought about how you saved my life. And how this killer is murdering women who associate with vampires in any way.”

“…And you shouldn’t have to worry because I’m going to protect you. No one is going to hurt you, Tammy. I promise that. Do ya’ hear me?”

Tamara exhaled a shaky breath and then nodded her head in response. That wasn’t enough for Erik.

“Words?” Erik said.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

Tamara glanced at the people at the bar dancing and drinking and on the verge of hooking up.

“Is that really the only thing on their minds?” Tamara said with a roll of her eyes.

“What are they thinking?” Erik questioned.

“Sex, sex, sex.”

Every single person in that bar had sex on the brain.

“What are you thinking about, Tamara?”

“Not sex.”

“Ya lyin’ to me?” Erik asked with a playful look.

“I was thinking about dancing but I don’t know if I should.”

Erik stood up from the booth and took off his moto jacket. He held out his hand for Tamara to take and she did. He led her out of the booth and to the dance floor. The sea of people parted for them and they found a spot in the middle of the dance floor under red lights.

Rihanna- Work had everyone moving their hips and when Tamara heard her new favorite song it was like liquid adrenaline being injected right into her bloodstream — just enough to make her tingle and start to move her own hips. She wound her hips in a circle, her arms came up and she felt loose and sexy. Erik stood there watching her with commanding eyes and a half smirk that showcased a deep dimple. His skin beneath the lights looked warm to the touch and the contours of his muscular arms had Tamara wishing he would wrap them around her.

While some danced, others stood around watching her move like a temptress with her hands in her hair and her slim-thick body moving with explosive sensuality. Tamara got so lost in the song that she felt as if she were the only one there. She threw her head back and did a little two step, eyes closed and a bite of her bottom lip. When Drake’s verse came up, Tamara placed her hands on her thighs and dipped her hips down to the floor where she did a little slow whine.

Erik came up behind Tamara and held his hand out so he could guide her back up. She threw her head back to get the hair out of her eyes and giggled when she locked eyes with Erik’s intense expression. The song switched to PARTYNEXTDOOR- Wus Good/Curious

Good, lovin, feel so, numb

Ride me, 'til I'm, 'bout to, cum

I see, you are, 'bout to, clim-

-Ax so, oh, girl, don't be, shy

Is you ready?

Is you ready, baby?

You seem ready

You seem ready, baby

Girl tonight I won't be selfish

It is all for you (yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah)

Girl, my bad, I just can't help it (just can't help it)

Girl, you taste so…

Tamara faced Erik and he took her by the hand, twirling her so that her back was against his torso. Tamara could feel the powerfulness of his body against her feeble frame. She went still, allowing him to guide her movements. One of his cool hands came around to rest on her lower belly and he brought her left arm up to drape over his shoulder. He started doing a slow yet rhythmic two step and with the hand on her stomach he guided her to follow his movements.

He pressed his face into her neck and Tamara’s heart pounded with nervous excitement. He exhaled through his mouth and then inhaled deeply through his nose and her eyes fluttered shut. The pressure from his hand forced her bubble butt to press into his crotch. The two step transitioned into Erik grinding on her, forcing Tamara to follow the motion of his hips. His free hand wrapped delicately around her neck, using his finger tips to stroke over her pulse. She felt the crotch of her black lace thong grow wetter.

Hey, shawty, this what I'm here for, I'm ready (I'm ready)

Are you downtown when I'm round town, I'm ready (I'm ready)

Girl, just let me know what's good

Girl, you're beautiful

They won't know, they won't know what we do

Girl, you're beautiful

No, no, they won't know what we do…

The DJ did a dope mix and PARTYNEXTDOOR- Break From Toronto changed the slow motion movements to more of a bend over and pop that ass. Tamara turned to face Erik and she had her arms around his neck and they started grinding their hips against each other. Vibing to the song with smiles on their faces and their foreheads pressed together.

That smile on your face

Makes it easy to trust you

Those in- (yeah), those in- (yeah, oh), those in- (yeah, oh)

This what 'Sauga feel like in the night time (ooh)

Watch what she do when the light shine (ooh)

Drunk niggas tryna talk in the strip club

Shawty silhouette looks like a dollar sign (ooh)

Caught-caught up (caught up)

That's just how a nigga brought up (brought up)

Blow ones for you loonie ass niggas (ass niggas)

Straight bills for you toonie ass niggas (ass niggas)

M-M-My niggas bigger than the bouncer

Roll up in the bitch still smell like an ounce (like a ounce)

Right quick, right quick

Tight jeans on, so she feels my shit, ayy (feel my shit)

Tell me somethin' good, baby

Tell me somethin', tell me somethin' good, shawty (yeah)

Come bring it to the hood, baby

Bring it-bring it back to hood, shawty (ooh, ooh, ooh)

Tamara suddenly becomes bashful and hides her face against Erik’s chest. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her.

“Why are you acting so shy right now, baby girl?”

“I’ve never done this–dancing on a guy before!”

“C’mere…”

The song changed to something Tamara wasn’t familiar with but it was definitely bounce music. Erik knew the song and he grabbed Tamara by her hips, turning her again and he arched her back. She gasped in shock, one hand on her waist and the other on her shoulder keeping her in that position. It was more of an ass shaking song. Jealous, envious women watched Tamara twerk on Erik, wishing it were them being bent over.

Tamara looked back at him and his lips parted and she could see his fangs. His tongue dragged over the pointy tips, lips looking moist, eyes unblinking and scanning her body dangerously. She flipped her hair over and brought one hand above her head, ass bouncing on his stiffness poking her in the booty. She swayed her hips with each bounce, feeling tipsy and getting lost in the music, mistaking his iron hard dick for a nonexistent belt. Erik held her hand up and let her do her thing, tilting his head to watch the way her ass moved in that cinching dress.

“Damn,” Erik spoke gruffly against her ear,“you got some ass on you, girl…best fuckin’ dancer I’d ever seen.”

Tamara blushes, “Thank you!”

“I ain’t know you could make it move like that, ma!”

“Now you know!” Tamara shouted over the music.

When the song was over, Tamara couldn’t look Erik in the eye. He was all over her. He pulled her into his embrace with a hand on her ass and his other hand smoothing her hair out of her face. He brought his lips to her ear, the hand on her ass now rubbing up and down her back.

“You wanna get outta here?” He whispered in her ear.

She looked up at him with a bat of her lashes. He had a hungry look in his eyes.

“Yeah…” she spoke with a feathery voice.

They had driven back to Tamara’s home already, but Erik had Tamara straddling him in his back seat. They had been kissing for a while now, Erik’s white beater off and the straps to Tamara’s dress hanging from her shoulders. He had her hair in his right fist and his left hand rubbing all over her ass. Tamara combed her fingers through his locs, amazed at how soft his hair is. Heads swiveling from left to right and they couldn’t get enough of each other.

“Erik,” Tamara looked down at him, “I want you too.”

Erik’s onyx eyes blazed with desire. He pulled her in and his lips found hers again. Harder, wetter, and maybe this could lead to even more. Tamara wanted it badly and Erik wanted it more than her. He’d been waiting to have her. Waiting for his moment to make her his. He was so close. She still needed to open up, and Tamara wasn’t an easy girl. He loved that about her.

Tamara broke the kiss again which frustrated Erik.

“I have to go. I didn’t expect to be out this late.”

“Work?”

Tamara nodded her head solemnly.

“Call out,” Erik tilted his head at her with a bite of his lower lip, “For me?”

“I can’t. I picked this shift up.” Tamara whined.

“What shift is it, Tammy?”

“…night.”

Erik kisses his teeth, “Aight, ma. How ‘bout I come see ya’ tomorrow? We can go for a drive…I’m staying here for the weekend to check on my new place…”

Tamara looked at him with confusion, “New place?”

“A smaller home away from home basically. St. Tammany is where I wanna have a private place for myself. I purchased a home right across the cemetery and it’s being fixed up as we speak.”

“Do you have other homes all over the world?” Tamara asked.

“I do…one in Jamaica, Haiti, Cuba, Nigeria, LA, New York, Miami, St. Thomas…”

“Wow.” Tamara was amazed.

“Hm,” Erik chuckled, “I’d like to show you them one day…”

“Tamara climbed off of Erik’s lap and sat next to him. He refused to let her open her own door. He left the car and jogged around to open the door for her, holding his hand out for her to take. Erik picked her up and twirled her around again before placing her on her feet.

“Goodnight, Tammy,” Erik whispered before giving her one last kiss.

Tamara stood on her tip toes and rested her cheek against his for a moment.

“Thanks for taking me.”

Erik grabbed her hand, swinging it as they walked up to the house. Within the porch, Tamara opened her door while Erik waited for her to make it inside. She looked back at him over her shoulder and waved, Erik returning the gesture. Tamara closed her door and pressed her back against it.

Meanwhile, Erik was driving to his nearly finished home. It was an Acadian style home which is a true representation of the Louisiana style homes. Influenced by French and Canadian styles, these houses feature steeply pitched roofs with dormer windows, and large covered porches or galleries, often wrapping around the house. Acadian homes often have raised foundations to help protect from flooding, and the exteriors have shutters and decorative brackets. Interiors often have high ceilings with exposed wood beams, and are designed for open, airy living in the hot and humid Louisiana climate.

The interior is old world gothic and Victorian while his other home is more minimalist with steel. He had a new coffin for Lana and himself installed in the basement while the rooms had beds with automatic windows that were timed to open during nightfall. Truthfully, Erik purchased this home secretly to be away from the other vampires and Tia. He wanted to spend time with Tamara as much as he could without everyone knowing where he was. Lana much preferred the other home, so Erik would only spend time there if work was needed to be done.

He walked around the luxury double-staircase foyer with optimism, the polished maple hardwood beneath his feet causing his footsteps to sound more pronounced. Deep purple, black, and gray decorated the first level. Each of the five bed rooms has its own complimentary color such as maroon, and navy blue but black will always be the main scheme. He had a feeling Tamara didn’t like his home back in New Orleans because it held a memory she didn’t want to recall. They could make new memories here.

Erik took a seat on a black sofa throne chair in solid mahogany wood, Crystal tufting, and a gloss black finish. His black fireplace was handcrafted to look like skulls giving it a more haunting look. He reminisced about the evening, unable to stop himself from smiling. Tamara looked stunning. He loved when she dressed up. He couldn’t get over how beautiful her hair is. She looked amazing. Dancing with her made him feel alive again. Kissing her made him fall in love with the act all over again. As much as he wanted to make love to her, he will be patient.

Erik wanted the time to be right for her. She’s a virgin and that made it harder for Erik to give into his urges. He’ll have plenty of time to fuck her, but first he needed to take things slow and ease her into what sex with him will be like. Erik stood up to head up the stairs to the master bedroom. When he entered the room decorated in black and gold, Erik activated the automatic windows all over the home and undressed. Naked, he climbed in bed beneath the silk black sheets and stared up at the high ceiling.

Erik shut his eyes and a sensation overcame him. Eyes remaining closed, Erik could sense Tamara dreaming. It was like a deep psychological bond and he could feel it growing stronger. Since Tamara drank his blood the night he saved her life, it created an eternal bond/spirit union between them. He can feel the strong sexual and romantic energy, and it was difficult for him not to go to her and fulfill what she truly desires.

He couldn’t see exactly what she was dreaming about, and he desperately wished he could. She was in distress, tossing and turning, unable to peacefully sleep because of the nature of her sex dreams.

Mmmmmahhhhunh…

Erik’s eyes shot open.

Was this really a dream or…

Erik…Erik…Erik…

He sat up, silk sheets pooling around his toned hips.

Erik rolled his neck. Every muscle in his body flexed.

Yes…right there…don’t stop…please…

He couldn’t take it.

Erik was out of his bed and with only his jeans on, he sped out of the house and across the cemetery to Tamara’s.

Back at Tamara’s, within her bedroom, evening air trickling in, Tamara is dressed in a white babydoll lingerie nightgown, her curls resting on top of her head with a satin scrunchie. The cotton sheets are kicked to the foot of the bed, her legs spread open and one hand between her legs, rubbing her clit. Hard nipples pointed to the ceiling, Tamara has her eyes closed, envisioning her vampire between her legs devouring her. The way he moved his tongue over hers when they kissed let her know that he knew how to use it well.

“Fuck,” Tamara moaned softly.

She brought two fingers down to her entrance and sank them deeply inside. She couldn’t believe how wet she was. Tamara sat up on one elbow, knees to her chest, toes curled, and bottom lip between her teeth.

Visions of his black eyes staring up at her from between her legs has her walls quivering.

“Eat me…taste me…”

She felt her body begin to tense up. Tamara’s mouth dropped open and she came all over her fingers unexpectedly. She needed more. That was her second orgasm and she knew she could give more.

“I can’t stop…” she moaned.

This is the most she’d ever masturbated.

“I’m so wet for you…”

Just when she was about to attack her clit with her fingers again, she could hear a sound at her window. Sitting up, Tamara fixed her nightgown and climbed down from her bed. Opening her curtains, she jumped back in shock at Erik looking up at her. He’d been throwing broken branches at her window.

“Erik?”

“Can I come up?” He asked.

Tamara looked from left to right before her eyes fell on him again.

“Yes. I’ll get the door—”

Erik had scaled the wall and crawled into the room.

Tamara was stunned.

“How did you?—”

Erik put a finger to her lips. He looked down at her through the curtain of locs against his forehead. Tamara noticed that he wasn’t wearing any shoes and he was shirtless. Erik inhaled and he followed the scent to Tamara’s fingers.

“Erik?—”

He grabbed her hand and sucked on her fingers. Tamara’s breath hitched. He sucked hard, Tamara growing weak in the knees.

“You taste…so good…”

He opened his eyes and Tamara could see a red ring around his pitch black irises.

Tamara looked up at Erik confused.

“I could hear you…playing with yourself.”

She opened her mouth but no words came out. Tamara looked away from him, embarrassed to even meet his piercing gaze.

“How? Were you standing outside my window the entire time?” She asked with a timid voice.

“Nah,” Erik touched her cheek, “Remember the night I saved your life?”

“Yes,” Tamara leaned into his touch.

“You drank my blood. When you do that, it creates a bond between the vampire and the human. It’s similar to the bond of a maker and progeny but the only difference is I can’t call on you.”

“Really?” Tamara was shocked, “So that means…”

“Yes,” Erik smirked, “I know you’ve been dreaming about me. At least up until now…”

Tamara sat down on her bed and Erik sat next to her.

“You were pleasuring yourself.” Erik said.

Tamara toyed with the lace trimming on her nightgown.

“I was,” She shot him a quick glance before looking back down, “This is so embarrassing.”

Erik scooted closer, lifting her chin.

“Tell me about your fantasy. Please?”

Tamara looked him in the eyes and exhaled.

“I was…fantasizing about you…between my legs…”

Her natural pheromones smelled so good it triggered his fangs to pop out. Tamara flinched slightly but soon she reached out to touch one of his fangs.

“Tamara,” Erik grabbed her hand, “Can I watch you?”

“W—watch me?” She felt her face heat up.

“I’ll sit right here and watch you touch yourself.”

After an internal struggle, she slowly laid back and nervously looked up at Erik.

“I can’t sleep when you keep moaning in my ear.” Erik said.

Tamara fixed the straps to her nightgown and one shaky hand came down to lift her nightgown. He couldn’t see her pussy when she dropped her legs open, but he could see the wetness she created in her white panties. She turned her head away from Erik, eyes closed while her fingers rubbed slow circles around her clit.

Erik sat there with his fists clenched, eyes low and his mouth watering to taste her. He’d never wanted a pussy in his mouth this bad since his wife. She smelled out of this word. A pleasant floral scent wafted from her skin and she smelled like honey in between. She whimpered, refusing to moan, and it frustrated Erik. He could see her hand moving rapidly. And Erik could hear how gushy and wet she was.

“Fuck, Tamara, you sound so sexy…it’s okay to moan…it’s just me and you in here…you look so beautiful…”

She turned her head towards him finally. The tops of her breasts were teasing his eyes. She was pleasantly horny and being such a naughty girl. She licked her lips at him and that pretty mouth fell open.

“That pussy is so wet…how do you want me to eat that pussy, baby?”

“I…”

Her legs shook and Erik grunted.

“That was my third orgasm.” Tamara giggled into her pillow.

“Take your panties off.”

Tamara sat up and slipped her panties off.

“Give them to me.”

She slid them over to Erik and he snatched them up, smelling the soaked crotch of her panties. She watched him, aroused at how much he loved her smell. He placed them within the pocket of his jeans and looked over at her. Tamara gained enough confidence to place her fingers against his lips. Erik licked them while his eyes were locked on hers.

“Tamara…”

She tilted her head at him. Erik’s cold hand reached out to stroke the gold anklet on her left ankle.

“What does the E stand for?”

“It’s for my middle name. Elicia.”

“That’s pretty,” His fingers dragged up the back of her calf, “pretty just like you…”

“Erik?”

“Just say the word, Tamara, and I’ll taste you. I’ll eat you and make you cum…”

She stared at him with desperation. Erik waited, his eyes searching hers.

“Yes,” She whispered.

Say less. Erik had her on her back in top speed. He climbed on top of her and kissed her deeply, passionately, hungrily. Tamara raked her fingers through his locs, pulling on them whenever Erik would tongue her down. He used his fingers to gently pull the straps of her nightgown down one by one, revealing her c cup breasts with perfectly round areolas and small nipples. He studied them closely — every blemish, freckle, and mole.

“Beautiful,” Erik looked at her, “You’re beautiful, Tammy.”

He let her hair down and continued to trail his kisses down her neck. Tamara moaned softly, thrusting her chest up. Erik kisses down the side of her neck, over her jawline, between her breasts and then each nipple. Tamara cupped the back of his head when he finally wrapped his lips around a nipple. Her head went back and she whimpered repeatedly.

The pounding of her heart was deafening. Erik couldn’t stop it if he could. The veins in her breasts aided in the hardening of her nipples against his tongue. He imagined the taste of her blood on her breasts. The constant cries and whimpers had his dick so hard. Erik popped a nipple out of his mouth and Tamara looked down at him.

“Why did you stop?” She fussed between breaths.

“I want you to take this dress off…please?”

Erik wasn’t used to saying please.

“Okay,” Tamara sat up, breasts mouthwatering.

She lifted the nightgown over her head and sat it on the bed next to her. Erik’s eyes dragged down her body. She had the softest most delicate skin. The most beautiful brown skin. Erik could see the top of her pussy and it was completely hairless. Smooth like satin.

“Lay back for me, baby girl.”

Tamara made herself comfortable on her elbows. Erik was kneeling above her with her legs pressed together.

“I’m nervous,” Tamara admitted.

Erik kisses both of her knees to relax her.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about. Open up for me, Tammy.”

She chewed on her bottom lip before spreading her thighs slowly. He could see her legs trembling. The more she opened her legs, the stronger the smell of her sex. It took all of his supernatural strength to hold back from forcing her legs open and pinning them back at the ankles with brunt force. He had to remind himself that she is inexperienced with this. He had to ease her into the pleasures.

When her legs finally fell open, Erik let out a deep groan. It was possible to have the most perfect pussy. Fat, juicy, and a work of art that needed to be a canvas painting in his room. The wishbone shape of her inner folds were engorged with her arousal and he could literally see the remnants of cum leaking from her tight opening. He could kiss this pussy all night long. He needed all that pink in his mouth right now.

“Mmm…mmm…mmm.”

Erik dipped his head between her legs and started kissing her outer lips. She watched him with curiosity, sweet moans filling the room. He resurfaced, looking up at her with deep desire.

“Thank you for giving me the honor to eat this beautiful pussy.” Erik said.

He used his entire mouth and began sucking. She’d never felt this before. It was intense. He sucked everywhere. She sat there on her elbows watching him with timid eyes and parted lips. Whenever he would suck on her clit, Tamara would whimper with a tremble of her inner thighs. His tongue flicked and dragged all over her pussy, loving the way it tasted.

“Please don’t stop,” Tamara whispered.

She placed one hand on the back of his head when he was back on her clit again. Tamara was startled by Erik tapping her wet entrance with his finger. She sounded like a puddle down there.

��Erik,” Tamara thrust her hips, tilting her pussy into his mouth further. He stopped sucking her clit to look at her.

“Whatchu want?” Erik asked.

Tamara looked anywhere but at him, “I want you to finger me…”

He really wanted to stuff her with some big dick.

“You gotta look at me and ask, Tammy.”

She looked at him, “I want you to finger me.”

“I’ll give you whatever you want.”

With his middle finger, he took his time sinking in. She instantly clamped down on his finger. When Erik went to pull his finger back before pushing it back in, her walls were acting like a suction. He could only imagine how that would feel on his dick. Mmm.

“You’re so tight, baby…”

He couldn’t believe how wet and tight she was. He tried adding his ring finger and Tamara hissed.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Your fingers are thicker than mine.”

“I’ll go slower.”

She relaxed as best as she could. Erik needed to add another finger. The more she opened up, the easier it would be to fit his dick in. He’s girthy with length and a fat tip to match. Too much for Tamara to handle right now.

“Tammy…you gotta keep your legs open and out of the way.”

Or I’ll do it for you

“I can’t help it–oh my goddess—”

He had two fingers knuckle deep. Erik wasted no time pumping. He kissed along her inner thighs and watched her face. She had her eyes closed and her head thrown back. Her breasts were bouncing and her hair was frizzy and wild. She was mesmerizing.

“You are making a big fuckin’ mess on my fingers, baby…look at this pretty pussy.”

Tamara watched Erik finger her. In and out, in and out, she moaned his name and all over his hand she came. Erik savagely licked his hand and the cum from her pussy. Sitting up, Erik with his speed pinned her legs back. He smirked down at her before going in to eat her again.

“Erik,” Tamara moaned.

She didn’t want him to stop. He had her clit between his lips again and she could feel herself getting close again. His primal eyes were locked on her hazel eyes and it was the most erotic experience. He even did it when he flicked his tongue over her clit at top speed. It felt like a vibrator. She stared at him with tears of pleasure rolling down her cheeks and a strangled moan escaping her mouth. Her toes flexed towards the ceiling and she began to convulse. Her struggling moans were music to his ears.

He stuck his tongue so far up her pussy, he sucked her up everywhere, he licked and licked until he covered every inch of that pussy. His fingers went deep and he sucked them dry just to do it again. His princess was famished. Erik looked at her with his lips dripping with her cum and what would make this even better is if he could only bite into her.

Sleep overcame her within seconds and Erik watched her sleep for an hour before he covered her with her blanket and kissed her cheek. She had enough for one night and needed her rest. He fixed his erection and patted his back pocket to make sure her panties were still there. He didn’t want to leave her, but he needed to get some sleep himself. The day was approaching and he began to feel weak.

Erik climbed out of the window and jumped down, landing on his feet. With one final look up at her window, he sped off into the night and back to his new home.

Nana Sylvia was sitting in the living room the following afternoon, her stories on the TV and a fresh glass of homemade lavender lemonade in her hand. She had one elbow propped up on the back of the couch, watching Tamara pounce around the house like she was on cloud 9. Now, she’s dressed for her shift, same heavenly smile on her face.

“You’ve been in a really great mood, Sugar. The date was lovely?”

Tamara took a seat next to her grandmother for a second so she could enjoy a glass of lavender lemonade herself.

“It was great, Nana. I had a lovely time.”

Tamara smiled into her glass.

“I hope he’ll still talk to The Descendants next Friday evening about The Revolt.”

Tamara forgot to confirm that with him last night. She was so distracted with the kissing and the head…

“He’s stopping by Marco’s tonight. I’ll ask him then, okay?”

“Thank you, baby,” Nana Sylvia shut the TV off and stood up, “Let me gon’ on and get myself together. A friend of mine is taking me to the farmer’s market in about an hour.”

“I should get going too.”

Tamara grabbed both glasses and washed them while Nana Sylvia went to freshen up. She twirled the sponge inside one of the glasses, staring into space. She kept replaying last night’s events. She kept repeating the way Erik ate her pussy and fingered her. Despite the blush on her face, her legs are weak and her pussy is sore. She took a soothing bath and it helped a little. If this is what it felt like after fingering, she couldn’t imagine the discomfort when they finally have sex.

She quickly rinsed the glasses out and sat them upside down in the dish rack, drying her hands off on her shorts before grabbing her work bag and leaving the house. It was almost 3 in the afternoon and she had to hurry so she wouldn’t be late. In her beat up car, she started it up and drove off. Her eyes combed the trees across the cemetery to see if she could make out his new home but the trees were so overgrown it acted like a wall blocking it from view.

For an afternoon, Marco’s Bar and Grill was surprisingly busy. Tamara parked in her usual spot near the back door and slipped inside after Terry came out to empty trash. The country music filled her ears as Tamara combed through a pile of clean aprons, folding one in half before tying it around her slender waist. She moved carefully to the front of the house and clocked in, looking up to find Tara at the beer tap filling a glass for Detective Bellefleur.

“This is your third beer, Andy. Aren’t you on duty?”

Andy mumbled something before walking away back to his seat.

“Fuckin’ drunk red neck—Tammy!”

Tara squeezed Tamara tight.

“Bitch, I thought you were off today?”

Tamar grabbed a note pad and pin from a basket.

“I was. But since everything with Dawn and the new girl’s availability, Marco asked if I could work tonight.”

“How ya grandmama and dem’?”

“All is good with Nana. Lloyd I hadn’t seen in almost two days. The police won’t leave him alone.”

“I’m guessin’ that’s why Andy is sticking ‘round. They've been questioning a lot of men in this area. I just think Andy has it out for Lloyd.”

“How ya’ figure?” Tamara questioned.

“He’s envious. Lloyd is handsome, in shape, and a pussy magnet. Andy is the opposite of that.”

“Well, if that’s the reason then Andy can go fuck himself. Can’t control being ugly and unwanted.”

Tara laughed boisterously.

“What side does Arlene have?”

“She’s taking care of this area.”

Tamara walked over to her side around near the pool table and locked eyes with Marco chatting it up with a regular. Marco’s chocolate brown eyes locked with hers and he winked at her. He’s wearing a flannel with the sleeves rolled up and a white T-shirt underneath, faded light blue jeans, and his lucky pair of cowboy boots. His usually low cut with waves had grown out some and it’s sprinkled with gray hair to match his stubble.

Tamara walked up to an older woman she recognized but didn’t remember her name. She’s one of Nana's friends. Tamara took her order and walked around to the other tables to see if anyone needed anything. Back at the bar, Tamara went to the server’s window and called off orders to the cooks. She blew a kiss to Lafayette and took her place next to Tara with her drink tray ready.

“This is gonna be a long night,” Tamara fussed.

Tara noticed how she kept checking her phone and fidgeting like she was growing impatient. It was bothering Tara so much that she had to stop what she was doing to call Tamara out on it.

“Girl, what the hell is wrong wit’ you?!”

“I’m sorry,” Tamara smiled, “I just can’t wait to see him.”

“That vampire?” Tara asked with disgust.

“Don’t do that, Tara. I really like him…”

Tamara never felt so giddy.

“What do you like about him?”

Tamara couldn’t contain her blushing.

“He protects me, he’s an amazing kisser, he can dance and I love to dance. He’s smart, charming, strong…among other things.”

Tamara giggled at Tara’s expression.

“Bitch…you let him hit?”

“No–no. Not yet at least,” Tamara looked around before getting closer to Tara, “he went down on me.”

“What?!” Tara shouted.

Eyes fell on them and Tamara had to shush her.

“What? Tamara Elicia Bordelon!”

She couldn’t stop laughing.

“I can’t believe…” Tara raised her brows, “You nasty girl…”

“I’m still not over it. Tara…it was amazing.”

Tamara leaned against the counter and closed her eyes with contentment.

“I can’t wait to see him,” Tamara said with an angelic voice.

“Why don’t you snap out of it and take these drinks. You don’t want Marco thinkin’ something is wrong. This conversation ain’t over, Tammy!”

Tamara took her drink tray and went back to work. After clearing her tray, she slipped past Detective Bellefleur’s table.

“Tammy! I need a word with ya!”

Tamara stopped and looked at him with annoyance.

“Whatever you want to discuss can wait until I’m finished working.” Tamara sassed.

“Where has that brother of yours been? Out getting himself into trouble?”

Tamara sat her tray on the table and leaned in to Andy.

“Did you just interrogate me while I’m at work and you’re off duty?”

Andy’s pudgy face went red with anger.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Andy. My brother didn’t do this—”

“And that vampire?” He argued.

“AND Erik. Did you go to other people’s jobs and question them or did they come down to the station?”

“I offered for ya’ to come to the station—”

“And I’ve been busy. Still doesn’t give ya’ the right to ask me questions for everyone to hear.”

“When I’m detective it does!” Andy fired back.

(This freak and her vampire know something I can feel it)

(She’s so defensive. I bet she knows her brother is guilty and she’s covering for him)

(Ever since that vampire came to St. Tammany there’s been nothing but murders)

(Wouldn’t be surprised if she ends up dead next)

Tamara stormed off and bumped past Marco accidentally to get to his office. She slammed the door shut and the bar seemed to go still after that.

“Nothin’ to see here!” Marco yelled.

Tara rushed from behind the bar and she was making a beeline for Andy.

“You son of a bitch! How dare you—”

“Tara….calm down, go back to the bar. I’ll handle this.”

Tara’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. She looked at Marco and then back at Andy before going to comfort Tamara.

“Andy. What the hell did you do to my waitress?”

Andy gave a nonchalant shrug in response.

“You’re cut off. No more beer. It’s time for you to go.”

“You can’t throw me out! I’m the law!”

Andy slammed his beefy fist down on the table. The kitchen doors swung open and Lafayette and Andy’s cousin, Terry, came over to the table.

“Andy, c’mon cuz. You gotta go. I already called Auntie. She knows you’re coming.”

“This is some bullshit,” Andy stood up and pulled out his wallet, slapping down two crumpled up bills, “Fuck all of you!”

Marco, Lafayette, and Terry watched Andy storm out of the bar.

“Let me go see how Tamara’s doing.”

Marco walked to the back and when he approached his office door, he knocked twice and waited. He could hear shuffling and then Tara opened the door with a hand on her hip.

“Is his drunk ass gone?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Marco slipped past Tara, “Tammy?”

Tamara was lying on his leather brown sofa with her knees to her chest. Tara left them alone and shut the door. Marco sat next to her and started stroking her arm with his hand.

“It’s gonna be alright. He’s gone now.”

“I could hear everyone else’s thoughts…”

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. He could tell she’d been crying.

“Andy pissed me off so bad that I let my guard down. People really think Lloyd is responsible. They’re calling him a murderer. They think Erik put a curse on the town.”

“Tammy, you can’t let these people get to you. All they do is talk, talk, talk. Nothin’ else better to do.”

Marco took his thumb to wipe away her tears. He studied her beautiful face with longing and his eyes fell to her lips. He desperately wanted to kiss her.

“I am worried about ya’. I wouldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to ya’”

Tamara gave Marco a gentle smile before hugging him. Marco slowly wrapped his arms around her. He pressed his nose into her mane and inhaled. Hibiscus and coconut. It was lovely.

“Thanks for always checking in on me—”

Marco pressed his lips against Tamara’s soft lips. The sound of their lips smacking when he broke the kiss to look at her had his stomach fluttering. Tamara stared at him with shock, unsure of what to say at that moment.

“Say something, Tammy.”

She turned away from Marco and stood up. Marco followed her and waited for her to speak.

“Why—why did you kiss me?” She questioned.

“Because I love you, Tammy—”

“I’m Erik’s.”

Marco closed his eyes.

“This never happened, okay?”

Tamara rushed out of the office and Marco kicked the side of his desk angrily.

Tamara paced back and forth outside of his office door. She couldn’t believe her boss just kissed her. And he loves her? She took a deep breath in and held it for three seconds before walking back out to the front. When she got there, Tara was at the bar mixing drinks and there stood Luke with his tall, brawny frame. He was wearing a distressed muscle tee and denim cut offs with his work boots on his feet. His tawny skin was covered in sweat and he had his cap on backwards, the Bordelon fishing logo printed on it.

“Hey, Tammy,” He smiled at her, “How’s everything?”

Tamara returned the smile and nodded her head that everything is good.

“Marco had to get Andy out of here. He was being real disrespectful questioning Tammy about Lloyd. Where is Lloyd anyway?”

“He’s laid up with some chick. I covered for him today at the dock. I’m ‘bout to go cook up some crawfish for my mama and dem.”

Tamara was too distracted to even pay attention. Marco walked out and he glanced over at her with sad eyes before entering the kitchen.

“Tammy?” Luke called out to her.

“Yeah—sorry–I gotta get back to work. Good seeing ya’ Luke.”

“Hey,” Luke grabbed her hand gently, “Don’t forget about lookin’ into a new car. I spotted your car out back and we really should get ya’ a new one.”

“Shit, I forgot all about that—I’ll let you know.”

She squeezed Luke’s hand affectionately and walked off.

“You got it bad Luke,” Tara teased.

“And what about you and Lloyd?” Luke asked.

“We ain’t talkin’ ‘bout me and Lloyd!”

“Mhm,” Luke took a seat at the bar. He grabbed the neck of his bottle of Bayou Peche IPA and took a swig while his eyes never left Tamara, “I’d like to take her out sometime. Wine and dine her. Spoil her.”

“Not if your mama can help it,” Tara laughed.

“Ain’t my mama business.”

Tara shakes her head and walks away to the other end of the bar to make drinks.

As the day turned into night, the bar became overwhelmingly busy. Lloyd showed up with Luke and a couple of their friends. Tamara noticed a pretty girl clinging to Lloyd’s arm and Tamara had never seen this girl around before. She’s 5’5, brown skin, sandy brown hair styled in a sleek bun, and a tight lime green dress hugging her curves. She was covered in tattoos and piercings and had this commanding energy about her. Tara spotted Lloyd and when her eyes fell on the girl she rolled her eyes and went back to yelling at some drunk man.

“I’ll be out with your hamburger and fries,” Tamara rushed over to the servers window, “Hamburger with Cajun fries!”

“Coming!” Lafayette shouted.

The doors opened up and Tamara turned around just in time to see Erik strolling in. He wore a black muscle tee with a graphic of Billie Holiday on it. He had on gray denim joggers and on his feet gray and black Jordan’s. He accessorized with his favorite tungsten jewelry and added multilayered leather bracelets to his wrists. He stood there, staring Tamara up and down before curling a finger for her to come to him. She walked up to him and Erik tilted her chin up before leaning down to kiss her.

Everyone in that bar watched him tongue her down. Tara had to remake a beer because she had overflowed it. Lloyd and Luke watched with disapproval. Marco was furious. And the other patrons whispered. Tamara refused to let her shields down.

“That was unexpected,” she whispered.

Erik smirked, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Tamara tucked her chin and batted her lashes bashfully.

Erik grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips to kiss. Tamara’s lips parted and she felt her eyes glaze over with desire.

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

Tamara slipped her hand out of Erik’s and he tapped her on the booty with a bite of his lip for good measure. As he walked with his sinful gait, his onyx eyes scanned the bar. People seemed to cower beneath his gaze, some were in a trance, others were angry with his presence. Erik didn’t give a fuck about any of it. He flopped down in a vacant booth seat with his legs swinging and his arms draped over the back of the seat. Tamara brought him out a chilled bottle of O negative and placed it in front of him.

“Figured you might be thirsty,” She smiled at him.

Erik sat up and with his hand he snaked it up the back of her leg and over her ass. Tamara rocked back and forth with a big smile.

“Thank you, princess.”

“You’re welcome. Hey, I meant to ask. Would you still be able to talk to The Descendants at the church next Friday evening? Nana wanted me to ask.”

“Of course.” Erik opened his True Blood.

“Okay,” Tamara lingered, “I’ll be back to check on you.”

Erik chuckled.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, baby. Go ahead.”

Tamara turned to leave with a pout. She made it back to the bar and locked eyes with Tara who was giving her a ‘we need to talk’ look. The doors opened with a hard shove and in walked the three vampires Tamara dreaded ever seeing again.

Diane, Bruce, and Woo.

They walked in like they owned the place. Tamara glanced over at Erik nervously and he was already looking at her. All three vampires made their way over to Erik and made themselves comfortable. Tamara gathered courage and strolled over to the table. Erik’s eyes shot up at her and he didn’t look happy about her coming up to the table.

“If it isn’t the pretty little human!” Diane laughed, “So, this is where you work? How adorable.”

Bruce and Woo laughed.

“Can I get ya’ anything?” Tamara asked, clicking her pen.

“Already got our meals covered, darling. But thanks for being so sweet.” Bruce said.

“Erik,” Diane reached out to stroke his hand, “We’ve been looking for you. Wanna get out of here and have some fun like the old days?”

“Got a real treat for you back at Tia’s,” Woo said.

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t a request?” Erik said.

Tamara could sense something was off.

“Nothing suspicious going on! We just miss you,” Diane drapes her long leg over Erik and licks the side of his face, “Why don’t you come and play with us?”

Tamara squeezed her notepad hard. She glared at Diane for the audacity.

“Get your leg off of him.” Tamara spoke with rage.

Woo and Bruce exchanged looks.

“Excuse me?” Diane turned and looked at Tamara as if she lost her mind, “What the fuck did you say to me?”

“Back off, Diane,” Erik warned.

Diane looked from Tamara to Erik and laughed.

“Aww. You two are together?! How cute!”

Tamara’s eyes twitched. She looked at Erik who was just sitting there allowing Diane to throw herself all over him. What was he doing?

“Erik?” Tamara folded her arms.

“Why don’t you get back to waiting tables, honey.”

“There’s a stain on that one there,” Bruce pointed to the table behind her.

Tamara didn’t hide the hurt in her eyes. Erik clenched his jaw and held her gaze.

“Why don’t we go pay Tia a little visit.” Diane whispered to Erik, “She’d be happy to know you’re doing just fine with your little obsession.”

Tamara stood confused. The name Tia stood out to her. She locked eyes with Erik again to see if he would speak but to her disappointment, he remained silent. What was he so afraid of? He’s older and stronger than all three of them. He could take them all out with a snap of his fingers.

“Erik, what’s going on?” Tamara asked.

“Go back to work, Tammy.” Erik replied with a stern voice.

Diane, Bruce, and Woo slid out of the booth, looking down on Tamara. Erik stood up and Diane wrapped an arm around his waist. Tamara glared at him and Diane cocked her head to the side, studying Tamara’s face with amusement.

“It’s okay, little human chick, he’ll only be gone a little while.”

Diane’s hand strokes Tamara’s cheek and she slapped her hand away causing Diane to grip her wrist. Erik grabbed Diane by the back of her neck and flung her across the room where she landed on her back hard. Lloyd, Luke, and Marco had pool sticks in their hands, making their way over to them. Bruce and Woo turned on Erik, crouching down in an attack stance with their fangs. Diane moved with accelerated speed and snatched Tamara up by her hair.

She screamed, gaining Erik’s attention who tried rushing to her aid but Bruce body slammed him on the table, breaking it in the process. Erik expertly reversed so that he was on top of Bruce and he lifted Bruce up by his neck with a sharp piece of broken wood to his chest, ready to strike. Woo tried to lunge at Erik but Erik was too swift, knocking Woo back so hard he slid to the other side of the bar. Erik stabbed Bruce in the chest which was enough to wound him and back hand slapped Diane so hard blood splattered.

“Hey! Back off my sister, fanger!” Lloyd shouted with rage.

“I think it’s time for y’all to leave!” Marco yelled.

The vampire trio looked at the sticks in their hands and laughed.

“You can’t be serious? You pathetic humans! What the fuck is a pool stick gonna do—”

“Wanna find out?” Luke said.

All at once, everyone got up and scurried to the front. Lloyd pulled out his gun and pointed it at Woo’s head.

“I’ll put a bullet in your fucking head!” Lloyd shouted.

“Just leave, we don’t want no trouble, Tammy,” Marco motioned for her to come to him, “C’mere.”

She took one step and Erik gripped her wrist. Tamara tried to pull her arm back. Lloyd turned his gun on Erik.

“Let go of me!” Tamara screamed.

Erik looked at her with a mixture of confusion and anger.

“Tammy!” He yelled.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF HER!”

Lloyd pulled the trigger and Erik was swift on his feet in a blink of an eye, snatching up Lloyd’s gun. His fangs popped out and he was chest to chest with Lloyd, eyes wild and menacing.

“Stop it, Erik!” Tamara shouted with tears in her eyes.

“You stay the fuck away from her or it’s war,” Lloyd growled.

Erik smirked dangerously at him.

“She’s mine.”

“This is fun,” Diane said with a vicious smirk.

“She don’t belong to you,” Luke grabbed Tamara’s hand.

“Get the fuck out! All of ya’!!!!”

Erik held his hand out for Tamara to take and she refused to go with him.

“I don’t want anything to do with you,” Tamara spoke with a tremble in her voice.

“This is getting boring. You coming or not, Stevens?” Woo said while inspecting his nails. Bruce wasn’t too happy about Erik still tagging along after being stabbed.

“I was hoping for more blood to shed! I could use some fresh blood,” Diane spoke excitedly.

“Just go,” Tamara wiped her tears away. “Fucking go!”

Erik backed away towards the door and Diane, Bruce, and Woo were right behind him. They dashed at lightning speed out of the bar and Tamara broke down.

“Tammy,” Lloyd wrapped his arms around his sister, “It’s okay…you’re safe.”

“That was some scary shit,” Luke had a hand to his chest.

“He showed his true colors. How could he put her in danger like that?” Marco said.

“Because he’s a vampire. They don’t have feelings. All they know is to kill. It was only a matter of time before he tried to attack Tammy.”

Tamara shoved away from Lloyd and ran to the back of the bar. She grabbed her things in a rush, so ready to get out of there and away from everyone. She couldn’t understand why Erik would disrespect her like that? Embarrass her in front of everyone?

“Hey, Tammy,” Tara and Lafayette wrapped their arms around her, “Shhh, it’s okay, girl. I’m so sorry.”

“I just need to get out of here.”

“I’ll take her home.”

Lloyd and Luke walked up with Marco trailing behind.

“I can drive.” Tamara argued.

“Not that piece of shit. I’m takin ya’ back to Nana’s. Let’s go.”

Luke grabbed her things and walked out behind Lloyd. Marco rubbed her back before watching her walk out of the bar. Luke helped her in the back seat and she laid down with tears streaming down her face. Just when everything was going so well. Maybe it was for the best.

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