#which in and of itself is something WILD to be against
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interlunium-opus · 2 days ago
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►DANCING WITH THE DEVIL #004: FINALE [Sunghoon.]
Parts ‣ #001 | ‣ #002 | ‣ #003 | ‣ #004: Prelude | ‣ #004: Finale
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Abstract: Eight years have passed since you betrayed Park Sunghoon, leaving his fate shrouded in uncertainty. You thought you'd left that world behind, but the serial killings in the capital city —which bore a haunting resemblance to that in your past—pulled you right back into the shadows you once escaped. What began as a quest to prove your worth soon unraveled into something far more sinister: a labyrinthine network of power, deceit, and danger hidden beneath a veneer of opulence.Now, amidst the grandeur of a castle steeped in blood-soaked tradition, you find yourself, once again, entangled with Sunghoon—a ghost from your past whose motives remain as inscrutable as ever. The stakes are now higher, the games deadlier, and survival feels like chasing a mirage. As you navigate a web of twisted rituals and deadly alliances, the tension between you and Sunghoon ignites once again.But this time, the game is different. With whispers of betrayal and lingering wounds threatening to consume you both, you must decide if trust is a risk worth taking—because in doing so, you are not just exposing the truths they've hidden, but also the feelings you’ve fought so hard to suppress and bury.
Parts ‣ #001 | ‣ #002 | ‣ #003 | ‣ #004: Prelude | ‣ #004: Finale
Genre: vampire!sunghoon | horror | thriller | fantasy | romance (or is it? 😋)||| wc: ~13.2k
Featuring: Anton from Riize. [ PSA! ] There's also a Jaeyun here -- this is actually Enhypen Jake lol. Soz, no one fits the role that Jaeyun has in here better than Dark Blood Jake so I plead you guys to just go along and imagine that the Jake in Part 1-3 and Jaeyun in this Part are two different people ((who happen to look alike)) HAHAH
Warnings: blood; violence; injuries (some are self-inflicted); suggestiveness (some are forced); mentions of crimes (missing persons, murder, serial killings); manipulation; toxicity; trauma.
A/N: because Part 4 is too long, I had to split it into two parts and this is the 2nd part, the Finale. So if you're new to Part 4, please start with the Prelude first if you haven't :>
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— xi
The gates groaned open, their rusted hinges echoing like a death knell through the oppressive stillness. Beyond them, the maze stretched into darkness, its towering hedges jagged and irregular, as if the structure itself had grown wild and angry over centuries. You stood among the others at the entrance, the flickering torchlight casting distorted shadows across their pale faces. Fear lingered in the air, clinging like smoke.
The host’s voice rang out, its unnerving cheer slicing through the tension. “Thirty minutes!” he announced. “That’s the grace period you’ve earned, dear victors. Thirty minutes to navigate the maze and claim your freedom. Once the thirty minutes is up, your claimants will descend and should you get captured then your fate is sealed in blood and eternity."
The sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the night, and chaos erupted. Humans surged forward like a desperate tide, plunging into the maze’s gaping maw.
It didn’t take long for the maze to reveal its true nature.
Branches lunged like claws, snagging at clothes and tearing through skin. You flinched as a woman ahead of you stumbled, her sleeve caught and shredded. Blood welled from her arm, the crimson stark against her pale skin. A man further ahead tripped, his cry piercing as a hidden root twisted around his ankle, sending him sprawling. His hand scraped against a jagged stone, a deep gash splitting his palm.
“It’s a... trap,” you muttered under your breath, the pieces clicking into place. Every twisted path seemed designed to injure, every branch poised to tear flesh. Every movement, every stumble left behind the scent of blood, marking them like a beacon. The maze wasn’t a challenge; it was a slaughterhouse, designed to render them helpless before the hunt even began.
You glanced back toward the castle, your breath catching as you spotted the vampires in the Grand Hall beyond the glass-paneled windows. Warm light spilled out, casting golden reflections on the darkened grounds. They lounged at long tables, wine glasses glinting in their hands as they laughed and gestured. It wasn’t chaos to them; it was entertainment. A grotesque theater of blood and desperation, framed perfectly for their amusement.
Resolve hardened in your chest. You weren’t going to play their game.
Turning sharply, you broke away from the panicked crowd and ran back toward the castle. The thought struck you with chilling clarity as your feet pounded against the ground: the staff had been dismissed, the mortals were in the maze. The castle wasn’t just the safest place to escape the hunt—it was the perfect trap as inside those walls, only vampires remained.
There was no way you would let the maze tear you apart piece by piece. If they wanted a game, you’d give them one on your own terms. And so with bold and calculated steps, you headed back, but instead of the Grand Hall where vampires lounged with glasses of wine in hand, reveling in their twisted theater of blood and desperation, you headed deeper—to the cellar you’d stumbled upon yesterday while frantically searching for a first-aid kit after finding Sunghoon bloodied at the foot of your bed.
Back then, you hadn’t paid much attention—your mind consumed with stopping the bleeding. But the sight had lingered: towering racks of bottles and colossal barrels stacked like monoliths. Most importantly, you recalled how the cellar was situated directly beneath the Grand Hall—a precarious foundation for a room already weathered by centuries. Its position alone made it a powder keg waiting for a spark.
Now, as you descended the spiral staircase once more, your steps were deliberate, your breaths steady. The cellar stretched before you, even larger than you’d remembered. Rows of barrels lined the space, their labels faded but still legible in the dim light: port, sherry, even brandy. The air was thick, carrying the faint tang of aged wine and the sharper bite of spirits—a volatile combination.
You moved quickly, tipping barrels one by one. Thick liquid gushed out, pooling across the stone floor in a growing lake. As the pungent scent of wine filled the air, an idea struck you: a trail. The fire couldn’t stay confined to the cellar—it needed to climb, to reach the vampires in their gilded cage above.
Grabbing an uncorked bottle from the shelves, you dipped it into the pooling wine and began creating a path. The liquid splashed as you worked, leaving a continuous, glistening line up the stairs and toward the hall’s entrance. When the first bottle ran dry, you spotted a smaller cask labeled lamp oil. Without hesitation, you tipped it into the mix, thickening the trail. Your hands moved with precision, painting a path meant to spark chaos.
At the top of the staircase, you paused, heart pounding. The torchlight flickered in your grip as you surveyed your work. The lake of wine and spirits in the cellar. The trail snaking upward. The puddle pooling at the hall’s threshold. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. You recalled overhearing a maid speaking about the Grand Hall—its ancient foundations riddled with cracks and shored up by makeshift supports. If any place in the castle would collapse under fire, it was here.
But, as your surveyed the trail you'd left, you knew it wasn’t enough. You needed chaos. You needed to bait them. You need to cover all the loopholes. Maximise the impact.
So you swiftly reached for the dagger concealed in your garter belt, your eyes darting for a spot to make the sacrifice. Your forearm. Without hesitation, you pressed the blade against your skin, slicing deeper than ever before—this time, you needed more. A sharp sting shot through you, making your breath hitch, but you didn’t falter. Blood welled instantly, warm and vivid, tracing the edge of the wound like liquid fire. With hurried yet deliberate steps, you smeared your blood on the walls leading down to the cellar.
All your near-death interactions with vampires teaches you one important thing: they do not think when it comes to fresh blood when desperation hits.They are creatures of impulse and in the desperation stoked by an inferno—yet another exploitable weakness—the smoke and heat would confuse their senses, leaving the scent of fresh blood as their only compass. Thus, just like how the maze was meant to draw blood—you’d turned their weapon against them, your blood would lead them straight to the hottest part of the castle.  
Once you decided blood had strategically been spread enough in certain key locations, you wrapped a torn fabric from your gown tightly—trying to staunch the bleeding before you set your plan in motion.
Your torch flickered ominously, its light casting jagged shadows across the stone walls. It was time.
Crouching low, you ignited the flammable trail at the midpoint of the staircase. Immediately, flames surged to life, spreading upward and downward with terrifying speed. The fire roared as it consumed the path you’d created, its glow painting the narrow corridor in hues of gold and crimson.
You didn’t wait to see the inferno take hold. Spinning on your heel, you darted into a nearby passage—a maid’s shortcut you had overheard during your time wandering the castle. The narrow corridor was damp, the air thick with mildew, but it offered a chance to slip past the chaos you’d unleashed.
When you emerged, the familiar Eastern end of the Corridors of Treachery loomed before you, its twisting halls stretching endlessly into shadow. But this time, you didn’t falter. One last thing, you thought, your steps confident and resolute as you opened a door—the Library.
This was your next target.
The blaze below would cripple them, but the knowledge contained in this room—the ancient texts, the records of their lineage and power—it needed to be destroyed. If the castle was to fall, their legacy must, too, for every words here were like poison, waiting to be unleashed by the next power-hungry bloodsucker.
Your steps were steady as you made your way to the shelves, already knowing where to go. The Obsidian Testament waited for you in its usual place, its ominous presence untouched even amidst the growing chaos. The moonlight spilled through the tall windows, catching the hidden coat of arms engraved on its cover—a silent reminder of Sunghoon’s bloodline, regal and intricate, yet tainted by the weight of its history.
Without hesitation, you lit the edge of the book, watching as the flames began their ravenous work. The coat of arms—so proud, so immovable—gradually crumbled under the heat. You hurled it onto a growing pile of texts, the fire spreading hungrily across the brittle pages.
Let it all burn.
“I knew it was you—" a voice pierced through the sound of crackling flames and the ominous groan of weakening wood.
Jaeyun.
He strode forward with a deliberate, menacing pace, his hand sweeping back his golden hair in a single, frustrated motion. The movement exposed his sharp, angular features. Gone was the mischievous grin that had once softened him, replaced by a cold, predatory expression that turned his beauty into something terrifying.
“I was going to grant you an escape and this—" he roared, “is how you repay me?!”
“As if,” you spat scornfully, “I saw the layout of the maze the other day from the tower–it’s a labyrinth, all towering hedges and twisting paths. No flowers, no statues, no space for anything but confusion. So the moment you told me of statues as the hint for escape, I knew you were trying to bait me."
He scoffed, dragging his sword behind him, the blade scraping against the ground with a grating hiss. The nearby flames cast flickering shadows across his face, making his sneer all the more menacing, “I get it now. You chose me exactly because you needed me here. If you had chosen Sunghoon, you knew I’d left the castle and gone after you–"
You stepped back instinctively, his sneer slowly twisting, faltering into a grimace that betrayed the quiet fury simmering beneath the surface. “You chose me,” he continued, each word dripping with venom, “to trick him. To let him escape this carnage you’ve been planning.”
He didn’t flinch as burnt books tumbled from the crumbling shelves, landing in smouldering heaps around him. His grimace deepened, a bitter edge curling his lips. “How disgustingly cliché.”
“You read too much fairytales.” you hissed, your voice cutting through the crackling of the flames. “I chose you because I knew what a narcissistic, overconfident, manipulative prick you are. I knew you’d let your guard down the moment your name is picked and that is all I needed to take this whole place down. To take the rot down.”
The taunt landed like a strike, and Jaeyun lunged. His speed was startling, and before you could react, your back slammed against a nearby wall. The impact forced the breath from your lungs, your body pinned as his eyes—blazing with a fury to match the fire—bore into yours.
Fuck, you thought, the heat pressing against your skin, the air growing heavier with smoke. At this rate, even you might not escape the fire.
But you’d banked on this. Vampires were slaves to their emotions when pushed to the brink. Jaeyun could have fled. He could have saved himself. Instead, here he was, his rage blinding him to the inferno that threatened to consume them both.
“I can still reap you now,” he snarled, his fangs elongating to their full, menacing length. “You’d be my 100th you know. Two cycles of reaping, countless bodies left in my wake, and still standing. Do you think your little bonfire will end me? Pray harder.”
His hand tightened around your throat, pressing you harder against the wall. The pressure wasn’t just threatening—it was exactly what you needed. His body leaned closer, his focus narrowed to you and his fury. This was the calculated risk you’d taken: baiting him to lose control, to get close enough for you to finish this. And he had proven you right.
You could have fled, but you hadn’t. You’d gambled on his inability to walk away from the stage you’d set ablaze. Jaeyun, the cunning puppeteer, wouldn’t let his masterpiece burn without trying to stop it. His pride wouldn’t allow it. And now, blinded by anger, he failed to notice the flames inching closer, the smoke curling around his form.
“Big talk,” you rasped, your voice steady beneath his crushing grip. “And yet… you’ve already lost.”
His eyes narrowed, a flicker of confusion cutting through the storm of rage. For a split second, his body tensed—but then his gaze dropped.
There, plunged deep into his abdomen, was your dagger. The blade caught the firelight, its hilt adorned with a small charm bearing Sunghoon’s crest. The ruby glinted wickedly, its light reflecting the chaos of the flames around you.
Jaeyun’s grip faltered, his hand loosening slightly as blood, dark and thick, bloomed through his shirt, and you didn’t hesitate. Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you shoved him off, wrenching the blade free as you bolted out of the library. The flames roared louder now, licking hungrily at the walls, their heat pressing against your back.
But you didn’t make it far. A force barrelled into you, slamming you to the ground with a weight that knocked the air from your lungs.
“Fucking get off me—” you gasped, twisting under his grip.
Jaeyun was on top of you, pinning you with an iron hold. His nails had elongated into claws, sharp and gleaming in the firelight. He pressed them against your neck, just enough to draw thin lines of blood.
“Look at you—squirming like a wounded rabbit. How adorable,” he murmured, his voice soft but dripping with cruel amusement. His weight crushed you against the stone floor, unforgiving and cold beneath you. He forced your head to an unnatural angle, his claws digging deeper, anchoring you helplessly in place.
"Haven't you heard? struggling makes the blood sweeter," he drawled, his head dipping into the crook of your neck, his breathing hot and heavy, "so go ahead—struggle all you want, you are just sweetening my feast."
His tongue dragged across the cut he’d made, slow and deliberate, a mocking gesture that sent a shiver of revulsion down your spine. “Ah,” he exhaled sharply, shuddering in such a revolting way, “there it is—so much sweeter when you fight.” The words dripped from his lips like venom, each syllable a mockery of your helplessness. He lingered, the softness of his lips a deliberate contrast to the sharp sting of his claws. It was as if he was deliberately prolonging the act to rattle you—to cut where it hurts the most: your autonomy and dignity.
“Do you think he tasted you like this?” he whispered, his lips brushing the edge of the wound in deliberate malice and intimacy, relishing in your revulsion and savouring the power he held over you and every flicker of your discomfort. “Or is this my privilege alone?”
He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. “I wonder…” he murmured, his voice curling with mock tenderness, “does he know how much sweeter you become when you squirm?” His claws pressed harder, the sharp sting blossoming into pain, his next words cutting deeper than his nails ever could. “Or is that just for me too?”
The sharpness of his teeth grazed your neck, far too close, far too sharp—sharper than you remembered Sunghoon’s ever being. Your breath hitched, panic clawing at the edges of your mind, the firelight around you seeming to flicker with your racing pulse. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable—
But then instead of pain. You felt the weight lifted.
A rush of air and heat overwhelmed you as Jaeyun was torn away. Your body trembled, the world tilting for a moment. When you clambered back to your feet, you saw them—two figures clashing across the corridor, their movements a blur amidst glowing embers and smoke-choked air.
Sunghoon and Jaeyun.
The firelight cast jagged shadows across the walls, illuminating the ferocity of their battle.
Sunghoon’s strikes were calculated, but desperation bled into each swing of his blade—precise yet strained. His strength, though formidable, seemed frayed at the edges, each swing costing him more than the last. As he stepped closer to the firelight, you saw it clearly: the cuts marring his face and the dark smudges of ash clinging to his disheveled clothing. He must’ve faced other vampires on his way here, you thought.
In contrast, Jaeyun moved with unnerving ease, his blows quick and unrelenting, each one a chilling display of power. The oppressive heat and smoke clawed at the air, suffocating and disorienting, but Jaeyun seemed untouched—his strength unfaltering, a cruel testament to the reaping cycles that had forged him into something far beyond human, even vampiric.
“You came just in time, Romeo.” Jaeyun sneered, sidestepping a blow with maddening grace. "Did you see how perfectly she fits in my hand?" he taunted as he swung his blade, forcing Sunghoon back, "ah—and her taste. Her warm skin. The way she shivered. You know, if you hadn't interrupted, I’d have heard her make that sound again. You know the one—soft, breathless, perfect."
It was revolting to hear him say those filthy words but at that moment your dignity took a backseat for all you could think of was Sunghoon. As if Jaeyun knew exactly how to play with someone's mind, Sunghoon’s strikes came faster, heavier—but clumsier. Fury bled into every swing, the precision of his usual attacks dulled by anger. Then their swords met with a thunderous crash, the force sending sparks flying as both pressed forward, neither giving ground. Sunghoon’s chest heaved, his labored breaths a stark contrast to Jaeyun’s unnerving composure, his taunting smirk growing wider.
Jaeyun continued, his voice dripping with cruel amusement, “but I guess you wouldn’t know, would you? She has never let you touch her like that, has she?” His grin sharpened, his next words a venomous whisper. “Not the way she let me, at least.”
Sunghoon charged again, his blows landing harder than before, but Jaeyun danced out of reach, his blade glinting in the firelight, "—because she will never accept you the way you are Sunghoon," his voice was laced with mock pity, "you're just another bloodthirsty beast."
Then, with a sudden shift, Jaeyun lunged, forcing Sunghoon back with a flurry of heavy strikes. “You should’ve stopped pretending to be noble and reaped her,” he hissed, his blows driving Sunghoon toward the corner. “That’s the only way you’ll ever have her.” His grin twisted into something darker as he leaned closer, delivering the final barb. “And maybe—just maybe—it would’ve brought back the strength you used to have because this…” Jaeyun’s blade pressed closer, his eyes gleaming with disdain. “—is just pathetic.”
You swallowed thickly for the odds doesn't seem to stack up for Sunghoon. Your body reacted instinctively to go after him, but his gaze stopped you cold. The sharp jerk of his head said it all: Run.
But you couldn’t.
Then their blades clashed again, the sharp ring echoing through the suffocating heat. Sunghoon’s strikes, though deliberate, were slower now, his movements burdened by the corner he’d been forced into. The stone wall pressed against his back, leaving him little room to manoeuver. Yet even there, with Jaeyun bearing down on him, his defiance burned brighter.
“You can amass all the power and influence you want,” Sunghoon said through gritted teeth, his blade locking with Jaeyun’s in a deadly stalemate. His voice was low but cutting, his eyes blazing with quiet fury. “But you’ll never be able to claim something you’ve never had the right to.”
"The blood you take," Sunghoon shoved him back with a surge of strength, their blades separating with a hiss of steel, "won't make yours anymore purer. It just taints you irreparably."
Jaeyun froze for the briefest moment as if the words had landed exactly where they were meant to. The smirk on his lips faltered, not gone but strained, like a mask beginning to crack.
"That is probably why," Sunghoon continued, his strikes growing sharper, each one cutting closer, "my very existence riles you so isn't it? even when I've never made any moves to challenge your house of cards?"
Jaeyun’s movements lost some of their calculated ease, his strikes heavier but less precise, each blow betraying his frustration. The tables had turned and now it was Jaeyun’s turn to be riled up, his composure unraveling with every word.
Sensing the shift, Sunghoon adjusted his stance, lowering his weight in anticipation. Jaeyun lunged, his overconfidence driving him forward—but Sunghoon was ready. With a blur of motion, he pivoted sharply, driving his shoulder into Jaeyun’s chest with brutal force. The impact sent Jaeyun sprawling backward, skidding across the debris-strewn floor until he collided with a broken pillar.
Sunghoon didn’t hesitate. Before Jaeyun could recover, he closed the distance with unrelenting precision, dropping to one knee and driving his blade into Jaeyun’s exposed abdomen. The force of the strike pinned Jaeyun to the ground, his body jerking under the weight of the blow. Blood bloomed instantly, dark and thick, pooling across the cracked stone beneath them. Jaeyun hissed, his hands clawing at the blade embedded in his torso. For a moment, it seemed as though Sunghoon had won. You held your breath, hope flickering to life.
Then, Jaeyun’s lips curled into a bloodied smirk. “You're nowhere enough,” he rasped, his voice laced with venom, “—of a challenge Sunghoon.”
It was only then you noticed it—Jaeyun’s own blade, slick with Sunghoon’s blood, had been driven deep into his flank. You hadn’t seen the strike. Neither had Sunghoon. But there it was, protruding cruelly through his abdomen, crimson spreading across his shirt like spilled ink.
“Sunghoon!” The name tore from your lips, sharp and raw. You stepped forward instinctively, but before you could reach him, the ceiling above groaned ominously. A massive chunk of debris collapsed, slamming into the ground between you and them.
The impact sent you stumbling back, coughing as a thick cloud of smoke and dust billowed around you. “No—” you rasped, your voice cracking as you strained to see through the haze.
Sunghoon gritted his teeth, his knuckles tightening on his blade, though he didn’t withdraw. Nor did he stagger nor falter. Instead, he shifted his weight forward, his strength bearing down on the blade, every ounce of effort ensuring Jaeyun couldn’t push him off.
“You sure about that?” Sunghoon rasped, his voice hoarse and strained.
Jaeyun’s smirk twisted into confusion as his eyes darted down. Horror dawned as he saw Sunghoon’s blood streaming from his wound, dripping steadily onto the gaping injury in Jaeyun’s abdomen—the wound you had inflicted earlier. The reaction was instantaneous. Frost-like patterns spreading outward from the contact point, jagged and unrelenting, crystallising his torso and limbs, locking him in place. His claws scrambled at the stone floor, scraping against it in desperation as his body stiffened. His voice cracked, teetering on the edge of panic. “No-no—you—“
You recalled an excerpt from The Annals of Kings—a fleeting detail about how the blood of a Pureblood, though inert on the skin of another vampire, becomes lethal toxin when mingled with another’s wounds—an alchemical reaction born of their cursed lineage. And therein lay the tragedy: the blood they so revered—the symbol of their purity, power, and immortality—was also their undoing. The very essence that granted them supremacy over all others carried the seeds of their destruction, a cruel paradox embedded in their existence.
You realized then what Sunghoon had allowed Jaeyun to do. He hadn’t just been defending himself; he had turned his own wound into a weapon. Sunghoon had weaponized the very thing their kind held sacred, knowing it would be Jaeyun’s end—even as it left him vulnerable to his own impending collapse. In heaving, ragged breaths, Sunghoon rasped, “I only finished what she started—". His eyes met yours for a fleeting moment the weight of his gaze—the unspoken truth behind his sacrifice—struck you harder than any blow.
Jaeyun regurgitated, his body stiffening as the crystal consumed him entirely, his face locked in a mask of rage and terror. A sharp crack echoed through the hall as his crystalline form splintered, into ashen dust, swirling briefly in the fiery glow before dissipating into the suffocating smoke, vanishing as though he had never existed.
Sunghoon staggered back from the remains, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. His hands moved to the blade embedded in his flank, his fingers trembling as he gripped the hilt. With a sharp, agonized groan, he wrenched it free, the sound of metal against flesh almost drowned out by the crackling flames around him.
The moment the blade left his body, blood poured from the wound in thick, unrelenting streams. His face, already pale, lost what little colour it had left, the crimson staining his hands stark against his ashen skin. He swayed, his frame lurching unsteadily as though the weight of the air itself had become too much to bear.
And then he pitched forward, catching himself on trembling hands before he collapsed entirely. Blood dripped from his wound in heavy rivulets as his body sagged against the stone floor. For a moment, he seemed almost unrecognizable—so human in his fragility, so far from the invulnerable figure you had known.
You should have ran away then.
The exit was there, your path to freedom blazing clearly through the smoke and flames. You could have escaped—left behind the horrors that had haunted you, the chaos that had led you to this moment.
But you didn’t.
Instead, you ran toward him. Through the flames and falling debris, through the suffocating heat, you reached him. His weight sagged heavily against you as you tried to pull him upright, your arms straining with the effort.
His face was pale, slick with sweat, and streaked with soot. Blood continued to pour freely from his wound, dark and thick, in a way that was achingly human. His eyes, so often guarded and unreadable, now lay bare—soft and raw, stripped of all pretense.
“You’re stupid!” you choked out, your voice trembling as you pressed your hands against his wound, desperate to staunch the bleeding. “Why did you come back to the castle?”
“You’re the stupid one,” he rasped, a faint, ghostly smirk tugging at his cracked lips. “Why haven’t you run? I stalled long enough for you—”
“Shut up,” you snapped, panic lacing your words as you struggled to lift him again. His body was limp, heavier than you could manage alone, and he slumped back to his knees, his breathing shallow and laboured, each breath a fight.
He was worse off than the last time you’d patched him up—far worse—and the realization sent a jolt of fear through you. At this rate, neither of you would escape the flames. You’d both burn together in this crumbling castle.
“Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice barely audible now, “we’ve bantered long enough.”
His body pitched forward, and you caught him instinctively. His weight collapsed into your arms, his head coming to rest weakly in the nook of your shoulder. You felt the faint brush of his lips against your skin—soft, fleeting, and entirely unlike the possessive ferocity you’d known from him. His hand trembled as it moved to your back, curling with a weak insistence, a stark contrast to the vice-like grip he had on you just hours ago.
“I’m letting you go now, y/n,” he whispered, his words a quiet confession, laced with both sorrow and resolve. “This is the only way I could ever let you go.”
Your breath hitched. You knew what he meant, and you didn’t want that. Perhaps you never did.
“No,” you said, your voice trembling but firm, the weight of your conviction cutting through the chaos around you. Tears welled in your eyes, but they didn’t fall. Not yet.
Your hands moved with purpose, tearing the makeshift bandage from your arm. Blood pooled from the cut, rich and red, but you didn’t hesitate. “Take my blood, Sunghoon,” you demanded, thrusting your arm toward him. “Quickly. You need it—”
He shook his head weakly, his breaths shallow and uneven. “y/n, go,” he rasped, his voice barely audible above the roar of the flames. “We’re running out of time.”
“Damn it, Sunghoon!” you barked, desperation breaking through the cracks in your resolve. “You don’t get to tell me what to do—not now, not like this!”
His eyes, already losing focus, flickered with something—protest, perhaps, or regret. But you didn’t give him the chance. Before he could stop you, you brought your arm to your lips, the sharp metallic tang of blood filling your mouth. Without hesitation, you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close, crushing your lips to his.
The transfer was immediate. You felt his body stiffen, his hand twitching weakly against your back in surprise. When you pulled away, his lips were stained crimson, his gaze dazed, unfocused.
“Is that enough?” you asked, your voice trembling. “it’s not right? take more.” You leaned closer, your breathing uneven as you tilted your head to the side. “Take it from my neck. That works best for you, doesn’t it?”
“y/n, stop—” he croaked, his voice fractured.
For a moment, you froze, your gaze locking onto his. The sight of him—so pale, so vulnerable, teetering on the edge of collapse—was unbearable, it was twisting your heart painfully. Frustration burned through you, hot and unrelenting.
“You’re making this hard,” you muttered under your breath, your voice shaking.
Before he could utter another word, you shifted upwards, wrapping your arms tightly over his shoulder, steadying him and angling yourself so that his face was close enough to your neck. “Bite me,” you whispered, your voice thick with both resolve and something far more raw. “I’ll let you.”
The hand he already had on your back shifted, his fingers curling faintly into the fabric of your gown, but it wasn’t a grip of possession, but one of desperation—as though he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his other hand began to move. Trembling, hesitant, it brushed against your shoulder, its path uncertain, as though he feared you might flinch or pull away.
The roughness of his palm met the curve of your neck, his touch both gentle and weighted. His fingers curled there, delicate yet unyielding, cradling the nape of your neck as though it was something fragile, irreplaceable. Each movement was deliberate, almost reverent, as if he was memorizing the feel of your skin beneath his hand.
It wasn’t the possessive grip you’d known before. This was something far more tender, far more devastating. It was as though his very existence hung by a thread, and you were the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.
“y/n. You don't understand. I’ve lost too much blood,” he murmured, his lips brushing featherlight against your neck. “I wouldn’t be able to stop—”
“I trust you,” you interrupted, your voice trembling but unyielding as you held him tighter. “I trust you, Sunghoon. I trust that you’ll take just enough to survive.”
His hold on you tightened as if trying to ground himself in the weight of your words. I trust you—the words hung between you, fragile yet immense. It was the very words he needed to hear all along; the very words you’ve fought so desperately not to feel, much less say.
Then, slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, resolve. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting the shadows of exhaustion etched into his features. The vulnerability in his gaze was a blade cutting both ways, and you knew it would haunt you long after this moment passed.
“I trust you,” you repeated softly, your voice unwavering this time.
Above you, debris crashed to the floor, the flames roaring louder. The heat was suffocating, the air thick with smoke, but you didn’t move. Neither did he. Time was slipping away, but in this moment, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you.
His expression twisted, as though your words had broken something in him. Pain flickered across his face—not just physical, but something deeper, something that had been buried for far too long. His hand, trembling now, reached up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered there, gentle and deliberate, as if committing the feel of you to memory. Then his hand shifted, cradling the side of your neck. His thumb grazed your skin, reverent, unhurried, as though this was both a goodbye and a plea to stay.
“We’re always at odds, aren’t we?” he murmured softly, "I asked you to run but you stayed. I asked you to save yourself, but you're trying to save me instead."
You grinned bitterly, “always.”
For a moment, his gaze lingered, searching yours, before he dipped his head into the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, almost hesitant. Then the sharp prickle of pain came—a fleeting sting as his fangs broke your skin—but it was eclipsed by the strange, disarming lull that followed.
His grip on you tightened, his body pressing closer, desperate and unyielding. You could feel the urgency in every movement, the hunger in every pull of his lips against your skin. It was overwhelming, the pull of his fangs relentless, like he was drawing not just blood but something far deeper—something he couldn’t bear to lose.
You should have been terrified. You should have fought back.
But you didn’t. You couldn’t.
Even as your vision blurred, as the edges of the world dissolved into the inferno raging around you, one truth anchored you to him:
You trusted him.
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— xii
You woke with a jolt, a sharp gasp tearing through your chest as sterile, artificial air filled your lungs. The glaring white walls seemed to close in around you, their starkness more oppressive than calming. Fluorescent lights hummed faintly above, casting an antiseptic glow that made the space feel detached, clinical—eerily devoid of life.
Your gaze darted frantically across the room, your pulse racing with every detail that didn’t belong. There was no warmth here, no trace of familiarity. Just the suffocating stillness pressing down on you, as though the air itself had weight. For a terrifying moment, it felt like a void, a purgatory for fractured souls. Perhaps you were dead. After everything—the chaos, the blood, the flames—was this where it all ended?
A tremor passed through you, the memory of his voice, his face, flashing like a spark in the darkness. The desperation in his eyes. The warmth of his hand against yours, the fragile connection you clung to even as the world burned around you.
“Sunghoon?” The name slipped from your lips before you could stop it, trembling with hope and fear. It wasn’t just a question; it was a plea, a tether you threw into the void, praying it would hold. The sound of it shattered the oppressive silence, leaving a raw ache in its wake.
You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, and pain flared like lightning through your body. Every nerve screamed in protest—your ribs, your limbs, even the faintest breath. “Sunghoon?” you called again, louder this time, the desperation cracking through your voice.
You forced yourself upright, your bare feet meeting the icy bite of the tile floor. Your legs wobbled beneath you, your strength slipping like sand through your fingers. The IV pole clattered to the ground as you collapsed, clutching the bedframe in a desperate bid for balance.
The sound shattered the room’s oppressive quiet and almost immediately the door swung open with a sharp creak. Your heart leapt, relief surging through your veins. “Sungho—”
But it wasn’t him.
“y/n!” Anton’s voice cut through the tension as he hurried to your side, his face etched with concern. He dropped to his knees beside you, steadying your trembling frame. “What are you doing? You’re still too weak. Lie back down!”
“Anton,” you rasped, your hands gripping his shirt tightly. “Where’s Sunghoon?”
“Sunghoo—?” He frowned, confused, before realization dawned. “Ah, Mr. Park? y/n, he left weeks ago. Don’t you remember? He was called back to his headquarters. Some urgent matters in Prague.”
You shook your head vehemently, your grip on him tightening. “No, that’s not right. He was with me. He—”
“y/n,” Anton said gently but firmly, helping you back onto the bed. “you’ve been unconscious for 2 weeks—your mind is probably still foggy especially given all you had to endure. Don’t you remember? We held a farewell lunch for him? You were there, muttering spiteful things under your breath when he delivered his farewell speech.”
You froze, staring at him in disbelief. “We didn’t,” you whispered hoarsely. “He was—” The words died in your throat. You clung to the fragments of memory that felt more like splinters now. “What about the people then? and the- the castle?”
Anton’s sat beside you, voice gentle, “the castle is gone, razed to the ground. Some people were found scattered across the compound, but all of them had hazy memories—smoke inhalation and trauma-induced amnesia, according to the doctors. No signs of foul play though. Just a gas leak in an old building. The fire spread too fast.”
“How about casualties?” you asked, your mind flashing to the vampires that should be stuck in the hall.
Anton shook his head. “None. Just scattered jewelry and strange clothing pieces found in the halls—probably left behind by looters after the fire started. Authorities have investigated it thoroughly though and nothing indicates foul play. Even the castle’s owner isn’t pressing charges or requesting further inquiry.”
“But Sungh- someone – someone must have been with me,” you pressed on, the words stumbling out.
“y/n,” Anton repeated, his voice more serious now, “no one was. You were alone in the glasshouse. The only one unconscious, in fact. They theorised, given the proximity, you must have spent a lot of time inside compared to others which is why you were unconscious. But point is—investigations had been done and foul play is ruled out. Everyone is safe.”
“Every..." you echoed, “—no. I think there were some who didn’t— do you have a list? the guests? the survivo—" your words faltered as your head spun, a sharp pang cutting through the fog of your thoughts. You groaned, swaying unsteadily. Anton was quick to catch you, steadying your trembling form as he guided you to lean back against the bed.
"y/n, stop—" he said, his tone full of concern. "Look, you've been unconscious for almost 2 weeks. You're not in the right state of mind yet. Let me get the doctor first, okay? don’t move.”
You barely registered his words as you stared up at the sterile ceiling, your mind racing with fragmented memories. Sunghoon. The flames. The battle. His bloodied body against yours. The way he’d looked at you in those final moments—his eyes full of something unspoken, something that clung to you even now.
Instinctively, your hand rose to your neck, brushing against the skin there—and froze. Faint but undeniable, you felt it: a mark. His bite mark.
Your breath hitched as the weight of it sank in. It was the confirmation you needed. That he was real. That your memories weren’t muddled or fabricated. That he had been there.
For a moment, a spark of relief lit in your chest. He’d been there. You hadn’t imagined him. The connection you clung to wasn’t some fever dream born of smoke and fear.
But as your fingers lingered over the faint indentations, that spark dimmed, flickering under the weight of a new truth.
Anton had said you’d been unconscious for two weeks. Two weeks. Two weeks is a long time for someone like him to stay away. Too long.
Suddenly, the silence felt unbearable—crushing in its emptiness, each second a reminder of all the truths his absence could mean. Each one as cruel as the next.
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— xiii
A month had passed, and unlike before—when you could sense Sunghoon in the shadows, catch the faintest trace of his cologne lingering in the air, or swear you felt his touch as you brushed past strangers—he was utterly, completely gone.
His absence was deafening.
So you buried yourself in work, to drown out the silence that followed you everywhere and to lock the memories away. Perhaps if you don’t think about it, the ache would dull. Even better, fade entirely.  
Until one night.
You were reaching for something from the shelves in your bedroom when your elbow knocked a box off the shelf. It crashed to the floor with a hollow thud, its contents spilling out in an unceremonious heap. You froze, your pulse quickening as you recognized it—the box of belongings you’d had with you when they took you to the hospital. You’d refused to unpack it then, shoving it out of sight to avoid reopening wounds that hadn’t even begun to heal. The castle. The flames. Him.
But it had been a month. Surely, someone like you would have moved on by now.
“It’s just clothes,” you muttered to yourself, crouching to gather the scattered items. Your fingers brushed against the fabric of the dress you’d worn that night. It felt foreign and familiar all at once, its torn edges and scorched seams tangible remnants of that nightmare. As you bunched it up, you winced and drop the dress, a sharp sting prickling your fingertip.
“Ouch,” you muttered, seeing it draw blood. “What kind of dress would be this sha-"
It was a brooch.
No, not just any brooch. It was a brooch bearing his crest. Sunghoon’s crest.
The ruby gleamed faintly, tarnished by smoke and fire, but still unmistakable. Regal. Intricate. For a moment, you froze, your breath catching in your throat. It lay nestled in the folds of the dress, as if it had always been waiting for you to find it. Tentatively, your fingers closed around it, and as you pulled it free, the weight of it settled in your palm like a stone.
Your breath hitched as the dam burst. Memories flooded in—his voice, his touch, the way he’d looked at you in those final moments. The way he’d fought for you. The way he’d bled for you. The way he’d let you go.
The way he was gone.
Your chest tightened painfully as you stared at the brooch, its sharp edges pressing into your palm. This was all that remained. The only proof that he had existed, that any of it had been real.
The thought clawed at you, unrelenting, as a darker possibility crept into your mind. Vampires left no trace when they perished—no ashes, no remains. If he was gone, truly gone, you might never know. And that terrified you. In fact it terrified and pained you even more than if he was gone simply because he had walked away.
Your grip on the crest tightened, the sharp edges digging into your skin, grounding you in a pain that couldn’t compare to the ache tearing through your chest. You closed your eyes, clutching it to your heart, as though holding it closer might somehow bridge the impossible distance between you and him.
You closed your eyes, whispering his name into the stillness of the room, hoping—praying—that somehow, somewhere, he could hear you.
But the room offered no answer.
Only silence. Only absence.
And the ache—deep and unrelenting—remained.
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(( just kidding 🤡 ))
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Five years had passed.
Sunghoon never re-eappeared in your life.
You have by then made peace with the fact that perhaps he was never coming back. Perhaps he was gone. Forever.
Memories of him didn’t sting as sharply as they once did. The ache was still there, faint and distant, like a hole you cannot fill but it’s at least not a gaping hole anymore.
By then you could even convince yourself that perhaps, you have really gotten over him.
But then you’d be an outright liar.
Because you still wore his crest as a pendant, hidden beneath your shirt—a weight you carried, not just on your chest but deep within you. It was a quiet reminder, a silent wall you couldn’t breach.
And while memories of him no longer brought tears to your eyes, dreams of those nights—the chaos, the fire, the way his blood soaked through your hands—still jolted you awake, your face damp with tears you didn't remember shedding. They were the only testament to how deeply, how irreparably, the experience and memories had scarred you.
So you did what you did best: buried yourself in work. You numbed the ache, dulled the thoughts that haunted you, and clawed your way to higher pinnacles of success, reaching farther than you’d ever imagined. Even now, halfway across the world in Venice, Italy, you weren’t here for leisure—you were here for work.
It wasn’t until your final evening that Anton managed to drag you to the Carnevale di Venezia. “You need to live more,” he said, practically shoving you into the car. Begrudgingly, you agreed.
But the moment you stepped out of the car, you were greeted by men and women in elaborate period gowns and Venetian masks—and your stomach twisted.
The sight wasn’t just familiar—it was identical. Hauntingly so. To that of five years ago.
Sickening memories long buried clawed their way back to the surface—the blood, the shadows, the terror. It didn’t carry the ache it once had, but it brought something far worse: a creeping fear that wormed its way beneath your calm exterior, unraveling the composure you’d worked so hard to rebuild.
You swallowed hard, legs heavy, but Anton was too enamoured with the festivities to notice. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you through the crowd like an overexcited child.
When he stopped in front of an antique shop selling ornate masks and extravagant dresses, you could feel the air thinning. The shopkeeper offered you a delicate mask to try on, but as Anton reached toward your face to put one on, your body reacted faster than your mind did. Your hand shot up, gripping his wrist in an iron hold, your fingers digging into his skin, as if you were trying to fend him off. As if he was attacking you.
“y/n—” he froze, his voice laced with shock, his playful grin vanishing. His gaze flickered to your trembling hand, then back to your face, his concern deepening.
Your heart pounded, the masks and laughter around you blurring into dark suffocating shadows. For a moment, you weren’t in Venice. You were back there—in the castle, in the nightmare. You blinked rapidly, forcing yourself to breathe, “sorry,” you stammered, dropping his wrist as though it burned you, “I—uh—the breakfast I had this morning—it’s not sitting right.”
Anton rubbed his wrist, his brows furrowed in confusion and concern. “y/n, are you okay?”
You forced a smile, though it felt like it might crack under the weight of your panic. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, waving him off. “Just... go ahead and try something on. I’ll stick with you—just not with all this.” You gestured vaguely at the masks, hoping he wouldn’t press further.
Anton sighed, his concern still visible. “Fine. Promise me you'll stop brooding and actually try to have some fun after?”
“What are you? Five?” you teased halfheartedly, shoving him playfully toward a nearby fitting room to change.
When he emerged from the fitting room, the sheer absurdity of his appearance—a frock too large, a mask so elaborate it drowned his features—pulled a reluctant laugh from you. For a fleeting moment, the tension in your chest eased and you let yourself be dragged along as Anton paraded through the festivities, snapping pictures and weaving through the crowd with unabashed joy.
But then, a procession swept through.
Figures in hooded cloaks and plague doctor masks glided past, their movements deliberate and haunting. The crowd murmured in awe, parting to let them pass, but you froze. The sight slammed into you like a blow, the memories rising unbidden—shadows in corridors, masks that promised death, the chase that had nearly taken everything from you.
“Anton,” you called, your voice tight, panic edging in. “Let’s move on—”
But he was gone.
“Anton?” Your voice cracked as you turned in place, your eyes darting through the sea of masked strangers. The crowd swelled, pressing against you, their laughter sharp and hollow, the music twisting into a dissonant wail. “Anton!” you shouted, louder now, desperation threading through your words.
No response.
The world spun, the faces around you blurring into grotesque shapes. Each mask seemed to leer at you, each figure a spectre of the past. Your breaths came shallow and rapid, the air thick, suffocating.
You stumbled, muttering apologies to strangers who didn’t respond, their masked faces a wall of indifference.
Then suddenly ahead, you caught sight of a figure perched on a raised platform, dressed in elaborate silks that shimmered in the flickering light. But it wasn’t the outfit that made your stomach drop—it was the mask.
A jester mask.
The painted grin stretched unnaturally wide, its hollow eyes glinting as though they could see through you. Bells dangled from the cap, their faint chime cutting through the distant hum of laughter. The figure moved with a deliberate slowness, their head tilting at an unnatural angle as they raised their hand. A thorny rose appeared in their grasp, the gesture painfully deliberate, as though meant just for you.
And then, with a flick of their wrist, the rose ignited, flames curling up the stem until it disintegrated into ash. The sharp smell of burning filled the air, suffocating and bitter, clawing at your senses. The fire, the laughter, the castle, Jaeyun—it all came rushing back, vivid and unrelenting. You spun on your heel, desperate to escape, only to collide with someone else.
A man in a Bauta mask loomed over you, his breath audible through the thin slits. His towering frame bent closer, murmuring something low and indistinct. But you didn’t hear him. Couldn’t. The panic clawed at your chest, your vision tunneling as you shoved past him and broke into the crowd again.
The masks blurred together, grotesque and faceless, shadows from a nightmare that wouldn’t end. You moved blindly, each step unsteady, until—
You saw him.
An uncovered face, sharp and unmistakable in a sea of obscured ones.
The air seemed to leave your lungs. The noise of the carnival faded, the crowd melting into a haze of color and motion.
No mask. No cloak. Just him.
But it couldn’t be, you told yourself. It had to be a hallucination, your mind playing cruel tricks, dredging him up from memories you’d buried too deep. Then suddenly the crowd surged again, jostling you sideways. Your feet stumbled against the uneven pavement, your balance slipping.
You braced for the fall, but strong arms caught you.
“I’m sorry—” you began, your voice trembling as you tried to gather yourself. But then your gaze drop, and the words died in your throat. Right in your line of sight, pinned to the lapel of his suit, was a ruby crest, gleaming faintly under the dim, flickering light.
The very crest you wore as a pendant, tucked close to your heart like a secret you refused to let go of.
Your breath hitched, the roar of your pulse drowning out the world, the air turning electric as the ache in your chest returned with a vengeance. The carnival around you dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the man before you.
Your trembling eyes trailed upward, hesitation clawing at you with every inch. Fear mingled with hope, disbelief warred with yearning. And then you saw him.
Sunghoon.
It was really him. The sharp lines of his jaw, the darkness of his eyes, the way his presence seemed to draw the air from your lungs. He wasn’t wearing a mask, just like you. Amidst a sea of hidden faces, he stood barefaced, unapologetically himself.
Time seemed to still. Your heart clenched painfully as the flood of emotions you’d spent five years suppressing surged forward, overwhelming you.
You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.
His gaze was still so intense and all-consuming, yet it no longer had the same sharpness as it did before. It no longer aimed to paralyze you or probe the depths of your mind. Instead, it carried a softness, an ache, as though trying to express all the things that words had failed to capture. And just like that, in the silence, in the circle of each other's arms, the years of separation unraveled in the space between you. Every unspoken word, every lingering ache, every memory you’d fought to bury rose to the surface, raw and undeniable, contained in that one look.
Your lips parted, but no sound came. You weren’t even sure what you wanted to say. His name? An accusation? A plea?
Yet, as if avoidance and defensiveness were hardwired into you when it came to him, you started to pull yourself away—but, as always, he anticipated it and before you could even take a step back, his grip on you tightened.
“y/n, don’t,” he said, his grip strong yet his voice soft, almost pleading.
The sound of your name on his lips shattered something inside you. You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering in your ears. “You left,” you whispered, barely able to hear your own voice. “You never came back. I—” you stammered, “—I even thought you might have died.”
“I’m here now,” he murmured, his voice steady but laced with something heavier—guilt, perhaps, or regret. “I never wanted to leave you y/n. But I had to.”
You stiffened, the heat rising in your chest overtaking the trembling in your hands. “You had to?” the bitterness in your voice surprised even you. “That’s what you’re going with? You had to vanish, leave me with nothing but questions—nothing but ghosts—and then reappear like you’ve done nothing wrong? like some noble martyr?”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “You think it was easy for me? That leaving you behind was some choice I wanted to make?”
“Then why?” your voice cracked, the words sharper than you intended. “Why did you leave? You could have left a trace, a sign, let me know that—” you caught yourself, shaking your head as your hands balled into fists, “—no. You know what, it doesn't matter anymore. You should have continued to stay away. I was doing just fine. Finally doing just fine and yet here you are. Must have been fun staying in the shadows and trailing me around—seeing me lose my mind in the past 5 years then coming back just when I've finally gotten over you?!"
The accusation lingered, heavy in the space between you.
But even as you spoke, the weight of your own words pressed against you. Wasn’t this exactly what you wanted—to see him again? To demand an answer for the questions that had haunted you in the dead of night? And yet, now that he was here, standing in front of you, the anger felt hollow. A shield, yes, but one that barely held back the ache threatening to flood through the cracks.
You glanced at his face, searching for something—anything—that would reignite the rage you clung to so desperately. But his eyes, dark and steady, reflected none of the sharp arrogance you once associated with him. Instead, they were quiet. Soft. Aching.
Damn him. Damn him for looking at you like that, as if you meant something to him. As if he was hurting just as much as it had hurt you.
His grip on your wrist loosened, but he didn’t let go, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “y/n I had no choice," he said softly, his voice steady despite the tremor beneath it. “The fire may have purged the deviants who deserved punishments but it sent shockwaves through my world. If I’d stayed, I would have brought danger to your door..." he sighed, "so I stayed away. And continued staying away especially after seeing you finally able to smile and laugh so freely over the recent years—as if you could finally breathe. I realised then that perhaps this was the sacrifice I needed to make, the debt I owed you—your peace."
His voice dropped, quieter now, as though the memory itself was unbearable. “But then tonight…” his hand flexed at his side, his grip on your wrist tightening briefly. “I saw the terror and dread suddenly return to your face—the very expressions I swore I’d never let you feel again." He paused, his jaw tightening as his gaze flickered to meet yours, “—and before I even knew what I was doing, it all broke. Every reason I had to stay away dissipated and all I wanted—all I want—is to protect you. To take it all away.”
He took a step closer, the space between you shrinking. His voice softened, steady but raw. “And when our eyes met. I thought there was something there—some sort of softness. For once, you didn't look at me with the usual armor in your eyes…" he faltered, his throat tightening, “—and that stripped away the last vestiges of my resolve; every lie I told myself. I realised then, I was never meant to be a saint nor be selfless. Not with you."
You froze, his vulnerability hitting you harder than it should have. But the simmering anger, the years of buried hurt, clawed its way back to the surface. “You’re always so good at that you know—vanishing, making me go nearly insane with guilt, and then coming back just when I thought I’d finally gotten over you.” You swallowed hard, the bitterness in your voice sharpening. “Exactly like 13 years ago, after I poisoned you.”
He stilled, his gaze flickering with something unreadable—regret, pain, guilt. But you didn’t give him a chance to speak.
"Back then, you should have come back, hunted me down and killed me—" you hissed, your voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "We'd have nipped it in the bud. Save ourselves. But instead, you dragged it on for so long. Perhaps this was your way of ruining me—from the inside out. The first time through guilt. The second time through loss."
He swallowed thickly, his mouth parting as though to sigh, but the sound never came. His jaw tensed, and when he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of a confession dragged from the depths of him. "y/n. I stayed away the first time because I was afraid."
His gaze flickered down for a moment, as if grounding himself, before rising to meet yours again. "After you poisoned me, I was afraid that if I saw you again..." he paused, his jaw tightening as though the words physically hurt to say. "—I wouldn’t want to kill you. That instead—like some pathetic moth drawn to the flame, or worse, like a stupid dog that doesn’t see the cruelty of its master—I’d come running to you. I’d embrace you."
The words hung between you, the implication of every words filling the space—a confession that tore through you even as it laid him bare. That was when you realised, perhaps, just like how you've avoided him to prevent anything from growing between you, Sunghoon's scathing and predatory words were perhaps his way of masking his devotion—a way to convince himself that it was all simply powerplay and primal desires. And you take that bait too literally as it all fitted with your own defense mechanism—the logic and rationality that you always employ to stop yourself from becoming vulnerable. But knowing the truth didn’t soften the ache. If anything, it sharpened it—because it meant you had been fighting the same battle, just on opposite sides. Both of you circling the same truth but never daring to claim it.
"Then maybe all this proves is that we're never meant to be. Like fire feeding fire, we burn each other alive, pretending it's warmth, until there's nothing left of us but smoke and ruin," you said, your voice hollow but steady, as if the words had been carved out of you.
“Then let me be the ruin,” he closed the remaining distance between you, his presence towering but his movements slow, as though afraid to startle you. "Let it burn me down to nothing. Let it hollow me out, scorch every part of me. But don’t ask me to extinguish it—not when it’s the only thing keeping me alive."
"You've lived for so long," you murmured, your voice heavy with exhaustion. "you, of all people, should know better that being self-destructive like this doesn't ensure happiness."
“It’s exactly because I’ve lived for so long,” he said, his voice low and weighted with a quiet sorrow, “that I know ruin is the only thing that stays, where nothing else lasts.”
The silence that followed was thick, not suffocating but heavy, like something unspoken had finally settled between you. When he drew closer, you didn't back away this time. When his hand cupped your cheek—warm, steady, and lingering—you didn’t pull away either. It wasn’t forgiveness, and it wasn’t surrender. But for now, it was enough for it conveyed more than words ever could.
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Two years had passed since you were reunited with Sunghoon. Seven years since the fire. And fifteen years, in total, since you met him—the man who had brought chaos, danger, and frustration into your life than you thought possible.
If someone had told you then that he would become a near-permanent fixture in your life—and your apartment—you might have laughed. Or rolled your eyes.
Or poisoned him again.
“Fuck,” you nearly dropped your groceries as you stepped into your apartment to find him lounging on the couch like he owned the place, dressed in pajama bottoms and a black robe. Its opening, casually loose and just revealing enough to hint at his chest, made the sight far too leisurely for your liking. In fact, he looked so at ease, so disgustingly domestic, like he belonged—but the sight only made his presence feel more invasive. “Why are you always here? Go back to your penthouse. It’s way bigger.”
“But there’s no you,” he said, far too smoothly, suddenly reappearing beside you. Before you could protest, he took the groceries from your hands, unpacking them into the fridge and shelves with alarming familiarity.
Perhaps it wasn’t alarming anymore. He’d been doing this for months—showing up whenever he had a moment to spare from whatever duties occupied a vampire’s time. He even bought the unit next to yours, offering excuses to drop by that were as ridiculous as they were transparent: needing eggs, faulty lighting, lost keys. All nonsense, of course, since he didn’t need nourishment, had no reason to fear the dark and can teleport just fine if he wanted to.
“Right, what’s your excuse tonight?” you asked, flopping onto the couch.
“The a/c is broken,” he replied smoothly.
“You used that excuse two weeks ago Sunghoon.”
“Did I?” he mused, unbothered. “Well, this time it’s the sprinklers. Got set off when I was trying to sear my steak. Now the place is flooded. Disgusting, really.”
You scoffed. “Sunghoon, cut the crap. What do you want from me?”
“Nothing. I just want to be with you,” he quipped with a shrug. “You always rejected my offer to ask you to move in with me—penthouse, townhouse, heck even the manor near that hiking spot you like—so here I am. Playing househusband. Or maid, depending on the day.”
“Right,” you said, raising a brow, “you definitely need to stop lounging around in that robe. It’s too casual. People might think you’re my husband or something.”
He grinned, the corner of his mouth tilting upward in that infuriating way. “That’s the goal.”
“You know normal humans and vampires can’t co-exist in that way right?”
“We’re anything but normal y/n,” he replied smoothly, making his way to the living room and plopping down to your left. His elbow propped lazily on the headrest, his posture screaming nonchalance, as if daring you to challenge him. “We can do whatever we please. Or however you please.”
You furrowed your brows, annoyed. If his teasing back then had been a game of one-upmanship—an endless, borderline competitive battle of wits—now it had shifted into something more dangerous. Flirtatious, deliberate, and entirely designed to fluster you. A different ball game—one you weren’t used to playing.
Leaning back, you crossed your arms. “Well, bad news. It’s time for me to do normal stuff and settle down, and the guy earlier—”
“Right, the one you had a date with—“ he cut in, “—or rather the one you were forced to meet up with—“
“—is the best candidate so far,” you continued, rolling your eyes at his interruption. You were used to it by now—used to him knowing too much about your life, like an ever-present fly on the wall, “—he is mature, understanding, and not clingy.”
“Sounds exactly like me but a pale imitiation because come on, I am way good looking in a way no human can replicate and most importantly,” his hand found your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His voice dropped, low and steady. “Only I understand you and your complexity y/n and only you understand mine. We are made for each other—we’re too dysfunctional for others, but perfect for each other. No one else could survive us.”
“Then what if one day I feel so suffocated and poison you again?” you shot back.
“I’ll let you,” he said quietly, his lips curving in a subtle, almost resigned way as his eyes bore into yours. This could have been lighthearted and playful but those voice and those gaze were anything but. “I've told you this before: I’ll let you ruin me in the end as long as you’ll have me.”
“Don’t you ever feel that you’ve given too much and I’ve not given enough—" you retorted. It wasn’t meant to hurt him. You just wanted to come clean with him.
“Oh, I know that very much. Better than anyone in fact—” he murmured, his fingers brushing your collar before slipping beneath it, catching the chain that lay hidden against your skin. “And this—” he lifted it gently, his thumb grazing the crest you wore as a pendant with a reverence that only he could feel, “—you wearing this—it says more than you ever could.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” you muttered, smacking his hand off. “Your crest has been very useful—it keeps other biters at bay.”
Then suddenly, his hand moved before you could react, sliding to the curve of your right waist with a deliberate slowness that sent a shiver racing up your spine. His fingers pressed lightly into your side, tracing the curve of your body as though memorizing the path. The motion was unhurried, grounding you in place while leaving no question of his intent. Then, he shifted closer, bracing one knee on the cushion beside you before the other followed suit in one fluid motion. The couch dipped under his weight, trapping you effortlessly. His hand found the headrest behind you, his presence closing in until all you could feel was him—the heat radiating from his body, the cadence of his breath, the way his fingers lingered just a second too long before trailing upward along your side.
“Then use me like you use the crest—” he murmured, his voice dipping to something quieter, almost reverent. His lips hovered inches from yours, his breath mingling with yours as his hand trailed up the curve of your spine, the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin, “—you know I’m completely at your mercy.”
“For someone who should be wise beyond his years, you don’t seem to learn your lesson,” you managed to say back, raising a hand to his chest in a feeble attempt to stop him.
The tension thickened, swallowing the space entirely as his right hand slid up the nape of your neck, warm and deliberate, sending a sharp jolt through your senses. Without warning, he tilted your head back sharply, making you look up at him in a strained way as he towered over you, his dark eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made the air around you feel heavier. "I never learn my lesson when it comes to you," he murmured as his face dipped closer. His voice was steady almost reverent—but the weight of control behind it was unmistakable.
His eyes moved slowly, tracing a path from your eyes to your lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing sharply, the motion betraying the thin thread of restraint he clung to. It was as though swallowing was the only thing keeping him tethered, holding back something far more dangerous than words. When his gaze returned to yours, it was darker, sharper, and filled with a hunger barely leashed, “—and I don’t want to. Ever.”
His words hung in the air for only a moment before his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was anything but gentle—it was a brutal collision of yearning, years of pent-up emotions, frustration, and something far darker that had simmered between you for far too long. The force of his kiss drove you backward, your head pressing into the unyielding headrest as he claimed your lips. The angle left you no choice but to tilt your head farther in a strained way, a soft gasp escaping you—one he seized without hesitation, deepening the kiss, consuming you entirely.
He tasted of power and desire, a heady combination that made your head spin. Then, with a sharp, sudden motion, he pulled you towards him with startling strength, pressing your bodies together with a searing intensity—making you feel every inch of him: the hard, unyielding planes of his chest, the muscular ridges of his abdomen, even the tension in his body, the coiled power, the barely leashed restraint. His hand, splayed over your back, was like a steel band around your waist, forcing your body to arch unnaturally backwards as his kiss pursued you, driving you farther back, lips growing more demanding and insistent by the second.
Your body gradually grew pliant under his domineering, possessive, hold–overwhelmed by the ferocity and sheer possessiveness of his every kiss and touch. There was literally no room to think, no space to resist—not that you wanted to. He overwhelmed every sense, each touch unraveling the walls you’d so carefully built. You told yourself it was only physical, that the fire consuming you was nothing but desire. But deep down, you knew better. You weren’t just losing control—you were giving it to him.
Your hands flew to his biceps, clinging for balance, your fingers digging into his tense muscles for support, feeling the power and strength that lay beneath. His muscles flexed under your touch, a silent warning of the raw, untamed masculinity that simmered just below his skin. As you struggled to draw in air, your lips parted unwittingly, and Sunghoon was quick to take advantage. Before you could even gasp for breath, his thumb pressed down on your chin, forcing your lips apart, his tongue already breaching past to plunder your mouth with a fierce and primal intensity that left you breathless.
Emboldened, Sunghoon's hand slithered up your back like a serpent claiming its prey, his large hand nearly covering the entire width of your back. Then with a fluid motion, without breaking the kiss at all, he lifted you with surprising ease, his arm muscles flexing in a display of raw power and dominance, as he manoeuvered you sideways before forcefully pushing you down onto the cushions with controlled strength—enough to knock the air out of your lungs but not enough to suffocate. Yet.
The couch groaned under the weight of your entangled bodies, sinking further as Sunghoon hovered over you, his powerful legs bracketing your hips, his muscular frame dwarfing yours. He pushed you deeper into the cushions, his body a solid, warm weight pressing you down, his lips never breaking contact with yours, his kiss relentless. He angled your head to his liking, his free hand exploring your body with a gentle dominance, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, down to the swell of your hips, a teasing caress that made your heart race. It was as if he was trying to etch every curve into memory.
Finally he pulled back, but only so slightly to grant you reprieve from his lips, for his weight still anchored him firmly against you as he straddled your hips, creating a tantalizing gap between your bodies. His gaze had completely shifted then—smouldering in a way that authoritatively pinned you in place without having to physically restrain you. "This is your chance," he said, his voice gravelly with restrained desire, as he tore the robe from his shoulders with an impatient motion, letting it fall in a forgotten heap on the floor. Bare from the waist up, his muscular frame seemed even more commanding, each ridge of muscle sharp and unyielding without the confines of clothing.
This wasn’t the first time you’d seen his bare torso, but tonight, his physique felt too imposing—as if every ridge of muscle was sculpted exactly to intimidate and conquer. The air around him seemed to hum with power while the intensity of his gaze stole words right from your throat. He continued, "you can resist, push me away, or even slap me, but once I begin, I won't be able to stop".
You swallowed thickly, the weight of his piercing gaze pressing down on you, making you feel small beneath him. It wasn’t just his physical presence—towering, commanding—that made your breath hitch. It was the intensity in his eyes, the way they seemed to strip you bare, leaving no room for pretense or armor. You hated that he could do this to you, hated more that you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t lie to yourself: he was indeed intimidating at the moment. But was it fear that made your pulse race, or something darker, something you weren’t ready to name?
You could push him away, the words lingered in your mind like an invitation. But the truth was, you’d had a thousand chances to stop him before things went too far. And yet, here you were, under him. Because as much as you hated his power over you, you had already decided to let it in.
You propped yourself up on your elbows, the loose cardigan slipping from your shoulders, exposing your bare skin to his ravenous gaze. Sunghoon’s eyes darkened like a brewing storm, his chest rising and falling in sync with your own ragged breaths. Your lips still tingled from the searing kiss, the memory of his touch a constant reminder that you hadn’t stopped him. That you hadn’t wanted to.
"I wouldn’t have let you get this far if I wasn’t sure, Sungh—" you panted out, but before you could finish, he surged forward, recapturing your lips with a fierce and almost punishing force. The kiss was a tempest, a chaotic collision of passion and need, pulling you under and leaving you breathless, weightless, and utterly undone.
As his mouth consumed yours, his hands moved with purpose and urgency, stripping away your cardigan with a deft touch. The cool air against your skin was a stark contrast to the heat of his body, making you acutely aware of every inch of him. His other hand slipped under your shirt, his fingers tracing the curvature of your spine with a deliberate languor that made your breath hitch. Your body arched into his touch, your restraint crumbling under the weight of his passion. He responded by pressing you deeper into the plush couch, his body a heavy, welcome weight, pinning you beneath him, a captive to his desire.
The soft cushions molded to your form, offering a sensual contrast to the hard planes of his chest against your soft skin. "Sunghoon—" you gasped, struggling for air and begging him to slow down, but he showed no mercy. Instead, his lips descended upon yours with even greater ferocity, turning the kiss hungrier, messier and wetter as his mouth and tongue move with a frenzied passion that bordered on brutal, as if he was trying to consume you whole and leave nothing but ashes in his wake—the ferocity of which was mirrored by the rhythm of his hips as he ground against you, a tantalizing preview of what was to come.
You knew you were treading uncharted territories—felt it in the way his hands gripped you, relentless and commanding with a possessiveness that bordered on primal—every movement daring you to stop him and knowing you wouldn’t. But then again, this had always been the dynamic between you two: a dance on the knife’s edge—a battle masquerading as a game, where neither truly won. Every step only pulled you deeper into the other's orbit, not for the comfort peace or safety, but for the chaos only the other could create.
But somewhere along the way, the chaos had shifted. It was no longer about fighting against each other, about destruction for the sake of it. Instead, it had become something far more dangerous: a harmony within the chaos.
You had learned to move in sync, not because you sought peace, but because you understood each other too well. The storm hadn’t disappeared—it never would—but now, you weathered it together. No one else could bear the weight of your detachment—the walls you built, the silence you carried—but him. And no one else could bear his chaos—the storm within him, the fire that never died—the way you did.
You weren’t drawn to each other just for the fire, but because you were each other’s constant. You were his unshakable anchor: the force that rooted him in a reality he couldn’t manipulate, teaching him that respect—not domination—was the foundation of something enduring and real. And he was your constant storm: a chaotic force that blows through your carefully constructed walls, showing you that stability isn't always the answer. You let him destabilize your certainty; he lets you unravel his control.
You two were a mess and yet you two never sought to change nor fix the other. Because within one another was the only place where everything made sense, even as the world burned around you. It wasn’t peace, nor was it safety—but it was home. And it was inevitable, as it always had been.
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A/N: DONE. DUSTED. GONE. PHEW. Now I can pack peacefully for my flight tomorrow. This is farthest and the most committed I've ever been in writing so please, show me some appreciation by leaving feedback. This is possibly my last writing after all. Also! just wanted to shed some light into the ending: I've created two very complex, messy as hell, multi-layered, characters who went through hell and back with a knife ((or fangs)) on each other's throat for most of the time, so you can’t expect a Hallmark-esque ending with elopement, three kids, and a cozy life baking sourdough in a quaint cottage deep in the woods. After everything they’ve been through—betrayals, obsession, bloodshed, and vulnerability—it would feel unrealistic to wrap their relationship in a neat bow. There’s too much baggage to simply ignore, and I am honoring those journey, their personality and their arcs by opting for such an ending in the epilogue. One that is unapologetically and messily theirs.
Taglist: @axartia | @my5colours | @elinushka-ka | @nowjillsandwich | @leaderwon | @moniqueovermoney | @ashrocker123 | @seungkwan-s | @hydroyaksha | @ikayyyyyy | @capri-cuntz| @asyleums | @lovialy | @nikikookie | @lunateez | @reithecat | @hocestmundi | @shuichi-sama (( tagging those who have explicitly wanted to be tagged eheh apologies if I missed some out :( ))
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moeitsu · 15 hours ago
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The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee
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Ch 28 - I Would Not Cause Her One Regret
Summary: Under the tender care of Wapiti's medicine woman, Kate receives life-changing news that will forever alter the course of her and Arthur's future. In the midst, she uncovers a gift left by Hosea, something that will carry them through the journey ahead.
Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter /
AN: 12k Words. This is my new favorite chapter, it really felt like it wrote itself at times. (There is smut coming but I'm putting it in its own chapter bc its quite long...)
Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig @marygillisapologist @eternalsams @lunawolfclaw  @yallgotkik @sawendel
**please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!
Story Tags: Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Caretaking, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff
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Freedom is an untamed beast, wild and feral, impossible to hold without losing a part of yourself. Some give everything for it, others bleed for it, and many spend their lives chasing its shadow, never knowing it was in their grasp all along.
As they rode deeper into the mountains, the weight of civilization fell away, its rules and customs crumbling like ash in the wind. Out here, the world belongs to no one and everyone all at once. The land answers only to the sky, and the only law is the one written in the marrow of your bones. It doesn’t ask who you are or where you’ve been—it just demands you let go.
Freedom is riding wild over untamed lands with no notion any moment exists beyond the one you are living.
Arthur followed in the shadow of Eagle Flies, the young man’s figure cutting a determined path against the twilight. Kate rested sideways in his lap, her body fragile and fevered, a weight that felt heavier than it should. She shivered against him, her shallow breaths hitching with every bump of the trail. Arthur’s heart clenched with every sign of her pain, a cruel reminder that he’d pushed her too far.
He muttered promises she might not even hear, low reassurances that the journey would be over soon, that she’d be safe and warm again. But those words felt hollow when measured against the fire in her cheeks and the trembling in her frame. All he could do was hold her close, shielding her from the chill and praying the people of Wapiti would welcome them with the same warmth he couldn’t give her.
The trek from Annesburg had been relentless—hours of climbing rugged hills, navigating shadowed valleys, and crossing the jagged spines of Roanoke Ridge. The land felt as hostile as the men who wandered it. Breathing down their necks from places unseen, watching, and waiting. 
They’d stumbled upon horrors Arthur prayed Kate wouldn’t remember. 
It began with a stench, sickly sweet and cloying, clinging to the air like decay itself. The source revealed itself— human remains strewn across the earth, picked clean, as though the forest itself had rejected the bodies. A band of cannibals had appeared from the trees. Their gaunt faces twisted with a feral hunger as they crept out like pale writhing maggots. 
Arthur didn’t hesitate. He silenced them with well-placed shots, each echoing like the rusted throat of a bell through the forest. Not bothering to wait and see who fell; he just kept firing until every movement ceased. And not a flicker of regret crossed his face. 
Kate had turned her face into his chest, her fingers clutching weakly at his coat as though she could block out the reality around them. He held her tighter, shielding her from the sight, from the smell, from everything.
From that moment, his resolve hardened. There would be no more stops, no moments of rest, no lingering—not until they reached Wapiti. 
The trail was long, but he’d make it shorter, cutting through the heart of the wilderness with single-minded determination. The thought of Kate enduring even a fraction more of this hell lit a fire in him that wouldn’t burn out until they reached safety.
As the earth turned, indifferent to their struggles, dawn unfurled its golden threads across the sky, soft light spilling over the edges of the world. The warmth kissed their weary faces, yet the weight in Arthur’s lap tethered him to the gravity of his purpose. Each breath he took felt borrowed, a quiet prayer carried on the fragile morning air.
Through the trees, thin tendrils of smoke rose from Wapiti, winding skyward like whispers from the land itself. Arthur felt as though he was standing on the edge of time, suspended between heartbeats, daring the wind to bear them the final stretch. Every creak of the saddle and rustle of leaves seemed to echo a silent plea: only a little farther.
Freedom isn’t found; it’s forged. It doesn’t merely cost blood—it demands it, devours it. 
It is no gentle gift but a treasure wrested from the clenched fists of an unforgiving world. And as Arthur urged the horse forward, he wondered if they had paid enough, or if freedom would always slip out of reach, like the rising smoke dissipating into the golden sky.
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The horse’s hooves crunched softly against the brittle earth as Arthur guided Belle closer to Eagle Flies, the small, weathered expanse of Wapiti rising like a tired sigh from the valley floor. Cradled by towering gray cliffs and ancient pine trees, the reservation felt like the last refuge of a vanishing world—its fragility stark against the sprawl of the wilderness. The morning sun spilled its light like a hesitant blessing, but the shadows it cast were long and pointed, heavy with the weight of memories too sharp to be forgotten.
Smoke curled skyward from tepee tops like prayers, their buffalo-hide walls painted with bold strokes of lineage and defiance. The symbols seemed to pulse with life, stories etched into the skin of survival itself, each one a declaration against time’s relentless erosion. 
They stood not as monuments, but as promises that these people, this place, would endure, even as the world threatened to erase them.
The land bore its own wounds, raw and desolate. The soil beneath the settlement was cracked like parched lips, its breath caught in the barren lungs of fields where crops clung to life by sheer will. What should have been lush and thriving felt ghostly, the very earth seeming to groan under the strain of expectation and loss. 
Arthur saw it in the sag of the tepees, the defeated gait of a hunter returning empty-handed, and the thin wisps of smoke curling from modest cooking fires. Every detail spoke of a people stretched thin, their resilience a thread pulled taut.
And yet, amid the weariness, life stirred with a quiet insistence. Children darted between the structures like sparks in a dying fire, their laughter piercing the stillness with a wild, fleeting joy. A mother’s soft hum drifted like a lullaby carried on the wind, soothing her swaddled infant against her breast. Friends huddled close around a small fire, their voices low but warm, weaving moments of solace into the fabric of their shared burdens.
Arthur felt the weight of it all settle in his chest, heavy as lead. This place was a battleground of hope and despair, its spirit caught in a delicate dance between resilience and surrender. He wasn’t sure if Wapiti held the answers or the salvation they sought.
But as he took in the quiet persistence of its people, he couldn’t deny that even here, on the edge of collapse, life refused to be extinguished.
A young man, lean and sharp-eyed, emerged from behind one of the larger tepees, his gaze locking onto the approaching group. He called out, his voice edged with relief and suspicion. “Eagle Flies! You live, brother!”
Eagle Flies straightened in his saddle, though the weariness in his body was apparent. “I live, Paytah,” he replied calmy, even as his wounds betrayed his struggle.
Paytah’s sharp gaze shifted to Arthur and Kate. The lines around his mouth deepened as his lips pressed into a thin line. “Why have you brought these outsiders here? Their kind has brought nothing but suffering to our people,” he said, walking alongside them as they entered the heart of the reservation. His voice carried the weight of distrust, each word a stone cast into the quiet tension that rippled in the air.
“It is well, brother. They are friends,” Eagle Flies said firmly, leaving no room for argument. “This man saved my life when the soldiers were ready to take it.”
Paytah’s eyes narrowed as he studied Arthur and Kate. The pale faces, the tired eyes—signs of struggle etched into their features. Though his skepticism remained, the authority in Eagle Flies’ words softened his stance. With a grunt, he stepped forward and offered Eagle Flies an arm, helping him down from the saddle with care.
As Eagle Flies’ feet touched the ground, the murmurs began. Men and women emerged from their tepees, leaving behind their weaving, cooking, and quiet conversations to gather around. Faces painted with years of hardship and resilience bore a mixture of joy at the sight of their chief's son and unease at the presence of the outsiders. The voices grew louder, some calling his name with relief, others muttering words of doubt and disapproval.
Through the growing crowd, a booming voice silenced the whispers like a sudden burst of wind. “My son!”
Chief Rains Fall stepped forward, his long, dark hair swaying with each purposeful stride. His weathered face, etched with the wisdom of a lifetime, twisted with concern as he took in his son’s battered appearance.
“What has happened to you?” he demanded, a rich, steady baritone that carried the gravity of a man used to commanding attention. “Speak now and speak only the truth. What has brought this upon you?”
The crowd parted, creating a wide berth as Rains Fall reached his son. His hands hovered over Eagle Flies as if afraid to touch him and worsen his injuries. The chief’s gaze flickered briefly to Arthur and Kate before returning to his son, his brow furrowing with unspoken questions.
Arthur remained silent, standing firm at Belle’s side, his gaze steady but respectful. Kate, pale and feverish, leaned weakly against him. He tightened his grip on her, feeling the stares of the gathered tribe like the heat of a midday sun, judgment burning in their eyes. 
This was not his story to tell, not his place to speak.
Eagle Flies swallowed hard, voice hoarse but steady as he spoke. “Father…I led a group of men to attack a military camp outside of Saint Denis.”
“Saint Denis?” Rains Fall’s thundered, the disbelief and disappointment woven through every syllable. “You told me you were going to the mountains to seek guidance from your spirit! Do you think me a fool, my son? Your lies wound my pride deeply. Where are the others who followed you into this madness?”
Eagle Flies’ shoulders slumped beneath the weight of his father’s condemnation. “Gone,” he admitted. “Their spirits have joined the wind.”
A shadow of sorrow passed over Rains Fall’s face, his disappointment settling like a heavy cloud in his chest. “How many times must I warn you, Eagle Flies? Reckless violence will not free us—it will only hasten our ruin. Do you not see the storm you bring upon us with these careless actions? The blood spilled today will stain your hands forever.” His voice rose through the air like thunder. “Go now! Find the mothers of the men you led to their deaths and tell them what your pride has cost.”
Eagle Flies stiffened, his face flushing with fury despite the bruises that marred it. “What choice did we have, Father?” he retorted, raw with anger and pain. “They treat us like cattle, pen us in as though we are less than human. How long must we endure their humiliation before we fight back?”
“You have done enough!” Rains Fall cut him off, his voice harsh. His hand rose in a dismissive gesture, the finality in it brooking no argument. “Go! Do not make me ask again, Eagle Flies.”
Eagle Flies hesitated, his chest heaving with unspent rage, but the command in his father’s tone left no room for rebellion. With a sharp exhale, he turned and walked away, his steps heavy with resentment and shame. The crowd parted silently to let him pass, their eyes a mix of sympathy and reproach.
Rains Fall watched him go, his expression unreadable, the burden of leadership heavy upon his shoulders. Around him, the murmurs of the tribe swelled like an incoming tide, but he stood resolute, his grief and disappointment hidden behind a mask of fleeting strength.
The crowd lingered as Rains Fall raised a hand, the gesture firm and commanding, though weariness sat heavy on his shoulders. His voice, when it came, was quiet but filled with authority.
“The time for words has passed,” he said, but the deep lines etched in his face spoke of exhaustion and sorrow. His gaze swept over the crowd, ensuring they understood the finality of his command. “Go now. Each to your thoughts. There is nothing more to be said here.”
Arthur stood in silence, his chest tight, unsure of how to respond. The words stuck in his throat, choking him, while Kate shifted against him, seeking comfort and rest. She needed it—desperately. Her breath was shallow, her body fragile. The tension in the air was thick, like dust settling after a stampede, an uneasy silence that hung between them all.
Paytah took hold of Lorena and Belle’s reins, guiding the horses away from the crowd. The heavy, unspoken understanding between the two men—the weight of what had just transpired—lingered. But Rains Fall’s gaze softened as he watched his people leave, the movement of the horses an echo of the quiet dispersing crowd. After a moment, he turned back to Arthur, his posture still tall, but his age and wisdom seemed to press on him, slowing his movements.
He looked Arthur over, his tired eyes searching for something—an understanding, perhaps, or a reason to be at peace with what had just unfolded.
“Arthur Morgan…” Rains Fall began, gentler now, though his tone still carried gravity. He extended a hand toward him, a solemn gesture of gratitude. “I can’t thank you enough. I am sorry for whatever trouble my son has brought upon you. Please, allow me to repay you for the kindness.”
Arthur shifted his weight, uncomfortable with the offer. His gaze dropped briefly before he met Rains Fall’s eyes. “No payment necessary, Chief Rains Fall,” he said, rough from the weight of the day’s events. He let out a short, breathless chuckle. “That boy of yours… he’s got the fire of a feral horse, all wound up ‘nd ready to buck. I just hope he learns to control that temper ‘fore it drags him into somethin’ worse.”
Rains Fall’s eyes darkened, a deep sadness flickering behind them. His chest swelled with the love he felt for his son, but it was also burdened by a father’s fear. “He is my pride and joy, Mr. Morgan.” His voice cracked slightly, the words holding a weight that spoke of both love and helplessness. “But I’m afraid even I cannot save him from himself.”
He paused, his hands clasping together in thought, before reaching for a pouch of coins, holding them out to Arthur. “I have some money,” he said steadily. “Please, take it for saving my boy. It’s the least I can offer.”
Arthur shook his head firmly, his face set in an expression of reluctance. “Keep your money…” His voice softened, looking back down at Kate, who had her eyes closed, leaning into him. “But I could use your help with somethin’ else.”
Rains Fall’s sharp eyes softened as he followed Arthur’s gaze, understanding settling in. His posture straightened, the weariness lifting for a moment as he focused on the matter at hand. “I can see that.” His eyes lingered on Kate, taking in her fragile state. “Your woman… she carries the marks of a long struggle, as if a spirit has been slowly draining her strength.”
Arthur nodded, as the Chief pressed his palm to feel the warmth of her forehead. His eyes clouded with concern. “Eagle Flies mentioned you had some kind of medicine woman?”
“Yes,” Rains Fall answered, his tone shifting to one of reverence, as though speaking of something sacred. “White Dove is a great healer. Her knowledge is vast, her hands gentle.”
Arthur took a deep breath, his hand brushing over his jaw, the strain of worry heavy in his voice. “Kate…she’s,” her name slipped from his lips, full of urgency. 
She is more to you than that. 
He hesitated for a moment, as if the name did not carry enough meaning, more than he'd intended. His voice became firm as he continued. “My wife… she’s taken ill. Ain’t been sleepin’ right, nor eatin’ much. What little she can keep down just comes back up.” 
The title graced his tongue as naturally as the breath in his lungs. The simple word filled him with so much love, an aching need to shield her from pain. An instinct as old as time, deep and undeniable. It wasn’t just a label—it was a truth he hadn’t quite grasped until now. The weight of it settled in his chest, heavy yet right.
As soon as the words left his mouth, a new wave of responsibility crashed over him, and for a fleeting moment, the world around him seemed to shift. His heart clenched, thoughts of everything he and Kate had endured together flooding his mind, all of it weaving into something more than just a bond forged in shared hardship. 
A desperate feeling that he couldn’t quite name, something urgent, primal. Paternal. 
He looked at her, her fragile form slumped against him, and a new surge of protectiveness swelled within him, instinctive and fierce. 
She’s yours to protect, she’s tied to you now. 
Though the words felt strange, even foreign. Arthur welcomed this instinct as it coursed through him, unsure of why it hit him so suddenly, but feeling that it was a part of him now, and he couldn’t shake it. 
Nothing will take that away from you.
Kate’s voice echoed in his mind, a question that still lingered—Do you want it to change, Arthur?
That longing for change—he realized it was more than just a desire. It had become something real, something solid in his heart. Something fragile and innocent cradled in his calloused hands. The quiet yearning to build something lasting with Kate was no longer just a dream. It was a promise, a reality. And in this moment, it was as if the universe had whispered a secret to him without words, pulling him toward her in a way he couldn’t explain but would never question.
Rains Fall’s expression darkened with concern, his hand instinctively reaching for Kate, as if preparing to move swiftly. “I will bring her to White Dove,” he said firmly. “She will help.”
Arthur nodded gratefully, his shoulders slumping with a mix of relief and exhaustion. He knew there was little more he could do, and the thought of White Dove’s healing touch was a small comfort in the face of Kate’s suffering.
Rains Fall’s eyes flickered to the horizon, and he let out a sigh, the weight of leadership pressing upon him once again. “You have fought long, Arthur Morgan. Rest now. We will see to your wife.”
Arthur didn’t answer right away, his mind racing with what had happened and what might come next. For a long moment, he just stood there, looking at her, struggling to find the words. Finally, he nodded, offering a quiet thanks, though the weight of his feelings was too much to put into words.
He pressed a soft kiss to Kate’s cheek, his hand lingering as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. In a low, steady voice, he whispered promises that she’d be alright, even if he wasn’t sure of the truth in them himself.
With one last look, he watched as Rains Fall gently led her away, toward one of the tepees. His heart tightened, but there was nothing more he could do now
His guilt will not purify him of his sins, as the dog that weeps after it kills is no better than the dog that doesn’t. But there is something in her—something—that will save him. 
In the way a seed buried in the earth can one day push through the dirt, seeking light, so too does a new purpose rise within him. It is the promise of a future unknown, full of potential. A chance to grow, to change, and to leave behind his past.
━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━
By the authority vested in me, this sentence shall now be carried out. Arthur Morgan you have been found guilty and will be condemned to death by hanging. Do you have any last words? 
Arthur stood at the gallows, his hollow blue eyes locking with hers, a quiet intensity in his gaze. His lips moved in a whisper, the words carrying across the void between them.
‘Keep fighting, my wife. Keep fighting for the both of you’ 
Kate opened her eyes with a startled gasp, her chest heaving as the last shreds of the nightmare faded with her breath on the wind. The world around her slowly came into focus, her senses overwhelmed by unfamiliar details. She lay on her back, enveloped in warmth, the sensation so foreign after days of chills and exhaustion that it almost alarmed her.  
Above her, a patch of sky peeked through a hole in the ceiling of the tepee. The canvas, stretched taut over wooden poles, swayed gently in rhythm with the night’s breeze. Smoke from a central fire curled upward in soft, lazy pillows, escaping into the starlit sky. The stars themselves winked down at her, distant and serene, their light shimmering faintly through the drifting fog.  
The pop and crackle of a fire filled her ears, its sound strangely soothing. She turned her head, her cheek brushing against the soft fur of the animal hide beneath her. Her gaze settled on the flames, their golden light commands flickering shadows to dance on the walls. Tentatively, she reached a hand toward the warmth, only to pull back as the sensation of heat kissed her fingertips.  
Her body shivered, the fever still clinging to her like an unwelcome guest, but here, she felt safe. She exhaled, her breath shaking, the smoky scent of the fire mixing with something earthy and herbal—medicines, perhaps.  
As she shifted beneath the heavy layers of hides draped over her, a new awareness settled in. She was naked, her usual clothing gone, replaced by the comfort of the carefully tanned and supple hides. The rough, sweaty fabric of her work shirt and the denim of her jeans soaked in horse musk were nowhere to be found. Her skin, once sticky and chilled, now felt clean, though her limbs ached with fatigue.  
Sitting up slowly, she clutched a fur-lined robe to her chest, its texture soft but slightly coarse against her fingertips. Her gaze landed on the far side of the tepee, where two figures spoke in hushed tones.  
“H-hello?” Kate ventured, voice rasping from disuse. The sound startled even herself, carrying a tremor of vulnerability.  
Both figures turned toward her, their expressions registering surprise. Kate studied them through the wavering firelight. The older woman’s face was a map of deep lines and weathered wisdom, her dark eyes steady and knowing. Layers of beads hung around her neck, and leather wraps adorned her braids, which fell over her shoulders like rivers of silver and black.  
Beside her sat a younger woman, her features strikingly smooth and proud, framed by a fur-lined hood that rested gracefully over her shoulders. Her braids, neatly tucked away, hinted at a careful precision that contrasted with the older woman’s well-worn regality.  
Kate clutched the robe tighter, her heart pounding as the silence stretched between them. But in their eyes, she saw no malice—only curiosity and a quiet patience that urged her to breathe.
The elder woman murmured something to the younger, her tone steady and commanding yet kind. The younger woman nodded, stepping toward the entrance. She turned back briefly, offering Kate a warm smile. 
“Híhanne wašté,” she said softly, voice lilting with a musical cadence. Then she slipped into the darkness beyond the tepee’s threshold, leaving Kate alone with the elder.  
Kate blinked, her fevered mind struggling to process the events. Her gaze followed the elder woman’s deliberate movements as she worked, gathering bundles of dried herbs and binding them with twine. The firelight danced across the weathered planes of her face, illuminating every line and crease—a testament to years of wisdom and service.  
The elder woman held the bundle over the fire until the dry leaves crackled and ignited, thin trails of smoke curling upward. She approached Kate with a quiet reverence, waving the fragrant smoke in sweeping arcs over her body. Her lips moved in a prayer, the words flowing in a language Kate didn’t recognize, but their cadence was soothing, like a lullaby carried on the wind.  
“W-who are you? Where am I? Where’s my…where’s Arthur?” Kate’s voice wavered, panic rising as her fever-clouded mind spun with unanswered questions.  
The woman paused her ritual, her dark eyes flicked to the chain around her neck, carrying the gold rings. Before meeting Kate’s with a calm authority. She placed a warm, weathered hand on Kate’s bare shoulder, its touch grounding. “Hush, now. It is well. Your Arthur is with Chief Rains Fall. You are in Wapiti, among the people. You are safe.” Her words as gentle as the hand that guided Kate back down onto the buffalo hide bed.  
Kate hesitated but allowed herself to be eased back. Her muscles were weak, trembling under the weight of her illness. When the woman reached to pull the blankets from her figure, Kate clutched them tightly to her chest, her breath quickening. “Where are my clothes?”  
The elder woman made a soft clicking sound with her tongue, a hint of exasperation flashing in her otherwise serene expression. “Bad medicine,” she said firmly. “No clothes are best to let the fever out. Do not trouble yourself with modesty, child. It is my sacred duty to honor the body as I tend to it.”  
Kate swallowed, hesitantly loosening her grip on the blankets. Her chest rose and fell in labored breaths as the woman peeled the layers away, exposing her frail form. Kate’s gaze flicked down to herself, and a sigh escaped her lips. Her frame was thinner than she remembered, her skin pale and fragile under the fire’s glow.  
“You must be White Dove,” she whispered, breaking the silence.  
The medicine woman gave a slight nod, her expression softening as she ran the smoking sage in a deliberate trail down Kate’s abdomen. The warmth of the smoke hovered close to her skin, the scent earthy and cleansing.  
“I am,” White Dove replied, low and melodic, carrying the weight of her title and the assurance of her skill. “And you, Kate, are stronger than you believe. Your body knows what it must do. Lie still.”  
Kate obeyed, letting her gaze wander the interior of the medicine woman’s lodge. The space was humble, yet rich with years of careful practice. Wooden racks lined the edges of the room, their beams laden with bundles of dried plants and herbs, their colors faded but their purpose unmistakable. The faint, earthy aroma of sage, sweetgrass, and juniper mingled with the smoky air, creating a scent both grounding and otherworldly. 
In the center, the small fire crackled softly, its embers glowing beneath a tripod that held a weathered clay pot that Kate had not noticed before. The fire’s glow gently illuminated the hide walls, where faint etchings of symbols seemed to come alive in the fragile light.  
Animal hides draped over sturdy wooden beams served as insulation against the outside cold, their textures varying from soft rabbit fur to the coarse leather of bison. Scattered tools and supplies spoke of a life deeply intertwined with the land—bone knives for cutting, stone scrapers for tanning, and hollowed gourds for carrying water. 
A low bench made from a flat stone sat near the fire, its surface worn smooth from years of use as both a workspace and an altar for preparation. Kate could see the remnants of the sage White Dove had just prepared. 
Nearby, a simple yet meticulous arrangement of feathers, beads, and small carvings hinted at spiritual rituals, each item placed with care as though they held the stories of generations past. The tepee felt alive, not just with the heat of the fire but with the wisdom and traditions that pulsed within its walls.
So much of it reminded Kate of River—his people, his way of life. It all felt so distant, a world left behind in the shadow of time. Yet here it was, as vivid as if she’d never left it. She half expected River himself to step through the tent flaps, his familiar smile breaking through the haze, carrying the scent of fresh pine and the blood of a successful hunt. 
As if time were nothing more than a serpent devouring its tail. A cycle with no end, always bringing her back to where she began.  
White Dove’s voice broke the spell of memory as she ended her prayer, setting the smoldering sage bundle aside with deliberate care. “Your body tells me many stories,” she murmured, her thin, weathered finger tracing the faint scar on Kate’s side. The mark was old, yet it burned in Kate’s mind with the clarity of its origin—the arrow that had pierced her nearly a decade ago. 
The scar that set everything in her fragile world to motion.  
“You carry a great strength,” White Dove said softly, her eyes meeting Kate’s with quiet intensity. “It will serve you well for what’s to come.” 
With a groan, she rose to her feet, shuffling to her rack of herbs. She crushed some leaves with practiced precision, the aroma rising as she poured steaming water from the clay pot into a small clay cup. Turning, she offered it to Kate. “Drink this.”  
Kate sat up slowly, holding the animal hides over her breast so they would not pool at her waist. She took the cup, bringing it to her lips and inhaling its earthy, bitter scent. The first sip burned her tongue, and she quickly set it down on the packed earth to cool. 
“Thank you…for all this,” she murmured, glancing at White Dove with hesitant gratitude. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble. I just need to rest, really.”  
The older woman scoffed, a short, knowing laugh. “Rest?” She waved a dismissive hand. “You’ll need far more than that.”  
Kate frowned, her voice tinged with protest. “It’s just a bit of weak blood. I’ve…had a hard couple of weeks, that’s all.” She picked up the cup again, blowing on the steaming surface before sipping cautiously.  
“Weak blood,” White Dove echoed, mimicking Kate’s words with an exaggerated accent and a chuckle. “Is that what the tosi tivo are calling it?”  
Kate blinked, the unfamiliar phrase catching her off guard. “I’m sorry—what does that mean?”  
“It is Comanche,” her tone patient but amused, “for white people.”  
“Comanche?” Kate repeated, tilting her head. The revelation sent a flicker of surprise through her. “I… I didn’t know there were Comanche here. I thought Rains Fall’s people were Lakota.”  
The elder woman raised a brow as she swept the stone workbench clear and began grinding fresh herbs into a fragrant paste. “There are many different people here,” she explained. “But we are more than just tribes. We are a family, bound by something stronger than blood. Do you understand?”  
Kate nodded slowly, the words resonating with her deeply. River had been like that, drawing in lost souls from all over—those whose tribes had been scattered, those who had nowhere else to go.  
“I was saved by one of the Lakota,” Kate admitted quietly, her voice dipping with the weight of memory. “A long time ago. He taught me his language, the way of his people.”  
White Dove glanced at her, the lines around her eyes softening. “Then you understand,” she said simply, her voice carrying the wisdom of one who had seen many lives cross her path. 
Kate’s gaze dropped to the cup in her hands, the rich, earthy scent of the tea curling into her nostrils as she sipped. “I owe him everything,” she murmured, voice distant. “He found me when I didn’t even know who I was anymore. Gave me purpose when I thought I had none left. I wouldn’t be here today without him.”  
White Dove tilted her head, her sharp eyes studying Kate with quiet intensity. “River,” she said after a moment of contemplation, her tone soft and reverent, as though the name itself carried a sacred weight. 
Confusion and surprise washed over Kate’s features immediately, “h-how did you…” 
“The way you speak of him… I can feel his spirit lingers with you, like a light that never fades.”  
Kate swallowed a mouthful of tea, trying to free the lump in her throat that was making it difficult to speak. “Sometimes I feel that too,” she admitted. “It’s like… he still lends me strength when I need it most. But it’s been years. He’s gone.” Her voice faltered, a raw edge of grief cutting through her words.  
White Dove approached, the earth beneath her soft footfalls barely whispering. She knelt beside Kate, her hands gentle yet firm as they rested on Kate’s shoulders. “Gone in body, yes,” she said with a grounding force. “But not in spirit. River walks with you, child. He is in the wind that moves the grass, the fire that warms your skin. And here,” she added, placing a hand lightly over Kate’s heart, “he is always here.”  
“I miss him so much,” Kate’s eyes welled with tears she hadn’t realized she was holding back, the elder’s words wrapping around her like a balm. She nodded, barely managing a whisper. “I just wish I had the strength back then to save him.”  
White Dove’s gaze softened further, her expression both knowing and kind. “And yet he has left you with a gift,” she said, her hand moving from Kate’s heart to lightly press against her abdomen.  
Kate’s breath caught, her eyebrows furrowed. “A gift?”  
The elder woman’s smile deepened, her voice soft. “A piece of the Great Spirit’s plan, one that River will surely guide.”  
Kate’s hand flew instinctively to her stomach, the air catching in her throat. “I…” Her voice faltered, her mind grasping for logic amidst the swirling emotions. “I–I don’t understand. That’s not… no, that’s not possible.”  
"You’ve endured so much, child. He sees it, he knows. He has never truly left you. And though you’ve faced countless losses, you now carry something precious—a new life growing within you."  
A new life.  
The words echoed, reverberating like a bell in the quiet chamber of her thoughts. Her heart pounded as if trying to catch up with the revelation, and the clay cup she had been holding slipped from her fingers, landing softly on the earth below. A rush of emotions surged through her—hope, joy, disbelief, and an undercurrent of fear.  
Her mind raced to Arthur, his rough-edged voice filling her memory as she recalled their quiet talks about dreams of the future. Children. A family. She had crushed it then, before those dreams could take root in his heart. Claiming her body incapable of such things, her voice trembling with the conviction of a woman who had been resigned to a cruel fate.  
And now?  
Oh, God. She was going to have his baby.  
Kate’s chest tightened as the enormity of it settled in. She was going to be a mother again, and Arthur Morgan—a man caught between his own war with the world and his heart—was going to be a father again.  
“Do not fear it,” White Dove murmured, her hand warm and steady on Kate’s arm. “This child is a sign of strength. Just as you have endured, so will they. River’s spirit watches over you both, guiding you toward what is meant to be.”  
Kate met the elder’s eyes, finding a depth of calm that eased the storm within her. “H-how can you be so sure?” she whispered, her voice trembling with doubt. “It’s too early… there are no signs.”  
“No signs?” White Dove chuckled softly, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “The fever and sickness say otherwise. A mother’s body tells stories long before the mind catches on. And the man who brought you here, his ways are not those of a settled life. But perhaps this news will steady his wild heart.”  
Kate’s lips quivered, her exhaustion returning in waves as she slumped back against the hides beneath her. Her hand drifted to her stomach again, resting there as if to ground herself. Memories of a vivid dream, one that had lingered deep in her heart for weeks, re-surfaced. It’s meaning was suddenly clear.  
Two heartbeats, one body. 
“If only it were that simple,” she murmured, heavy with weariness and hope.  
Arthur had made his choices, ones that had led them both to the edge of ruin. She loved him with every fractured piece of her soul, but this—this changed everything. Would the promise of a new life be enough to pull him away from the shadows of his past? Would it finally give him the courage to leave it all behind?  
They had barely spoken of the events that had brought them to this point, with Arthur keeping much of their shared losses buried deep. He carried the weight of so many burdens, and though Kate longed to ease his load, the storm of worry and fragile hope in her own heart waged a relentless battle, pulling her in opposing directions.
But this game of tug-o-war on her soul will not stop her child, Arthur Morgan’s child, from growing in her belly.
Kate closed her eyes as warm tears spilled down her cheeks like gentle streams, cradling the fragile hope that had been placed in her hands. Despite the uncertainty that loomed like a shadow in her heart, she could not wait to share the news with Arthur.
“Sleep now, all is well.” White Dove whispered calmly. 
In sleep, he sang to her, his voice like a low and steady river, carrying her to places untouched by pain. In dreams, he came to her, his shadow softened by the golden light of a future yet to be written. That voice—gravelly and tender—called to her across the distance, whispering her name like a prayer meant only for her ears.  
And as she drifted deeper into slumber, the veil of the present began to lift, revealing a vision of what could be. 
A quiet life stretched before her, simple and unshaken. She saw their child, laughter ringing like wind-chimes in the summer breeze, their small hands reaching for the strength and love that only their father could provide.  
Arthur held them to his chest, his face softened with peace. With happiness. 
The edges of the dream blurred into a warm haze, but its heart remained vivid. A sanctuary where love thrived, untainted by the blood and dust of the paths they had walked. Here, in this fragile hope, she found their burdens were lifted and replaced by the weight of joy.  
And so, in dreams, she would find him, not as he was but as he could be—a man reborn by the light of their love, carrying their child toward a future shaped by something greater than fate.
━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━
Arthur stood where the streams spilled into the river, where two currents became one. The waters laughed over the stones together, twisted through ravines together, and plunged down the cliffs of Donner Falls as one force. From this height, he could see Bacchus Bridge stretching across the horizon, its iron skeleton stark against the sky. And he could hear the mournful wail of a train whistle cutting through the valley below.  
Salmon darted through the clear waters, their pink and green bodies a fleeting blur against the clear expanse of blue. They swam downstream, migrating toward the ocean to grow and mature—a journey long and perilous. For a moment, as the clouds reflected on the tumbling surface, it seemed as though the fish swam through the sky itself, weightless and free.  
One fish caught his eye, a lone swimmer defying the current. Against the tide of its kind, it fought to return to the place it was born, battling the relentless push of water. Arthur watched as it struggled, its small body twisting with determination, before finally surrendering to the pull of the current. Drifting downstream with the others, pulled ever closer to the unknown. The inevitable.  
Like the salmon, it is the same when a man loves a woman. To love her is to fight the current, a struggle both thrilling and exhausting. But when it takes hold, there is no stopping it—no argument strong enough to resist it. Women, like the streams, could be gentle one moment, soothing a man’s spirit, and the next, they could drag him through white water, testing every ounce of his strength.
“Ready to head back, Mr. Morgan?” Rains Fall’s calm voice broke through Arthur’s thoughts. Turning, he saw the elder already mounted on his horse, waiting patiently to return to Wapiti.  
Since arriving at the reservation two days prior, Arthur had buried himself in tasks and chores, anything to repay the kindness shown to him and Kate—and anything to keep his mind from wandering to darker places. Hard work left little room for thoughts of the gang, of Dutch and Hosea, of Kate’s worsening illness. Or his own failings, the ones that had led them all here.  
Kate had been battling a relentless fever, resting under White Dove’s gentle care. The healer’s hands tended to her every need, offering what comfort she could. That’s why Arthur and Rains Fall were out here, gathering ginseng, yarrow, and sage for her collection of medicinal herbs. Every small effort felt like a desperate attempt to atone for what he did.  
Arthur mounted Belle with practiced ease and gave a nod. “Sure,” he said evenly, adjusting the reins. “Lead the way.”  
They rode in silence for a while, the sound of the rushing river beside them filling the spaces between hoofbeats. Arthur let his gaze linger on the landscape, but his thoughts were elsewhere, turning like restless leaves in the wind.  
“You’ve been awfully quiet these past few days, my friend,” Rains Fall said at last, voice deep and clear. It was less a question and more an observation.  
Arthur tightened his grip on the reins, grateful the elder couldn’t see his face. “Just got a lot on my mind,” he replied flatly, though he regretted the curtness of his tone. There was something in Rains Fall’s calm presence that reminded him of Hosea—the patience, the quiet wisdom.  
“Forgive me for prying,” Rains Fall continued, undeterred. “But you strike me as a man at war with himself.”  
Arthur sighed, knowing it was pointless to hide from someone as attuned to the human spirit as Rains Fall. “I’m not used to things bein’…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Out of my control, I guess.”  
A soft chuckle reached his ears, rich with the weight of years and understanding. “From the moment you are born, you have no control. You can’t choose your parents any more than you can choose your death—unless you’re desperate enough to end it yourself. The only choices you have are to love someone, to be kind, and to make this brutally short stint on earth as worthwhile as you can.”  
Arthur’s gaze dropped to Belle’s mane, his voice forlorn. “I reckon it’s far too late for all that.”  
Rains Fall’s words struck a chord deep in Arthur’s heart. His whole life felt like a series of choices made for him, never by him. Lyle had stolen his freedoms before he was old enough to even talk, and Dutch had stripped away any illusion of control—not just in the physical sense, but emotionally too. Arthur had never truly recognized himself, never understood who he was beyond Dutch’s right hand, his sword, and his shield.  
Who was he behind the savagery? Behind the bloodshed? Behind the beast of a man he’d become?  
Arthur couldn’t fathom what it meant to be a person—he’d never been one. His purpose had always been pain, fear, and weaponry. He wasn’t a man; he was a tool, a pet trained to serve.  
And yet, he desired violently. He desired an end to it all, a chance to be better, to become the man Kate saw in him. That vision of himself seemed impossibly distant, but it clawed at him nonetheless, leaving scars on his soul. He wasn’t supposed to need like this, wasn’t supposed to crave someone so deeply it hurt. But he did, and it made him sick.  
Because wanting something made you weak. It meant you were at the mercy of something else. And Arthur knew all too well how the world had a cruel habit of leaving him empty-handed.  
“You’re caught between the man you’re supposed to be and the man you truly are,” Rains Fall said, calm and understanding, as if he had plucked the words straight from Arthur’s thoughts. “Your wife does not strike me as the kind of woman to be unaware of that fact.”  
Arthur let out a small chuckle despite himself. How easily this man seemed to read him and Kate, like the pages of an open book. She’d been trying to guide him to a better path since the day they’d met, steadfast and rooted in her devotion.  
“She’s far too good for someone like me,” Arthur admitted, heavy with regret. “I worry ‘bout what’s gonna happen to her—to us,” he corrected himself, “after all this is said and done.” His thoughts wandered to the cold, chilling unknown that loomed ahead.  
As they approached the gravelly path leading back to Wapiti, the savory scent of roasting meat mingled with the fresh aroma of herbs, carried on the crisp evening air. The familiar smells grounded him for a moment, but the edge in his chest lingered.  
Rains Fall reined in his horse at the threshold, turning to Arthur with a quiet smile that held the wisdom of countless years. “Do not borrow grief from the future, Mr. Morgan. To become spring, one must accept the risk of winter. There will be hurt and hardships, but the wildflowers will always bloom after the thaw.”  
Arthur held Rains Fall’s gaze, the words settling in his mind like seeds in fertile soil. He nodded slowly, though the ache in his heart remained. Perhaps, there might still be wildflowers waiting for him after all.  
━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━
Kate was roused from her sleep by the aching growl of her empty stomach, the pangs of hunger sharpened by the tantalizing aroma of meat roasting over an open fire. The scent was rich and smoky, stirring her senses more effectively than any alarm. 
She shifted under the warm weight of the animal hide blankets, bracing for the familiar pull of exhaustion to drag her fevered body back down. But to her surprise, she felt a marked difference—her fever had broken, and the rest had returned a measure of strength to her limbs.  
White Dove and her gentle assistant, Halona, had cared for her tirelessly. Day and night, they tended to her every need, reading her body’s cues with practiced intuition. Kate had grown fond of the two women, whose quiet kindness eased her discomfort in more ways than one. Their efforts had made the tepee a sanctuary of warmth and healing.  
The news of her pregnancy still lingered fresh in her mind, a secret she clutched close to her heart. She’d asked White Dove and Halona not to share it with Arthur, eager to savor the joy of telling him herself when the moment felt right. The women exchanged knowing smiles and readily agreed, leaving Kate to relish the anticipation of sharing her happiness when her body and spirit were ready.  
Carefully, she rose from the bed, the lingering weakness in her muscles reminding her to move slowly. Touching the rings against her breast, she rubbed them between her fingers tracing their tiny halos. She slipped on a long tunic that brushed her knees, the soft fabric comforting against her skin. Over it, she wrapped herself in an antelope robe, its heavy warmth almost swallowing her slender frame. Finally, she pulled on a pair of knee high moccasins, their soft leather cool against her feet.  
As she stepped outside, the evening air enveloped her. It was crisp and biting, carrying with it the clean, invigorating scent of pine and earth. The sky above was a masterpiece, streaked with hues of pink and blue that filtered through the tall pines, painting the world in serene beauty.  
Kate inhaled deeply, letting the chill air fill her lungs, refreshing her after the days spent confined inside. It cleared her mind and steadied her heart. Despite the gnawing hunger in her stomach, her thoughts weren’t on food.  
She needed to find Arthur. She missed him terribly, and her heart raced with anticipation. Her secret warmed her like the robe around her shoulders, and she longed for the moment she could share it with him—alone, just the two of them under the vast expanse of the painted sky. The moon and the stars as their only witness. 
Kate made her way toward the central fire, where the tribal members gathered to fill their plates and cut portions of meat from the animal roasting over the flames. The savory scent of the meal mixed with the crackling of the fire, creating an atmosphere of warmth and fellowship. Her eyes scanned the group until they landed on a familiar silhouette outlined by the glow of the flames.  
A smile tugged at her lips. There he was. Like herself, he was wrapped in animal skins, blending seamlessly with the people around him. A large sheep hide was draped over his broad shoulders like a cloak, the white fur soft and thick, resembling a ball of cotton drifting through the night air. He wore sturdy moccasins similar to hers, their thick soles a perfect defense against the biting chill of Ambarino.  
Her gaze caught on his old gambler's hat, now adorned with a new feather charm, its soft plumage swaying gently in the breeze. It was likely a gift from one of the people or something he had traded for during his endless efforts to repay their kindness. The sight of him like this—fitting in so effortlessly—warmed her heart. 
Arthur had a way of slipping into their world as though he’d always belonged, like a lonesome buck searching for his herd and finding a place among them.  
Beside him stood Eagle Flies, engaged in what appeared to be a lighthearted conversation with her cowboy. As Kate drew closer, the sound of the young man’s laughter reached her, a warm and genuine sound that made her smile grow wider.  
Eagle Flies noticed her first. His keen eyes lit with recognition, and a small smile played across his lips. With a subtle nod, he clasped Arthur’s arm in a gesture of brotherhood, one that spoke volumes about the bond they had formed in their time together. Then, without a word, he turned and departed.  
Kate placed a hand on his shoulder, and Arthur turned to her, his features lighting with surprise. Without hesitation, he set his plate of meat on the nearest surface and framed her face in his warm, calloused hands.  
"My sweet girl," he murmured, his familiar rough timbre washing over her, making her knees weak with adoration. "What’re you doin’ up? You feelin’ alright?"  
His questions came rapid-fire as he checked her face and body for any lingering signs of illness, his thumb brushing gently along her pallid cheek. Which was now turning a shade of pink under his gaze. The tenderness in his touch stood in stark contrast to the hardened exterior he usually wore.  
“I feel wonderful,” she assured him, carrying a smile she couldn’t suppress. “Better than I’ve felt in weeks.”  
She saw a flicker of guilt pass across his handsome face at her choice of words, a shadow of self-reproach he couldn’t quite hide. “Thank you, Arthur.”  
“For what, darlin’?” he asked, his hands moving to her waist, pulling her closer. His piercing blue eyes searched hers, as if trying to unravel the depth of her gratitude.  
Kate reached up to stroke his rugged cheek, her thumb gliding along the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the roughness of his beard, thick and overdue for a shave. “For bringing me here, for protecting me. For standing by me while I recovered.”  
Arthur smiled, that bashful, boyish smile she loved—the one he reserved for moments like these when her praise left him flustered. “I’d do it all again,” he admitted softly. “Though I hope I won’t have to.”  
Pulling her into his chest, he sighed, a sound heavy with relief and affection. “Hated seein’ you in pain like that,” he confessed. “Damn sight nearly broke me.”  
Kate pressed her face into his chest, mumbling against the warmth of his shirt, “I’m well, Arthur. More than well.” She inhaled deeply, savoring the familiar mix of smoke, pine, and musk that clung to him.  
Arthur reached for his abandoned plate and held it out to her. “Think you can try and eat some?”  
Kate nodded, accepting the small portion of meat and vegetables with gratitude. As she took her first bite, Arthur filled another plate for himself, sitting beside her by the fire. 
For the first time in days, the world felt steady again.
Together, they joined the others, settling onto overturned logs as the flames flickered and danced, casting dark shadows over the gathering. The warmth of the fire fought against the creeping chill of nightfall, and a comfortable silence lingered as plates emptied and bellies filled. The sun had dipped beneath the horizon, leaving the sky painted in deep blues and blacks. Stars began to wink into existence, their light glittering faintly above the treetops.  
As the reservation quieted, a soft melody began to rise from the gathered people. One voice turned into two, then three, until a full chorus swelled, singing in their native tongue. The song carried through the air like a living thing, winding between the fire’s glow and the cold night, weaving a tapestry of history and culture. 
It felt like the land itself was joining in, harmonizing with the crackle of the flames and the rustling trees. The occasional howl of a wolf, or cry from an elk joining the orchestra in its own language.  
Arthur leaned closer to Kate, his breath warm against her cool cheek as he murmured, “Think you can translate what they’re chanting?”  
Kate stifled a chuckle, shaking her head. “It’s not chanting, Arthur—they’re singing. And don’t ever let them hear you call it that.”  
A grin tugged at his lips. “Fair enough.”  
Kate paused, tilting her head to better catch the song. Closing her eyes, her brow furrowed as she picked through the lyrics, trying to parse the Lakota words amidst the many other languages blending together. 
“It’s a song about reclaiming identity,” she finally said softly. “About standing together as a community, returning to nature, and rejecting the way society’s trying to change them.”  
Arthur nodded thoughtfully, his gaze returning to the fire. He didn’t need to say anything more—his silence held a reverence for the moment, the music wrapping around him as snugly as the sheep-hide cloak draped over his shoulders.  
After a moment, Kate began to hum quietly, her voice low and melodic as it slipped seamlessly into their rhythm. She translated the lyrics into English as she sang, her voice soft enough for Arthur’s ears alone. He listened, mesmerized by the emotion in her words, the way they made the distant and unfamiliar feel close and deeply human.  
The song, in both languages, seemed to bind them to the world around them—a moment of peace and connection amid the chaos of their lives. For the first time in what felt like forever, Arthur let himself simply be still, soaking in the beauty of the night and the voice of the woman at his side.
I might be more like an animal, than you would have thought at first. Your only conviction was that I would have to choose.
I’ll be running with the animals soon. Always swore by the same remedy, to battle feelings with thought, but lately there’s a change in me. The words don’t really do.
Humans rip open so easily, like paper heads in the rain. I won’t be my own enemy. The skull no longer fools this body.
I’ll be running with the animals soon. Into everlasting now, I’ll unfold mysеlf. Slowly, parts of me.
I’m herе to be more like an animal.
I’m here to fight more like an animal.
I’m here to eat more like an animal.
I’m here to bite more like an animal.
I’m here to move more like an animal.
I’m here to hunt more like an animal.
I’m here to rest more like an animal.
I’m here to play more like an animal.
I’m herе to be more like an animal.
As the singing came to an end, the gathering began to disperse. Hunters, elders, mothers, warriors, and children alike offered their farewells, their voices softer now as they drifted back to the comfort of their lodges. The fire crackled quietly in the stillness, its embers glowing as if reluctant to fade. 
Kate and Arthur remained seated on the overturned log, her head resting gently against his broad shoulder. Their fingers intertwined, a silent promise exchanged in the cool night air.  
Arthur stared into the flames, his eyes distant and shadowed, lost in thoughts that weighed heavy on his soul. Kate watched him intently, her heart aching for the grief and guilt etched into his face. It was the same expression she had seen during their night in Annesburg, when uncertainty and frustration had driven him to the edge of what any man could bear.  
She remembered how she had held him that night, cradling his trembling frame as his soft tears soaked her chest in the silence. She had whispered soothing words until the storm within him subsided, giving way to the steady rhythm of his breathing. But even then, she knew it wasn’t enough. There was still so much he carried, a burden too great for one person alone.  
Her free hand glided over her belly, where the first stirrings of life had begun to take root. Over the next nine months, she would be swollen with his child—a little piece of them both, growing steadily within her. The thought of meeting this tiny person, of holding them and nurturing them, filled her with a sense of purpose she hadn’t known she needed.  
Kate was certain the news of the baby would ease some of Arthur’s pain, offering him a beacon of hope amid his struggles. She could already imagine the spark it would ignite in him, a reason to fight for something brighter. To become the man she knew he could be—the man their child deserved.  
“Ready to turn in, my love?” she asked softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze to pull him back to the present.  
Arthur turned to meet her gaze, his tired blue eyes searching hers for a moment before he nodded silently. “Which lodge is yours?” she asked, glancing across the rows of tepees glowing softly with firelight.  
His voice was low, tinged with exhaustion and a rare vulnerability. “Y’sure you wanna stay with me, darlin’? You can still sleep in White Dove’s tent if you’d rather. I won’t be upset.”  
Kate raised an eyebrow, looking at him like he’d suggested something completely absurd. “You kiddin’ me? Quit being silly, old man. I want to stay with you.”  
A small, tired grin spread across Arthur’s face as he stood from the log with a quiet sigh, extending his hand to her. Kate rose, slipping her arm around his waist, leaning into the warmth of his embrace.  
“Besides,” she added with a soft smile, “I always have the sweetest dreams when I sleep next to you.”  
Arthur’s grin widened just a touch, and he pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head before leading her toward his lodge. Together, they walked through the quiet encampment, the stars above a silent witness to their love and the promise of a brighter future. 
━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━
Arthur’s lodge sat quietly on the edge of the reservation, a modest sanctuary tucked away from the hum of the reservation. Originally used for storing extra furs, dried meat, and other supplies, it had been generously cleared out by the people to provide him with a warm, sheltered space. Though Arthur had offered to set up his own camp, they insisted he stay somewhere better protected from the cold Ambarino winds.  
Holding the flap open, Arthur gestured for Kate to duck inside. She stepped through, marveling at how surprisingly inviting the small space was.  
In the center, a humble fire glowed softly, its embers casting a flickering warmth that filled the room. Arthur knelt by the ashes, adding a handful of wood chips and buffalo dung. A skill taught to him by the tribe to revive the flames and keep them burning through the night. As the fire grew stronger, Kate let her eyes wander around the lodge.  
Against the canvas walls, crates and boxes were neatly arranged, serving both as storage and structural support. Arthur’s cot lay near the fire, piled high with animal hides that promised warmth on even the coldest nights. His saddlebag, folded and topped with rabbit pelts, served as a makeshift pillow. A few hides draped over smaller crates created a reclined space she imagined he used for writing in his journal late at night.  
Kate shrugged off her antelope robe and draped it over the crates, adding to the cozy arrangement. Kneeling on the fur-covered bedroll, she slipped off her moccasins and stretched out on her stomach near the fire. The heat from the flames quickly seeped into her skin, chasing away the chill of the night.  
Arthur watched her with a small smile, his gaze soft and full of affection. Tossing his sheep-hide cloak into a corner, he tugged off his moccasins and left them by the entrance. Slowly, he slid off his suspenders, setting them aside with care. His gambler’s hat followed, then his leather shirt, revealing the expanse of sandy hair and gentle lines that contoured his torso. Now dressed in only his trousers, he settled beside her, reclining against the fur-covered crates.  
Kate waited until he was comfortable before shuffling forward on her stomach, her head coming to rest in his lap. Her cheek pressed against his firm thigh, and she sighed, feeling more at peace than she had in weeks.  
For a long moment, they sat in silence, the crackle of the fire the only sound between them. Their eyes met, the unspoken desire swirling in their shared gaze enough to make her heart race. Arthur’s hand found its way to her head, his fingers slipping through her hair. He began to massage her scalp, untangling knots with a care that belied his rugged exterior.  
Kate melted under his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before she opened them again, unable to look away from his face. Her fingers moved to his chest, tracing the defined lines of muscle with feather-light strokes. She twirled the coarse hair between her fingertips, letting the texture ground her in the moment.  
Neither broke their gaze as their hands explored, gentle and reverent. His thumb brushed against her temple while her palm flattened against his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath her touch. Their connection in the firelit room felt electric yet soothing, a sanctuary of their own making, where words were unnecessary, and their love spoke through every touch. 
She suddenly sat up, leaning her weight on her wrist as it rested against the warmth of his thigh. Her lips found him with a desperation that felt like they had never stopped searching for him. Arthur responded in kind, his kiss deepening as his hands roamed over her back, feeling the heat of the flames and pulling her closer, if that was even possible. 
As he opened his mouth to let out a shuddering sigh, Kate seized the opportunity, her tongue darting against his, earning a ragged, breathy moan, from the depths of his chest. They explored each other’s mouths as if it was the first time, foreign yet familiar. As if they had been apart for years, and by some miracle, fate had reunited them. 
Arthur tugged at her arm, pulling her closer, gripping her thigh with the other hand, urging her to straddle his lap. She didn’t hesitate. His lips trailed down her neck, leaving a fire in their wake. But before the heat could consume her completely, she stopped him with a question that had been burning inside her for days.
“Arthur?” Her voice was soft, trying to steady the rush of emotions that clouded her thoughts, the bliss in her body making her words feel weightless. 
“Hmm?” came his low, breathy reply, muffled against the hollow of her neck.
Her hand gently cupped his face, guiding him to look at her. “Why did you call me that…?” She hesitated, but only briefly. “Back when we arrived at the reservation?” Her mind has replayed his words endlessly since then. My wife. 
Arthur furrowed his brow in confusion, before the memory clicked. “My wife?” 
Kate nodded, her gaze enduring. 
A small, sheepish smile tugged at the corners of his lips, flushed red from her kisses. “Oh... I didn’t think you’d remember that,” he stammered, tinged with a nervous tenderness. “I dunno, guess it just felt... right.” 
Her heart skipped a beat, the weight of his words sinking in. “Do you think of me as your wife, Arthur?” The question came out more serious than she had intended, but it had to be asked. 
He straightened, his gaze locking with hers, no hesitation this time. “I… Yes. Yes, I do see you as my wife.” His voice was steady now, firm. He meant every word of it.
Kate’s eyes widened, the reflection of the fire flickering in her eyes like molten gold. She didn’t speak for a long moment, the gravity of his words settling in her chest. “You really mean that?” Her voice was barely a whisper, but it carried with it a world of emotion, meant only for him. His heart.
Arthur’s hands found her neck, cupping it gently as he wiped away the tears she hadn’t even realized were there. “I do. You’re mine, Kate. Mine and mine alone. I’ll take care of you for the rest of my days, if you’ll have me.” His voice cracked slightly, the vulnerability of the words choking him. He looked away, his emotions threatening to spill out. “I know this isn’t the life I promised you, honey. But I’ll save up, buy you a pretty ring...” He took her hand and rubbed at the empty space where a ring would sit. “I’ll make you my wife, for real.” 
Kate smiled through the rush of emotions that swept over her, and her warmth filled his heart in ways nothing this world ever could. Oh, how he adored her. In that moment he wished he were the wind, so he could kiss every inch of her skin and weave through her hair. To carry her scent with him forever. Through this life, and the next. 
Her smile faltered for a brief moment, a shadow crossing her features. “And what about the gang? Everything you fought for, everything you helped them build?” 
Arthur’s eyes darkened for a moment, as the weight of his past settled back into his chest. The future he had imagined with her could not exist within the chaos of his reputation, the people he had once called family. A deep sigh escaped him, a cold gust slipping in through the cracks of his thoughts, licking at the flames of the inevitable. 
The fish fighting against the current, must let go of the past and turn towards the future. 
“I’ll still help ‘em while I can,” he began slowly, “but I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about the future… about you.” His gaze softened, locking onto hers like she was the anchor keeping him grounded. “You’re my future, Kate.” His words were sure, steady. “I gotta put you first. If these last two days taught me anything, it’s that I want you far away from all this.” He stressed the final words with a firmness that left no room for doubt. “And we’ll never look back.” 
Kate’s smile returned, but her eyes held a flicker of something more. Reaching around her neck, she slipped a silver chain over her head, two gold rings glinting in the firelight as she held them up. Their glow danced between their faces, the light kissing them with a quiet oath.
Arthur’s breath caught in his throat as he recognized the rings—worn and well-loved, relics from his father figure’s hands. His eyes softened, and he swallowed back a sob. “Hosea…” His voice cracked, the memories of his father’s wisdom and love choking him. 
“Hosea made me promise to give these to you when the moment felt right.” Kate explained, cupping his palm and letting their gentle weight cradle in his hand as she slipped the chain off. 
“Always one step ahead... He knew things were changin’, even before it all fell apart.” Arthur admired the rings, recalling memories of Hosea and Bessie’s devotion. 
Kate nodded, her smile tinged with sorrow. “He said you’d know what to do… take me far away, and never look back.” She echoed his words, like a vow that hung between them, delicate and sacred.
Arthur sniffed, trying to keep the emotions at bay. “Christ, I’m gonna miss him.”
Kate’s fingers carefully plucked one of the larger rings from his palm, then gently took his left hand in hers. “I am too, Arthur. But… sometimes things change for the better. My whole world changed when I met you.” She slid the ring onto his finger with quiet reverence. 
Arthur watched her with a tenderness that made his heart ache. He kissed her knuckles, his lips soft and full of longing. “Reckon you’ve changed me for the better... and yet…” He hesitated, a familiar doubt creeping in. “Yet I keep making a mess of myself.”
With a free hand, she cupped his cheek, guiding his gaze back to her. “Maybe we just need something worth fighting for.”
Arthur’s laugh was breathless, full of love. “My darling Kate, you’re the reason I fight.”
Her eyes locked onto his, fierce and full of determination. “Perhaps a reason… for both of us.” 
As he slid the ring over her finger, past the knuckle, it settled against her skin with a commitment that both felt deep in their souls. And then, softly, like a secret whispered just for them, Kate spoke the words that stole the breath from his lungs. 
“I’m pregnant, Arthur.” 
The words seemed to echo in the air, a divine truth. To speak them aloud felt like releasing a beautiful secret into the world. The weight of her confession hit him like a wave, and for a moment, all he could do was stare at her, his breath catching in his throat. His pulse thundered in his ears. 
“You’re…” The words failed him, as his heart leapt in his chest. Everything suddenly clicked—the protectiveness, the need to shield her. “Oh, my girl…” His voice trembled with emotion, and he pulled her into his arms, clutching her close. “How—how is that possible? I thought—”
Kate’s fingers found his lips, silencing him. “I don’t exactly know how, but I know it’s there. I’ve known for some time, but I just couldn’t let myself believe it was true.” Her forehead pressed against his, and new tears, joyful and free, fell down their cheeks. “I knew our love would bloom into something wonderful.” 
In that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only them, and the life they would build together. Arthur cradled her neck gently, pulling her close as they embraced, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. A familiar chill of unease crept into his mind, but he banished it before it could take root. Nothing—not fear, not doubt—would steal this moment of joy from him.
And yet, beneath the elation, a quiet resolve began to form. The countdown had already started ticking in the back of his mind. Nine months—no, likely less. He couldn’t let her bring their child into the world while they were still trapped in the chaos of the gang’s life. The decision came as naturally as breathing: he would do whatever it took to make things right and ensure she had a safe place to welcome their baby into the world.
Despite the timing, despite his failures, despite everything, the news of this child—his child—growing within Kate filled him with a hope he hadn’t felt in years. A new purpose ignited within him, fierce and unshakable.
“Kate…” he murmured, his voice raw with wonder and disbelief. His thumb swept across her cheek, brushing away the tears that glistened like firelit jewels. “You’re carrying our child.” The words felt foreign, surreal, almost more of a question than a statement, as if he needed to hear it again to believe it was real.
Kate’s lips curled into a soft, radiant smile, the same smile that had captivated him from the start. “Yes, Arthur,” she whispered, her voice steady and full of love.
“You’re going to be a father again.”
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AN: I had SO much fun writing this chapter, everything from Eagle Flies and Rains Fall to Kate's pregnancy reveal. Ugh I just love them so much and it was so nice to finally get the secret out there. There are a lot of emotions going on between them right now and I want to be able to explore that in more intimacy. This chapter would've been over 20k words if I included the sex scene I initially wrote...but like I said before it will be in its own chapter! This gives me more time to tinker with it, as well as add to it without worrying abt the WC.
Thank you all so much for the support, and for reading this work that has become something so dear to me. I love all of you, and endlessly appreciate all the love and comments and feedback! 💗💗💗
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bigassbowlingballhead · 5 months ago
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i shouldn't have to see political signs outside my place of residence that raise my blood pressure.
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lith-myathar · 1 month ago
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disordered eating talk in the tags
#disordered eating cw#so like i did a stupid and took my meds this morning without eating breakfast and about mid morning#i had too much water and got super nauseous and had to throw up#and i realized that i still have a weird THING around purging#i don't feel like throwing up is an experience that should engender a sense of comfort in a person but it does in me#like i didn't even have anything in my stomach it's not like i had binged or whatever#but just the purgative act in itself feels GOOD to me#like a relief#kind of brings to mind how in my most stressful/mental breakdown-y times or during panic attacks all that's ever clear in my mind#is a desire to throw up. to just get this horrible feeling i can't process out of me#and i think it kinda speaks to how much food and eating or not eating or *purging* was how i found control and a sense of stability#having ednos is irritating bc it basically means you did a little of everything and none of those individual things ever got really dramatic#so it wasn't exactly noticeable but it all adds up into a pattern of behavior around food that's just deeply dysfunctional#and getting people to take it seriously is really difficult bc so many of those behaviors are normalized#but all those little behaviors were how i took back control. i would spite the people around me who policed my body by binging#i would try to control how i felt about myself (and how other people saw me and treated me) by restricting#and when i felt out of control i would take it back and reground by purging#so even now if im stressed out (which i am lately) it feels comforting and grounding to purge#even if im not doing it on purpose#which is....fucked tbh. i guess on just a primal level it makes some sense bc that's how our bodies protect us from things we've ingested#that could potentially harm us. so of course there's some relief around it. but im not eating anything that will hurt me#it's all just shame and terror and feelings i can't express and wanting them OUT#thankfully it's not something ive ever done chronically bc the stigma against EDs in my house growing up was also high#and if i didn't throw up or totally starve myself it was just dieting right? i would only half starve myself#and i would only throw up here and there. as a treat. once or twice isn't an eting disorder surely?#i just really regret how much ''bad'' food i just ate and i want a do over. it's not disordered if it's just this one time#this is a special circumstance and I'm Different#goddddddddddddddd#what's wild too is i can look back on this stuff now and see it for what it was but to most people none of that behavior#would ping as a Real Disorder
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andypantsx3 · 4 months ago
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LOADS OF FUN : TODOROKI x READER
SUMMARY: After moving into your first apartment together, Shouto seems more amorous than ever. You're not sure why—but when he comes home to you doing a load of laundry, more than your clothes are about to get tumbled. TAGS/WARNINGS: nsft (18+ only, minors please dni!), pro hero au, gn + afab reader, established relationship, fluff, emotional sex, table sex, cunnilingus, the shouto domesticity kink agenda goes absolutely crazy in this one lol (2.8k) NOTES: This piece is part of my pretty boy summer Shouto x Reader collab! Please go check out the other incredible fics people have written over the course of the summer; you will absolutely die over how good they are. This fic was also made possible through donations to the Fics for Gaza project. I cannot thank everyone who donated to one of the charities enough, as well as those who organized, reblogged, discussed, and got the word out. Lastly, I am so grateful for your immeasurable patience with me as I take time between fics to manage my workload, I hope I'm not too out of practice here lol. In summary: thank you, thank you, a million times thank you.
The sound of the door opening was hidden in the thump and glug of the washing machine starting its spin cycle.
Halfway across the house, you were oblivious—you had the clean laundry spread out on the kitchen table, hunting through the pile trying to match one of Shouto’s socks to another that seemed to have vanished into that mysterious void which opens somewhere between the laundry basket and the dryer. One of his shirts was half-folded over your shoulder, abandoned in favor of the sock search.
The rest of your things were still mostly tangled together on the table, warm and fresh and cottony, the few shirts you’d already folded sagging off the kitchen chairs.
It still gave you a little thrill—even several weeks after you’d moved in together—to see Shouto’s things twined up with yours—his enormous socks dwarfing yours, your sweaters clinging to the occasional piece of his hero suit that hadn’t seen enough action to need his agency’s industrial cleaners.
It all added to your sense of satisfaction with your afternoon—a frosty weekend day you’d spent cozy indoors, moving slowly and leisurely through some chores. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, and your favorite playlist worked itself through in lazy loops. Shouto was due off his rotation soon, and you hummed contentedly to yourself, entertaining pleased little fantasies of curling up with him for the rest of the weekend.
Which of course is when something moved in the corner of your eye. Your hum sawed up into a strangled screech, and you whipped around, flailing. Shouto’s sock launched itself full force at the intruder before you even registered you’d thrown it. In your shock, your leg caught against the table and you went stumbling—
—right into a pair of warm hands that caught you about the waist.
Your hands were on the man’s shoulders to push him off before you realized you recognized the touch—and that you’d caught sight of a distinct mop of scarlet and white hair as you’d whipped around.
“Shouto! Again?” you scolded reflexively, even as your heartbeat stuttered out of its wild kick into high gear. You tipped your head back to stare your boyfriend in the face, shoulders slumping in relief, letting him take some of your weight.
Shouto peered down at you, that tiny scrunch between his brows that indicated concern. “Are you alright, love?”
Your heartbeat pounded thunderously in your chest. “I’m—fine. But my god we need to get you a bell. I almost peed.”
Shouto’s mouth shifted minutely into something that might not have registered in anyone else’s face but was most definitely a regretful downturn on his. He looked even more unfairly beautiful than when he’d left you this morning—a little flushed and windswept from the unseasonable cold, that full mouth pink and pretty.
Your mind flicked momentarily off and back on like a circuit breaker, the way it always did when you had to process Shouto.
You’d understood he was once-in-a-generation levels of beautiful before you’d even met him, his face staring up at you from the glossy pages of various tabloids over the years. But in person, even after years of knowing him and several more dating him, Shouto’s appearance still managed to cross all the wires in a person’s brain. His features were an incomprehensible blend of aloof and elegant, sensual and warm—like a cold masterpiece of a marble sculpture had suddenly found himself with a consciousness and human desires and miles of warm skin.
“I did not mean to startle you,” he said, his voice low and warm. He sounded sincerely regretful.
You knew he hadn’t meant to—you’d long suspected his silent tread was habitually ingrained in him from years of hero work. And, in your most private and ungenerous thoughts, you suspected from years of making himself unobtrusive in his father’s home. The thought sat sour in your mouth, like a slice of pickled lemon.
You resisted making an equally sour face, shoving the thought away to make space for the reflexive flush of pleasure seeing Shouto always brought you.
“Welcome home, Sho,” you said instead, smiling up at him. Shouto’s hands moved on your waist, sliding gently beneath the hem of your tee-shirt to rest on the skin there.
He was still in his hero uniform, and as usual you felt a little goofy in comparison, in nothing but a tee and a well-loved pair of fraying sweatpants, which were this afternoon decorated with little flecks of soup from a brush with the pot.
But Shouto’s eyes were warm where they rested on you, and that perfect mouth crept back into a contented set. His long fingers smoothed over your skin as he watched you, thumb brushing your hip. He did not look like he found you at all goofy.
In fact, as his eyes dropped down to your ankles, slowly dragging back up to your face, you rather thought he looked a little appreciative. He even took a rather ungentlemanly step back, still holding you, to better take in the whole picture. His eyes wandered over the swell of your hip, the lines of the shirt against your chest, before darting to his own shirt, still folded over your shoulder.
His fingers flexed tellingly on your waist, and those heterochromatic eyes were both a little bit darker as they flicked back to yours.
His obvious regard made you feel warm. You shifted on your feet, shuffling.
“I was just—doing laundry,” you said for something to say, your mouth feeling kind of dry. Something about him always made you feel sort of shy and light-headed, even after all this time together. “And I made soup. I was thinking we could eat on the couch and watch one of those horrendous old All Might films?”
Shouto’s eyes darted to the stove, then beside you to the pile of your laundry, lingering for a long minute. His long lashes dipped, almost fluttering as his gaze traced over the tangle of your things together. His eyes flicked back to you. He was still for just a moment, watching you assessingly.
And then all of a sudden the world spun in front of your eyes. The hands at your waist lifted you clean off your feet, and you let out a startled “oof!” as you found yourself laid out in the pile of laundry on the table, sheets and sweaters bunching beneath you.
Shouto moved over you, stepping between your spread thighs, right at the edge of the table.
“You have no idea,” he intoned in a deep, delicious tone that went right down your spine, “what it is to come home to you like this.”
You wondered at that, feeling a strange combination of confusion and flattery, when Shouto’s mouth descended onto yours. His mouth was soft and sweet and insistent and absolutely perfect. The table groaned as he laid some of his weight out over you, pinning you into the laundry as he kissed you.
Your fingers clutched at him immediately, curling in his silky-soft hair, cupping his face to yours. One of Shouto’s own hands shifted to your thigh, holding you against him as he pressed himself harder into you.
You heard yourself making little gasps of appreciation as Shouto’s mouth moved down to your neck, laving hot kisses down your throat. You reveled in the feeling of him over you, broad and strong, his shoulders blocking the glow of the overhead light, casting shadows over you.
He’d been a lot like this lately, ever since you’d moved in together. He’d been adequately amorous before, of course, and blessed with a pro hero’s strength and unflagging stamina. But a few weeks after you’d moved in together you’d actually decided you needed to reactivate your gym membership given the amount of incredibly athletic sex you were suddenly having over almost every surface in the house.
One of the only spots yet to be touched was the table though, which Shouto seemed determined to rectify at this very moment.
He pulled back from you, his mouth flush from your kisses, looking a little entranced as he stepped out from between your thighs. You made a little noise at the loss of weight and heat over you, but Shouto caught the fabric of your sweatpants, gently but determinedly tugging them off of you. Your underwear was tossed right over one broad shoulder as Shouto went to his knees, and then his mouth was right back on you.
A wave of wild heat licked up your stomach at the noise of appreciation he made before sealing his mouth over you, strong fingers clutching your thighs to keep them apart.
“Oh my god!” you said, pleasure zinging right up your spine with the first lave of his tongue over you. “Shouto!”
Shouto let out a deep, pleased hum, two long fingers sinking into you embarrassingly easily as he worked your clit with his mouth. Your back arched and you could feel your clothing shift with you, Shouto’s shirt balling up under your shoulder blade, still half-draped over your shoulder.
“Oh, oh!” you heard yourself saying as your fingers twisted in the clothing, shuddering with every lick and suck of Shouto’s perfect, amazing, talented mouth.
He worked you with the expertise of long, dedicated practice—everything about him calculated to drive you insane. One moment he was excruciatingly soft, mouth slack and the touch of his tongue as fleeting and light as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Then the next he was sucking relentlessly, teasing firmly with the tip of his tongue as his fingers played with you.
Your first climax hit you mortifyingly quickly, and Shouto seemed to know it before you did. His grip tightened on you, holding you down as you bucked against his mouth. Shouto looked more than a little smug as he got to his feet again, unbelting himself and laying back out over you.
He kissed you some more, the taste of yourself always a sort of shock to your system. But Shouto never seemed to mind, and if anything only seemed hungrier for you, mouth pulling at yours like he meant to devour you.
You felt the touch of his hand between your thighs as he lined himself up, then sank into you easily, groaning appreciatively like he’d just sunk into a hot bath. He bit carefully at your neck, one large hand pressing your stomach down to keep you pinned against the edge of the table where he wanted you.
“I always want to come home to you like this,” he intoned into the skin of your neck, his mouth sucking dizzying patterns into your skin. “Always.”
You could barely think past the slide of him inside you, thick and full and blissfully exquisite. He really was the most perfect man on earth, and he always felt like it too.
You barely managed to blink your eyes open to watch him, trying to catch his meaning in his face. Shouto watched you back, those blue and grey pinned on you like he couldn’t bear to look away from you as he moved inside you.
“You—” you panted out, trying to cling to the thoughts threatening to wiggle out of your grip. “What do you—? Of course you’ll always come home to me.”
Shouto bucked into you harder, the slap of his hip against the bottom of your thigh echoing loudly over the burble of soup on the stove. His eyelashes fluttered, mouth softening, and a realization struck you almost dizzy.
Oh, he really liked that.
You suppressed a wave of giddiness, charmed and helplessly pleased that he seemed to like the idea so much. Was that why he’d been so especially ardent this past month? Was it really because you’d moved in together?
Shouto’s arm hooked under one of your legs, drawing it up firmly over his shoulder so he could press even further inside of you. He looked so good like that that you nearly lost the thread of your thoughts, especially when his next thrust felt like that. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head.
“Ah!” escaped you. “Fuck, Shouto. Like that, please!”
Shouto’s thumb pressed down on your still-sensitive clit and he had to dig the fingers of his other hand into the flesh of your leg to keep you from bucking him right out of you with the way you squirmed. Sweet fucking gods he was unreal.
Shouto fucked you harder, the sound of your skin slapping together obscene in the quiet of the kitchen.
You tried again, struggling to watch his reaction with the way you wanted to throw your head back and babble nonsense instead.
“You’ll always come home to me,” you repeated, gratified when Shouto’s grip on you tightened, a soft sound escaping him. “You want me right here for you?”
“Ah—yes, love,” Shouto panted, staring down at you again. He looked like he knew what you were doing but didn’t care. “Yes,” he hissed.
“Just like this?” you prompted, trying not to slur the edges of your speech when he gave another particularly mind-bending thrust of his hips. His chest rose and fell heavily and he looked a little wild-eyed, gazing down at you.
“Like this, for me,” he said. “In my home, in our home—”
You could hear the table squeal and groan with the force of his next thrust, and then you had to grip the sides of it to steady yourself as he fucked you, looking blissful. Your nails scrabbled at the edges of the table, caught in between a million sensations—the glorious fullness of Shouto inside you, the gentle grind of his thumb against your clit, the way he looked all flushed and beautiful and panting and wanting—
You squeezed your eyes shut, too overcome with the sight of him to look at him anymore, but it was no use. Your entire body trembled as you came, and Shouto let out a low swear at the way you clenched up around him, hunching over you and pressing himself so impossibly hard against you as he came too.
He slumped down against you, weighing you into the soft-smelling cotton of the laundry you were now definitely going to have to rewash. You could feel his chest rise and fall as he panted, his breath tickling the skin under your ear. He left an unbearably soft, sweet kiss just under the lobe, at odds with the near-wild way he’d just been fucking you.
You warmed, petting through his hair with a helpless affection.
“Well now I know what time I should always do our laundry,” you said.
Shouto huffed into your neck, but you could feel a tiny smile curve his mouth.
“It is not just that,” he said, but did not elaborate for some minutes until you elbowed him gently. He peeled himself off of you just enough to look down into your face. “It is the thought of our life together. Our clothes piled together. You in the home we chose and we made…” he said, trailing off.
But you thought you got the sentiment. It was about how easy it was, how uncomplicated. A safe place to come home to, no expectations, just soup and a pile of sweet-smelling laundry and someone happy to see you. It was something far away from what he'd grown up thinking a home was, possibly something he’d thought he’d never have—something you were determined to make him realize now that he always would.
You let your fingers pull through his hair again, smiling up at him. “I am going to have to do our laundry again, though,” you teased. “In case that interests you.”
And despite what he’d just said, Shouto did in fact look a little too interested. You watched his mismatched gaze trail over to the closet that opened onto the washer and dryer. A contemplative look snuck across his handsome face, carefully curling the corner of that plush mouth.
“There is another place we have not yet broken in,” he said slowly, voice dipping low. He looked down at you with an earnest expression completely in contrast to what he was suggesting.
You couldn’t help but laugh, and that was all the permission he needed to pull you up, gathering you up in his arms and layering a fat handful of laundry on top of you. His belt buckle rattled loosely beneath you where he'd barely done it up in his haste, and you laughed harder when he turned off the stove as you passed it.
Though it turned out to be a needed precaution—as neither of you found yourselves free to sit down to dinner for several hours yet.
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hairmetal666 · 1 month ago
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Eddie's still a couple miles from home when the van dies. The engine gives a few pitiful putters before groaning and rolling to a definitive stop. He drops his head to the steering wheel, letting out a groan of his own.
He was at the Hideout, it's like 1am, and he can't sleep out in the van, not after last time, when Powell found him.
He's walking home. The shortest route is to cut through the woods, which he hates, but the moon is out and there's still some leftover late-August mugginess in the air, so it's fine. It's fine. Not like there's anything to be scared of in the forests of Hawkins, Indiana.
He's close to home when he trips on an exposed root, scrapes his hand against the sticks and rocks on the forest floor.
"Fuck, shit," he mutters. In the weak light of the moon, he sees the gleaming red seeping from the cut on his palm. It stings. He swipes it on his jeans, keeps going.
The nature sounds go quiet all at once, like someone turned them off, and goosebumps raise on the back of his neck.
Further into the woods, off to his left, something lets out a high-pitched chitter, nothing like he's ever heard before. His heart rate skyrockets, feet moving faster now. There's a flashlight in the van he wishes he thought to bring with him; why hadn't he grabbed it?
He hears the snap and crackle of branches and dead leaves under heavy feet, the crashing through the woods growing louder as the thing moves closer. In the dark of the trees he sees a massive, hulking shape, certainly not human, running straight at him.
Eddie stumbles back--
A dark shape leaps from the woods to his right, a strangled scream slips from his throat but--
It's a...dog?
That doesn't make sense, it's too big, too--
It positions itself in front of Eddie, thick growl rumbling straight through his bones.
This close, he can see that it's a wolf, but that's wrong too. There aren't wolves in Indiana, and it's still too big, bigger than any wolf he's ever seen on Wild Kingdom.
It snarls, creeps towards the other creature still lurking between the trees.
He's terrified to move, to get the attention of either of these things, but then the wolf turns, illuminated in the moon glow. Its coat is thick, chestnut and light brown. Its eyes are bright hazel with flecks of gold, clear and intelligent. His stomach swoops, but not with fear.
It whips its attention away, but it's pressing against him, pushing him back towards civilization.
A fleshy, wet humanoid leg emerges from the tree line and the wolf makes a terrible noise as it lunges. He takes off running.
His body wasn't made for sprinting, but he keeps going until he reaches the trailer, until he throws himself through the front door. He stays there, leaning against it, until he stops shaking. He needs a joint, like ten of them, needs to forget this night ever happened, because what the fuck.
Later, when he's so high he can't move, he can't stop thinking about the wolf's eyes, that there was something weirdly familiar about them.
The next morning, he hardly remembers any of it.
When he bothers to go to school the next week, Steve Harrington says hi to him, even though they've never spoken before.
He doesn't go back into the woods.
---
Steve keeps saying hi to him, like it's normal for them. Then again, Steve now spends most of his time with this junior from band, Robin Buckley. Anyway, who the hell knows what's normal anymore.
There's this one night in early November, he's smoking on the porch, giddy from finishing a song, smiling up at the full moon.
And he's so happy, elated, electrified by creativity, that he forgets about the woods, finds himself staring right into them.
A pair of golden eyes stare back.
He's not afraid.
That same swooping sensation from before grips his stomach, doesn't let up.
The wolf steps forward, not out of the trees, just closer. Without thought, he mimics the move.
There's a soft rustle of brush and the eyes blink out. Eddie keeps staring, transfixed. His heart's speeding but not with fear.
---
By January, he's actual, real life friends with Steve Harrington. They're hanging out like that's a regular thing they do. He supposes, by now, it is.
He also meets the gaggle of eighth graders that follow Harrington around like ducklings. When they find out he runs a dnd club, they become obsessed with him too.
He doesn't see the wolf again.
---
Eventually, he forgets all about why he's supposed to avoid the woods.
He plans a deal at Skull Rock, thoughtless, and once he's there he's not scared at all. The sun is high in the sky, the air warm, birds swoop and sing and insects chirp.
Eddie clamors up the rock, pulls his notebook and a pen out of his back pocket.
He only means to stay for a little bit, maybe an hour or two, but it's so nice out, and you can't really blame a guy if his eyes get a little heavy. If maybe he doesn't quite try to fight the urge to sleep.
When he wakes up, it's full dark.
The moon is out, stars bright, but the birds are gone and so is the heat of the day. He shivers, and it's got very little to do with the cold. If he runs, he can make it back to the van in five minutes, probably less.
A creeping chitter crackles through the air and the night bugs go quiet.
Eddie curls his knees into his chest. He remembers now, why he needed to stay out of the forest.
There's a shadow that separates itself from the cover of the underbrush. It moves in silence, not even a stick or a leaf cracking where it steps. It stops in front of the rock, lips pulled back to reveal long, deadly teeth. It's growling softly.
The wolf.
"I'm sorry," Eddie says. Doesn't know why he's talking to it. "I lost track of time, I--I'm sorry."
The wolf tosses its head, annoyed, and again he's struck by the odd familiarity of the gesture. It turns its attention from him, pacing along the clearing, Its body carefully placed between Eddie and whatever is lurking in the deeper forest.
Hours pass that way, the wolf's focus never faltering even when nothing appears. The sky brightens, and the danger doesn't seem so immediate. The wolf lays down at the base of the rock formation, and Eddie finally lets himself relax too. He falls asleep between one blink and the next.
A bright beam of sunlight hits him just across the eyes, dragging him back to consciousness. There's a hazy second where he doesn't remember anything about where he is or what happened, but it's kind of hard to ignore what sleeping on a big rock does to your body.
He also realizes--he's not alone. There's someone on the rock with him. Someone sturdy and radiating heat, their body nestled tight against his.
Eddie springs up, heart racing, to find--
Steve Harrington. Naked Steve Harrington. Curled up with him on Skull Rock. What the fuck
He thinks he's going to choke on his tongue.
Steve is gorgeous. So fucking hot. All his sun-kissed skin on display, the constellations of freckles and moles, and--god, he's just a little bit hard. And Eddie gets it, okay, he knows it just happens sometimes, but Steve's a little hard, and perfectly pink at the tip, and Eddie--
He pulls the leather jacket from around his own shoulders, places it over Steve's waist, but even though he's careful--gentle--Steve stirs, nose wrinkling.
Eddie draws away, nervous, as Steve blinks to wakefulness, staring right at him.
"Wha--" he wipes the sleep from eyes his and Eddie watches as understanding dawns on Steve's handsome face. "Oh. Fuck."
And Eddie, he's putting it together, he thinks. He thinks--the familiar golden hazel eyes and the annoyed shake of the head and--it's not possible. It's not. But how is Steve here right now? Why is he naked? What reason besides--
"It's you?" He breathes, doesn't even really mean to say it aloud.
Steve gives one sharp nod, looks away.
"You're a werewolf?" Eddie's voice breaks.
"Shu--it's not--I'm--" Steve's shoulders sag. "Yeah, I guess I'm a werewolf."
"Holy shit, Steve. Holy. Shit. Are there more? Jesus Christ."
"I'm the only one that I know of."
"But-- Weren't you bitten? Or--don't tell me--were you born like this?"
"Um. I was bitten by a dog that seemed completely normal. Obviously--" he gestures to himself. "Something was going on there. We think--"
"Sorry, we? There's a we?"
"Oh, well, Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan know. So do Dustin and the rest of the kids. Joyce Byers. Hopper--"
"The POLICE CHIEF knows you're a WEREWOLF," Eddie yells. It startles some birds in a nearby tree, making both he and Steve flinch.
Steve's ears go red. "Hop, he's not--not bad. We--he's helped us out a couple times. Um, there's also a doctor? Who knows? He works for the government and he's trying to figure out why I'm, you know."
"What the fuck, Steve. Like. What the fuck? A government doctor knows you're a werewolf?"
"It's um. You've heard the stories about something being wrong with Hawkins?" Eddie nods. "They're not just stories."
It's a lot to take in. That Hawkins really is cursed, that Steve really is a werewolf, that--
"So, that was actually a--a monster? In the woods? And you--you were, what, looking out for me?"
"Well, I wouldn't need to if you stopped going into the goddamn forest!" There's that annoyed head shake.
"I didn't mean to!'
"What about yesterday??"
"I didn't mean to fall asleep!"
"For fuck's sake, Eddie!"
"I'm sorry!" He throws his hands up. "You could've told me there was a monster."
Steve glares. "Yeah, cause that's an easy conversation. 'Hey, Ed, just so you know, monsters are real. I'm kinda one of them. And some of them in the woods around Hawkins want to eat you'."
"It would've been helpful! And that night, at the trailer, you were--?"
"Making sure you were okay."
"But. Why?"
"Don't you feel it?"
And Eddie doesn't even have to ask what it is. "Yeah, I--yeah."
Their eyes lock and his stomach goes all warm and swoopy. Eddie forces a laugh, forces himself to look away. "So, being a werewolf made you gay?"
Steve coughs out a choked sound. "No, I--no. I was--before."
Honestly, this information is more shocking than Steve being a werewolf. "But--King Steve. All those girls?"
"Robin thinks I was--um--what's it called? Like using that to avoid that I'm also attracted to, you know, dudes. "
"And--it's--Sorry, but this is insane. It's me? That you like?"
Steve laughs. "Why is it easer to believe that I'm a werewolf?"
"I don't--I guess it's cause I've seen you as a werewolf."
"To be fair, you've also seen me, who is gay."
"That's--that's--" Eddie splutters. "Fair."
"Do you remember performing in that talent show?" Steve asks.
"In junior high? Yeah."
"I thought you were really--you did a good job."
"Oh. You--huh." Eddie hides his face in his hands, tries to smother the laugh, but it's impossible.
"Don't--" Steve shoves at him, "Don't laugh! I--you were cute! Goofy! I thought you had nice hands!"
"That's all it takes?" He smirks, can't help but be pleased that Steve's had a crush on him all this time, that it's always been mutual.
"You were nice," Steve says. He's serious now. "You were always kind."
He doesn't know what to say to that, how to hide his growing blush. "So, your werewolf senses know that you like me," he teases.
Steve's neck is read now too. "Um. Yeah? I--yeah. Robin says it's fera--feram--that I'm drawn to your scent"
"Oh, pheromones. Oh." And it's all sort of hitting him now, that this is real, that Steve--he and Steve--oh. "I, uh, like you too, if that wasn't obvious."
"I know." Steve taps the tip of his nose. "I can smell it."
"That's--oh god--that's. So embarrassing. All this time??"
"Only this year"
"That doesn't make it better! Oh my god."
"You've got it so bad," Steve sing-songs, pulls Eddie closer.
"I can't believe the werewolf of Hawkins has a supernatural crush on me."
"Werewolf of--no, absolutely not. You are not calling me that." Steve swats at him.
"Oooh, yes, I am." He pushes Steve back.
"Do you know what will happen if Dustin hears that?"
"Unfortunately for you, that's not a deterrent."
"You're going to be so much trouble--" Steve moves to grab him, Eddie's jacket slipping down his torso. "Oh shit, I'm naked."
"You are very much naked." Eddie can't help his wide grin.
"Don't--don't be gross about it."
"Oh, so you think you'd be normal about waking up to the guy you have a massive crush on naked next to you?"
"I--I--" Steve goes crimson. "Shut-up!"
Eddie giggles, leans into him, and Steve twines their fingers together.
"Okay, but let's get out of here? There's only so long I can tolerate being naked sitting on a rock."
They climb down, Eddie valiantly not oogling Steve the entire time.
"So, do you only turn at the full moon? Does it hurt? How did everyone find out? You have to tell me about the other monsters. Are there vampires? Is anyone else I know a monster? Oh my god, is Robin a witch?"
Steve sighs, can't quite hide the grin pulling at his lips. "I'm not answering all that."
"Steve!"
"I've signed a bunch of NDAs."
"A bunch of--what the hell? Steve! You can't just--"
Steve grabs his hands, squeezes. "I'll tell you. All of it. Promise. Just, not right now?"
Eddie bites his lip in thought, tries not to notice Steve staring at his mouth. "Ugh, fine. But I won't forget you owe me explanations. Plural!"
"Yeah, yeah." Steve rolls his eyes, tugs Eddie forward.
They walk a few steps in silence before Eddie belts out, "Aroooooo, werewolves of Hawkins!" before taking off through the trees.
"Eddie, seriously?" Steve calls after him, only to be met by the echo of his laughter. "Are you really trying to outrun a werewolf right now? I mean, honestly."
"Catch me if you can, sweetheart."
Steve's laugh is a little bit like a bark as he starts to chase.
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imaginedisish · 5 months ago
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Wild Horses (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)
A/N: Proofreading took way longer than I thought; sorry this didn't go up on time, y'all. Anyway, the song references came from an idea from an anon, but the fic itself isn't a request. Working through requests now (sorry I haven't been doing more). I really like this fic, and I hope you guys do too. There are a couple of songs in this one, but "Wild Horses" by the Stones is def a Logan song. Enjoy!
Summary: Logan takes you out for a friendly drink...that ends up being more than just friendly.
Warnings: 18+ SEXUALLY EXPLICIT CONTENT MINORS DNI! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, porn with very little plot, implied!age gap (Logan is older than everyone, tho?), friends to lovers, alcohol consumption, cursing, feelings, f!reader/afab!reader, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.
Word Count: 4,362 back on my BS
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You’re sitting in a chair in the hallway, decompressing from the day—which, to be honest, is impossible in a place like this. Kids playing, running, yelling, T.Vs blaring all across the mansion. It’s always so noisy, always so active. And sometimes, that can be too much. 
A cacophony of voices bursts down the hall. One is bassy, louder, angrier than all the others. You smile softly to yourself. Logan. You can hear his footsteps against the hardwood floors as he makes his way towards the front door. He has his keys in his hand, and his leather jacket on his back. 
You perk up, trying not to seem upset that he’s on his way out. Although it’s probably no use; you wear your heart on your sleeve. You care about Logan, and that care extends beyond friendship. You’ve wanted him for months, but you’re not quite sure if he’ll ever feel the same. You’re friends—close friends—but just friends. 
He looks over to you, his frown suddenly turning to a smile. “I’m going out,” he says, nodding to the door. “Wanna come?”
“S-sure,” you stutter, pushing yourself up from your chair. You look down at your denim shorts and tank top. “I don’t know if I should change tho—” “You look perfect,” Logan says, shaking his head and smiling. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you try your best not to overthink Logan’s words. His hand is at your back, warm and undeniably massive, guiding you with him to the door. 
A cough erupts from behind you. “Where are you going, Logan?” You know exactly whose voice that is. 
You and Logan turn around, and there’s Scott. “Out,” is all Logan says, gruff and short. 
“We aren’t done talking, and you still have to run drills with—”
But Logan is tugging your arm and leading you out the door and towards the garage before Scott can get a word in. 
“Logan!” Scott calls from the front door. But Logan doesn’t stop, his hand now clasping around yours. He raises his fist in the air and unleashes just one of his claws: the middle. You giggle as Logan leads you inside the garage.
He walks you to the passenger door of his truck, opening it for you and closing it once you’re safe inside. It doesn’t hit you until he’s walking around the front that he opened the door for you. 
He slips in the driver’s side door and turns the key in the ignition, the truck springing to life. He pulls out of the garage, down the driveway, and through the gate. 
“So, where are we going?” You ask, turning to face Logan. 
His eyes drift between you and the road, a small smile playing on his lips. “Thought maybe we could get a drink,” he says, eyes on you again. There’s something behind his stare—a softness, maybe. It’s intoxicating and dizzying. It’s so distracting that you have to force yourself to acknowledge what he said.
“Sounds good,” you finally answer, smiling back at him. He nods, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift, dangerously close to your bare thigh. 
The ride to the bar is quick and quiet, but not uncomfortable. You feel safe with Logan, cozy, like you could have spent the entire night just driving around with him. The bar looks like a little cabin—definitely Logan’s kind of place. It’s quaint, and perhaps a tad divey. But you don’t mind. You’re with Logan; that’s all that matters.
He slips out of the car, and you follow suit. He’s at your side when you open the door, smirking, holding out his hand to help you out of the truck. You take it, stepping onto the gravel of the parking lot. You think he’ll let go, that he’ll drop your hand to your side, but he doesn’t. 
Logan leads the way into the honeyed, yellow light of the bar. It spills across the porch as he opens the door, the light consuming you as you walk inside. The bar is warm, filled with couples and friends sharing drinks and listening to music. Some people are dancing over by a set of speakers. You smile, instantly recognizing the song blaring from the speakers. 
I met her in a club down in old Soho Where you drink champagne and it tastes just like Coca-Cola C-O-L-A, Cola
You sing along, mouthing the words to Logan. A grin spreads across his face, his gaze flitting between your eyes and your lips. “You know this song? You like The Kinks?” He asks, his eyes narrowing as he tugs you over to a stool at the bar. 
“Of course! How old do you think I am?” You ask, moving your shoulders to the song as you sit down. 
He smirks, shaking his head. “Younger than me!” He shouts over the music, sitting down next to you, finally letting go of your hand. You wish he didn’t. You wish he held on. 
“Everyone is younger than you!” You shout back, singing the lyrics and swaying your head from side to side. 
Well, I'm not the world's most physical guy But when she squeezed me tight, she nearly broke my spine Oh, my Lola Lo-Lo-Lo-Lo-Lola
Logan is watching you—watching the way your lips make that O in Lola, the way your hips shake in the chair, the way you throw your head back laughing when you mess up a line. He’s entranced by you. You finally notice him watching, and you giggle, hiding your face in your hands. 
Your eyes widen as his hands come up to yours, tearing them away from your face. “No hiding,” he says softly, so only you can hear him. “It was cut—”
“What’ll you two be having?” The bartender interrupts, arms crossed against his chest, towel thrown over his shoulder. 
“I’ll have a Coors, and she’ll have…” Logan turns to look at you, and you nod towards him. He takes the hint immediately, as if he can read your mind. “The same as me.” You smile as the bartender walks away to get your drinks. 
You part your lips, almost ready to ask Logan what he was going to say before the bartender cut him off, but you’re interrupted again as your beers are placed in front of you. 
“Thanks, bub,” Logan says, pulling out a twenty-dollar bill and slapping it on the counter. The bartender grabs the bill and walks off to help the next patron. 
“So…” you trail off, watching as more people drift to the makeshift dance floor. “Have you been here before?” You ask, making conversation. There’s something about being out with Logan that makes you more nervous than usual. He’s never awkward to be around or hard to talk to. But in here? Out together? Alone? This is different. It’s almost like…
A date. 
“Just a few times,” Logan answers, snapping you back to reality. His long fingers wrap around the neck of his bottle, and he takes a swig. You catch the way he licks the little droplets on his upper lip, his tongue darting out all quick and gentle. You can’t help but wonder what his tongue would feel like against your own lips, and in other places too. Now is certainly one of those moments when you’re thankful Logan isn’t a telepath.  
You trace your fingers over the wet, cool bottle and take a swig, too. It’s ice cold, the alcohol burning at the back of your throat ever so slightly. Lola fades out, and Whole Lotta Love starts up. You nod your head, singing along in between quick sips. 
Logan shakes his head. “This one too?” 
“Oh my god, old man,” you remark sardonically. “Do you think I live under a rock?” 
“Didn’t peg you for a Zeppelin girl,” Logan says, tipping his bottle to you. “I’m impressed.” 
“Well, maybe there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you say, meeting his bottle with yours. The clink is almost suppressed by the bass of the music. You bring the beer back to your lips and watch as Logan sips, too.
“Yeah?” He asks, pulling the bottle away. “What else don’t I know?” He leans in, his shoulder brushing yours. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the music pumping through your body, but you find the courage to lean into him. You can smell him—the pine and musk and tobacco on his flannel, his body. 
Your face is inches from his as you turn towards him, your noses practically touching. “I like dancing,” you hum. You down the last dregs of your beer and set it on the counter, grabbing Logan’s arm as Robert Plant’s voice croons throughout the bar. 
Way down inside
He knocks back the last of his beer, placing it on the counter as you tug him to the outskirts of the dance floor. 
Woman, you need, yeah
“I don’t usually dance,” he says, his hands finding your waist despite his words. He squeezes softly.
Love...
“But I’ll dance with you,” he says against the shell of your ear. And then his hips are rocking into yours, swaying with you to the beat. He’s never been this close, never this intimate with you. His lips ghost yours as the guitar and the drums echo against the wood floors and walls of the bar. 
Shake for me girl
I wanna be your backdoor man
You need more, need him closer. Logan pulls you in—chest to chest—his grip on your waist tightening. His hands slide around your back, slipping under your shirt. Your heart beats out of your chest as his fingers trail up and down your back. His lips find your ear again. 
“You’re pretty when you dance,” he whispers. “Pretty all the time.”
You look up at him as the song fades out. You part your lips to say something, but the next song starts up before you can find the words. You recognize the opening riff immediately, the acoustic guitar strumming gently through the speakers. It’s slow and soft. Logan pulls you back into his arms, closer this time. His palms rest against your lower back, and you let your arms wrap around his neck. 
“Don’t tell me you know this one too,” he husks, his lips at your ear again. 
Graceless lady
You know who I am
You know I can't let you
Slide through my hands
You smile into the crook of his neck. “Of course I do,” you answer. “Wild Horses. The Stones.”
“God, you’re fucking perfect,” he murmurs, pressing his hips harder against yours. You let your head fall to his shoulder as you lean into his chest. You can feel that ache between your legs spreading like wildfire. Friends don’t talk like this. Friends don’t dance like this. 
Because maybe you two aren’t friends. Maybe you never have been. 
“Logan,” you call, lifting your head. 
He’s just centimeters away, his eyes locked on yours. He tightens his hold on your lower back, your foreheads pressing together. “Wanted you for so long, pretty girl.” 
And then his lips find yours, consuming you, engulfing you like an open flame. He’s warm and soft, better than black treacle and golden honey and maple syrup. It’s slow and languid, his arms wrapping around you tighter, trying to pull you closer. 
Wild horses
Couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses
We'll ride them someday
You reluctantly pull away as the song goes on, looking up at Logan—looking for more. 
“We should get out of here,” he says, keeping one hand firmly around your waist as he guides you off the dance floor and towards the door.
He grips you tightly as you head to the truck, practically breaking the passenger door off the hinges as he opens it for you. He closes the door more carefully now that you’re inside. In the blink of an eye, Logan is on the other side, opening the driver’s door and slipping in. He turns the key in the ignition, and quickly makes his way out of the parking lot and onto the road. 
His hand moves across the center console and finds your bare thigh—exactly where you wanted him to be on the way here. His thumb brushes gentle circles into your skin. Something about it is possessive, like he needs to touch you, needs to know that you’re not going anywhere. His foot is practically through the floor as he presses down on the gas, racing back to the mansion. 
A few minutes later, Logan is pulling into the garage, his hand giving your thigh one last squeeze before putting the truck in park. And then you’re both tumbling out of the truck and towards the mansion. 
Logan’s hand finds yours, tugging you along and through the door. The mansion is swallowed in darkness save for the few hall lights scattered here and there. 
He suddenly pins you against the wall, his lips capturing yours. “Could fuck you right here,” he whispers. “But I wanna fuck you properly.” He steals another kiss before letting you go and leading you up the stairs towards his bedroom.
Logan twists the doorknob and guides you inside. Moonlight pushes through his curtains, washing his bed in white light. He turns around to face you, grabbing your waist and pushing you against the door. He’s caging you in, towering over you. 
“Logan,” you whisper, his lips crashing down on yours again. He’s all firm and solid against you. He bites your lower lip, his tongue swiping across to soothe the sting. You can feel his erection straining in his jeans, throbbing. He needs you, and you need him too.
“Want you so fucking bad, pretty girl,” Logan says between kisses. His hands slide down to your ass, squeezing gently before hoisting you up in his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you across the room. He settles you in the center of the bed and climbs on top of you. He’s straddling you now, grabbing the bottom of his flannel and pulling it up and over his head. He’s wearing one of those beaters that you love so much underneath—tight against his abs. 
Logan lowers himself down over you, balancing on his forearm while his free hand explores your body. He slips under your tank top, his fingernails tracing every inch of your stomach. Your shirt hikes up as he reaches higher. He finally hits the hem of your bra and looks down at you. 
His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “You sure you want this, sweetheart?” He asks, his fingers dipping tentatively underneath your bra. 
“Y-yes,” you stutter, arching up into his touch. “More than anything.” 
His hand slips around your back in an instant, unclasping your bra before you fall back down to the mattress. He sits up, knees on either side of your waist, straddling you again. 
He grabs the hem of your shirt and practically tears it from your body, your bra falling away with it, leaving your upper half bare before him. His hands find your tits, grabbing, squeezing, palming them. “So fucking beautiful,” he husks, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. He settles back down over you, resting on his forearm as his free hand continues to glide over your breasts, pinching and pawing. 
“Lo,” you whine, rubbing your thighs together, searching for more friction. “N-need…” You trail off, unable to finish a coherent thought.
“I know, princess,” he soothes, swallowing your whines with a kiss. His lips trail to your jaw, your pulse point, and down to your collarbone. He keeps moving down, pressing a kiss between the valley of your breasts and then to your belly button. He spreads your legs with the palms of his hands and settles between them, his fingers tracing the skin just above the waistband of your shorts. 
You sit up on your elbows, staring down at him. He smiles softly, cocking his head as one of his hands unbuttons your shorts and pulls the zipper down. He’s teasing you, leading you on as he thumbs your clit through the denim. A jolt of pleasure shoots up your spine. You can tell by that smirk, that look on his face, that he’s loving this. 
“Please,” you whimper, and Logan obliges, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts and panties, tugging them down your legs and throwing them over his shoulder.
He settles back in between your thighs, his palms splayed on either side. His breath is hot against your cunt. “You gonna keep these pretty legs spread for me?” He huffs, and you nod emphatically. You need him now—you can’t wait any longer.
“Lo,” you whine again. “Please, fuc—”
But you’re cut off as he licks a long stripe through your folds and up to your clit. He does it again, another slow, long stripe. He’s taking you in, consuming you, committing your taste to memory. He smiles against you as one of his hands climbs up your inner thigh. 
“Tastes so fucking good, sweetheart,” he mumbles against you, the bass of his voice rocking through your body. His fingers finally find your folds, your slit, spreading your slick before gently prodding your entrance. “Pretty little pussy,” Logan murmurs, shoving two fingers deep inside you. He takes your clit between his lips, sucking roughly, his teeth grazing the bud. 
You curse under your breath as he laps at you—starving, reckless. His face is buried deep in your cunt, his hair a mess. His fingers pump in and out, deepening with every thrust. His tongue swirls around your clit, drawing hard, fast circles. You’re already getting close. It’s all too much—the feeling of his fingers deep inside you, hitting that sweet spot every time. 
“I-I—” you stutter, throwing your head back as your walls flutter around Logan’s fingers. 
He chuckles against you. “You what, pretty girl?” He pulls your clit into his mouth again, sucking harder this time. “Use your words. Tell me what you need.”
“F-fuck,” you stammer. “Y-you. Just need you.”
“Yeah?” Logan answers. You can feel him smirking between laps. “Just me?” And then he’s adding a third finger, plunging deep inside. He’s dragging against your walls, scissoring inside you. 
“Y-yes,” you answer, arching your back as he pumps in and out, down to the knuckles with every thrust. “Only you.” Logan mutters a curse against your cunt as he buries himself deeper inside. “Need you too,” he hums, his tongue flicking your clit, drawing rough circles around the bud. “Such a good girl,” he praises. “Can feel you getting closer, sweetheart.” As if on command, your walls clench around him, taking him in deeper.
“Feels so good,” you choke. He’s pushing you over the edge, and you can’t hold back anymore. “L-Lo I’m gonna—” “That’s it, pretty girl. I’ve got you,” he coos between harsh laps, his pace unrelenting. “Let go for me.” 
And then you’re coming undone around him, your walls contracting and fluttering. Pleasure washes over you in warm waves like liquid fire. You’re trembling underneath him, his head still buried between your legs. His thumb brushes over your hip comfortingly as his pumps slow and his fingers slip out. His tongue drags through your folds a few more times, savoring you, before he pulls away and looks up at you. 
“You okay?” He asks, his tongue swiping out to lick your juices from his lips as he sits up on his knees. 
You nod, reaching out to him. “Need you, now,” you beckon. Logan smiles, grabbing the hem of his beater and tugging it over his head. He unbuckles his belt, letting it fall to the floor as he works at his button and zipper. His fingers hook into the waistbands of his jeans and boxers, yanking them down his legs. 
His cock springs up to his stomach, and you can’t help but let your jaw drop at the sight. Your breath catches in your throat at the size of him. You always thought he’d be big, but he’s massive. 
“Don’t worry, pretty girl,” he husks, settling between your legs as he lowers down over you. He balances on his forearm as his hand wraps around his erection, guiding his cock to your entrance. “Gonna take care of you,” he whispers, his tip sliding through your folds. “Gonna make you feel good.” 
And then he’s filling you up, bottoming out with one thrust. Your chest is flush with his, his cock unmoving inside you. You’ve never felt so full, so whole. “Fuck,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing to yours. He pulls out and plunges back in, down to the hilt again. “So fucking perfect.” 
His hand lets go of his cock but stays between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling softly. He starts to set a rhythmic, gentle pace, letting you adjust to the sheer size of him. But you know he can’t hold himself back for much longer. You can feel the way his cock twitches and throbs against your walls as he drags himself in and out. 
You rock your hips against his. “Logan,” you moan. “M-more.”
His lips find yours—two puzzle pieces coming together. “You sure, sweetheart?” He asks, his thumb adding more pressure to your clit. 
You nod. “Y-yes,” you stutter. “I can t-take it.”
He curses under his breath, pulling out and slamming back in. He pounds into you, his cock hitting that spot deep inside, where you need him most. “Wanted you this whole time, pretty girl,” Logan grunts, thrusting in and out carelessly, punishingly. “Thought about you all the time, thought about fucking you just like this.” 
“Th-thought about you too, Lo,” you whimper. 
His cock twitches inside you. “Love it when you call me that, sweetheart,” he groans, his hips snapping against yours, thumb flicking your clit. “Say it again.” “Lo,” you pant as he fucks into you. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, fingers clinging to his biceps. “Logan,” you moan again, his name the only thing on your mind. 
Your walls flutter around him as he pounds into you with reckless abandon. “That feel good, sweetheart? You like when I take what I want?”
“Fuck, Lo, yes,” you whine. You’re growing closer and closer with each snap of his hips, with every swipe of his thumb against your clit. You know you can’t last much longer, not with his lips on yours, not with his praises floating through the air. 
“Doing so good for me, princess,” he whispers, his voice deep and raspy. “Taking me so well. Can feel you squeezing me.”
You contract around him as he sinks inside you, working you open with every thrust. It’s too much. “L-Lo,” you stammer. “I’m s-so…” You trail off, your eyes fluttering open and closed. 
“I know, princess. I’ve got you,” he hums, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.” His thumb circles your clit, faster, harder, still splitting you open with every pump. “Know you can come again; know you can take it.”
You shatter underneath him as the words leave his lips, falling apart in his arms. “Logan!” You cry out, your orgasm crashing into you, harder this time. His thumb is still on your clit, his cock pumping in and out with no signs of stopping. He isn’t letting up or letting go. Your nails dig into his biceps, searching for support, purchase, something, anything. 
Logan slams into you, chasing his own orgasm as that tension builds inside you again, liquid heat raging through your body. “Lo,” you whine. “It’s s-so much.” The pressure is so intense it almost burns, but it burns deliciously. It’s thick and hazy, dizzying and uncontrollable. 
“Just a little more, pretty girl,” Logan soothes, his pace faltering, growing sloppier with each pump. “Know you have another in you, know you can take it.” 
He flicks your clit, electricity sparking at the base of your spine. You’re so close again, ready to burst. “C-close,” you stammer. 
“Me too, pretty girl,” Logan grunts, cock twitching against your walls. “Wanna fill you up, wanna stay inside.”
You wrap your arms around his back, keeping his chest pressed to yours. “P-please,” you whimper, clenching down around him uncontrollably. His thumb is still stroking your clit, back and forth, drawing rough, tight circles. 
“Come on, princess. Come on my cock again,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. You listen, his name on your lips as you let go underneath him. You’re melting into the sheets, dissolving into nothingness, into air, as your orgasm courses through you. 
Logan lets go too, filling you up, spilling inside you. “So fucking beautiful like this. Always so beautiful,” he praises, his thrusts slowing as he rides out his orgasm. He pulls out, his thumb stroking your clit a few more times, easing you down from your high. 
He presses a soft kiss to your lips, rolling onto his side and tugging you with him. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. “You have no idea how long I’ve thought about doing that…how long I’ve thought about you,” Logan confesses, his fingers drawing abstract shapes across your lower back. “Wanted you for so long, pretty girl.”
Your chests heave together, breathing in time. You can feel him, still half hard against your thigh. “I thought you saw me as just a friend,” you say, smiling at how quickly things have changed in one night. 
Logan shakes his head, smiling back. “Never saw you as just a friend, princess.” He presses another kiss to your lips, savoring the feeling of you against him. “Should’ve taken you out sooner.” He presses his forehead to yours. “But I would’ve waited…waited forever just for you.”
You can see the adoration in his eyes, the love. And you know he means it. You bury your head into his chest. “I love you, Lo,” you whisper. 
“I love you too, princess. Always have.”
tags: @ilysmdovie12 @prettyseaveins @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @silversprings-mp3 @movhoney @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @fanfic-writing-barbie @manipulatour @pedrohoe04
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withahappyrefrain · 7 months ago
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Just a Game
You and Peter like to play a game. It requires no trivia or plastic pieces. Just two people and feigned innocence.
Warnings: CNC (which has been discussed explicitly) unprotected sex, language, minor breeding kink at the very end
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You and Peter like to play a game. 
It's not a board game, though you two enjoy those from time to time. Not a video game, though Peter has expressed interest. 
This game doesn't require any trivia knowledge or plastic pieces. No one has to keep track of points. There isn't a timer. 
All this game requires is a surface and your two bodies. 
Sometimes it was a couch, when you two were in the middle of watching a movie. Other times it could be your kitchen counter, dinner be damned. Rarely, it would be the back of a car, which was your favorite. Peter’s favorite-against a wall- depended on when and where. 
Today the surface was your shared bed. 
It started innocently, like it always does. Peter found you curled up in bed, reading. He hadn’t considered playing today. But then he saw you, wearing only one of his hoodies and those pastel yellow panties that drove him wild. 
It didn’t help that Peter could smell you. Though the cover of your book didn't look out of the ordinary, your arousal revealed the true nature of your reading choice. 
“What’cha reading ladybug?” He asked, curling up to you. 
You put on an innocent smile, keeping the book to your chest, “Oh nothing. Just one of those silly romance books.” 
Peter raised his eyebrows, “Silly? Let me see.” 
Before you could squeak out an objection, Peter snatched the book away, his eyes scanning the page you were on. 
“He pushed her dress up to her hips, revealing her wet core. He dove in, lapping up her arousal like a starved man, his mouth quickly attaching itself to her clit.”
Sometimes you got so caught up in playing your role. Peter had said much dirtier things to you and yet there you were, head in your hands and a warm flush coursing through your body. 
Peter placed the book on your nightstand before bringing your hands away from your face. 
“Oh baby. You’re too sweet to be reading something like that. Why don’t we cuddle instead?”
With his brown puppy dog eyes and sweet smile, he actually sounded genuine. For a moment, you thought he wasn’t inviting you to play. Not when he had his head in your lap, practically purring as your fingernails gently scratched his scalp. 
But then his long, nimble fingers made their way under the blanket, grazing against your bare skin, drawing shapes along your thighs as he made his way up your body.
“Peter.” His name was said in a sweet, sing-song voice, “Thought you wanted to cuddle.”
He sat up, pulling you closer, “I do bug.” Peter's other hand was now underneath your shirt, creeping up to your chest.. 
“Peter,” you could barely breathe, too enthralled with how good his fingers felt kneading your breasts, “This isn’t cuddling.” 
“I know,” He sighed, as if he felt some guilt about what he was doing, “But doesn’t it feel good bug?”
You could only nod, breath hitching up when one of his large hands began to toy with the elastic waistband of your panties. 
The foreplay was fun, but it wasn't the main focus of the game. 
That didn't come until you were underneath him, completely bare and withering as his hard cock slid between your soaked folds. It was a battle, fighting the urge to jerk your hips up, potentially catching him. 
“Peter, w-we shouldn't,” your voice was shaky as you tried to come across as worried rather than in a pleasure laced haze.
“I know. We shouldn’t.” He's panting. Peter's lips ghosted over your bare skin, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses. 
In this game, your birth control and five year relationship didn't exist. 
No. In this game you were wide-eyed and innocent. In this game, both your heads were clouded with lust, longing threatening to overtake common sense. 
“Maybe,” His voice is soft, addictive. “Maybe I-we-just the tip?” 
You throw your head back when the head of his cock makes contact with your clit. Desire racked through your body, fingers creating crescent shaped marks along his back as you searched for something, anything to ground you amidst the pleasure haze that was clouding your judgment. 
Part of you wanted to break character so he would fuck you sooner. 
But where was the fun in that?
“But we-fuck- we don’t have a condom?” A box of condoms was currently stashed away in your nightstand. You had been on birth control for years. There was no concern.
Again, not in this game. 
With your wide, doe-like eyes, sweet voice, and withering body, Peter was truly surprised he hadn’t come already. 
But where was the fun in that? That didn’t allow him to play, to take off the friendly neighborhood hero mask and act out his deepest desires. 
His head dropped down to your chest, his thin pink lips quickly latching on to one of your breasts. Your back arched in pleasure, hands grabbing Peter’s soft chestnut locks upon feeling the scrape of his teeth. His hips continue to thrust forward, reminding you of what was within reach. 
“I know, forgot to bring some. It would just-just be the tip,” He sounds like he just ran a marathon. You’re so warm and wet. Everytime the plush head of his cock nudges against your clit, he can feel your walls clenching, trying to catch him, enticing him in. 
“Peter,” the way you moan his name is sweeter than any song he’s heard, “We-no. Peter, don’t.”
He’s already grabbed the backs of your thighs, hitching them up to your chest. Now he has the picture view of his cock sliding through your slicked folds. You have the prettiest cunt Peter’s ever seen and God, does he want to use it.
Your hips twitch as he nudges his cock towards your all too welcoming entrance, entranced by how your walls eagerly suck him in. Eyes roll to the back of your head upon feeling the head of his cock begin to stretch you, nearly forgetting your role in all this. 
“W-wait!” You try to prop yourself up, try to jerk your hips away. 
But Peter is stronger. It drives you crazy, his strength. His hands grasp your shoulders, pushing you back down onto the mattress. 
“It’s okay bug. Just the tip, remember?” The ambered irises are blown out with lust. Combined with the downright wicked smirk adorning his handsome face, he looks more devilish than heroic. 
It thrills you. No one else sees this side of him, only you. Only you does he feel comfortable enough to indulge in these desires. 
For a few moments, it's only the tip, sliding in and out of your tight walls. 
Sometimes he’ll dive right in, other times he'll drag it out, as if Peter is truly at war with his morals when it comes to your sweet cunt. 
“Just….just the tip,” he whispers, as though he’s trying to convince himself, trying to convince you. 
The outcome is clear, but you still nod your head. “Just the tip,” you agree. 
“So…fucking tight,” He watches where you two connect in awe, lips parted, “So warm. God…feel fuckin’ incredible.” 
The praise leaves goosebumps on your skin, almost distracting enough to not notice that Peter has been slowly pushing his cock in more and more with each passing moment. Your body betrays you, hips jerking upwards in a desperate, near pathetic attempt to get more of his cock. 
Sometimes the game is hard to keep up with. There have been times where you both forfeit, craving each other far too much to continue. 
If Peter noticed you breaking character, he didn’t acknowledge it. He’s too mesmerized by the way your cunt eagerly welcomes him. 
“Fuck, baby, m’sorry, it’s-you feel s’good.” His speech is slurred, drunk off your body. Before you can react, he thrusts forward, filling you to the brim. 
Finally. 
“Pete-no! We can’t!” You plead, despite your body enthusiastically welcoming the intrusion, “You said-ah! You said the-the tip!”
His cock twitches at your words, at the feigned concern in your voice. His lips ghost over your face, hips increasing the speed of their thrusts. 
“I know, I know,” it’s almost convincing, that he truly feels bad for this, for giving in to lust. As if neither of you wanted it. 
He picks up his pace, shushing your fake protests. His cock feels incredible, so full. No matter how much prep beforehand, the sheer size of Peter is still an adjustment. 
“You'll- you’ll pull out, right?” You gasp, eyes meeting his. 
“‘Course bug,” He chuckles. 
He won't. But it's the false promises that keep you going.
“As-ah- as long as you pull out, it's okay, right?” You're committed to the role of the naive girlfriend, Peter will give you that. The concern in your eyes is incredibly convincing. 
Sometimes he's so caught up in the euphoria of you that he forgets to play along. All he has to do is look you in the eyes to remember his role. 
“Yeah, it's okay. God, feels incredible. Your pussy.” He hitched your legs further up until they were nearly resting on his shoulders. The change in angle allowed him to thrust deeper, reaching the spot that made you see stars. 
Bliss quickly overcame you, causing you to focus less on the game and more on the coil that was currently winding up in the pit of your stomach, threatening to snap at any moment. 
“God, you're clenching me. Can barely pull out.” His pressed his lips against yours, capturing them in a messy kiss. 
You shake your head, “Y-you should. Peter!”
But Peter continues, relishing in how tight you're gripping him. It's addictive. 
“Everytime I try to pull out, your little cunt sucks me back in. Think she wants me to stay.” His words elicit a downright desperate whimper from you. 
“How’s this? I'll stay ‘till ya cum.” His composure was incredible, his voice so soft you almost believed him. 
Almost. 
Weakly, you nodded as Peter’s perfidious promise promptly pershing into the periphery of your mind. Who could express you to focus, when his nimble fingers were toying with your clit? 
Your pleas to stop fade away, occasionally a feeble no falling from your lips. His massive hands were all over you, kneading at your soft skin, sure to leave bruises. 
It's one of the best things to Peter, waking up and admiring the work he did on your body from the night before. 
But for now, he could enjoy another favorite-you. It was cute, nearly adorable how your legs shook, your hips jerking upwards, desperate to get more despite already being full of him. The pathetic whimpers that fell from your lips, unable to form anything coherent. With each thrust, your breasts bounced against your chest. 
It was picturesque. Peter wished he could grab his camera to immortalize this moment, but that would break the illusion. 
So instead, his fingers skim your soft skin, tracing over your plush curves, downward until he reaches his desired location. 
After all, he promised he'd pull out once you cum. So why not help? 
His fingers on your clit felt like lightning, sending a crack of electricity up your spine. It's euphoric, you can't even bother to play along, hands gripping the strands of his hair tightly as the bedroom is quickly filled with your moans. 
When you finally get pushed over the pleasurable edge, it’s loud. There are no whines or pleads for Peter to pull out. Only raucous moans that fill the bedroom, combining with the erotic sound of his skin slapping against yours. 
“Shit, feel s’good. S’fuckin tight,” He pants, “Babe-baby. You feel s’good. Don’t know if I can pull out.”
His words jolt you out of the lavender haze, reminding you of the part you were still playing. 
“N-No. You can’t!” 
Peter nods his head, though he’s not agree with you, “M’sorry,feel s’good.”
You try to sit up, to put up a fight. But just as you do, you’re pushed back down, your hands above your head, enclasped with Peter’s. His body covers you like a warm weighted blanket, the kind where it’s so soft and deceptively confining, you can’t get up even if you wanted to. The spicy scent of cinnamon that always lingers on his body floods your nostrils, his mouth swallowing your pleas to stop as his hips erratically slam into yours. 
It was blissful. You were enraptured by Peter, by his body, roleplay be damned. Your legs wrapped themselves around his lithe waist, pulling him closer. 
Peter reaching his own high triggers yours again, walls clamping tightly down on his cock as he floods you with his warm. 
“Baby, m’s’sorry, feels too good,” it's then you register he's still rutting his hips against yours. 
Well this is a new move. Usually the game ended at this point. 
The chance to prolong, to try something new was thrilling. 
So you shook your head. “Peter!” Your moan contained more desire than it did distress, “N-no, you need-oh- pull out!” 
But Peter just grunts. It's so animalistic, your thighs clench at the sound. His refractory period was much shorter than anyone else you had been with, no doubt thanks to a radioactive spider bite. 
Now sensitivity is surging through your body, pain and pleasure mixing together. He's hitting the spot that makes you see stars, the spot you didn't think existed until you met Peter. 
It's getting harder to stay in character. But as long as Peter is trying, so will you. 
“Y-you promised you'd pull out!” 
“I know,” he groans in your ear, “Shouldn't have such a fucking tight cunt then. Don't know how ya expect me to pull out.” 
His teeth sink down into your throat, earning a sharp gasp. 
“God, your cunt,” the scruff of his beard scratches against your skin, “Think you want me to cum in ya again.” 
You shook your head, “No! Please!” Fingers claw at his strong back to no avail. He continues with his harsh thrusts, paying no attention to how your mixed arousal was leaking onto the sheets. 
“No- stop!” But that wasn't your safe word. 
He could tell you were already close, your moans increasing in pitch, how your walls were clinging to his cock. 
You just needed a little help getting there. 
“Gonna cum in ya again. It might just take this time. Is that what you want? For me to fuck a baby in ya?” 
The illusion of your feigned innocence shatters, his words igniting a flame in you that can't be fanned out. 
You're now wailing, nodding enthusiastically at Peter's words. Fingers which were once clawing at him now grip his shoulders. Instead of jerking away, your hips move upwards. 
“Y-yes! Want it to take s’bad! Please fill me up!” 
Your voice was nearly unrecognizable; whiny and desperate. It only spurs him on, his cock thrusting into you at a near bruising pace. 
Peter's next high is with your’s, hips stuttering as he fills you once more. He knows he could go again, but everyone needs a break, an intermission before the next act. 
The next few moments, you two are speechless. The only audible sounds are that of heavy breathing and the overhead ceiling fan.
“Well, that was fun,” you chuckled, running your fingers absentmindedly through his hair. 
Peter finally made eye contact with you. His eyes are dark, almost black with lust. The grin on his face is downright wolfish. 
“Oh sweetheart, I'm far from done with you.” 
You were in for a long night. 
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callahanisms · 9 months ago
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all you need is more radaway
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save a horse. ride a cowboy. ;)
anyways i really loved the tv show and i love the game. and ghouls are just chef's kiss. or maybe that's because i love monsters. sad that i finished it so quickly. :(
perhaps i can put what i learned in my western class to good use lol
character: cooper howard aka. the ghoul
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it's never easy surviving the wasteland. you don't know how you managed to survive for this long. perhaps because you seemed to have been blessed with incredible luck.
and building up endurance, of course.
you felt little to no side effects from the radiation of the food you were eating. which just meant you had a lot of radaway and rad-x stocked up.
to make ends meet, though, you had to start hunting. scavenging and scrapping by wasn't enough. you needed the extra caps.
thus your rivalry with another bounty hunter was born.
"well, well. aren't you far from home, sweetheart?"
you were used to comments about your outfit. a vault suit. yes, you came from one. you had been exiled after your father was revealed to be managing the experiment behind it. the child pays for the sins of the father always.
"you're not the first and you won't be the last." you pull the head off the body as clean as possible.
"now i don't know if you should do that."
"and why not?"
a bullet flies past you and burrows itself into the ground. you finally look up. a cowboy hat. the face of a ghoul. his gun pointing right at you.
but you weren't afraid.
"because he's my target." he pulls out a piece of paper. "and he's mine."
"seems unfair if i did all the work. and you just collect his head and the prize." you pull out the same piece of paper. yours is a little more worn out though. and covered in dried blood.
"that's the way of the wasteland sweetheart."
"if you believe so."
your hands were fast. two bullets lodged into his right left and when he looks up, you're gone.
of course, you learned from the best: western holotapes. you really liked them when you were growing up. claimed to want to be a lone hero.
in some ways, you were. the wasteland was just a new version of the wild west, wasn't it?
"spaghetti? like...the pasta?"
more like spaghetti western. he knew that, of course. but no one in the wasteland knew what a spaghetti western was. they were remnants of a past long gone and one only accessible by holotapes in the vaults.
"that's their name." the person says. "why? you have business with them?"
"perhaps." the ghoul was looking to return a favor.
"don't even try. they're far more formidable than you think."
"we'll see about that."
your rivalry was an exchange of bullets, more often than not. thankfully, you always stocked up on bloodbags and could make a stimpack from your heavy (but useful) travel chemistry kit. you were smart like that.
surprisingly, it became something to look forward. mostly because the ghoul preferred if he tried killing you, so he managed to get you out of a tough situation by killing the other people trying to kill you.
and you returned the favor. there was something satisfying about lodging a bullet into him again.
unfortunately, this left you two stuck on a job once. captured by raiders. you had been knocked out with a drug. and he had collapsed from...something.
"fuck." you mutter, pulling at the ropes binding you. your luck had run out for the day it seems, because your arms were tied to the ghoul's around this godforsaken pole. the metal was also uncomfortably rubbing up against your skin.
"you got a knife or anything sharp?" he looks over at you. it's rare to see him without his cowboy hat. his head was rather smooth.
you chuckle a little.
"something funny?" the ghoul asks.
"nothing. you're just...shaped like an egg."
"very funny."
"let me guess. your answer is no?"
"i don't have a knife up my sleeve, sadly. think they took it."
"shame." the ghoul shimmies something out of his own sleeve. he flicks the blade out and begins sawing at the rope. "watch your fingers."
you keep your fingers tucked in. eventually, the rope on your wrists comes undone and one arm soon after. the rest comes off and you rub your skin. "fuck these guys. always hated raiders."
"well, we both got sold out. we need to find that thing now. or else we'll be dead by sunrise." he tugs on the door of the jail cell and clicks his tongue.
"i don't have sharp objects. but i do have these." you pull out the bobby pin taped on the inside of your sleeve, alongside a mini screwdriver.
the lock wasn't very complicated, so you picked it with ease.
as you both are grabbing your equipment, you hear footsteps up above. light ones and heavier ones. and the sound of a muffled, altered, robotic voice.
the brotherhood of steel was worse than raiders, honestly.
"you go left, i go right. how does that sound?"
"i don't usually like taking orders from my rivals." he reloads his gun. "but for you? sure."
the event left the both of you soaked in the blood of your enemies. on the other hand, you guys left with plenty of loot and an idea of where your target was: dead. at the bottom of a lake.
it was a journey to get there, wherein you learned the details of each other's lives. you didn't think he was paying much attention to your sentences. after all, you came from a vault.
and yet, you saw a hint of sympathy in his eyes.
he seemed less keen on sharing details about his life, aside from his former name. cooper howard.
undeniably, as a fan of westerns, you recognized his names. from the holotapes.
"they had those?" cooper shakes his head, taking sips of water. "no way."
"yes way! it's where i learned to shoot."
"from watching my movies?"
"yes!"
"that is...a pleasant surprise." cooper leans back.
"that also makes you over 200 years old."
"that it does. something wrong with that?"
"no. the wasteland changes people." you maintain your attention to your suit, sewing a tear up. "just...you're looking for something, aren't you? everyone's always looking for something up here."
"are you looking for something?" his voice hardens and he sits up straight.
"i was. and then i found it. and i stopped." you tie the thread to seal the stitch and then tear the thread with your teeth. "i hope you find what you're looking for though."
"well, that's awfully kind of you, sweetheart."
"i have a name, you know."
"what is it?"
"(y/n)."
getting personal in the wasteland was something cooper wasn't adamant about. but the circumstances seems to call for it.
"guess we're even now."
the body of water was daunting. it was murky and dark. you pursed your lips and dumped your bag. "well. guess we have no choice."
cooper looks over at you then quickly turns around when he sees what you're doing: taking off your suit and going down to your underwear. "what are you doing?"
"i'm going to go get that head. that's how we get paid, right? easy three thousand caps. 15 hundred split evenly." you stretch.
"i think you might die."
"i'll be fine. i've done it before." Aquaperson perk.
"i can also swim, you know."
"i'll be fine cooper." you pop a rad-x pill just in case. "be back in a bit."
you dive like a swan, making minimal splash into the water. your form disappears beneath the darkness.
you're gone beneath the water for over an hour. cooper's heart was beating against his rib cage. you should be out by now. it should not be that hard. did something get you? things lurked beneath the murky waters always.
"fuck!"
he drops his equipment and begins stripping down, until he is just in his pants. he would need to dive after you. if you were dead, then so be it. it was fun while it lasted.
suddenly, you emerge. you take in the oxygen of the surface and hold the head up high. "got 'em." you swim over to the shore and walk out of the water.
there was something about how...wet you were that got him feeling hot and bothered.
"something happen down there?"
"couple of mirelurks. no big deal. which reminds me." you set the head on the ground and go back into the water. within minutes, you're pulling out the bodies of the mirelurks you had killed. "dinner."
while cutting the mirelurks open, you observe the way he walks around you. his muscles bulging a little as he cuts a mirelurk open and takes the meat. he was kind of...attractive?
"were you going to come after me?" he stops cutting hearing your question. "in the water, i mean."
"so what if i did?" cooper averts his eyes.
"that's sweet of you. i didn't know you had a soft spot for me."
"i don't."
"sure." you can tell he was lying through his teeth.
dinner was a nice, cozy meal. it was delicious. a nice surprise considering the nature of the wasteland.
cooper notices the way you're looking at him. and he looks at you the same way.
though how does this work exactly?
"do you want to..." you try to find a decent way to say this. fuck is a good term. but it felt a little vulgar in the moment.
cooper already knows what you're asking. "absolutely. if you can handle it." he smirks.
it's so cute when he smirks.
you glance over at your bag, looking at your stash of radaway. you had plenty. plus your stash of rad-x too.
"i absolutely can."
1K notes · View notes
themidnightcrimson · 2 months ago
Text
all hallow's eve ࿏ wm
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summary: in which a bleeding woman shows up to your house asking for more than just help.
words: 8.0k
warnings: blood, dubcon/noncon, fingering, knifeplay, knifefucking, murder, death, horror, gore, top!wanda, fem!reader
this is a dark!fic for 18+ only. minors dni. read with discretion.
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There were already chips in the paint of her fingernails which she had painted a thick coat of black only the night before. Wanda liked using her hands—it was a cathartic thing. It only meant she couldn’t keep nail polish on for very long.
In her quiet kitchen, the gentle tink of a spoon again her black porcelain mug could be heard as she gingerly stirred her coffee, watching the cloudy white swirls of creamer fade into the black of her dark roast and turn walnut. She only liked a little bit of creamer. She enjoyed coffee for its depth and dark. Bits of brown splashed around the inner rim of the black mug as she tapped the spoon clean of remnants before gently setting it down in the sink.
Wanda kept a clean house, but her kitchen she kept clean most of all. She was not trained, but she considered herself something of a chef. She enjoyed carnivorous recipes most of all, beefy red ribeyes and delicately roasted chickens. Her kitchen was her wizard lair where she worked to perfect the most complex of dishes, so she kept it meticulously tidy. The clean black marble counters covered lower cabinets filled with pots and pans stacked neatly and drawers shockingly organized with tools and utensils no matter their irregular shape. She made everything fit perfectly because she was a little neurotic about her tools.
Now the kitchen filled with the lusty dark scent of coffee that she sensually inhaled through her nostrils as her ringed fingers clinked against her porcelain mug. The expensive, shiny coffee machine still clicked and steamed from the fresh batch, and it glimmered almost as much as the array of large knives that were set out neatly on the counter beside it. Wanda had also invested in nice lights for her kitchen, because she liked to take pictures of her dishes when she made them. The studioesque lights glared off the silver blades, some freshly sharpened, some awaiting the fate of the honing rod laying discarded next to the line of knives. Sharp knives were also one of the most important tools of a chef.
Wanda maintained the dark minimalist aesthetic of black and white throughout her upscale apartment. Her annual endeavors usually left her with enough cash to get through the year with lavish, hence the nice apartment. Draining a few bank accounts always amounted to more than expected. If she was saving up for something big she would target a nicer area of town.
Through her French windows was the view of the city framed by the bright orange leaves of the autumn tree outside. She had bought a few small baby pumpkins of different colors and shapes and set them along the windowsill. This time of year was always bittersweet. There was always that simmering sensation rising within her that starts near the end of July, when the dead summer heat goes quiet and still with the promise of no new births of nature, only the aging and deadening that future autumn will bring.
Maybe it was the quiet, or maybe it was just her pituitary gland recognizing when it was time for her to awaken, but it always starts at the same time of each year. It was even earlier this year, though. She could feel the first little scritch when the fireworks went off above all the skyscrapers outside her window. It was like the giant booms and bangs shook the thing inside her awake. Now at this point, late in October, it had turned into a ravenous clawing inside her head. She imagined the innards of her skull like a wooden wall caging a wild animal—scarred with desperate scratches to be released. The clawing reminded her of a beast begging to be slaughtered as it is once a year, so that it may enjoy peace and quiet until it starts to conceive itself again like a rebirthing flower.
It gets so hard to manage this late in the season. Usually, she is the most calm and collected person she knows. People compliment her on her otherworldly levelheadedness which they don’t realize is just a lack of emotion. But in September she gets antsy, and in October she is wholly consumed with restlessness and need, constantly zoned out like a lion on the hunt, eyes laser focused for the bright stripes of a zebra amidst the tall African flora, jaw hung wide open, teeth buzzing with anticipation for the first tear of live flesh, ears constantly rounding its skull in search for the sound of food.
Even now, thinking about it as she stared out the window, she let her coffee go cold in her hand. Coming to, she cursed herself and put the mug in the microwave and turned it on. When warmed, she took the mug through her apartment and to her office, settling down in her chair. Her desk was probably the only thing about her apartment that could be considered messy, only because her planning was extensive and elaborate. It had to be for her to have gotten away with it for this many years. Her Octobers were spent stuck at her messy desk which, by the afternoon sun, becomes littered with empty coffee cups.
There were many papers scattered on her desks about many different things. Locations, demographics, news reports, police stations, everything there could be to know about a city. Underneath a stack of papers was another small stack stapled together. “Diagnosis Report.” She had thrown it on her desk carelessly when she took it home from the doctor, miffed that he was only telling her what she’d already known for a long time. “Controlled psychopathy.”
On the other corner of her desk was the most recent news report. “HALLOWEEN KILLER SET TO STRIKE AGAIN.” She’d been waiting for this for years now. She was surprised it didn’t happen sooner.
That was why her planning was deeper this year. Too many patterns in the same city. She needed to branch out, to change it up. She couldn’t complete her mission with cops stationed at every block. They’d even started tracking reports in the outer suburbs. She had to go farther this year.
She rolled out a wide roll of paper over the entire desk: a map of the entire city and its outer areas. Usually, the red circles were drawn on the yellowish vague blocks printed on the map to convey where urban areas were, more concrete and road. This year, her red marker circled farther to the side, almost to the very edge of the paper, where the paper turned green with curly printed lines to signify forested areas.
Wanda ran a shaky hand through her red hair, tugging harshly on the locks. She felt like a mad poet, a tortured artist. It was riskier this year. She wasn’t as familiar with woods as she was with the city.
Letting out a deep sigh, Wanda rolled out of the desk and went over to the little couch against the wall of her office, plopping down with another huff, chewing on all the thoughts in her head that were becoming harder to manage with all the fucking clawing. Lower population out in the woods could mean fewer fish brought home. But it also meant lower income levels than that in the richest parts of the city. Then again, she did pretty good last year and didn’t really need to worry about money this year. If money wasn’t a bias, then it usually would be beauty and females. That was why all the reports were either rich old men or beautiful young women, which made it hard for them to find a pattern. Of course, with women it would take more tactic to get everything she would want out of them besides the main point. The main point would be easy, but the seduction would take more artiste.
Turning her head over her shoulder, she eyed the brand new pair of expensive hiking boots that sat in the corner of the office, the laces recently untightened to let the new leather relax. They were industrial, tactical, ready to climb a mountain. It was the pair of shoes that even the most experienced hikers longed for.
She’d never been hiking a day in her life.
You’re alone this year.
Sticky green icing melted on your fingers as you picked up the bag of black icing again, piping out little pupils on the Frankenstein cookie you were decorating. Your Halloween playlist played at medium volume through your tiny kitchen as you piped Frankenstein’s black hair on top of his head. Once you had perfected him, even with his messy bangs and uneven mouth, you picked up the sugar cookie and placed it next to other decorated ones which included pumpkins, ghosts, bats, and even graphically disfigured vampires. A delicious aroma in the air emanated from the dish of tomatoes, garlic, onion, and spices roasting in the oven, and on the rack below that, a loaf of bread baking to completion.
“Jeez,” you murmured as you looked at the cookie in front of you that was supposed to be a black cat. One eye was twice the size of the other and its ears were more like Panda ears. You were going for cute, but horrific matched the theme anyways.
It was a cozy Halloween night in your little cabin. Orange pumpkin string lights were hanging from the ceiling, your little space cluttered with your accumulation of Halloween decorations that you just couldn’t stop buying each year. This was another great thing about living so far out in the woods—you could enjoy holidays by yourself without having to worry about catering to bratty little kids asking for candy, or your house getting egged for deciding not to. You had nothing against enjoying the festivities of your favorite holiday, but you were happy you could do it alone without interruption.
Wiping your stained hands free of icing because you had licked so much that you couldn’t take anymore, you slipped on your pumpkin-shaped oven mitts and took the dish out of the oven, feeling warmth on your face as the oil and tomato sizzled in the hot dish. Your kitchen was tiny, but it was cozy, and you could make all your favorite foods in it, so it was perfectly fine to you. And your cabin was small—so small that the kitchen and the living room were basically one room, and you could see the TV in front of the couch from where you stood at the oven. As you very carefully spooned all the tomatoes and garlic and onion out of the dish and into a large red pot that was older than you, you could hear the TV clearly.
Out in the woods, you did not have very good service. The satellite sitting on your roof let you have very few channels, one of them being the local news channel. It was time for the evening news as you heard the familiar theme sound, trying to not let tomato splatter on your Halloween apron that was white donned with black spiderwebbing.
The news channel picked up news from the city, which was a good 30 miles away but the nearest civilization. You halfway listened as they spoke about local events like the highway construction that was branching the city out even farther into the woods, a special on the best places to go trick or treating which was just all the rich neighborhoods, and then they came to the recent crime segment, starting off with one that was the city’s primary worry that night.
“Year after year, our city is faced with crime on this Halloween night that makes celebrating harder each year. For nearly a decade now, the city has experienced killing sprees that happen every October 31st from what locals call the Halloween Killer.”
You opened up your cabinets and waded through the messy piles of pots and pans and tools until you found your old beat-up food processor. The loud clanging muffled the news report that you were listening to with distracted but piqued interest until you found the processor.
“…Police have been unable to find patterns in the killer’s targeted victims or locations, but this famed killer does strike seemingly randomized neighborhoods each year, though they have mostly only targeted areas with higher income levels. Thanks to local funding, police have been able to set up neighborhood watches all throughout the city, even setting up a police line around the border to keep watch of any suspicious activity. Any sightings of criminal or suspicious activity should be reported to your nearest station immediately. For those living outside city limits, please be on high alert, as police think that the killer may start seeking out further areas to evade the local watches. Your local news station sends a huge thanks to our police as they fight to keep our city safe and to track down this Halloween Killer. Please, everyone be safe out there tonight as you enjoy All Hallow’s Eve.” You glanced momentarily to the TV and saw the wide shiny grin of the blonde newscaster that did not match her grim tone as she swiftly moved on to a segment about Halloween party decorations.
At first, the segment about the Halloween Killer started to pass right through your brain, until your brain caught it, and a small seed of paranoia plummeted into the pit of your stomach. You fiddled with your food processor as you thought about the segment.
When you lived in the city, people always talked about the Halloween Killer. At some point, people started to make up their own ideas of what the killer looked like, creating different masks that seemed to change each year. Most of them just settled on a rip-off of Michael Meyers. You always ignored it, until one year the killer struck right near where you lived. That was only a small impetus of why you fled the city searching for a more peaceful life out in nature, but it certainly was a reason thrown in with all the other rising crime rates in the city. It was becoming like Gotham out there, and you wanted no part of it. Hence your cozy cabin life out in the forest.
Still, it made you nervous. You were a young girl all alone. You didn’t have neighbors. If you screamed, it would be to the mercy of squirrels and foxes. And to be fair, though you lived in a forested area and got lucky to live on a plot of land with no other houses, you didn’t live that far from the city. If you climbed the nearby hill all the way to the top, you could see the skyline good enough to track the movement of cars on the city highway. If the killer was trying to escape city limits, all they would have to do was choose East, and they’d be right in your lap.
A shiver ran through you, and you gave a breathy laugh. You’d been watching too many scary movies that Halloween season. It was making you paranoid. This was why each year you chose ParaNorman over Pet Sematary. You were too paranoid of a person.
Though you took your fretfulness with humor, it gnawed away at you. Wiping your hands on the towel on the oven door, you went over to your front door and opened it.
The air was cold that night. Fall had been teasing and tantalizing all month, but it seemed to rush in all at once that Halloween night. That was another thing you liked about living out here—it wasn’t a concrete jungle that trapped in all the heat like the city did. It was cooler out here and less humid. It was just easier to breathe.
You looked up at the dark, shadowy pines that rose so much higher than your squat little house. Their needles rustled in the gentle breeze. It was so dark, nothing like the ever-present source of light in the city. Beyond where your measly front porch light and the flickering glow of jack-o-lanterns on your porch steps touched, it was pitch black. You could hear the whistle of crickets, the belches of frogs all around.
Twigs snapping.
Fear roared up in you at once, but you quickly settled yourself. Twigs snap all the time out here in the forest given that there are twigs littering the whole ground. A pinecone falling, or a bird landing, or a squirrel sitting—it all could snap a twig. You were scaring yourself.
Nonetheless, you pulled yourself inside, closed the door, lock it, turned off the porch light, and closed all your blinds and curtains. Even though you didn’t believe yourself to be at risk, it would be silly to ruin your own night by making yourself scared at the possibility of seeing a face at the window.
You slapped a piece of the bread on the buttered hot pan, deeply enjoying the loud immediate sizzle it made. You followed up with a slice of cheese and another piece of bread, and then flipped the grilled cheese, salivating at the perfect shade of brown the bread turned into.
You ladeled your tomato bisque into a bowl and topped it with some shreds of cheese and one singular basil leaf just to be extra. Bringing your soup and grilled cheese into the living room, you finally settled down on the couch with a sigh, setting your food down on the coffee table before searching for the perfect cutesy Halloween movie to watch. You settled on ParaNorman since you’d been thinking about it.
All traces of the news report had left your mind as you burned your mouth on the soup and did the most immaculate cheese pull with your grilled cheese. You didn’t even think twice when you heard a creaking noise on the front porch.
When you heard it again, you surprised yourself by remaining calm. It was a breezy night. This was an old cabin, and that wooden porch was squeaky. A gush of wind is bound to move the wooden panels enough for it to squeak.
Squeak. It seemed closer now.
You still weren’t worried, but just out of habit, you turned your head and looked back at the front door in the kitchen.
You didn’t really see it at first. Or didn’t recognize what it looked like, at least.
A dark shadow through the sheer curtains over the window of the front door. The perfect shadow for a head and shoulders.
Fear broiled deep in your gut, but you warred with yourself yet again. It was definitely just the way that the moon filtered through all the shapes of the forest trees and landed across the window of your door. That was all it was. You were just being paranoid—the shadow wasn’t even moving.
You’d managed to fully convince yourself and was just about to turn your head back around when there was a knock at the door.
Adrenaline shot through your body so hard that your bowl of tomato soup slipped right out of your immediately sweaty palms, landing with a heartbreaking splash across your shirt.
“Fuck!” you yelled as the hot soup instantly soaked through your shirt and gently burned the skin of your stomach. What was worse about how hot it was, was how sad you were at losing your tomato soup.
The knock came again, much more hurried this time.
“Hello!?” a woman’s voice came from the other side of the door, and the sound of a person’s voice deepened your panic even more. No one had ever been out here except the few friends and family you had invited over a handful of times. No one lived near here. Your dirt road stretched on for three miles before it touched the highway. The dirt road only led to your house, nothing else. It was your own personal driveway. There was no reason for someone to be out here unless beckoned.
And you were all alone. There was no one to glance at with panicked eyes and telepathically ask who the fuck is at the front door. It was just you and your tomato soup-soaked shirt.
“Help!” the voice cried, pounding on the door harder this time, so hard that your windows shook in their panes. “Help me! Please!”
“What the fuck?” you whispered, your breathing picking up as you started to really freak out. Not only was there someone randomly at your door this late at night, but they were apparently in distress? Or at least pretending to be.
“Please! Somebody help me! Please!” the woman screamed outside, and she slammed so hard on the door that it sounded like she was throwing her whole body against it. You could even see the door bulge from the wall, almost like she was trying to break it down.
Rule number one of living out alone in a cabin deep in the forest was to never, ever open your door to strangers. You were way too vulnerable for that. You knew that, and so your instinct was to hide and possibly call the police if she didn’t give up. It could easily be a trick.
Then again, she was screaming for help. She herself was out here potentially alone in the woods, if this was real. What if you later learned that this girl needed help and couldn’t find it from the single house she managed to stumble across?
“Fuck fuck fuck,” you whispered, tugging at your hair as you ducked across the room, hiding behind your little kitchen island. If you made yourself seen, there was no way you could get out of it or even pretend to not be home. “Please open the door!” she screamed with such desperation that her voice croaked, and you heard little sobs follow. “Please just open it! I need help! Please!”
Something about the desperation in her voice panged you deeply in the gut, and for some reason you felt like it wasn’t a trick. Nonetheless, you knew it was bad, whatever it was. She could be running from someone or something and leading them right into your house. The best outcome of this whole thing would be a cruel Halloween prank.
“Please!” she screamed, slamming herself against your front door. You heard a horrible clicking noise that sounded an awful lot like your door coming undone from the hinges.
Internally groaning, you grabbed a knife from your knife drawer and held it as realistically as you could in your hand, slowly going towards the shadow at the front door window.
“Please!” she screamed again.
Gritting your teeth, you gathered all your bravery, expecting anything to happen as you touched the doorknob. With a big breath in, you unlocked it and swung it open.
A scream involuntarily escaped your throat at what stood on the other side of that door.
Seeing a person’s face at your door for the first time in basically months was already a shocking thing, but seeing it covered in blood was even more shocking. The woman stood only an inch or two taller than you, her dark red hair stretching down past her shoulders. She wore a long sleeve white shirt, which you could only tell it was white from the sleeves because the entire front of it was soaked with dark red blood. The blood even caked the thighs of her jeans, and it dripped in long, thick lines down her face, with splatters over her cheeks. The worst part was that the blood glistened against the light that came from inside your home. In fact, it dripped—in horrible black splatters on the old wood of your porch. You could see bloody footprints going up the steps.
For a moment, she looked shocked to see you standing there. Had she started to think no one really was home? The shocked look faded as she glanced over you, her lips seeming to struggle to form words.
“Hi—I need h-help,” she said quieter now, very breathlessly. She was trembling—her eyes looked at you with a crazed, weakened look, like she was about to fall on you at any moment. That was when you realized that she must be bleeding—bleeding a fatal amount.
“Oh my God,” you croaked, not knowing what to do. “What—I—Come in,” you hesitated, and then remembered that whatever cut her up this badly could be following her, so you goaded her. “Come on, come in!”
Quickly, she came inside, leading a trail of bloody prints on your precious wooden flooring as you closed the door and locked it shut. You turned around, pressing your back to the door and staring at her as your heart pounded hard in your chest. You noticed that her eyes were focused on your hand at your side—you looked down and remembered that you were holding a large knife in your hand. “Sorry—” you apologized at first, thinking that she was probably just harmed with the same thing you were holding and wasn’t too happy to see another person wielding it, but remembered to keep your guard up. She could be anyone, and anything could have happened to her. Anything could happen next.
“I need to sit down…” she said, clutching her stomach and bending over. Her eyes, you noticed, were a vivid green against the darkness of the drying blood on her face. “I…” The vivid green disappeared, and you realized she had closed her eyes and was starting to sway.
“Oh God, yes, sit down,” you rushed, absentmindedly dropping your knife on the kitchen counter so that you could help her. Trying your best to avoid touching any blood, you barely held her arm and led her to the couch. She sat down heavily, flickering her eyes to look at you, those green orbs landing at your waist.
“Your shirt…” she whispered croakily.
“Oh,” you blurted as you looked at your own shirt that had an orangeish red splash over the front. “Tomato soup,” you blushed, growing sick at the fact that the red splash on her shirt was, in fact, not tomato soup.
You looked around as this strange woman sat bleeding on your couch, her eyes opening and closing. She was probably losing a lot of blood. What were you supposed to do?
“The police,” you blurted, and her eyes opened wider with a flash. “I’ll call the police!”
You went to your landline phone—there was no cell service up here, so you depended on the weak telephone lines for any kind of communication. You typed in 9-1-1 and pressed the phone to your ear—silence. Confused, you dialed again, only to hear more silence. “What the hell?”
“Water.”
“Huh?” you asked, glancing at the woman on your couch.
“Can I please… have water?”
“Oh, yes,” you said, feeling stupid and rude that you hadn’t even tried to physically help the woman bleeding out on your couch. “I’m sorry—Are-are you okay?” you asked as you went to get a glass of water. It felt like an obviously stupid question to ask, but to be fair, you weren’t entirely sure of her injuries nor her situation except that she was bleeding what appeared to be a lot of blood to you.
“I think so,” she said, coughing to clear her throat as you handed her the glass of water.
You ignored the stains of tomato soup on the other seat of your couch as she sipped the water with a shaky, bloody hand.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a phone on you, do you?” you questioned. It was obvious there was something wrong with your phone, which wasn’t that unusual, and even though there was no cell service the last time you checked, you thought any effort might be worth it to get this girl some help.
She shook her head as she gulped the water down.
Sighing, you glanced toward the curtained window and thought of your car out front. You would need to drive her to help, you realized. You figured you could at least find out what the hell was going on first before you loaded her up in the car.
“What happened to you?”
She finished the glass of water and weakly handed it to you, her eyes flashing up at you. Something about it startled you. Maybe it was the visual connection that jarred you into realization of the situation, or maybe it was because you weren’t used to being around people anymore. Either way, you suddenly felt scared with her eyes on you.
“Someone attacked me,” she hoarsely spoke, wiping her mouth of water only to smear blood around her lips. She gritted her teeth, looking around your house for the first time. You suddenly thought of your knife on the counter.
“Attacked you?” you asked, trying to imagine the situation in your mind. “Do you know who?”
“No, just some guy in a mask,” she exclaimed, sounding like she was starting to calm down and gather her wits. You noticed she wasn’t breathless anymore—in fact her chest rose and fell very slowly and calmly. Maybe she was a good self-soother.
“Where?” you questioned.
“What?” she said, looking up at you with sewn brows.
You hesitated. “I mean, where were you attacked?” You looked towards the window again when she hesitated to answer. “It’s just… you must’ve ran at least like, three miles.”
The redheaded woman only stared at you with her vivid green eyes that you now noticed, with a slight chill in your spine, were oddly empty. Like doll eyes. Like a doll skeleton with human skin stretched over it.
You were starting to feel weird as you tried to explain. “The main road is three miles down that driveway out there.” You vaguely pointed. “Unless you came through the woods. So I was just asking where were you attacked?”
Finally, she blinked. “On the road,” she blurted out. “I was… walking to my friend’s house on the road when this car stopped. And he got out and just… attacked me.” She started to shake again as she looked down at the blood all over her.
But you were still and silent. “Your friend’s house?”
Her eyes met yours, and you could see that chilling emptiness again.
You swayed your weight from one foot to another, trying to think out the entire situation before you spoke. “The nearest house in ten miles is abandoned.”
Her red brows sewed together in confusion, and for a moment you saw, through the blood on her face, that she was pretty. You wouldn’t find it strange for someone to target her.
“I’m confused,” she suddenly sobbed, an illegible cry escaping her throat as she covered her face. “I don’t know what happened.”
A flash of guilt shot through you. This girl is here bleeding out, obviously having just been attacked, and you’re questioning her. Sure, her story didn’t make sense, but you knew if you’d been randomly stabbed in the middle of nowhere, you wouldn’t be making much sense either. It’s possible that she was drugged or kidnapped or all of the above. She certainly didn’t look like she was from around here.
“Hey, hey,” you gently said, starting to reach out a hand to touch her shoulder but deciding against it. She was fully crying now. “It’s gonna be okay. I…” You took a deep breath and tried to be a better savior for this poor woman. “Look, I’ll get you some help, okay? We can take my car and take you to the nearest—”
“He’s following me!”
You stopped in the middle of your sentence. “What?”
“We can’t leave. He was following me as I got away from him…” She slowly turned her face to the window. “He could be out there right now…”
That paranoia boiled within you again. On one hand, you thought it would be better to just risk it to get her the help she needs, but you knew that if someone were lurking out there, it would be just you versus him since this woman was in no condition to defend you.
“The Halloween Killer,” she murmured. “I think it was him.”
Dizziness swirled in your head as your brain shot back to the news report. The Halloween Killer… the police guessed that he would be going out of city limits this year… You imagined the killer taking the nearest highway out of town which happened to be the one you lived by… Seeing a girl on the road… Maknig his first victim of the night… Except that he didn’t kill her. There was no way he would let a witness get away. Especially since she probably saw his face and his vehicle.
“Okay,” you breathed, rushing to the nearest lamp and turning it off. “We’ll wait for a while.” You turned off the kitchen light, the string lights, the range light. “We need to be quiet. If we don’t hear anything in… an hour… we can go.”
You walked back over to her, noticing that she was looking at her stomach.
“Can you wait that long?” you gently asked. “It looks like you bled a lot. Are you still bleeding?”
“I don’t know,” she weakly said. “I can’t tell.”
Biting your tongue, you thought for a moment. If you were going to make her wait an hour, the least you could do was clean her up a little. It was important to clean the wound, and if she was still bleeding, it looked like you needed to put pressure on it as soon as possible before she lost too much blood. You were already surprised she was still conscious with all that blood on her.
“I’ll be right back. Stay right here.”
You left for a moment to get the first aid kit, a rag, and a cup of water, and came back to find her in the same spot, her head leaned back on the couch cushion. Carefully, you sat down next to her with the rag in your hand, dipping it into the water. “We’ll clean you up a little so we know the damage,” you said, laughing at your attempt to sound professional and steady-headed.
“Thank you,” she croaked, turning to face you slowly on the couch. It was completely dark in your cabin now except for the little glare of moonlight that came through the curtains. It felt a little too close, sitting in the dark with her on your tiny couch, and it felt even more close when you started to wipe away the blood on her face with your rag.
“You’re welcome,” you said. “I’m sorry I’m not the best person to come running to for help,” you said with a little laugh.
Her lips curled into a smile, and you felt your heart murmur at how pretty she was. As you wiped away the blood on her face, wondering if she had a head injury to account for her confusion and the blood on her face, you saw that she was actually strikingly beautiful. It made you a little hot, sitting there so close to someone who looked like that.
“Okay…” you said when her face was all clean, now looking at the front of her blood-soaked shirt, hesitating. “Um—”
Without speaking, she rolled up the hem of her shirt to show the flat expanse of her abdomen that was blotted with dark blood. Worried that you would freak out at the sight of stab wound, you very carefully and tensely cleaned away the blood on her stomach, rewetting the rag in the bowl of water which was now murky red.
You always hated how ignorant you could be sometimes.
It wasn’t until you had wiped her entire abdomen clean that it dawned on you.
There were no stab wounds. Not a cut or a scratch.
Nothing felt real suddenly. Confused, you looked up at her.
The deeply malicious look on her face jarred you so suddenly you almost slipped off the couch, stumbling to your feet. Your ankle slammed against the coffee table as you backed away.
Her eyes were staring at you evilly, her lip set in a smirk. You suddenly felt small, tiny, helpless, stupid. So stupid!
“Is this the part where they say trick or treat?” the woman asked now in a gruff voice as she slowly stood up, looking suddenly a lot taller than she did at the door. You also noticed now a bulge in the sleeve of her shirt.
Wanda straightened her arm down at her side, letting the long, bloodied knife slide out of her sleeve, catching the long handle when it touched her palm. She held the knife up expertly, the moonlight glinting off of it.
This was one of her best tricks yet. There’d been times where she had to hide in the closet of the home of a victim, or in the backseat of their car, or she’d even had to follow them several blocks down before striking, but she’d never made herself so intimate with someone she was going to kill before, besides the ones that sparked out of intentional sexual encounters. Wanda had always been more of a grab and slash kind of serial killer, looting their belongings afterwards and moving right on to the next one. But this time, this girl… she was lingering.
You were just so pretty. Pretty girls were Wanda’s weakness, especially when they were vulnerable. And my, how you were vulnerable.
“All alone out in these woods,” Wanda whispered as you both just stood staring at each other, her at your face, you at her knife. “You never thought that one day the big bad wolf would come knocking?”
The fear in your eyes was delectable to her. You’d been so easy to trick. You almost caught her about the friend’s house—she’d been so distracted thinking of all the things she was going to do to you that she slipped up. She blanked.
“Please don’t hurt me,” you whispered, raising your hands up like someone who was just caught by the police for vandalism. “I won’t do anything—I—I won’t tell anyone.”
“I’d hope not,” Wanda interrupted you. “If my plans go accordingly, which they will, which they always do, you will be in no state to do anything or speak to anyone. Ever.” Wanda grinned, chuckling at the way your fingers shook in the moonlight.
The Halloween Killer. You cursed yourself. You also cursed your luck. What were the chances the killer would decide to find you that night?
You realized then that the blood on her shirt was not hers. It was whoever else she had just murdered before coming to you. You were just another life to tick off her quota.
You thought of your knife on the counter. The woman stared at you with a cold, dead look, coupled with the look of enjoyment. She was enjoying this.
You hesitated for a moment before deciding that taking your chances was better than having no chance at all. You jumped over to the kitchen, reached over the counter, and had your fingers on the handle when you felt her warm body slam you against the counter, her hand reaching easily over you and slapping the knife away.
“No!” you involuntarily cried out as you watched the knife slide off the counter and drop to the other side of the floor.
“Bad girl,” Wanda grunted, and you felt the woman’s hands grab your hips. She pressed you harder into the counter, her hips flush against your bottom, grabbing a fistful of your hair and slamming your face down on the hard, cold counter.
“Ah!” you cried as your head slammed into the rock-hard surface, dizzying you. She had you completely bent over the counter, pressing herself into you and holding your head down on the counter with blinding pressure.
“I won’t lie that I like the challenge of putting up a fight,” she whispered, resting her fist that held the knife against the small of your back. “But I’d rather you make it easy for both of us.”
“Get away from me!” you screamed, feeling your cheeks go red hot as your animalistic instincts to survive kicked in.
“Shhhh sh sh,” the woman shushed right into your ear, making you jump at how close she was now, her body laid over on top of yours, her lips pressing right into the soft skin of your ear. “Hush, baby,” she cooed, and the sound made the entire side of your face burn hot. “I’m not going to really hurt you. I’m not that much of a sadist.”
Suddenly, you could feel something really cold on the back of your thigh. The tip of her knife pressed softly into the tender flesh of the back of your thigh, dragging slowly upwards. It caught the hem of your skirt, dragging it upwards and exposing you.
You whined and squirmed, to which she pressed herself harder down on you. The edge of the counter was pressing into your tummy so hard you could barely breathe.
“Now, stop moving, you’ll hurt yourself,” she husked against the space behind your ear, and you shivered at the way your body reacted. You were trembling under her, helpless and confused as the tip of her knife pressed harder into your thigh.
You let out a long cry when she let the knife slice your soft skin, engraving a slash right below your butt cheek.
“Oopsie,” she murmured as she breathed heavily into your ear, her fingers dragging your blood around the back of your thigh. “Sorry about that, you’re just the prettiest one I’ve ever had.” You could feel her smirk against your ear. “I hated how I had to branch out this Halloween, but if I get you, it’s all worth it. I can go right on home—stop moving!”
She grabbed your hip tightly, and your body reacted in the worst way possible. You arched for her, exposing your rear end to her hips even more.
“That’s it,” she said with an air of shock that made you hate yourself. “See? I don’t mind you enjoying it—in fact I want you to.”
Her hand suddenly came down hard on your ass, making you squeak and jump. Your body was hot all over, throbbing against the coolness of the counter, your mind a complete mess.
“Let’s see you,” Wanda said, lifting your skirt fully over your ass to expose it in the moonlight. You felt her finger grab the back strap of your panties and tug them down. Your face grew hot in embarrassment as even you could feel how wet you were. This strange murderer had untapped something inside you that was making you spiral against that counter.
“I knew you were perfect,” she whispered as her fingers touched you, making you jump and whine, swimming in your soaking folds. She laughed against your upper back, her hand roaming over your ass and squeezing it before going back to your pussy, slowly pressing a finger in. You could feel both the blood from the cut and the wetness from your core dripping down your thighs.
Wanda grunted, feeling lost in you. In your fear, your body under hers, the control. This was the best kill she had, and she hadn’t even killed you yet.
“Such a tight little thing, I almost want to keep you.” She pulled out her finger, and you hated yourself for feeling empty because of it. Then you felt something foreign and hard against your entrance, panicking as it pushed into you. She harshly grabbed your hair and slammed your head down again, and that was enough to weaken you.
Your insides throbbed and tingled as she pushed the handle of her knife slowly inside you, grunting at the way you stretched around it. It was a nice knife, thick blade. “You’re taking it so well.”
You squirmed helplessly on the counter, starting to sweat as the woman pushed the knife handle deeper inside you. You could feel it pushing against your cervix, and your legs trembled.
“It’s okay to feel good, you dirty little thing,” Wanda whispered, both a praise and a degradation that made you whimper. You were wordless, mindless, under this killer’s hands and body, and the last part of you that remained subconscious wondered what would’ve happened if you never opened the door.
She pulled the handle almost all the way out before slamming it inside you again. You feared feeling the blade, but you didn’t. She pumped the handle inside you over and over again, soft at first before that clawing inside of her head got the better of her.
“Good girl,” she breathed against the back of your neck, biting into it as she slammed her knife inside you. “That’s it. Stay still.”
You heard a zipper unzip, and the sound of denim shifting, before you felt the warmth of her core pressing into your left cheek. Grabbing the back of your neck with one hand, the other ramming the handle of her knife into your pussy repeatedly, Wanda grinded her clit against your ass, shoving you against the counter over and over again. She was so helpless, so overwhelmed with both intensifying hunger and relief that she just needed to get off. Her cum smeared over the hill of your ass as she rutted herself against it, listening to the wonderful squeaks and whines you made.
“Fuck,” Wanda whispered as she got close, watching the cum-soaked handle of her knife fuck harder into you as she got closer. “Mmmm,” she grunted animalistically as she felt the edge near her.
You clawed helplessly at the counter, your walls spasming around the ribbed handle until finally you couldn’t take it anymore, your hot face pressing hard into the cold, sweaty counter as you came around the handle of her knife. She rutted harder into you as you heard her vague sounds of orgasm, the tip of her knife accidentally making shallow stabs in your inner thighs as she lost control of how she angled the knife.
“Oh fuck,” Wanda breathed as she slowed down, and you were lost under her, your brain far gone and body farther, trembling, thighs bloodied. Wanda hadn’t even noticed that she ripped so hard into the back of your neck that it was bleeding.
Controlled psychopathy. Load of shit.
Pulling out of you, Wanda pulled away and turned your limp body over, looking at your reddened, tear-streaked face. You were such a pretty little thing. A diamond hidden out in the forest. It was a shame she’d stumbled across you that night. If it had been any other night, she would’ve kept you—courted you, even. She could tell you’d make such a good girlfriend to her.
“Well,” Wanda whispered, gently stroking your sweat-soaked hair out of your face. “That was great. I really enjoyed that,” she said softly, almost like a person with real emotions, and for a moment she had almost felt like one.
Controlled psychopathy.
“But I’m afraid I’m going to enjoy this even more.”
The last thing you saw was the flash of her blade as it came down on you.
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gurugirl · 2 months ago
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Boss!harry | series preview
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This is a Patreon-only series!
Summary: Harry's your boss and you're trying really hard not to develop feelings for him.
Warning: This is an angsty series y'all!
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His warm hand smoothed over your hip and curled around your side as he scooted in closer.
You weren't sure what to expect when he'd wake up. You thought maybe he'd be right back to business, take you back to your car so you could go home and get yourself ready for the day. You hadn't expected that he'd be kissing up the column of your neck to your jaw with hot puffs of breath falling from his mouth and spreading over your skin slowly like melting wax.
You also hadn't expected your body's immediate reaction to him. The liquid heat pooling between your naked thighs and the way your nipples tightened underneath the cotton of his t-shirt. When he slid his hand underneath the fabric and up your tummy to your breast you rattled a moan that sounded like desperation. The way he squeezed around your sensitive tits was something you had no idea you needed. He practically worshiped your nipples and the soft plush skin of your breasts the night before.
The blankets tangled around your ankle as you rolled to your side to face him and he pulled you in by your thigh, pressing your naked core against his morning wood.
Fuck.
It was one thing to have a wild night with your excruciatingly handsome boss, but it was another to do it again upon waking before you were meant to be at work and pretending like nothing had happened.
Pretending. You could pretend. You'd have to because he made it clear the night before that this wasn't a thing. That this was just sex and you'd need to keep it quiet. That it wasn't going to happen again. It couldn't.
Which meant the way he touched you was just sex, just something for that moment. The way the remnants of his palm prints burned into your skin left behind something that would turn hollow and bitter the moment you left his front door made your stomach curl into itself.
You swallowed down the loss before it had even arrived. A one-night stand with your boss was a bad idea and this was why. Harry would be fine after (he could have anyone he wanted) and you'd be left reeling and abandoned. Again. Because this is what men did. You were only good for as long as they saw fit. And after this, Harry wouldn't want or need anything more from you. Why would he?
"Y/n…" he breathed your name against your lips, "Already shaking and I've barely touched you, baby. God I just wanna eat you alive."
He would eat you alive too. Chew you up and spit you right back out. But you wouldn't stop him from doing it. You couldn't stop it because if that's all it could be you'd take the last bits of what he'd offer and be on your way.
It was a sleepy morning, hazy, blurry, soft… Harry's hands and his tongue worked down your body until he'd found your pussy and he slowly, lazily ate you out until you were coming and crying.
And that time, when he fucked into you, it was slow and steady. Slippery wet. Your bare breasts were pressed into his chest as he licked into your mouth and the embers grew and sparked until they caught and your body was at the edge of surrender.
"Fuck your pussy feels just right," he groaned as he dragged himself through your walls, coating himself in your arousal, your scent.
You whimpered and stuffed your fingers into his hair as he ground his pelvis into your clit. The perfect angle, the perfect cock. Too bad he wasn't the perfect man. You couldn't have him. For obvious reasons.
Your throaty moans were swallowed by his mouth, his length smashing into your guts with a wet slapping sound as you both moved together as one. Sex and sweat and heat and the imprint of desire.
He was soft; his words, his cadence, his hands… but the thick and heavy organ moving into your tummy was anything but soft; stiff, masculine, and rigid, it stretched your insides wide open. He needed the room and your body accommodated every inch of him. Gushy.
When he spoke against your ear, the hitch in his voice was almost whiny, like he was the one who was going to feel the loss. Like he was going to be left hollow and you were the one eating him alive, "Baby… shit. Right there?" He nudged into you and stilled himself so you could feel what he meant. Right there. Yes. Right there. Tight and spongy, the pulse emanating from your cunt was wrapped around him, a rhythmic beating that tremored down through his cock and into the veins and nerve endings. Connected.
You stuffed down the dribble of emotion that swelled in your throat and threatened to break from your waterline.
It's just sex. You're a sexual being who needed a good release. It's just sex. You don't need him. It's. Just. Sex.
But it certainly didn't just feel like sex when his soft green irises found your gaze and he held it as he languidly rocked into you. He dotted kisses along your face and then he'd watch you for a moment and it was going to have you mixed up because it was so intimate. So tender of him.
Maybe if he'd flip you around and fuck you from behind and give you a nice spanking it'd feel like just sex. He'd done that the night before (among other positions). Had you drooling into his mattress as he plowed into you from behind, a couple of good swats on your ass as he said filthy things to you. That felt like just sex. Good sex, but still.
So the soft and slow morning fuck with gentle kisses and an easy, damp tongue over your parted lips, his eyes connected to yours as he moaned and slid his thumb at your temple – that was not just sex and you didn't want it.
Well, you did want it. You really did because you wanted to find someone that would do all those things. But you wanted that for good. Not just for the night.
"Are you okay, Y/n?" Harry sponged a kiss to the edge of your mouth.
"Yeah. I'm okay," you were breathless and on the edge of tears. A ridiculous girl.
"Does it hurt from last night? Was it too much?"
Swallowing you blinked your eyes and he was still softly caressing your face with his thumb like only a lover would do.
"It… a little. I feel fine now. You're so gentle so it's okay."
"That's why I'm being careful. Thought you might need it softer this morning. Are you sure you're okay?"
Too attentive. Too thoughtful. Too present. How were you going to separate your romantic nature from your carnal one? How did all the other women do it? You were sure he was like this with every girl he brought to his bed.
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cyberrose2001 · 3 months ago
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I hate TF One sentinel so much.
I fucking hate him.
I hate him so much I wanna see this mech a whimpering teary mess underneath me after overloading more than he can take.
I want him overstimulated and trembling. venting hard as he is forced to cum again. Tied down and obedient to no one else but me. Him on his knees begging for release.
I hate him so much I wanna see him pathetic and whipped for pussy or spike. Hell make him whipped for both. Go wild.
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TF:One Sentinel Prime x Human Reader
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okay so i had a couple ideas but this is the one i went with. essentially sentinel using you to make his dick look bigger so he can stroke his ego, but keeps it a secret. to which you find pathetic and of great value (aka to keep living it up rich giant alien robot style)
also go easy on me!! slowly learning how to write for the universe (as alot of people probably are)
Warnings: TF:ONE SPOILERS, Cybertronian/Human, Dom/Sub Elements, Humiliation/Degradation, Bondage, Face Sitting/Cunnilingus, Cream Pies, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation
Word Count: 1707
18+ ONLY MINORS DNI
For a species that's so highly advanced compared to your own, you'd think there would be far more disunities. After all, this planet wasn't made for you. But despite this Olympic-sized hurdle, most of the Cybertronians seemed curious about you. A little human, freshly birthed compared to the universe's timeline itself, bought to Cybertron by their ventures.
It's taken a lot to get used to. But the primal urge associated with human nature seems omnipresent, as you have learned.
Sentinel Prime. The lord and master of Cybertron had his curiosity peaked. He initially took you in as a novelty, a mere collector's item to show off as a display of acceptingness between Cybertronians and Humans—a symbiotic relationship between two species.
At least, that's what he tells them. Yet another lie for him to cover up for the masses.
"You're such a fucking sellout, Sentinel."
A liar he may be, but his trembling form and the whines of your name speak truthfully. And with all the queries of your purpose on this planet, one thing is sure.
Sentinel Prime can't get enough of human nature.
And you're determined to squeeze every last drop of that precious information.
In the lavish and very private penthouse of his tower overlooking Iacon City, Sentinel Prime kneels before you on the berth. Though at eye level, the balance of power remains clear. Ropes of golden silk tie his arms behind his back, connecting to the ones adorning his thighs, keeping them embarrassingly wide open. He can't count how often he's been in this position before, but he learns something new about your little fleshy body each time.
"Yeah, I know." Sentinel wriggles against the ropes despite having no intention of escaping from them, "B-But I have an image to upkeep, you know that."
"Oh, an image! I see," Gripping the kibble on his chin, you pull him closer, to which he flinches, "Because the only image I see is you popping a boner over a little fleshy like me. Now, wouldn't that cause a stir, hm?"
Sentinel grits his dentae, his faceplates heating up at the proximity. He says nothing, knowing that he could dig himself a deeper hole. But he's already too deep, so much so that he could be tried in court for inappropriate relations with organic species. Or worse, he could have the title of 'Prime' stripped away from him.
But he can't deny it. He's so turned on by your soft skin pressing against him that it almost makes him sob, spike standing erect right in front of you. Deliciously throbbing and angry, ripe for your taking.
"On your back, I mean it." You push against his chassis, and he flops backward, grunting as the winds knocked out of him. Your little form climbs atop him, but you don't stop at his spike. You keep climbing until you're standing on his chassis.
"Wh- What are you doing?" Sentinel questions, his voice strained. He watches as you straddle his face and push your cunt against his intake, a pleasant surprise to Sentinel.
"I'm gonna put that lying tongue of yours to good use," You moan, wiggling your hips against his glossa, "Ever tasted human pussy before? Because it's about time you did."
Sentinel grunts as you grind your hips against his face. Though tiny, you're still enough to take his breath away. The sweet, earthly, deliciously human scent fills his olfactory sensors, and he dives in with the first lap at your folds. It's new to him, soft and plush against his glossa. He doesn't even need a second taste to confirm that he's already addicted.
A soft gasp leaves you as Sentinel essentially makes out with your pussy, moving from opened-mouthed kisses to flicks at your clit. You sit down further on him, causing his glossa to push into you forcefully. The ridges massage along your walls and make you see stars, filling you perfectly, making it hard to believe you had no trouble taking his spike. But you won't tell him that. It's far too much fun to humiliate him and make him putty between your thighs instead.
"Is that the best you can do, Sentinel?"
The Prime whines into your flesh as his glossa works double time, "Pfflease..." He takes a breath before he laps at your clit again, rubbing and grinding with the help of your hips.
"What was that? I can't hear you." Your dominant side gets the better of you, and you deviously shift your hips up, hovering just shy above his saturated dermas, "Say it again."
"Please- I can't- I need you to fuck me-" Sentinel whimpers, wincing as his spike painfully throbs. It's all getting too much for poor Sentinel, "I need your valve-" He cranes his neck in a poor attempt to lick at you once again but whines when you pull away from him entirely.
"I can't believe you, Sentinel. You can hardly wait five minutes? How disappointing." You lean closer, "But I won't say no. I hope your spike can perform better than that tongue of yours."
You slide back down his frame, smiling at Sentinel's soft, frustrative growls. You straddle him again, his spike standing tall between your thighs. It only reaches past your navel, and a thought occurs as you gaze upon the pretty biolights.
He must have the smallest one on Cybertron; no wonder his ego's so big.
And no wonder he prefers to fuck a human and keep it a secret.
"You're so hard for me, Sentinel, aren't you?"
"Y-Yes. Only you." Sentinel heaves his chest, still worked up from eating you out. He watches tentatively as you line yourself up, the weeping tip of his spike just pressing against the threshold. He arches his back against the restraints as his spike is engulfed in your heat, biting back a sob of relief.
"Good," You press your hips down agonisingly slow, hands pressed against his abdomen for support, "Keep still, or I won't let you finish."
You sink the rest of the way, planting your ass on his pelvis. The unrelenting fullness causes a shaky breath to whistle past your lips, but you suppress a moan. Sentinel whines, already trembling against the ropes. He tries to roll his hips up into you, but a taut squeeze of your walls halts him in his tracks.
"Do you not listen? I said stay still." You growl through your teeth. Rolling your hips forward, you create a rhythm that has Sentinel crying out. He has no control, not with his servos tied behind him, nothing to grab onto as you start to bounce ruthlessly on his throbbing spike. His helm lulls back in pleasure and hopelessness as he's forced inside you again and again.
"Ah- Ah!! Y-Y/n! I'm gonna-" Sentinel mewls, clenching his optics shut, his chest heaving once again on the cusp of an embarrassingly early overload.
You keep bouncing despite your breathing becoming laboured, fueled by the desire to see Sentinel come undone and beg for your mercy, "Yeah? You gonna cum, Sentinel? Show me how much- guh- how much you love human pussy?"
"Y-Yes! Oh, Primus yes-" Sentinel gasps, arching his back struts as you slam down on his spike, "I love it- ohhn- I love your organic valve so much-"
A raw, sinful cry wracks his frame, shuddering as he pumps his transfluids into you. The warm, suspiciously glowing fluid leaks and spurts out, causing a shiver down your spine.
"My oh my, Sentinel, that was fast." You moan softly, slowly circling your hips, "Not only are you pathetic, but you're pathetic and don't last long in bed."
Sentinel whines wearily at the extra stimulation, "Sorry- nghh- I just can't help it- AHhn!-"
You don't let him finish his sentence. Instead, you lift your hips and slam your hips back down, sending transfluids all over his pelvis. You work yourself up to a back-breaking rhythm, determined to keep your promise to make him beg for mercy. You watch in fascination as Sentinel starts to thrash against the restraints, and how he bares his dentae at you, how that disgustingly handsome face belonging to a mech at your mercy begins to contort in overwhelming pleasure.
"F-Fuck, Sentinel-" Double entendre. You keep going, fingers digging into his hip plating to prevent being thrown off. The wet, sloppy noises of metal meeting flesh spark a deep heat within the pits of your stomach.
He keeps thrashing against you as he cries and howls your name, his hips pressing into the berth to try and escape the overstimulation. He tries to form words, but all that leaves him is an incoherent babble of pleads and whines for you to stop. He overloads again, crying and tugging at the restraints, another gush of warmth spilling into you.
"C'mon, Sentinel-" You moan, your thighs trembling from the workout of holding the mech down. Your cunt aches at the prolonged stretch, but you're determined once again to draw one last overload from him. You reach down and start to circle your clit, hoping to breach your orgasm, "G-Gimme one more, and I'll stop."
"P-Primus below-" Sentinel clenches his optics shut as your pussy strangles his spike, his hips stuttering. The tightness of your walls lurches him forward as he shoots another load into you.
"Fuck yes!" You give him a show of your own and arch your back, finally reaching your orgasm. You cry out and clench down, causing more trans fluid to spill out from you. A soft, exhausted whine leaves you once you're left in the afterglow.
What a mess. Layers of sticky trans fluid coat your thighs and Sentinels' pelvis, the dull throbbing of an overworked spike still seated inside you. It's a horrific sight to walk in on if anyone were to, but maybe they should, if only to expose Sentinel for the filthy fleshy fucker he is.
Looking up, you're met with a shamelessly erotic mess of the Prime. His faceplates painted blue, his glossa lulling out of his intake, the heavy heaving of his chest plates—the face of a liar couldn't be more irresistible.
You chuckle to yourself, whipping out a small data pad and snapping a picture.
"How's that for an image, Sentinel?"
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dollarbils · 3 months ago
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those poor unamerican girls | b.eilish
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billie eilish x fem!reader
context. your religious parents aren’t happy about your illicit relationship with billie.
warnings. smut, praise, tiny bit angst but not rlly, slight age gap but it’s not really mentioned.
!religion not specified as this is not meant to offend anyone or their beliefs!
request masterlist
the tattoo that littered her left hand had turned a purple-ish blue. she’d gotten it at the start of the summer, marking the beginning of your relationship. did you get one too? no, your parents would kick you out. this however, would be nothing compared to the scrutiny you’d endure if they found out about her. your teenage wife, the subject of your romantic daydreams.
“my pretty girl.” billie whispered in your ear, startling you slightly, mindful of her volume so as not to disturb your parents. she'd just climbed in through the window of your bedroom.
"billie." a sigh of relief as she took you in her arms. you'd been flooded with schoolwork, and hadn't been able to see her all week.
"what are you doing here?" you asked, as she hadn't warned you of her visit.
"I wanted to see my pretty woman." she smiled, her words coaxing you into leaning in for a kiss, as the wind from your open window stole your hair, providing a slight breeze as the palm trees in your peripheral swayed in rhythm. her hands tightened around your waist, as she kissed you forcefully, simultaneously moving for the bed.
"baby, my parents are home." she whined when you broke the kiss. the daylight falling quickly, stealing away the sunset.
"I know." she said simply, in response to your previous statement. leaning in to pepper your lips.
"billie." you called, laughing quietly.
"you'll just have to stay quiet." she whispered into your neck, breathing in your scent and grazing her teeth against your skin.
"bils, you have to stop." your breaths picked up in attempt to comfort your raging desires. she wasn't helping the situation when she gripped your ass and sucked the skin below your jaw.
"billie." you were drifting away from a whisper, no longer able to keep up the restraint. she pulled on your top and you helped her take it off, all rational thoughts having disappeared. you were so in love.
"mm?" she unhooked your bra before pushing you onto the bed, swiftly moving on top of you. her tongue found your nipple in an instant and you were fisting the sheets in the hopes of remaining silent. she moved away from your tits, and brought her lips back to yours instead. strands of her hair fell down, tickling your face as you kissed her.
“my teenage wife.” her words were soft and caring as she handled your face gently, rocking her body against yours, painfully slowly.
“billie, please.” you squirmed beneath her touch, engrossed completely by her.
“you’re killing me, babe.” she commented, as she gripped your hips holding them in place. she fiddled with the zip of your jeans and pulled them down quickly. it was getting harder and harder to stay quiet. and when her breath fanned over your pussy, you almost lost it completely.
“god, you’re so wet.” the irony of the comment was clear, god wouldn’t forgive you for your sins, not when you commit them so willingly.
“billie, just do something.” her breath on your heat was driving you wild. but soon, her tongue took residence on your clit, nipping at it. you covered your mouth with your hand, muffling the sounds you couldn’t prevent from escaping. your other hand, found itself knotted in her hair, when you felt her fingers graze your entrance. she groaned when you pulled harshly, and she dipped her fingers into your hole.
“fuck, billie.” she lapped up your juices, her fingers pumping inside of you as your thighs squeezed your head.
“shh, you’ve got to stay quiet, beautiful.” her other hand reached for yours which had briefly left her hair, and she locked fingers with you, squeezing your hand.
“fuck, i-i’m tryingg.” her thumb started toying with your clit as she moved her body up your own, kissing your skin until she reached your lips. her tongue slid into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on her. your body arched into her, pushing her fingers deeper until you were unraveling on her.
“that’s it, my girl. make a mess of my fingers. she swallowed your moan with her mouth and pulled her fingers out of you. when her lips left yours she replaced them with her fingers, urging you to let them in.
“billie.” she kissed your nose before slumping besides you, caressing your hair as you put your ear to her chest.
you’d signed your name in pen, mrs. eilish. a decision you’d soon be asked to take back. but how could you? how could you give up on her?
“i’ve had a hell of a summer.” she sighed, the sound of her heartbeat fading as she pulled away from you.
“but i have to go.” emotion seeped from the knot in her eyebrows as she got up from your bed. you moved to rest where she’d been laying, feeling the warmth encompassing your body.
“when will i see you again?” she took a moment to think, knowing she didn’t have an answer. the both of you had lives to get back to. reality.
“soon. i promise.” she blew you a kiss and climbed out your window. and it felt like an American divorce.
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st4rfckerz · 11 months ago
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Farmboy | Farmhand!Anakin Skywalker x Farmers!daughter
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word count: 4.1k
warnings: MDNI 18+, oral (male receiving), face fucking (if you squint), unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, slow(ish) buildup, not proofread
summary: Anakin is your family's farmhand and after inviting him to dinner, you can't keep your hands to yourself
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Your family owned a farm out West, not far from the outskirts of town. It was quiet, as farms often are. The land was hilly, rolling out as far as you could see. The sun was shining, and the blue sky was bright with few clouds in it. The sound of horses and the wind rustling through the trees was all you heard. The air was crisp, and there was a slight tang of wildflowers.
Anakin was one of the farmhands that your family had hired a few months ago, a man who was quiet but skilled. As one of their hired hands, he was responsible for helping with the maintenance of the farm's livestock and machinery. His primary role was to ensure everything ran smoothly, which meant keeping the animals fed and watered while fixing broken machinery when needed.
It was midday when you approached him in the garden shed with a worried expression on your face. "Ani, I need your help. The sheep pen collapsed, and I can't find any tools nearby." Panic was evident in your voice, hinting at the potential consequences of leaving the sheep unattended for too long. Anakin followed you back to the dimly lit barn and you found the sheep wandering around their stalls, bleeting softly.
"I see," he muttered looking at the pen, he glanced over where the sheep were grazing. "I hope nothing else broke." he says under his breath, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of damage. He walked forward, whistling for the sheep that were scattered, and they came to him. He began leading them towards their pen, some were very fussy about it and didn’t want to go, yet he remained calm and gentle.
"Don't worry, I'll fix it," Anakin assured you, stepping over the fence and rummaging through the debris left by the fallen wood.
"You need me to help with anything?" you stand near him awkwardly, not sure what to do.
“Nope. I got it under control,” He said calmly, continuing to lead the sheep. You admired his patience and his ability to stay so level headed. "You can just sit there and look pretty while I get this done." Anakin shoots you a slick smile that makes your insides turn a little.
"I won't be bothering you?" you ask as you sit down on a bale of hay.
"You won't be bothering me at all sweetheart," He says, his eyes traveled over your body and he smirked at you. "You can be my moral support." He leans against the aged wall of the barn. His stance was relaxed, very casual as he was being nonchalant, but with you he was a little different. Something about you made him like this.
Anakin couldn't help but notice how good you looked in their simple dress, its hemline brushing against your thighs, revealing just enough skin to drive him wild. The sunset cast a warm, golden light over your body, creating a delicate glowy outline around your figure. It was almost like the sun was wrapping itself around you.
"You know you could stay for supper if you'd like," you suggest, breaking the silence of the barn. "I'm sure my folks won't mind." He watched as you leaned back on the bale of hay, and he couldn't help but notice your dress riding up a little. It was a small thing to notice, but he saw it.
Your dress wasn't that short, by any means, but the way it rode up on your legs was enough to make Anakin notice you. His gaze drifted down to your legs, and back up to your face.
"Oh I don't know, I don't wanna intrude or anything-" You smiled and cut him off, stopping him in his tracks.
"Please Ani? Just this once?" You walked over to him, and with that sweet tone in your voice, you were playing him like a fiddle. It was clear that your invitation was genuine, you wanted him to stay so you could keep his company. He smiled at you and looked away from your eyes for a moment. When he looked back at you, he was slightly speechless. The words were caught in his throat, and he couldn't speak, he wasn't used to someone that could make him flustered.
"Well, alright I s'pose I could join you." Anakin smiles. "What's mama bear fixin' up tonight?"
he smirked at you, his expression was playful, but you could tell he was serious. You laughed lightly at the silly nickname he often uses for you mother.
“She’s making beef stew, with biscuits. All from scratch, too.” you explain. "And there's fresh apple pie for dessert." His smile showed he was interested, and he couldn't help but admire your beauty. You looked like a little doll, with sweet doe eyes that could disarm any man.
"Then I'll be there." His voice had a masculine yet flirty quality to it, and it sent shivers down your spine. It was like music to your ears.
"Good, I'll see you later farmboy." You tease, knocking his hip with your own as you walked past him. You felt his eyes devouring you whole, looking at your sweet face and the sway of your hips.
As he continues to fix the pen, he can't help but think about the upcoming dinner. He's never had dinner with you and your family before, so he wondered how it would go. He didn't know if he'd be welcome, but you said they wouldn't mind, and you're pretty much like a little princess in their eyes so it shouldn't go wrong at all.
The evening rolled around, you were sitting at the table waiting for him, ready for the dinner to begin. Your family was already seated around the table, discussing various things. They all seemed pretty jovial, and you could hear the occasional laughter, as well as bits of conversation.
You looked around and expected to see Anakin walking through the door at any second, yet he was a bit late which was out of character for him.
Just as you thought he might've bailed last minute, Anakin's voice draws your attention towards the door, where he was finally walking in. His expression had a hint of embarrassment, since he was later than he thought he'd be. He had a shy yet sheepish look on his face, as if he expected you or your family to reprimand him.
"Sorry," he said quietly, looking at you, "I'm a bit late."
"Ani! I was afraid you flaked out on us." you joke as you abruptly got up from your seat to greet him. When Anakin saw you get up and come closer to him, he was initially confused as to why. But then you envelope him in a tight hug, catching him completely off guard. He didn't know how to respond, as he was taken aback by your show of affection.
"No, I'd never do a thing like that." he responds.
He hugged you back, his hands squeezing you tightly as you felt his body pressing against yours. He was caught by surprise, and he didn't expect you to show any affection. His body stiffened up as you hugged him, as he remained still.
However, he felt a wave of warmth rush through him and it caused him to relax into the hug. He wrapped his arms around you, feeling a new feeling of closeness between you both.
"Come eat, there's plenty of food." You let go of the embrace, but you still keep your hands on him, dragging him to the seat right next to you. He didn't hesitate to follow you, nor did he show any opposition. You both sit down, with you being right next to Anakin. You pull yourself slightly close to him, close enough that he could feel it.
Anakin's eyes look up at your father, his expression showing a bit of anxiety. Your father smiles warmly at him, and welcomes him to the table. Anakin smiles back in response, looking down at the table a bit. Your father proceeds to sit down, as does the rest of your family. The dinner proceeds like normal, everyone engaging in conversation with one another.
"So Anakin, how's everything been?" your father asks, his aged, gravelly voice booming throughout the room.
"I've been quite fine sir, same old news." Anakin says, smiling a bit as he takes a bite from his biscuit.
"Anakin fixed the sheep pen today." The conversation shifts as you interject, causing Anakin's attention to look up. Your words get everyone's attention, as they all look at Anakin, who is sitting to the side.
"Oh, did he?" your father says, looking at him. Anakin's ears pick up, and he looks over towards you. Your father continues, "I'm sure the sheep are happy." He blushes slightly, nodding his head humbly as he looks at your dad.
Your mother pipes up with her own question, pointing the discussion in another direction.
"So Anakin, what do you do in your free time?"
Anakin answers, keeping his tone relaxed and level.
"Nothin' too special really," he says, taking a few moments to respond, "Just hang around, or fix things. Y'know how it is." He's cordial, polite, and has a soft attitude.
He treats you with respect, yet his attention keeps flicking back towards you again and again, as if he was drawn to your charms. You felt as if you were a magnet to him, as he always looked over at you after he said anything.
As you lean forward to grab the salt, your fingers brush against Anakin's thigh under the table, a subtle gesture that sends a thrill through both of you. He raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He knows exactly what you're doing. You quickly return to your seat, trying to hide your flushed cheeks under the low light.
"The food is really good mom." you smile sweetly at her. While you speak, your fingers graze along Anakin's growing bulge under the table, a subtle hint of your growing attraction.
Anakin's eyes meet yours for a brief moment, he swallows hard, trying to maintain his composure as he continues the conversation. The tension between you two is palpable, yet unnoticed by the rest of the family.
Dinner comes to an end, and your mother presents a homemade apple pie for dessert. The family cheers in appreciation, and you can't help but smile at the delicious aroma wafting through the room. The scent of apple pie creates a cozy atmosphere that wraps around you like a warm blanket. Anakin compliments your mother on the meal, his eyes never straying far from yours.
As everyone digs into the apple pie, you feel Anakin's hand gently slide in between your thighs under the table. You try your hardest to suppress the smile creeping onto your face, the connection between you two growing stronger with each passing moment. The dessert is sweet, but it's nothing compared to the warmth you feel inside.
When you finish eating your piece of pie, you stand up and gather your plate and utensils, turning to head towards the kitchen sink. Anakin follows closely behind. You work side by side, the clinking of dishes echoing through the kitchen.
Anakin's hands are large and rough from farm work, but they move gracefully as he washes the dishes. He looks at you, his expression calm but also full of appreciation.
"It was nice having dinner with your family." he tells you, "thanks for inviting me over."
You give him a smile and use a nearby towel to wipe your hands. "It was no problem, they enjoyed your company." He smiles back, his jaw firm but his eyes showing that he was genuinely pleased.
Just as your family enters the kitchen with their now empty plates,  you lean in close to Anakin, your voice barely above a whisper. "Meet me in the barn in five minutes." you say, your eyes filled with anticipation. Anakin's gaze locks onto yours for a moment before he nods, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Your father approaches, engaging Anakin in conversation about the farm and the upcoming town festival. You turn to your mother, your cheeks flushed but your voice steady. "I'll be right back, I just need to check on the chicken coop."
Your mother doesn't seem to suspect anything unusual since this was usually the time you'd check on the chickens anyway. "Take your time, dear. We'll be in here for a bit longer." She waves you off, her smile warm and understanding.
You wait for everyone to settle down before slipping out of the house, making sure to lock the door behind you. The moonlit night casts a pearlescent glow over the yard, illuminating the path leading to the barn. You hurry inside, your heart racing with exhilaration.
Anakin watches you leave, his eyes never leaving yours as you exit the house. He knows what's coming next, and he can't help but feel a whirlwind of trepidation. The anticipation killing him, but he forces himself to continue the conversation with your father, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him.
Finally, your father finishes his glass of sweet tea and stands up, nodding goodbye to Anakin after he explains that he should be heading home.
The sound of crickets and distant frogs filled the air as Anakin walks towards the barn, his boots rustling against the grass beneath him. He approaches the old barn slowly, his heart racing faster than a stallion at the starting gate. He takes a deep breath before opening the door, the creak of the hinges echoing through the night. He called out your name softly, his voice tinged with anticipation. The barn is dimly lit, with the moonlight filtering in through the cracks in the wooden walls.
As he stepped inside, he felt a sense of relief wash over him. You were there, your eyes locked onto his.
"Hi." you say softly, your voice tinged with a hint of mischief. The barn feels smaller now, the air thick with tension. Your eyes lock onto each other, and the crickets chirping outside seem to grow louder. Anakin takes a step towards you, his confidence wavering only slightly.
"Hey," his tone is softer than normally, you could tell just from his voice he was nervous. His eyes are locked on you, scanning every inch of your body. "Your folks know you're in here?" he asks.
You shake your head, biting your lip to suppress your smile. "I told them I'm checking on the chickens." His eyebrow raises, a hint of amusement playing on his face.
Anakin clicks his tongue while shaking his head teasingly. "You shouldn't be lyin' to your parents sweetheart." He looks at you with a certain sparkle in his eyes, as if you made him feel special with a simple remark.
"Technically, I glanced over there when i was walking over here." you state matter-of-factly. Anakin steps closer to you, his fingers brushing the little strands of hair out of your face. His eyes never leaving yours. His touch is gentle, yet electric, making your heart race even faster. You step closer to him and you can't help but feel the pull between you two. The barn feels comforting and inviting, a secret haven away from the world.
"You look real pretty tonight." Anakin compliments sincerely, his hand still resting on your cheek. His thumb brushes against your jawline, sending shivers down your spine. You nuzzle your cheek against Anakin's big palm. "Thanks," you whisper, your voice barely audible in the silence of the barn.
Anakin's thumb traces a line along your lower lip, teasingly brushing against the corner of your mouth. His hand moves to your waist, his fingertips grazing the hem of your dress, sending electric currents through your body. Anakin leans in, pressing his lips against yours in a gentle peck. He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching for your reaction. Seeing your approval, he leans in again, this time with more intensity. His kiss is soft yet passionate, filled with a sense of longing.
The kiss intensifies, your lips pressing harder against each other, tongues dancing in a rhythm only you two understand. Anakin's hands slide into your hair, pulling you closer, his breath hitching in your mouth. You break the kiss, trailing your lips against the rough stubble along his jaw. He groans softly, his hand tightening on your hair.
"Been thinkin' about you all day," Anakin panted between breaths. He grips your waist to pull you impossibly closer as you continue to explore his neck with your lips. "You and that damn dress." His hands moved up to cup your breasts, massaging them roughly through the thin fabric of your dress.
You giggle softly, your teeth grazing lightly against his neck. "You're that worked up over a dress, Ani?" Anakin whines quietly in response, his hips desperately bucking in your direction. You pull back slightly, your eyes locked on Anakin's. His eyes widened in surprise as you suddenly dropped to your knees, your hands reaching for his belt buckle. He groaned, his hips rocking forward, his cock straining against his pants.
Your hands reach for the hem of his pants, slowly pulling them down, revealing his muscular thighs. You reach down further, your fingers brushing against the waistband of his underwear. With a quick tug, they fall to the ground revealing his thick cock, hard and ready just for you.
"You're killing me kid." He managed to croak out as you slowly wrap your hand around the base of his shaft, stroking it gently. You lean forward and kiss his angry red tip. It twitches in anticipation, leaking a small amount of precum onto your lip. Your tongue darts out, tentatively exploring the head of his cock, savoring the salty taste. You moan softly, your hands reaching down to cup his balls, massaging them gently.
Anakin's hands grip your hair tightly, his moans turning into groans of pleasure as you continue to tease him. "F-fuckin' hell," he growls, his hips rocking back and forth, pushing his cock further into your mouth. You stroke the part of him that doesn't fit into your mouth, your fingers gliding up and down his length. You can feel him twitching, his body trembling under your touch.
His cock pulses in your hand and his breaths come in ragged gasps. You gag slightly, your eyes watering, but you don't pull away. Instead, you take as much of him as you possibly can.
" 'M close- hold on, I'm- ah!" His cock twitches violently in your mouth, shooting a hot stream of cum down your throat. You swallow it unhesitatingly, eager to please him. Gazing up at Anakin, your eyes is fixed on his. He's panting heavily, his hands shaking slightly. His eyes are filled with admiration and desire. You can feel the heat of his gaze, and it makes you blush slightly.
"Come 'ere," he says, his voice hoarse. He pulls you to your feet, his lips crashing into yours. His tongue dances with yours, tasting himself on your tongue. His hands wandering over your body, cupping your ass and pulling you closer. As you kiss Anakin, you can feel him growing hard again, his cock pressing against your thigh. He slowly walks forward, guiding you towards the small tractor in the back of the barn. His lips never leave yours, his hands roaming over your body, exploring every inch. He moans into the kiss, slapping his big hand against the fat of your ass. "Turn around for me baby." he commands.
Anakin bends you over the tractor, and flips your dress up, exposing your pink cotton panties to him. He strokes the growing wet spot gently, his fingers grazing your bare skin.
"Jesus, she's practically dripping for me." he whispers, his voice filled with lust. His hands move to your panties, tugging them to the side, revealing your swollen, hot flesh. He licks his lips, his eyes locked onto your slobbering cunt. His cock pulses, ready to be inside you.
Anakin lines up his cock with your entrance, gently pushing in. You gasp, your body adjusting to his girth. He holds onto your hips, guiding himself inside you. He thrusts deeper, his cock filling you completely. You moan softly, your body quickly getting used to his size. "Thaaat's it, angel." he praises, his voice low and alluring. "Let me in."
His hips move slowly at first, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease. Your body responds, your cunt clenching around him, pulling him deeper. Anakin's breaths come in ragged gasps as he starts to move faster, his hips slamming into you, each thrust sending you further onto the tractor.
You cry out as he sweetly rolls his abdomen, his cock hitting your sweet spot with each movement. The tractor creaks under your weight, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the barn.
"Takin' me so good baby." he growls, you can feel his cock stretching you, filling you completely.
"M-more Ani," you beg, your voice hoarse. "Need more-"
"Yeah? You want more?" he rasps, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. Anakin pulls you up by your neck and your back is now pressed against his chest. He thrusts harder, his cock hitting your G-spot with every movement. You yelp in surprise, your nails digging into the arm he has wrapped around your shoulders to keep your body flush against his. "There you go, you can take it, I know you can."
"Needy little girl," he teases, his voice thick with desire. "Just couldn't keep your hands off me at dinner, shit, could've bent you over that damn table and fucked you raw in front of your folks if I wanted to."
You moan, your head thrown back, your body moving with his. Your walls flutter around him when you hear his vulgar words.
He chuckles, his hands gripping your neck tighter. "You'd like that wouldn't you? Oh, you're dirty." He turns your head roughly, his lips crashing into yours, kissing you messily.
His tongue duels with yours, his hands gripping your neck tighter, holding you in place. You moan into the kiss, your body trembling. "Ani- cumming, c-cumming!" You can't form any coherent words, your breath coming in gasps as you neared your climax.
"Let go sweetheart, I got you," Anakin's breath tickles the shell of your ear as he speaks. You cry out as your orgasm quickly wracks over your body, your cunt contracting tightly around his cock. "That's my girl, c'mon." His breath comes in ragged gasps, and sweat trickles down his forehead, his chest heaving. It takes a few more powerful thrusts for him to fully unload inside you, his cum filling you up completely.
He takes a moment to catch his breath, and carefully withdraws from you, his cock glistening with your wetness. He hastily pulls up his pants and adjusts himself.
"You did so good for me." he whispers, his voice filled with awe. He carefully fixes your dress, smoothing out the wrinkles. "You look even prettier now," he says, his eyes filled with admiration.
He reaches up, fixing your hair, his fingers grazing your face. "You best get back to the house," he says, his voice filled with concern. "You know I'll be here tomorrow."
You nod, your cheeks flushed, your heart still racing from your encounter with him. "Mhm," you hum quietly. He smirks, his eyes filled with mischief.
You smile, a blush spreading across your cheeks when he leans in and brings his lips to yours one last time.
Anakin leads you towards the barn door, his hand still wrapped around yours. "I'll see you tomorrow sweetheart." he coos, his voice filled with promise.
You nod, your cheeks still flushed, your heart racing. "See you, farmboy." you say, your voice shaky. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, and you step out of the barn, your body still buzzing from the encounter. As you walk away, you can feel his eyes on you, watching you every step of the way. You glance back, catching him standing by his truck, his hands on his hips, watching you walk away.
You enter the house, trying to compose yourself. Your parents were still awake, sitting in the living room, sipping on their drinks. They didn't notice anything amiss about you, thankfully. You made your way upstairs to your room, still feeling the evidence of your encounter between your legs.
You feel a thrill of excitement, knowing that Anakin will be waiting for you at that old barn, ready to have you whenever he wants.
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dinogoofymutated · 3 months ago
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NSFW! Gambit/Fem!AFAB!reader SECOND FIC OF HALLOWEEN CELEBRATION LEHHHGOOO!!! I really hope you guys like this one, as I had a lot of fun writing it! Sorry if the smut at the end is a little barebones, I was running out of steam lol. Here's your meal my hellions!
A bat flies through your window one night, and although you're dreadfully afraid of rabies and scared to touch the little thing, it's in really bad shape and you can't stand by and just let it die. You spend the next few days nursing the little guy back to health, when one day he up and disappears. The next night you go out with your friends, and feel like you keep seeing a familiar pair of eyes in the crowd.
TWs: MDNI!!!!!! Smut, Mirror sex, bitchy neighbors, alcohol consumption, semi-public sex. vampire stuff, only half of this has been beta-read. I'll add more if I think of any.
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    The bat hadn’t struggled once when you scooped it up into a spare shoebox. It didn’t scramble away, or even flinch, really. It hadn’t made a single sound or squeak, either. All it did was look up at you with strange, tired eyes. Black scelera, red iris, black pupils- paired with an exhausted haze. He was cut up, battered, and beaten. If it weren’t for how compliant it was, you might have thought the thing was feral. Which didn’t exactly help your shaking hands or constant flinching as you used the lid to urge it into the cardboard. But your fear be damned, you couldn’t just leave the little guy on the doorsteps of your apartment- the thought of the bat being crushed by clumsy feet, or poked and prodded by the little hellions that were the children who lived here was more than enough to give you the push you needed.
    Besides, it was almost… cute, for something you thought was so scary. A little vampire bat with those strange eyes that seemed to follow you wherever you went. He never failed to perk up every time you came home from work. Despite the many struggles and attempts you had trying to find something he could eat, he never seemed to hold it against you. Happy to see you when you took the lid off the shoebox to check in on him, and not too upset with you when you inevitably had to put it back on.
    Well, before he escaped, that is. 
    You knew you were going to have to let him go at some point. You were just trying to do the right thing and reach out to a wildlife rescue, or something. Hoping that they’d do something more to help him before he was set back off into the wild. But one day you came home and he was just, well, gone. The lid of the shoebox had been tossed aside, the box itself a little squished and damaged, the bat nowhere to be found. You searched your apartment for absolute ages, unable to find any trace of his existence or escape aside from a window you were sure you had locked before you left for work that afternoon.
    You sigh as you look out the window of the Uber, thoughts drawn back to the bat as you pass billboards and cornfields, hoping he had escaped the city and found himself somewhere a bit safer. Ashley and Sophie, your neighbors from across the hall, are giggling about something in the seats next to you. The chatty girls are more like acquaintances than they are your friends, but on the surface, they seem sweet. When they invited you out tonight you had been surprised, if a little hesitant. You had wrestled with your anxiety every step of the way, but once you were strapped into the sexiest costume you could find and buckled into the almost-too-small backseat of the Uber, you had started to feel a little excited- despite the fact that you stood out like a sore thumb, with the girls having chosen matching costumes at the last minute and left you out of the loop. 
    “I think we should hit the corn maze first,” Ashley says confidently from the seat next to you. It’s enough to finally clue you back into their current conversation, debating on where the night should start once you get to the Halloween festival. -It’s an “adult only” event, with more than its fair share of alcohol and more than a few scare actors who linger around to give everyone a fright- and there’s a lot to do. It’s almost like the fair, just, you know, spooky. 
    “What? No! I’m telling you, it’s not a good enough photo-op until the moon comes out. We need to do it last!” Sophie sounds adamant, and you wonder how many times they've actually had this conversation leading up to tonight. You try not to snicker as Ashley rolls her eyes, Sophie pouting across the way. They bicker a bit more before Ashley turns to you, smiling slyly. There’s an unnerving way about the way she’s looking at you, something ticking in the back of your brain that you just can’t shake. 
    “What do you think?” She asks you, Sophie leaning over to stare at you directly, Puppy eyes full-throttle as she pouts. You don’t really want to be caught between the spat of theirs, so you take a moment to think, before shrugging with your answer. 
    “I think we should start with drinks.” You say after a moment, and both girls gasp in excitement. 
    “Girlie you are so smart!! I knew we invited you for a reason!” Ashley’s high-pitched voice cheers harshly in your ears as she lightly slaps your arm, but you smile at her anyway, despite the fact that her tone made it feel rather belittling. It’s fine. This is fine, it will be fine. Your anxiety feels like a ticking time bomb, but you know that when you get there and start having fun, it will eventually fade into the background of the noise and lights of the festival. At least, you hoped it would.
    The festival is pretty packed when you get there, but the wide walkways and plentiful games, areas, and events make it more approachable. After the first watery drink of the night, you start to relax a little. And as bitchy and frigid as the girls can be sometimes, they’re a lot of fun when it comes to a party! Carnival games, photo areas, rides, and jumpscares? You find yourself laughing most of the night as the three of you goof off and stumble your way through the corn maze, clown maze, haunted maze- a little repetitive in that area, but fun nonetheless.
    The funny thing was, despite all the people here, and everyone the girls have stopped to flirt with and talk to, you keep seeing this one particular guy. He was certainly one to stand out in a crowd, tall, dark, and handsome with what looked like a permanent smirk on his face. But the one thing you couldn’t seem to shake was his eyes. They had to be contacts, right? Black Scelera, red irises, black pupils… just, strange. And familiar, somehow. You feel like you see him everywhere you go, somehow always in your vicinity, but not really in a stalkerish kind of way. Besides, it was more than likely just a coincidence. 
    After a while of playing various games and a couple more watery drinks, you’re feeling pretty warm and a little crowded. Ashley and Sophie had run into some acquaintances they knew and had stopped to chat for a bit. They talk about some of the more busy and exciting things you haven't been able to check out yet, but the longer you stand there, the less appealing all of this starts to sound. You’re beginning to feel a little overstimulated, and go ahead and let the girls know you’d rather sit this one out. Sophie doesn’t answer you at all, and all Ashley does is wave you off. It sparks some annoyance in your chest, but knowing that you’re overwhelmed and everything feels like it's at 100% right now- you shrug it off. 
    You find a bale of hay to sit on where you told them you’d wait, relieved at the feeling of the cool night air that’s uninterrupted by masses of warm bodies and hot breathing. The sound of the crowd is a little muffled over here, and the slight breeze just gives you everything you need for a quick break from the chaos, eyes closed as you lean back onto your hands. Not for long though, as someone plops down onto the space next to you pretty much immediately. 
    “Busy night, ay, cher?” Your eyes flick open quickly, and the source of that thick Cajun draw just so happens to be the handsome man you had been seeing all night. You blush a little, both out of nervousness and from the fact that he was even more attractive up close. The cool air suddenly feels sweltering with his eys on you like this. 
    “...yeah, I guess so.” You say after a moment, pressing a cool palm against one of your hot cheeks for a quick moment. The stranger chuckles at you, a flash of a fake fang appearing with his smile. 
    “Name’s Remy, Remy LeBeau.” He holds his hand out for a handshake, which you take with a smile. “Pretty girl like you gotta name?” You can’t help but giggle a little, and tell him your name, butterflies in your stomach with the way he’s looking at you.
    “Nice to meet you, officially.” You say, and he cocks an eyebrow at you with that signature smirk of his. “I mean- like, I feel like I’ve been seeing you everywhere tonight! Not in a creepy way or anything, I just…” You take your hand back from him, covering your face in embarrassment as you apologize again with a sigh. God, why were you so awkward? You drop your hands into your lap as Remy begins to laugh, with you blushing furiously in a way you pray you can blame on the alcohol. 
    “ s’ good to know I make a lasting impression,” Remy says, and it’s charming enough to make you crack another smile. 
    “I promise I’m not normally this strange. It’s been a bit of a night.” The words come out like a sigh, and you glance over where the “stressors” of the night had run off to, strangely thankful when you can't see them through the crowd. You feel like your heart skips a beat when you look back over at Remy, with a smile on his face and a fondness in his eyes you feel like might be a little too friendly for someone you just met.
    “I don’t mind, Cher. You’ll find that I like strange.” He replies, sending you a wink. You let out a short laugh, cocking an eyebrow at him.
    “You know what? I believe you.” You say, all Remy does is smile wider. You glance at him again, looking at him from head to toe as you take in his appearance up close. You can’t really tell if he’s wearing a costume, or if he had just stuck on some vampire teeth and called it a night. Either way, he looks good, and you really do not want to make a further fool of yourself. 
    “What led you here, anyway? Costume catch your eye?” You flirt, hoping you don’t come off as nervous as you are- not really one to flirt with handsome strangers. But hey! When the opportunity presents itself… Remy raises his eyebrows, interested. 
    “Sure, Somethin' like that.”
    You and Remy talk for a really, really long time. From the outside looking in, just about anyone would presume you were a couple with the easy-flowing conversation and back-and-forth flirting. You just clicked! It was so easy for your nerves to wash away, and for a long moment, all of your anxieties about the night were long forgotten. One of the two of you had scooted closer in the duration of your flirt-fest, not that you really noticed while caught up in his words and charismatic smile- your sides being pressed together and his hand resting behind you. He’s close enough to lean in and kiss you, and honestly, you certainly wouldn’t mind if he did.
    “So you want my number then?” The words are admittedly cocky, but damn did this guy make you feel so confident in your own skin.
    “You hear me say I didn’t?” Remy replies, cocking his head at you. You can't help but laugh, smiling like some cheesy idiot.
    “Do you flirt like this with every girl?”
    “Jus’ the ones I like.”
    You really hadn’t noticed how long the two of you had been sitting together, an hour? Maybe an hour and a half? Your phone had been long forgotten, and you weren’t really planning to check it either until you heard a giddy squeal from your right. Both you and Remy look over to the noise, only to see the girls, without their clique from before and presumably done with all of their roaming at the moment.
    “Hey girlie! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Ashley says, drawing you into an awkward side hug that you don’t return, confused.
    “I told you where I’d be?” She brushes you off, locking eyes with Remy for just long enough for her eyebrows to raise and a glint to light up in her eyes. 
    “Who’s this?” You don’t have time to answer before Sophie is in front of you, taking your hands and dragging you to your feet.
    “Come get food with us!! We need an excuse to sober up, and we’re not doing it without you, bestie!”  Both of them are being a little more friendly than normal, and it's enough to make you a little suspicious. But, food did sound pretty nice at the moment. You look back at Remy with a sheepish smile, and you find that he’s already looking at you. 
    “ S’ alright, Cher. I’m a patient man.” He gives you a reassuring smile, and you relax a little more, unable to keep yourself from smiling as butterflies light up in your stomach. The girls drag you away pretty much immediately, talking about some afterparty or whatnot, but all you can think of the entire time is the implications of that statement.
    “Where’d you find a man like that?” Sophie’s voice finally catches your attention while in line for the carnival food, and you give her a questioning look.
    “Sorry?” You ask, and both of them giggle in that way that just seems to set alarms off in your head.
    “I’m serious! Almost every guy we’ve seen tonight has been like, a seven. That one is literally a ten.” Sophie giggles again, sending Ashley a knowing look. You blush a little, thinking about Remy again, but there’s just something about this conversation that’s making you uncomfortable.
    “Well, I didn’t exactly find him. He approached me.” You admit, shrugging your shoulders. The girls exchange skeptical looks, before laughing again.
    “Really?” Ashley asks this time, a wolfish smile on her face. It’s rhetorical- and feels just plain bitchy. Your face screws up, and you think about confronting her, but they quickly and ignorantly delve into a separate conversation, and you reluctantly decide to let it go. What the fuck was up with them? You don’t fall into conversation with them for a minute as you try to collect yourself, knowing you’d rather ride home with them than pay for a separate Uber. And starting a fight was definitely not going to work in your favor, seeing as they were your neighbors. They had a pack mentality like no other, and after tonight you’d much rather be able to ignore them forever instead of having a neiborly feud. 
    Eventually, you do decide to join the conversation. The line for food was ridiculously fucking long, and although it was moving, you still felt so impatient. Your phone is dying, and you’d really rather save your battery for Remy’s number and the ride home- so you talk and hope for the best. Eventually, Ashley says she needs to go to the bathroom and hands her wallet to Sophie before she stalks off. She’s gone for a while. A really long while. As you’re finally inching your way to the end of the line, Sophie tells you she’s going to find her. You actually welcome the peace and quiet, and promise to hold the spot. 4th in line. 3rd. 2nd. You’re starting to get anxious by the fact that neither of them had returned, but you get to the end and they’re still not back. 
    You buy a funnel cake for yourself, almost worried about the two as you walk back to the hay bale where you left Remy. The crowd finally starts to clear a bit, and when the Hay bale is finally in sight, you actually assume that you were looking at the wrong spot for a minute- until you recognize the costumes, and then spot the brunette they are both latched onto.
    Ashley is in his space, her costume unzipped just enough for anyone walking past to get a view. Sophie is leaning across his shoulders, running her fingers through his hair and twirling the ends with manicured fingers You can’t see his face- but it didn’t really matter anyway. 
    You don’t mean to drop the funnel cake, but you do. There's a shot of ice through your veins when it clicks for you, finally, as you watch them from a distance- it was a ploy. A stupid fucking ploy. You were the ugly friend- If they could even call you that. You were invited to make them look better. The matching costumes, the conspiring looks, the whole thing about Remy. Jesus Christ, had you always been this blind? Your face is warm with humiliation, eyes watering as you desperately try not to cry.
    Remy had nothing to do with it- of course, he didn’t, you just met him, but as you look at the two draped over him… You just feel like you can’t really compare. You know better. You do- but god, did it hurt. You don’t want to go over there for them to make fun of you again, and you sure as hell don’t want to feel the sting of rejection that will inevitably come when he ditches you for them. Before you know it, your feet are moving. You’re not thinking clearly- hardly thinking at all. You see a side entrance, or maybe a fire exit, not that you really care. You can’t read anything through your tears, closing the door behind you and plugging yourself into darkness as it clicks shut.
    Inside, you find a mirror maze- again, what was with all of the fucking mazes? The overhead lights are off, what little light that’s coming from the outside dimly reflecting through each and every silvery mirror. It’s completely abandoned, with not a single soul in sight. You step over some shattered glass as you make your way further into the maze, and understand it was probably because drunks and mirrors don’t mix. 
    You find a dead end in the maze, and it’s like your legs give out. You can't help but just sit on the ground and sob for a minute. The backs of your hands are stained with the mascara that you’re sure is streaking down your face. You feel like an idiot- stupid, dramatic, pathetic. And you looked it, too. Every mirror reflects the mess of what you have become until you can’t stand to look at yourself anymore, pulling your knees to your chest and tucking your head into your arms.
    It's a quiet reprieve. You sit for a minute, long after your tears have dried. Your breathing begins to return to normal as the humiliation really starts to settle in. You’re so tired, and exhausted, and find yourself wishing you had never come out tonight at all, visioning your comfy bed that waits for you at home. 
    “Pauvre ti bête. Looks like you need new friends, Cher.” The sound of the voice makes you flinch, the daylight scared out of you as a dark figure sits down by your side.    “Remy?” You wipe at your face again, knowing it was to no avail, and that the damage to your makeup had already been done. 
    “The one an’ only,” He replies. It’s hard to see him in the low lighting, but it’s not like you’re looking around much anyway. There’s a silence between you two, and your gaze is locked on the floor, refusing to look at him with your stupid pout and tear-stained face.
    “Sat for a while, waitin’ on you.” He says, after a long moment, and it makes you feel so much fucking worse. You curl into yourself a little more.
    “Sorry, I just… I dunno, I thought you looked busy.” The words are more of a whisper than anything, and he chuffs something that’s not quite a laugh in response.
    “I guess you could say that.” He hums, leaning back on his hands as you finally turn to look at him. “Hadda swat those girls like damn mosquitos to get 'em off. Felt like they were tryna swallow me whole.” You can’t help but laugh at that, rubbing your eyes a bit.
    “...Trust me, they were probably trying to swallow something.” The words are out of your mouth before your brain can really catch up. Remy laughs a full laugh, smiling brightly at you now that you’ve started to come back out of your shell once again. 
    “Sorry, that was crude.”
    “Sounded pretty funny to me,” Remy’s grin is contagious, not that you ever would complain. You roll your eyes at him with that big smile on your face, leaning your head against the mirror behind you.
    “I guess I can’t really blame them, either.” You mumble, eyes going wide once you realize that that was most definitely not supposed to leave your lips. “God damn, I really have lost my filter!” Remy begins to laugh again as you cover your face, flushed with embarrassment. He doesn’t seem to mind the comment at all. Pulling your hands away as he struggles to contain his laughter. 
    “I like you, y’know that?” He says, and it makes you smile. You sit in comfortable silence for a bit, and before you know it, you find yourself leaning on his shoulder, eyes closed. Your thoughts slowly begin to wander. Remy’s very sweet, and the fact that he still came looking for you despite everything… It meant a lot. You can only imagine how uncomfortable he had been with Ashley and Sophie hanging off of him, waiting, wondering where you had gone. If he notices as your smile slowly becomes a frown, he doesn’t say anything. 
    “I’m sorry I left you out there.” You say quietly, breaking the silence that had become so uncomfortable for you. “I hadn’t realized they invited me to be the “ugly” friend until right then and I just needed to get away from it all.” There’s a featherlight brush of skin against your cheek, and when you open your eyes, Remy pushes a few strands of hair out of your face, thumb lingering against your skin. You find yourself caught up in his piercing gaze. It’s almost like he’s looking into your soul.
    “Pretty dumb choice to invite you if they were looking for an ugly friend.” His voice is low, and his cool hand feels nice against your flushed skin. You can’t drag your eyes away from his, gazes locked together as the tension only grows- thick enough to cut with a knife and choke you as you breathe it in. It’s he who breaks the eye contact first, stunning red irises flickering down to your lips and back up again. 
    “Really,” You ask, but it’s less of a question and more like a filler, mind unable to provide anything other than that. You’re caught up in that little action of his, swallowing, unable to look away from him. Suddenly, you realize just how close he really is.
    “Mais oui,” He mumbles, close enough for you to feel the slight breath that comes with the words. His thumb and finger prop up your chin, but he moves no closer, waiting for you. It’s hardly a debate for you to decide to brush your lips against his own.
    It’s like fireworks explode behind your eyelids when the space between you closes, his lips melding against you perfectly. It’s soft and sweet. Gentle for a man as much of a flirt as he appeared to be. He kisses you a few times, just like that, until the kiss starts to develop into something a little more heated. He turns to face you a little better, the sharp fangs in his mouth grazing your bottom lip as he leans over you and licks at the seam of your lips- which you eagerly open for him. Fuck, he was a good kisser. 
    Before long, you’re leaning back on your palms, and one of Remy’s knees presses between your thighs. Your elbows buckle just a little, and he’s quick to catch you. One of his hands is on the small of your back as he keeps you propped up, the other one flat against the floor as he keeps both of you from falling. He nips at your lip- the tip of his canine just barely splitting the skin before he kisses away your yelp, licking the blood away just as quickly as it had appeared. As embarrassing as it was, the action alone was enough to get the attention of heat slowly building in your abdomen. His kisses trail from your lips down to your neck, kissing the sensitive skin there. 
    Your eyes slowly open, half-lidded as you weave your fingers through his hair, tongue softly licking at the stinging soreness of that bottom lip of yours. He’s not as aggressive with the rest of you, kissing and sucking dark spots into you as the sharp canines only drag and graze. Your eyes wander to a mirror across from you- one just barely lit from what you were sure was a hole in the roof- the full moon lining up just perfectly enough to light the mirrored room.
    It takes a second for you to recognize what you see in the mirror.
    You see yourself. Just yourself, leaned over as if you were hovering, neck exposed with purple marks blooming mysteriously across your skin. It’s you. Just you. Only you.
    A gasp is ripped out of your throat, and if the way your spine goes rigid wasn’t enough to alert Remy, it was the fast, pounding beat of your heart. Your eyes are glued to that image reflected in the mirror, even as Remy removes himself from your neck and finds himself staring at that same image. He stiffens, an unreadable look on his face before he recovers with an amused hum. 
    “Well, Don’t we make a lovely couple?” He muses. And when you finally look back at him, his strange eyes and sharp fangs, you realize exactly what he is. A wave of familiarity washes over you again, but you can’t place it as the horror begins to wash over you. 
    “Oh my god.” You breathe, almost stuck in disbelief. This could not be real, could it? That smirk of his makes yet another appearance, and yet something feels off about it. Deceptive, almost. It does not reach his eyes.
    “What, you afraid?” He asks with a chuckle. You wonder for a moment about the situation you had put yourself into, held in the arms of what could only be a vampire. All you can do is look at him, wide-eyed. If stories were to be believed, he’d be caging you in his arms, holding you in an iron grip before he strikes- bleeding you dry without care… 
    But he’s not. Yes, he was holding you up, but the arm around you is loose. His body language is open- and you get the feeling that if you tried to make a run for it, he’d let you. He’s not vicious. He’s not snapping at you or pinning you down. Hell, he had the chance to bite you earlier while you were pliant and eager, and he didn’t. 
    “...I don’t actually know, right now.” You finally respond, and something shifts. His breath catches in his throat, and the barest glimpse of vulnerability is gone within a second as he leans back a little, giving you a chance to sit up a bit more. You do so hesitantly.
    “I’m not here to hurt you, Cher. Just wanted to give you a proper thank you.” He rumbles. He takes one of your hands, lifting it to his mouth to press a kiss to your knuckles, gaze never leaving your own. Black, red, black. Where had you seen that before?
    “Proper… what?” You furrow your eyebrows, trying your damndest to make sense of it all. Black, red, black. Black, red, black. Sharp teeth. Vampires, bats, Vampire bats. Vampire bat. Vampire bat. For the second time tonight, it all clicks for you. 
    “Holy shit. You-? The bat?-” You feel like you’re at a loss for words. Remy smiles again, fangs catching the low light of the mirrored room.
    “That’d be me.” He admits, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. “ ‘Thought I was done for until you showed up. Most vamps like that? They don’t make it inside ‘fore the sun comes up.” He chuckles, but the seriousness of the situation is not lost on you. Saving the life of an immortal being rather than the life of a small bat is something huge, it felt like it, at least. 
    “Did you follow me here? Is that why I kept seeing you around tonight?” You ask. Remy simply shrugs his shoulders, letting your fingers go as he inches forward, looming over you once again. 
    “Think of it as more of a happy accident.” Remy sets his arms on either side of you, leaning close enough for his nose to gently brush against yours. You think he’s going to kiss you as his hand comes up to cup your chin. Instead, Remy runs his thumb across your lower lip, which you hadn’t even realized had started to bleed again. He brings the thumb to his mouth, licking the smear of blood. The sight is seductive. Arousing. You find yourself staring at his lips, conflicted. He sets his forehead against your own, hovering over your lips. There’s a heated look in his eyes when you look back up at them.
    “Tell me to leave, Cher, And I’ll go.” You swallow as he says the words, a flutter in your chest and a growing warmth within you. You bite your lower lip, your hesitance quickly being overshadowed by want.
    “... You're not gonna suck my blood or anything?” You ask, lips beginning to brush against his own. He chuckles, and this time he’s close enough for you to feel the sound as it rumbles through his chest.
    “Not unless you want me to…” He’s teasing you now, making you chase his lips until he’s fully sure you really want this, and you do. When they finally meet, his lips press against yours just as spectacularly as they did the first time. One of his hands snakes around the back of your neck, shielding the lower part of your head as he lowers you to the floor. You find yourself lost in his kisses, thinking of only him and the way he treats you so gently. 
    He props himself up with one strong arm, the other cupping the side of your face rather reverently, his thumb stroking across your cheekbone. Your hands can’t help but wander up and down his torso, feeling the muscle beneath his shirt. You feel him smile against your lips as you do, kissing at the corner of your mouth, and then your jaw, before the fluttery movement traces a path over each and every discolored spot on your neck, kissing the marks he had given you not even twenty minutes earlier. Your hands come up to tangle in his hair as the kisses venture further. His cold face presses into your open cleavage, an open palm dragging up from your thigh and sliding beneath your top, softly squeezing the bare skin of your waist. You find yourself arching into his touch, eager for his soft caress. 
    You have goosebumps down your chest as his fangs graze the skin, his fingers hooking around the neckline of your shirt and the bra underneath it from the inside. The cool air hits your bare breasts as he tugs it down, your nipples pebbling at the frigid draft. Your breath hitches at the feeling as his lips venture down your sternum, his free hand moving out from under the fabric to palm and toy with one breast as he begins to tease the other. He chuckles at you when you let out a whine, fingers tugging on his locks.
    “Have a little patience, Cher.” There’s a seductive lure to his voice as Remy tells you to have a little faith in him, pressing one last kiss to the swell of one said breast as he moves back up. He easily draws you into another long, heated kiss. He continues to play with the breast in his hand, pinching and testing the supple give of the skin. Your muffled whines and moans are music to his ears as he presses his knee against your heated core, only relenting with his playful touches when he slides his palm under your spine, forcing you to arch your back. He lets go of your lips to drag his attention back to your breast, now sucking at the stiff peaks, careful of his sharp teeth. 
    “Remy,” His name comes out inadvertently, the sound making him groan against you. Your hands have slid down from their hold on his scalp, now resting against his wide shoulders with a tight grip on the fabric of his shirt. His palm wanders up and down the expanse of your back, thriving off of the feeling of your hot, flushed skin against his cold body. 
    The feeling of your top being bunched around your waist starts to become uncomfortable and suffocating. You squirm to try and take it off yourself, but Remy is quick to stop you. He pulls it off of you slowly, kissing every inch of skin it drags against as it goes. Once it's off, he leans back to get a good look at you, cursing under his breath as his hands find your thighs. You know for a fact you’re flushed and red from the neck down. The sight only encourages Remy further, quickly sitting up and removing his own shirt, keeping his gaze on yours throughout the movement. 
    It’s not surprising when his upper body catches your attention, the lean muscle impressive for a man who’s basically dead. Or was he? When he’s back within reach, you run your right hand from his happy trail till you reach his collarbone, fingertips pressing into the cold skin as you try to feel for a pulse. He hums, a mischievous glint in his eye when he realizes what you’re doing. 
    “You won’t find a heartbeat, cher. Not from me.” Remy confirms your thoughts. You can only hum in response, leaning up to press a soft kiss where your hand had been, over his heart. Remy lets out a low groan at the action, inciting a slow grind of his hips against yours.
    “Merde.” He mumbles.“You play a dangerous game, makin’ a dead heart flutter.” 
    “Do I really?” You ask, biting your lip. Remy leans in, just far enough to teasingly brush his lips against your own before he moves down the length of your neck, never touching you in the way to crave so badly. 
    “I get the feeling you like dangerous games.” There's something sharp against your neck, the tips of his fangs gently dragging across the skin. Your heart is pounding in your chest, but not out of fear. He grinds his hips into you once again, your hips eagerly bucking to meet his own. You swallow deeply at the sound he makes at the action- realizing that you just might want him to bite into you. It’s crazy. You feel crazy. It must be so tantalizing for him to be pressed against you like this, fully aware of the red-hot blood rushing through your veins and the constant pounding of your heart. And yet, he never takes the bait. 
    Remy’s lips meet your own again right as your hands meet the buckle of his jeans. He sighs against your lips as you undo it, sliding your hand underneath the stiff fabric to feel the hardness he hides underneath. He’s… big. Not necessarily long, but he’s thicker than you had expected him to be. You stroke him over the fabric of his boxers, feeling his length twitch under your touch. When he separates from the kiss, he tucks his head into your shoulder. You can’t help but giggle at the action as you begin to pull both garments down, his cock slapping against his lower abdomen once freed. 
    “Are you sensitive, Remy?” You ask him, turning your head to bury it in his hair. You wrap your hand around his cock, hearing him moan before cursing quietly when you give him a slight squeeze. 
    “Sometimes.” He mumbles, one of his calloused hands coming up to one of your breasts, gently rubbing his thumb over your nipple to encourage it to a stiff peak. You can’t help but let out a surprised moan as he pinches and teases, feeling his smile against the skin of your shoulder. 
    “But I got nothin’ on you.” Remy kisses your breast, before taking a long, slow lick across the sensitive skin. He takes the nub into his mouth, giving it a short suck before he lets go of it with a pop. 
    You almost want to whine and complain when Remy removes himself from you, but quickly lose the thought as you watch him remove his pants and boxers in one movment. Once he’s done, he slowly slides his hands from your ankles to your hips, hooking his fingers underneath the fabric of your bottoms. He kisses the space beneath your belly button, red eyes trained on your own as he slowly drags the clothing down, undressing you until you’re bare. He licks his lips at the sight of you, slowly spreading your legs as he begins to kiss from your knees to your…
    “You don’t- you don’t have to do that.” You stutter out once you realize what he’s doing. You’ve never been eaten out before, and the sight of him between your legs has already got you flushed and nervous- embarresed, even. Remy’s eyes shift back up to your face, his fingers sliding between your admittedly slick folds as you try to hold back a moan.
    “Vampires are creatures of desire, cher. Thirsty ones at that.” He rumbles, and it’s like everywhere he touches you is on fire, his cool hands stroking you into a lustful heat. “Should I beg for you to consider?” He’s got this knowing look on his face, watching you as you bite your lip, face twitching with pleasure every time those fingers of his graze your clit. He slides a finger into you without resistance, curling it just right. You buck your hips into the feeling, nodding vigorously as a final go-ahead. 
    Remy dives into your cunt like a man starved. 
    Every lick of his tongue and curl of his fingers has you seeing stars. Fuck, did it feel good. He touches you expertly, finding spots within you that you didn't even know you had. He lets a moan slip now and then, fully immersed in the warm wetness of your pussy. 
    Your legs are hooked over his shoulders, a hand splayed across your lower abdomen to keep you from bucking up into his mouth as he enjoys himself. You feel close to cumming embarrassingly quick- quick in a way you had never known yourself to even be capable of.
    “Remy!” It's an urgent call of his name, your hands tangling themselves in his hair as you attempt to warn him. He hums in response, right over your clit, and it does nothing but push your body further. You come with a rather embarrassing noise, hips twitching and thighs pressing into the side of his head. You can't help but assume that not needing to breathe was only a bonus for the man currently suffocating between your pillowy thighs. 
    He lets you ride out your orgasm with enthusiasm, pressing sweet kisses to the skin around your sensitive cunt as your breathing begins to even out and your legs begin to relax around him. 
    He looks absolutely wrecked when he sits up. His hair is messy, a pussydrunk smile he's certainly not afraid to hide spreading across his face. 
    “You feelin’ alright, cher?” He asks. You eagerly nod in response, leaning into his touch when he crawls back over you to place a kiss against your lips. You've never been one to taste yourself, but you find that you don’t mind tasting it on his lips. Remy's cock begins a slow grind against you, grazing your clit with every stroke. You moan into the kiss, a string of spit between your mouths when you separate long enough to catch your breath.
    “Fuck.” The word is whispered, but that doesn't stop Remy from catching it. He lets out a low laugh, collecting your wetness as he grinds. 
    “You ready for me?” He asks. You nodd, closing your eyes as you eagerly wait for the stretch of his cock. Exempt, he stops.
    “I need you to give me a yes, cher.”
    “Yes-” He swallows the rest of that word in an eager kiss, finally sliding into your heat inch by inch. You both moan in union, feeling every inch of that slow stretch. He's cold. Not freezing, but cold. It's unlike any feeling you've felt before, and surprisingly, you want more of it.
    His body begins to warm a little more everywhere the two of you touch- and god, does it feel good. Remy favors a steady pace, with powerful thrusts that hit you right every single time. It felt like he was made for you, and he most definitely felt the same. Remy kisses you like a man in love, fucking you in a way that makes you see rings instead of stars. 
    Every smack of his hips against yours is rather careful, measured even. It's only when he pulls out of you and flips you onto your stomach like a ragdoll that you realize the kind of strength he holds- suddenly grateful for his caution. He's quick to go back to rearranging your insides once he has you on your knees, front pressed against your back as he kisses at the nape of your neck and slides his arm around your front, palm splayed under a boob with his thumb on the valley between.
    “Look at us, love.” His chest rumbles against your back, and it's not even a whole minute before the position changes again, Remy pulling you against him as he sits up onto his knees, holding you steady as he makes you face the mirror. 
    You wish that you could see his reflection in that mirror as you gaze upon the sight of you, red face flushed and needy. You don't see the way he holds you pressed so tightly against his chest, or the way he admires that evocative image of you, shaking with each thrust. 
    “Aren't you a sight, bele.” His breath is cold against your ear, his hand coming down to circle your clit as his thrusts pick up in pace. You can tell he's close, reaching that peak just as fast as you reach your own. You grasp at his hands, moans and whine only getting louder as that pleasure gets ever-so-close.
    His groan against your ear is unnecessarily hot, his thrusts stuttering right before he pulls out of you. His cock rests just below your lower lips, using the friction of your thighs as he reaches that high. He cums in thick streaks, your own release following directly after.
    There's a buzzing sound right as Remy sits back, placing you in his lap as he kisses across your shoulders sweetly. You relax against him, boneless as you both try to catch your breath. The buzzing stops for a moment before it continues again. You hardly register the noise, and are certainly in no condition to try and find the source.
    When Remy looks over to the sound, he finds your phone hiding beneath the scattered clothes on the floor. It's his shirt, and he reaches over to grab it. The phone is set to the side as he maneuvers you around, dressing you in his shirt like a gentleman.
    “Cher?” You hum, only halfway aware at the moment as Remy calls your name. He hands you your phone, and you open your eyes just enough to unlock it and see the fifteen missed calls from Ashley and Sophie. 
    “God damnit. Can't I have any peace?” You curse. Remy laughs, watching from over your shoulder as you check the additional excessive Snapchat messages from them. 
    “Maybe we should send them a message, no?” Remy reaches over to your phone, swiping over to the Snapchat camera, angling it to where both of your sweaty, disheveled faces are inframe, along with the line of purple hickies that trail down your neck. Jesus christ, you were about to fuck him all over again for even suggesting this. Who knew you were into revenge like that?
    “Oh fuck yes.”
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strawbeerossi · 1 year ago
Text
You Think, Genius?
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Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid
Description: Being friends with Spencer Reid is an adventure within itself. Movie nights are no exception.
Content/Warnings: Friends type humor, tension, mention of food/food fight, best friends to lovers trope, heavy kissing, very sweet smut (wild because I hardly write that, I feel like lmao).
Word Count: 2.7k
Anon Request: spencer reid x sarcastic funny reader? not mean but like kinda like Chandler from friends humour? with earlish seasons reid (season 3/4)ish cute smut. ADDING TO THE SARCASTIC!READER SHE AND SPENCE HAVE A BESTFRIENDS TO LOVERS ARC 🫶🫶
Navigation || Criminal Minds Masterlist || Request
RIP Matthew Perry, thank you for playing the king of sarcasm and being my inspiration for this. 🩷
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“Serial killers and childhood neglect have actually been linked together for years. Some of the most notorious serial killers were abused in some shape or fashion at home. Which makes sense whenever you take into account how easy it is to psychologically break a person and cause them to shut down, children being more receptive than most adults.” Spencer rambled on about some study he had been reading about.
Everyone was mostly tuned out besides you, your left hand holding the travel size cereal box up in clear view, your eyes wide. “That explains why I can’t stop eating this cereal! My mom made my life a living hell and now, all I think about is cereal. Oh god.” You said in a sarcastic tone, causing Derek to chuckle from his desk.
“She’s a cereal killer.” He joked while you both were giggling, making Spencer look between you and Derek, a confused expression on his face.
“She’s not a serial killer. I don’t think she’d be working here if she was one.”
The laughter continued on at your coworker’s obliviousness. “No, Spence,” JJ shook her head as she approached your chair, gently taking the little box before holding it up. “The joke is that she’s eating cereal. Cereal killer.” The blonde explained as you were turning back to Spencer.
“Oh, it’s no joke. I’ve got six bodies in my apartment right now. Just waiting to get home to do away with them.” You continued on, a little snort leaving your lips as you were getting your cereal back.
As you were pushing a handful in your mouth, you watched as Spencer looked at you with his head tilted to the side. “You haven’t killed anyone. I know that for a fact. You’re too nice.” He said while he was tapping his pen against his desk, JJ let out a huff and waved him off before she was walking away from your desk to get to her office.
“Isn’t there such a thing as killing people with kindness? That is my big move. I will be nice to them and boom,” You punched the palm of your hand to appear menacing. “I go in for the kill.”
Spencer was shaking his head with a soft giggle at the mere idea of it, your sarcasm slowly seeping through the cracks in an obvious way where he could see it.
“Right. How foolish of me to not understand it.” He joked softly while looking back down to the page he’d been doodling on. Your humor was new to Spencer, something he wasn’t really used to. You were a very sarcastic person, hardly ever having a conversation without injecting the encounter with your wit and sarcasm. He was still pretty clueless with it, however he felt he was getting better. Especially now that you had him saying his own sarcastic phrases at random times. It was weird for the rest of the team seeing the way you’d slowly brought Spencer out of that little bubble he was used to.
He was always the one who didn’t understand jokes or take sarcasm, appearing confused a good chunk of his career from the jokes and lighthearted banter. Being friends with you was a good way to learn how to understand though, which was why he was so lucky that you were his best friend.
“I was thinking of watching a movie. Do you wanna join me?” You asked, packing up your things as you looked over at Spencer as he raised an eyebrow.
“Tonight?” He asked, making you shake your head.
“No. Next week.” You answered with a deadpan expression while he crinkled his nose.
“You’re.. Being sarcastic..” He began while you rolled your eyes fondly with a smile.
“You think, genius? Come on, are you gonna come over or not?” You asked while putting your bag over your shoulder.
“I don’t see why not. Can we watch that new show that’s airing tonight?” He asked curiously, already following you out of the bullpen. He knew you’d give him a ride rather than sending him to go on the metro and meet you there later.
“Sure. I’ve been interested in it anyway. The new sci-fi one, right?” You asked as you made it to the parking garage with him as you were both in search of your car.
“Yes! It actually looks very interesting because from what I’ve read, they don’t make up their own rules as they go. They are using actual scientific data and evidence.” He gushed while you were clapping your hands together.
“Like learning in school! Oh how I loved school!” You were laughing as he had taken notice of the sarcasm and nudged your arm.
“Seriously. It’s going to be great! You may not think it now but you’ll enjoy it while learning about the real world when it comes to tech and space exploration.”
“We’ll have to see about that Dr. Reid.”
The ride back to your apartment was peaceful, the sounds of some radio station filling the quiet atmosphere of the car as you passed by numerous street signs. The comfortable silence was something you liked, never needing to strike up a conversation to enjoy Spencer’s company. Even if he was just reading while you were on your phone.
Back at your apartment, you’d just gotten the channel you needed pulled up, having about ten minutes until the show was supposed to air. Spencer made sure to tape it back at his own apartment, wanting to go back and watch alone to fully appreciate the show for more than its entertainment quality.
“Do you want me to run to the kitchen and get snacks?”
“You don’t have to run, Reid. You can walk.”
“Ha ha. So funny. Snacks or not?”
You were waving him off with a little laugh, offering a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Please go get some snacks. I think I have a big bag of that buttered popcorn you’re obsessed with.”
Spencer practically skipped to the kitchen upon hearing the news, retrieving one of your mixing bowls from one of your cupboards. After filling it up generously with the snack of choice, he was stopped by the fridge to grab two water bottles. With the two cold beverages under his arm, he was hurrying to the living room.
“I think we are all set.” He beamed with pride while placing the bowl on the table.
“Perfect. You’re right on time. It should start after these commercials.” You informed him while leaning forward to get a handful of popcorn from the bowl. While pushing a piece of popcorn into your mouth, you were only raising an eyebrow when you felt a pair of eyes on you. “What?” You asked, head turning to face Spencer as he quickly put his hands up in self defense.
“Nothing! I just wanted to see if it was good, that's all.”
“Right. I hate to tell you this, it tastes like buttered garbage. I don’t think you should subject yourself to eating it.” You joked, picking up a piece before flicking it in his direction, his eyes widening as he felt the snack hit his cheek.
“That could’ve taken out my eye!”
“Too bad it didn’t. We could get you an eyepatch.”
That was when Spencer took it a step further, getting a small handful of popcorn before throwing it in your direction. He was too busy laughing at your expression that mirrored his shock from earlier, pieces of popcorn in your hair and some on the couch.
“Is it a war that you want?”
“Me? You started it! Call it returned fire.”
That kickstarted a popcorn fight that didn’t seem to let up. Spencer was reaching into the now empty bowl before letting his eyes widen. He had no more ammo yet you had two handfuls. He was done for.
“You can apologize and we can end this.” You warned, your body now propped up on your knees as you had eventually turned to face him on the couch. “Just one ‘I’m sorry’ can end this bloodshed.”
“Never.”
“Suit yourself, Reid.” You were winding back one hand whenever Spencer was moving quickly to grip your wrist. There was some screaming, some laughing, and eventually you were being wrestled down onto the couch.
“Drop it!” Spencer laughed, both of your wrists being pinned down. “You do that and this will be all over.”
“No way.” You laughed, panting as you were being pinned down, some of Spencer’s long hair tickling the skin of your cheeks. You had both been in that position for a few more minutes before things calmed down, leaving you and the man above you to stare at one another and wait to reach a stalemate.
There was a growing tension, your faces only inches apart as he had you trapped between his body and the couch. Those beautiful eyes were looking down at you, almost as if Spencer was using the close proximity to take in every feature on your face. It was enough to make your face flush, cheeks hot from his gaze fixed on you and only you. The sound of the opening credits for the show you were supposed to be watching was playing in the background yet you could only look at each other.
There wasn’t a beat missed as he leaned down, lips against yours in a soft, yet cautious kiss. He felt like he had to play it safe, although the way you were feverishly returning the kiss told him all that he needed to know.
There was a fiery passion as your lips slotted together, almost as if they were made for one another. Your hands were moving to tangle in his hair, legs now wrapped around his waist as you both gave in to your urges that were always bubbling under the surface for however long you’d known the loveable genius.
It felt right, in a way. The way your were wrapped in one another’s embrace while having a moment of passion that you never expected to happen. However you had to admit, this was better than you ever thought.
Spencer was pulling out of the kiss, face flushed as he stared down at you with a shy smile. “It felt right. I’m sorry.” He whispered, only being pleased with the way you responded by pulling him down to connect your lips again, wanting to savor another moment as if he were going to disappear in thin air if you let him get too far.
The kiss had escalated soon enough, both of your clothes in a pile on the floor as you were tangled up on the couch, nothing but underwear separating you from each other. “Are you sure that you want this?” Spencer soon asked, his forehead against yours. Your friendship was always special to him, so naturally, he was worried about preserving those positive memories and the relationship as a whole.
“Definitely sure. I’ve thought about this for years.” For once, you were genuine. There was no hint of sarcasm dripping from your tone. That’s how he knew this was serious. “I’ve always loved you. I know you know that because I tell you all the time but it’s.. It's different than loving your best friend.”
Your confession had Spencer’s cheeks bright red, head nodding slowly to show he was paying attention. “Y-yeah. I love you more than a friend too.” He said slowly while he was bringing his hands down your hips, his fingertips tracing over your hot skin as he was hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties.
Your hips lifted to assist him tugging your underwear down, your own cheeks hot from being exposed in one of your most intimate areas. It wasn’t like you hadn’t had sex before and you had confidence when you did but this seemed different.
“I need.. Hold on.” Spencer began while pushing himself up a bit, your watching with a raised eyebrow as you propped yourself up on your elbows. He went for his slacks, getting his wallet.
“Are you gonna pay me for this?”
“What?! No! I-I just..” He began, shuffling through the wallet before he was pulling a condom from one of the wallet folds.
“You have a condom? You were planning for this?”
“No! I have.. I asked Derek for one. Obviously not for tonight but I had to be prepared!” He said quickly while tossing his wallet on the table.
You didn’t tease him any farther, instead your eyes gazing over his body as he was shimmying out of his boxers while standing. Just kissing you had his cock semi-hard, his hand wrapping around his shaft to give a few pumps in order to complete the process although it wasn’t too hard with the anticipation of what was to come tonight.
After sliding on the contraception, he was heading over to get settled between your legs. His eyes were glancing over your glistening pussy, your arousal shining in the dim light of the living room. “Wow.” He whispered, hand moving between your thighs as his thumb pressed against your throbbing clit. The pressure alone was enough to make your mouth go slack.
“Fuck.” You breathed while feeling the pad of his thumb start to rub your clit, your arousal coating it with each swipe. He was taking his time with teasing you, at least.
When he was finished with massaging the bundle of nerves and he couldn’t hold back any more, he was grabbing his cock before lining his tip along with your entrance, thick tip breaching your slick cunt as he was slowly pushing into you when you were both ready enough.
There was a pleasurable burn as he was stretching out your inner walls, your hands tightly gripping onto his shoulders as you pulled his body down onto yours just to feel his skin against yours. It was oddly more intimate than you could’ve expected, even with him staying perfectly still with his cock nestled deep inside of you.
There was a soft gasp leaving your lips when he gave a slow thrust, just testing the waters for now as he didn’t wanna go too crazy before you were ready. He didn’t plan on going super hard anyway, that wasn’t who he was. “You alright?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Keep going.” You urged.
Once you proved comfortable enough due to your persistence, Spencer’s thrusts began to pick up a steady pace and rhythm. Your moans were enough encouragement for him to feel confident enough in the act, not shying away from you as much as anyone would’ve expected.
They rhythmic sound of his skin slapping against yours coupled with your gasps, shaky breaths and moans were filling the living room, the long forgotten show still filling the background noise. Spencer had since embraced you, one arm wrapped under your frame as the other kept himself pushed up over you. He just wanted to feel you close, to hold you as he made love to you.
It was beautiful to him, the way you were holding him and keeping him close in return. It was like you were the only people in the world, no responsibilities other than being close to one another. The warmth of your flushed skin against his was all he needed to be happy.
It was a dream, essentially. A dream so vibrant that Spencer didn’t want it to end, even if he knew that realistically he couldn’t be in a dreamland forever.
As he was torn from his thoughts at the feeling of your hands on his cheeks, he was offering you a smile as you were locking eyes with one another. “I love you.” He said softly, repeating what you’d both confessed earlier while leaning down to press his lips against yours.
It was after the fact whenever you were finally speaking again, body sitting up from the spot you were in on the couch as Spencer had retreated to the kitchen to dispose of the used condom. “Do you wanna come take a shower with me? No funny business.” You put your hands up in defense.
“No. It’s too personal for me to see you naked.” For the first time, Spencer was the one to be sarcastic with you, making you both burst into laughter.
“I’ve taught you well. Come on.”
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