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hazelfoureyes · 2 months

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Luck (Alastor x Reader smut)

Tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x reader, smut, creampie, attempted kidnapping, justified homicide, mention of the the history of women stabbing men with hat pins, biting, breeding kink if you squint, blood, Luci left on read :(, protective Alastor, cervix bullying, possessive Alastor, outside sex, rough sex, fem reader

minors DNI

This was a two part story, this being part two. But part one just isn’t good enough and I’m tired of waiting lol so here’s the standalone smut, written in a way it can be enjoyed solo

Vox’s ever present eyes noticed a reoccurring face around Alastor, and decided you were an easy way to get under his skin. Alastor manages to find you during the kidnapping but how he finds you sends his gentlemanly resolve unraveling. He had wanted to be gentle, he really had. C’est la vie, hm?

It took nearly 2 months of regular run-ins around Cannibal Town, chats over black coffee and deviled eggs, and some behind the scenes magic by Rosie but you finally enjoyed a dinner with the Radio Demon.

He’d never tell you how he awoke nightly in a panicked sweat, dreams of your soft skin under his nails tormenting him. He had done his absolute best to be just a charming southerner, tiptoeing between flirtatious and polite. Something about asking someone out during the night seemed scandalous and … loaded with implications. But ever since his hands felt your body thrumming beside him during a dance at Rosie’s Birthday Bash in the town square, he felt starved for the opportunity to see you again. You were beautiful in the daylight, yes. But something about the night, the way the shadows seemed to blanket the two of you together, it made him feel wild. He could remember the nights on the prowl during his time on earth, and the rush of being so close to you with so few people around felt so similar.

Rarely did he get a rush of adrenaline anymore, but when you’d shoot a witty retort back at him his heart would balloon against his ribs. The way you looked at him while he spoke, like you were drunk on the sound of his voice, made his fingers tremble. He never wanted anyone to know this, and hoped in some way he’d never have to tell. But then he considered, what face would you make if you ever reached over for his hand across the table? What if you rested your delicate head against this chest and heard the frantic beating? How sweetly would you smile? Smile at him, only?

“Alastor?” You broke him from his trance, noticing the ever so subtle way his smile seemed to loosen around the edges when he was lost in thought.

Dinner was long done, and you’d both managed to stall for a bit as he walked you toward the gates to Cannibal Town. He had insisted he escort you, though he was irked you wouldn’t allow him to wait until your ride had arrived.

If he knew you were staying with Lucifer Morningstar, he’d see you differently somehow. You didn’t want Alastor to think you were chasing powerful men, or to know you slept so close to the King of Hell. Something in your gut said he would find it unattractive.

“Yes, dear?”

You gestured to the gates a couple blocks in front of you, “This is good. You should get home.” Before Luci arrives to take me back to his.

“I intended to take you to the gates.” He looked past you, then back to you. You were so … small in front of him. Not your body or form, just, your existence. So delicate compared to his own strength. The way you looked up at him with your large doe eyes, it practically pained him. You looked so innocent, pure— how he wanted to make your eyes roll as your head lost any semblance of coherent thought. He wanted to corrupt you from the inside out.

“It’s just a couple of blocks.” He lifted his hand to begin to argue, but you cut him off at the head. “Alastor” you said it so softly now, your tone startling him with its gentleness. Had anyone, ever, said his name so sweetly? Since his mother, atleast?

“May I?” You tapped your cheek. His eyebrows rose before knitting together in understanding.

He leaned down and turned his cheek to you. You hummed happily and placed a chaste kiss there. Alastor turned his face toward yours, “In the future, You don’t have to ask for permission, darling.” You tried your best to keep your heart in your chest, and nodded. It was well known he wasn’t fond of physical touch, let alone unexpected touch. Is this how it felt to be an overlord? To claim a piece of someone else, a slice of territory not originally yours? “Two blocks is quite a deal of distance in hell.” He didn’t take his eyes off yours. Your attempt to distract him failed. Of course it did, he was nothing if not persistent.

“I have my weapon.” You lifted the hem of your dress to show a small angelic dagger holstered to your thigh.

“Ah, yes. Ha ha! Some kind of hat pin, I see” His eyes rolled, amused, “Who would dare bother you with such a frightening needle?”

With a glare, you mocked him, “Ha, Ha.” But as you turned to leave you stopped yourself. Every encounter with Alastor felt like it could be your last, as if he’d just disappear entirely. “May I see you tomorrow? I was going to get coffee at Hallowed Grounds around 10.”

“My dear, you couldn’t stop me.” He cooed, “Needle and all.”

“Good night, Alastor”

“Good night.” He didn’t move at first, but after you had made it half way to the gates of what he felt was assured safety, he let himself turn and leave.

His grin touched his ears as he hummed to himself. His cheek felt heavier where you’d kissed him. A part of you lingering with him. How he wanted nothing more than to grab you by the throat and -

An appliance store window filled with various sized TVs flickered as he walked past. Alastor stopped, ears turned down as he turned on the heels of his feet to face Vox’s cocky stare plastered on every screen.

“Oh, it’s you. Don’t you have a curfew? No TV after 9pm, they say. Rots the brain.” Alastor lifted his hand to inspect his nails. Vox had a witty intro planned, and launched straight into it. He only stopped when Alastor looked back up, “I’m sorry, were you speaking?”

The screens glitched and filled with static before Vox’s face stretched out across them all.

“It’s not my bed time you should be worried about.” Vox crooned. He couldn’t resist the urge to prod Alastor, “Perhaps your new friend should have gone home earlier.”

Just before you reached the gates, you stopped to see if Lucifer had replied about his ETA. Your phone slipped out of your hands as someone pulled you backwards into the narrow alley behind you.

A hand covered your mouth while the other arm was lifting you up by your waist. You kicked your feet uselessly trying to make contact with any thing that would slow your progress into the shadows.

Another man entered now in front of you, “You’ve got a meeting at Vee Tower, babe.”

The sound of an idling car in the back of the alley came into focus. You grabbed your knife and plunged it into the right thigh of the man holding you. He dropped you and you barely managed to scramble to your feet before his hand grabbed you by the hair and threw you against the wall. The force of the impact stunned you but you’d managed to keep the knife in your grip.

You’d been waiting for this. You had let men get the best of you before on earth, too scared of dying if you failed to defend yourself. You weren’t scared now. When you looked back at the man, he was shouting at his partner but you couldn’t understand a word. Your ears were ringing, a combined effect of hitting the wall and your skyrocketing blood pressure.

Your shoes slipped off easily and you pushed yourself from the wall and back into the attempted kidnapper, shoulder first.

Seeing you launch yourself onto his accomplice, the other man booked it out of the alley. It wasn’t worth it. This was supposed to be easier than this.

If he had maybe turned left, he would have made it to safety. But luck was with Alastor when the brute ran straight into him.

Your phone lay on the ground behind the man, who was already backing up when Alastor set his eyes on him.

“I’m going to enjoy this”, Alastor’s voice cracked with a static sting, eyes flickered to red dials against midnight black eyes as his back and neck broke and stretched. The man tripped over himself, but Alastor’s hands tore the man’s upper torso from his body before his ass had time to hit the sidewalk.

There was no time to savor the death, he tossed the man’s head and shoulders into the street before bounding with unnaturally wide strides into the entry of the side street.

Never had he known fear like this. Not when alive, not even close. Not even when Adam nearly bested him. There was a rock in his stomach threatening to drag his heart into the gutter of the Pride Ring as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the alley. Were you still there? Were you still whole?

You hadn’t noticed him at first, not until his massive, looming shadow shrunk across your body. Even then, you hadn’t stopped to realize it wasn’t the other attacker. You continued stabbing the dagger into the man’s throat with both hands until Alastor’s shoe crushed a piece of wayward glass under his step, breaking your concentration. Wild eyes finally tore themselves from the grey flesh of the demon on the floor up to Alastor, still expecting a fight with the man who’d fled.

“Alastor” was all you could squeak out. You were straddling the man by the chest, his throat so thoroughly decimated his head held on by just a few loosened tendons. The white dress you’d worn specially for your dinner was soaked through with blood. Your hands red to the wrists. Your lips and cheeks splattered. Your feet dirty and bare.

You yelped as you were yanked off of the dead man by your chin, Alastor’s large hand holding you off the ground. You were finally eye to eye with your dinner date. For the second time that night you were thrown against the cold brick wall. Alastor’s free hand grabbed yours that still held the knife and repeatedly bashed your fisted hand against the wall until the knife fell from your grip to the street below you. You hadn’t meant to keep it, never meant to brandish it at Alastor. Your survival instinct had overridden your sense.

Perhaps it would have stayed in control, but when Alastor’s hand slipped to your throat and his lips crashed into yours your mind went blank.

He kissed you clumsily, this wasn’t a man in love, or even a man in lust. This wasn’t a man at all. A demon in need was bruising your lips against his teeth. When you didn’t immediately open to receive him, he used his free hand to push at your cheeks and press inward where your bottom jaw naturally met your top. Your mouth was wrenched open, allowing his long and wide tongue to bully your own.

Alastor felt frenzied, the sight of you manically stabbing the already dead attacker momentarily broke him. His sweet little doe, his innocent and gentle darling brutally murdered a man and he got to witness it with his own eyes. He never believed God ever noticed his existence, but the moment he saw you straddling that corpse he felt sure some higher power delivered you to him. Just for him.

Only for him.

Pretense and facade be damned, you were made for him in such a specifically demented way.

He lifted you up, pressing your body against the wall with his own as your legs wrapped around his hips. He didn’t know where to start, he couldn’t keep his hands from trembling as he smeared the blood over your cheek between hurried kisses. His eyes were aglow, keeping your focus on him and only him as they darted around your face taking in every detail, every errant drop of your attacker’s blood.

Alastor buried his head into your collarbone, sucking bruises and nipping cuts into your exposed skin. You could feel the strained erection in his pants, it helped keep you balanced against him and the wall. He seemed to be mindlessly grinding his clothed cock against your core. Your dress had naturally found its way up and over your hips as he let one of his hands cradle your ass.

He had half a mind to rip the dress off of you but as he took a second to look down at your body he knew he wanted to keep it. The dress his love first killed in. Love— before a word that fell weightless from his tongue now sat heavy in his thoughts. He wanted your blood stained dress stuffed in his mouth as his last meal. An ode to your corruption. Maybe you'd understand him now, better than most. Did you enjoy it when you stabbed that man?

Breathing ragged and uneven, he pressed his forehead against yours. His eyes were glowing red, pupils dark black pins.

Did it scare you, when you killed him?

Were you scared now?

He lurched you upward again, hands coming to either side of your head as he pulled back to look at your face properly.

“If you don’t want this, now is your only opportunity to stop me.” He closed his eyes to try and regain an ounce of composure. Perhaps a small human piece of him not wanting to see your face if you denied him this.

With every breath he seemed to be taking in your scent, his hips still gently pushing into you. Your eyes darted to the well lit street just beyond the dark of the alley. You wrapped your arms around his neck, letting your fingers scratch lightly at his undercut. He violently shuddered at the touch.

You shook your head imperceivably to most, “You don’t have to ask me for permission, darling.”

With that, Alastor came completely undone. As his teeth marked your neck with shallow tears, his hand tore the crotch of your panties entirely off, leaving just the lace waistband to slip up your stomach. With the speed of a starving man to his first meal, his cock was free of his pants and rutting against your exposed slit.

The head of his member was pushing against your clit in unpracticed thrusts, slipping between your lips and pressing at your entrance. With a growl he lifted you up more and angled your hips to him. He didn't wait to feel if he was lined up and he sunk into your heat with a single thrust. You winced, clutching onto his shoulders. His eyes saw the pained expression and for a second, just barely, the southern gentleman who tried to walk you home slipped back to the surface. But as quickly as he came, he was lost again as Alastor saw the way your mouth hung open, tongue hanging over your swollen lip.

A static shock nipped at your wrists where they met his neck, "Such a debauched look, mon cher. I haven't even begun to ruin you yet."

A moan slipped past your lips as he brought his mouth to your ear, tugging with his teeth as he thrust back into you. You could feel he hadn't bottomed out yet, but already he was crushing your stomach into your diaphragm. Your chest began to feel hot, a warmth trickling down to your stomach and pooling beneath your belly button.

Ad his breath ghosted along your neck, you could hear it sharply spike with every slam of his hips against yours. Something about seeing him losing composure, hearing him so vulnerable, spurred you to roll your hips against his cock.

"Mmmm," Alastor groaned, "Don't push your luck, dear. Do you know how precarious of a sit-"

You did it again.

He pulled out of you with one motion and flipped you around. Your hands were yanked behind you, the long fingers of one of his own hands intertwined with your wrists. His other hand lifted your knee up and out as he pushed back into you. The new position allowed him to reach deeper than before, and with a burning stretch you felt him finally bottom out. With each thrust, the head of his dick dragged inside of you. The new angle allowed him to smash into your g-spot with every slam into your heat, his balls tightly slapping against your wet cunt.

"I wanted to be gentler with you", He leaned his head against your shoulder, pace quickening. It felt as if your back would snap in half, "But you looked absolutely sinful covered in his blood." His lips grazed your ear as he let go of your wrists, his antlers now large enough to be scraping against the bricks above your head. The loss of him holding you made you lose you balance. Alastor took the opportunity to find your clit with his middle finger.

Biting down on your lip you broke the skin, trying to suppress the moan rising out of you. His hips kept a bruising pace, your ass smacking against his lower stomach with every thrust. You didn't want anyone, anyone to find you getting railed against a wall just outside of cannibal town.

His fingers forced past your lips, you hadn't noticed he was using a shadow tendril to now lift your knee to nearly touch your elbow. Two fingers pressed down on your tongue as his pace impossibly quickened.

You wanted to lick or suck at his digits, do anything to participate in this alleyway fucking, but it became clear Alastor didn't want you to do anything at all. He was lost in the pleasure of your pussy clamping down on him, pushing back against him with every intrusion. He just needed you to exist there around him. He needed you to take him, for your body to welcome the gentle abuse.

The pressure began to build as the reality set in that the Radio Demon was fucking you raw against a wall. You felt your orgasm winding up. The infamous Alastor, the mighty overlord, balls deep in you. So entranced by your cunt he could only groan and hiss against your ear. You could feel every centimeter of him pulling and pushing inside of you, his head smashing your cervix and uterus into your guts.

Your hands began to slip down the wall as your mind started to go fuzzy around the edges. His middle finger strumming at your sensitive clit with a new fervor, his thrusts becoming shallower. The radio in the assailants idling car roared to life, flitting through stations and static wildly as Alastor spoke to you.

"When you orgasm,” His voice crackled against the nape of your neck, "and your cervix lowers to receive my seed,” your knee was dropped as he fucked you flush against the wall, trapping your body there, "I will drown your needy cunt in my cum, darling." His words echoed through the car's radio and off the walls of the alley, volume peaking with a pop as the speakers blew out.

The tickle of his lips along your spine made you shudder, and you went limp as you let your mind go and allowed your body to spasm around him. As your orgasm hit, your stomach muscles cramped and your body tightened around Alastor's cock. He hissed, his hips losing their rhythm for a second as you almost painfully clamped onto him, cunt trying desperately to pull him deeper into you. He needed to slow down or else he’d be pushed into his own release sooner than he planned. As your orgasm waned and your pussy squeezed softly against him again, he renewed the rhythm. Your body had gone entirely slack, your limbs no longer able to receive messages from your brain.

Within seconds, Alastor thrust against you so forcefully you felt the air pressed out of your lungs. He buried himself in you, holding your hips flush against his as you instinctively tried to squirm away. The way you moved against him, tried to flee from his release, only seemed to make his cock jump more inside you. You thought you heard a pained “mine" against your shoulder as his promised seed jerked into your now pliant womb.

He finally stilled, his dick softening in you. You felt your body slide down the wall, feet touching the ground before giving out entirely. You sat, slumped back, and looked to the scene in front of you. Dead demon behind Alastor, your shoes bloodied and tossed around, and your little knife just within reach.

Alastor quickly composed himself, cock returned to his pants and his suit adjusted precisely. You looked up at him, eyes glazed and tear stained. Your dress was wet and ruined, thighs slick with a mix of fluids. Yet he stood there, clean and pretty. Perhaps some of you had soaked into the front of his pants, but you couldn’t be sure.

"I apologize for underestimating you", He took the dagger, lifting your dress to slide it back into its holster. "And for allowing you to leave my sight." He gathered your shoes and wiped the dirt from them against the leg of his pants before gently slipping them back onto your feet. With two large hands under your arms he pulled you up to your feet, legs trembling still. "I promise you it won't happen again. Can you walk, my doe?"

The new name made your cheeks feel hot, funny given the more embarrassing part of this situation was his cum now sliding down your thighs. You nodded weakly, adding, "But-" and glanced to your lap. You squeezed your knees together and looked back at him.

"I fail to see the problem." His head tilted to the side as he lifted your dress with one of his long fingers and watched the milky white liquid slowly inch down your inner leg. "But, I'll find us a taxi. You won't be going home." He guided you by your hands to step over the corpse and into the light of the street.

You clarified, "I won't be going home tonight?"

He summoned his microphone and brought it down with a crack onto your phone, still discarded on the sidewalk. "INCOMING CALL: LUCI" flashing on the screen before it was shattered. He lifted his hand and waved for a passing taxi, turning to you with a soft grin, "Any night, darling."

༻Masterlist༺

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gremlingottoosilly · 2 months

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Mafia!Konig and his mob wife

You live on a strict schedule. At 5 AM, you would roll over to the side and feel your husband's hand on your waist, heavy as he didn't want to wake up and let go of you. Police department of Vienna long forgotten - you alone can hold the most infamous criminal in the country in check. Keeping him from doing the crimes by simply being too damn adorable - if you're lucky and he spends the night, he would always cling to your side, not wanting to get up and waste some bullets on some sorry fucks. At 5:30, he would eventually get up, pushing your sleepy form to return to bed. You would refuse, of course, wanting to walk him out. Clinging to the illusion of being domestic with him - like he doesn't smell like blood every morning. Like he wouldn't just send you flowers covered in someone's intestines to get your day going. You would have breakfast together at 6 Am, and he would finally go to oversee the nightly operations. Drugs moving around, guns, people. Never allowing you to leave the mansion without him or his most trusted allies, you are all but kidnapped. You gave up on trying to escape a long time ago - the memories of the crowbar landing on your legs over and over are too vivid in your head. It gets easier when you have a routine. When your days are filled with wine hase and some decadent pleasures that you have time for. Sometimes, you work on the documents for his legal business. Some restaurants and shady tourist-related things. Private tours for people who want to get an easy cocaine kick and your personal tiny business that loses thousands every month, but you keep to keep it since Konig doesn't want you to go crazy from boredom. He doesn't visit you too often - you thought he had someone else at first, before you knew what he was doing for living. You still miss the time he was hiding his real job. When he wouldn't dare to kiss you while he was still smelling of blood, while his gun was still pressed against a guy's head. You visit him in his office sometimes, when he actually bothers to stay in the office. He is always awkward when you visit, shuffling all the documents away so the room would look more presentable.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #mafia!konig

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urlonelystarrr · 6 months

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𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒓𝒚

ghostface x reader

GENRE → horror, smut.

SYNOPSIS → you're his killing partner. after nearly messing up while out on a nightly kill, ghostface decides that you're in need of a punishment.

TAGS/WARNINGS → dom! ghostface, creampie, rough sex, slapping, choking, degrading, manhandling, overstimulation, angry sex, no particular ghostface implied, spitting, oral!giving, fingering, knife play, mouth fucking, belt whipping, edging, kinda cnc

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you were on all fours, silently cleaning up the mess you had made. ghostface leaned against a wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched you clean. your head hung low in shame, as you wiped up the blood on the ground. he hadn't said a word, and you were fucking terrified.

you grabbed a mop, mopping up the floor in a quick hurry - eager to leave the victims house. the body was all taken care of for now, wrapped up like a present in garbage bags and duct tape. the sudden sound of wood creaking drew your attention over to him, as he took slow steps towards you. "why'd you hesitate?" his voice was deep, in control. he wasn't asking to know, he was demanding. "i don't- i don't know." why'd you say that? why couldn't you just tell him that you felt nervous that you had someone watching you? it seemed your mind had gone blank, the response you'd been thinking of suddenly vanishing into the tension filled room.

"you don't know?" he took a step closer, scoffing. you stopped mopping for a second, your hands holding onto the handle for dear life. "i just got...nervous while you were watching me." you looked at the floor, not being able to look at him. "aw, you got nervous?" he mocked you, before shoving you up against a wall. he held you by your throat, the mop dropping out of your hands and smacking against the floor. "if you can't handle me watching you kill someone, how the fuck am i supposed to trust you to do this on your own? am i your babysitter?" he sneered, his grip tightening momentarily. you shook your head, your hands coming up to hold his wrist. he slapped them away, pushing you into the wall harder. "you can't even handle me, how are you gonna face someone else who's bigger than you?" he looked you up and down, his tone dripping in disdain. "you can barely tell the difference between left and right." your brows furrowed, your frustration only growing at his words. "i killed him, didn't i?" you could sense it, the disapproval of your back talk. you didn't need to see his face to tell he was frowning. "you know damn well that's not what i'm talking about. i'm talking about how you couldn't handle your victim. if i wasn't there, he'd overpower you, and you'd be the one bleeding out. if i'm gonna have to save your ass everytime we go out and do this, im gonna take you out to the middle of nowhere and slit your throat open." he let go of your neck, leaving you gasping quietly for air. you held your own neck, the skin burning from his touch.

he walked away, moving to pick up the body on the floor. you watched as he effortlessly picked up the body, tossing it over his shoulder as if 195 weighed nothing. you swallowed, watching as he walked out the door. he paused in the doorway, turning around to look at you. "get a shovel and help me out. don't make me wait."

you were quick to move, following him outside and grabbing a shovel. he loaded the car, shoving the body inside the trunk while you placed the shovel in as well. the two of you drove in silence, and you sat in the passenger seat, anxiously waiting.

the moment you two were done, you could tell you were in a lot of trouble. judging by the way he slammed the trunk and doors - you knew you couldn't get out of this. he made you stay with him, as he couldn't risk having you out of his sight. you took off your mask, glancing over at him as he kept his on. he turned to you suddenly, titling his head. "the fuck are you looking at?" he took a few steps towards you, his presence looming and authoritative. he held your face hard, his fingers digging into your skin. your brows furrowed, and you winced from how hard he was being. "stop acting all innocent...like you almost didn't fuck up tonight. i could kill you, right fucking now, and nobody would know." he looked into your eyes, smirking under the mask as he saw them tear up. "aw, don't tell me you're gonna cry now because i yelled at you. you're so fuckin' sensitive," he rolled his eyes, letting go of your face.

"you wanna cry? fine, i'll give you a reason to." without warning, he grabbed you by your hair, dragging you to his room. you yelped as he threw you onto his bed, forcing you into laying flat on your stomach. before you could even get up, he was on top of you, his hand on your back, holding you down. "wha- what are you doing?!" your face was pressed into the mattress, your eyes squeezing shut as he held your head down. you couldn't see much, but you could hear the sound of him taking his belt off. you started squirming, but he placed his knee on the back of your legs, immediately stopping you. "don't you move." he warned, taking his belt and whipping your ass with it. the leather came down hard, making you grip the sheets, your knuckles turning white. you yelled, trying to move, but he only made it harder for you, using his body weight and strength to pin you down.

he leaned down, the belt still in hand. "i could do a lot worse to you, you know that right? the things i'd do to you, you might not even recover from." he chuckled darkly, slapping the back of your thighs with the belt. you still had your robe on, you didn't even have time to change. your body trembled from the pain, your skin stinging as you cried into the mattress silently, your fingers clutching the sheets. he noticed your whimpering, and slapped your ass with his hand. raising a brow in slight amusement, and something more when he felt your ass jiggle under his palm.

somehow, it hurt more than the belt. your body jolted, your cries becoming more apparent. he pulled your head back by your hair, leaning next to your ear. his body was on top of yours, and you could feel his crotch right against your ass as he straddled you from behind. "you're crying already?" he mocked sympathy, "you think i'll be less mean if you cry? what a baby. your tears mean nothing to me. cry all you want, it won't make me any less harder." you sniffled, wanting to wipe the tears from your eyes so badly. you didn't know what to say, but you figured it would be best if you stayed quiet.

the weight was lifted off of you, and you slowly rolled back over to sit up, thinking your punishment was over. oh, how wrong you were. you saw his belt laid next to you, and his robe was opened enough to reveal his black jeans unbuttoned and unzipped. you swallowed nervously as you looked at him stand there, his heavy footsteps making the wood on the floor creak under his weight. he stood in front of you, looking down at you, before slapping you across the face - hard. you held your cheek, your eyes watering from the impact. he spoke with disdain, crossing his arms as he looked down at you. he appeared bigger, taller, and stronger than you could ever be. "you look like a fuckin mess," he paused, looking at your face. "i didn't know you wore makeup - it's all runny," he spoke like he was disgusted. "though, i knew you always liked attention." his words made you angry, they made you want to bite back. but you knew where that'd get you. his thumb pressed against your bottom lip, and he forced his gloved finger inside your mouth, the pad of his finger pressing down on your tongue. he seemed pleased by how wet your mouth was, and he started to reach down to his pants. you swallowed, pleading for him. "oh my god, please don't," you whimpered. "why? you gonna cry again?" he taunted, pulling his pants down enough for you to see his black boxers. "i've heard people plead for me to not take their life, and somehow you sound more pathetic than they do," he said with amusement. he pulled out his hardened cock, just seeing you in pain and crying made him hard. this fucker- he was big. he didn't need for you to say it, he knew already. his pink tip tapped at your lips, and he forced you to open your mouth by stepping on your foot, making you gasp in pain.

he shoved his cock inside, letting out a hiss of pleasure as he felt his cock be engulfed by your mouth. he rocked gently, letting your tongue coat his cock in your saliva before commanding you to suck. "suck it. no wonder guys don't fuck you, you're terrible at this," he replied as you didn't move an inch, and you fought off the urge to bite. you decided to give in, as pleasing him would only make things better for you. slowly, you started to suck. he watched as you took your time, displeased with how slow you were, he rolled his eyes, growing bored. he pulled his cock out, grabbing your hair and forcing you to look up at him. "you gonna stop fucking around or do i need to smack the shit out of you again?"

his tone was threatening, making you swallow and take his cock back in your mouth. without using your hands, you slowly took it inch by inch, your tongue wrapping around the tip. you sucked on it generously, tracing his veins with your tongue. he tilted his head back, quietly panting. he groaned, looking down at you again, before taking your hair in a fist, and thrusting into your mouth. your eyes teared up from the pressure, looking up at him as he fucked your mouth relentlessly. his breathing was heavy, gasps shuddering as his cock grazed your tongue, the way your lips sucked on his tip made him crazy. it didn't take long for him to finish, for him to fill up your mouth with cum. "swallow it." he held you by your cheeks, fingertips burning into your skin. you obeyed, swallowing it.

he seemed impressed by how you didn't gag, but he wasn't gonna tell you that. you were slightly relieved when he pulled his pants back up, and when he left the room. you wiped your mouth, hating yourself for enjoying it.

you were confused, he hadn't said anything at all in the past hour. you got up from your room, leaving to take a shower. you stood underneath the water, deciding to pamper yourself after what happened. you shaved, used a body scrub, and your favorite body wash. you swore that you heard the door open, but you felt that it was just your paranoia of being in punishment that made you believe that.

you ended up finishing quickly, but you were quick to notice the missing thong from your pile of clothes. you exited the bathroom, going into your room to change. you felt that pampering yourself might make you feel less worse about this whole 'punishment.' you felt slightly disgusted, how many people did he do this do? you rubbed lotion on your arms and legs, jumping when the door handle started to move.

you were barely clothed, just a pair of grey shorts and a little black tank top. he entered your room, looking pissed off again. "you're a bitch, you know that?" he came closer. "making me feel like a fuckin' teenager in heat. you know how many bitches i fucked trying to get you off my mind?" you paused, completely taken aback.

"you're just some dumb bitch i've gotta babysit while we kill people together." his hand runs up your neck, the leather from his gloves caressing your soft skin. your brows furrowed, and you could tell he was smirking under the mask. "dumb girls like you don't even cross my mind a second time after i've came." you looked away, shame and embarrassment burning your cheeks after what had happened. you felt used - like some toy for him to get off on. "if you're feeling used, it's because you are. you fuckin' suck at killing," he paused, his hand sliding up the back of your neck - taking your hair and wrapping it around his hand, "maybe these hands are better for this." his unoccupied hand took your wrist, and he placed it on his crotch. you could feel him hardening under your palm, and you swallowed nervously.

he looked down at you, fighting the urge to smile at how pretty you were. "you're pretty when you cry," he chuckled darkly. "maybe I should make you cry more often, you look so good." you didn't know how to feel, he was being so cruel but so nice at the same time. you couldn't lie, you were eating up whatever compliments he gave - since they didn't come often.

but, his good mood disappeared as quick as it came, and before you know it you were shoved down onto your bed. his hands pinned your wrists down, and he was quick to straddle you. you fought against him, but it only ended up with you getting slapped. he didn't say a word, his hands already abandoning your wrists to travel up your top. you gasped softly as he gently pushed your top up, a finger tracing your abdomen. "look at you, barely fuckin' clothed. it's like you want my attention," he laughed cruelly. he reached behind him, pulling out his hunting knife. he dragged the tip up your stomach, the faintest mark appearing on the soft skin. he watched how your skin dented under the knife's weight, his lips pulling up into a twisted grin that nobody could see.

he ran it up your body, cutting your top open. the knife laid against your neck, and you swallowed thickly. you laid still, as if breathing would get you killed. his hand came down and squeezed your boob, and he leaned down next to your ear. "i usually don't give girls attention like this, but you're different." he sighed in frustration, "you gotta boyfriend?"

"no," you cleared your throat. "it wouldn't matter anyway, id kill him just to have you for myself." he chuckled, his hand running down your stomach to press against your clothed pussy. you jolted underneath his body, squirming slightly. "don't move, girl." you could tell he was looking you up and down, "i'm gonna make this pussy mine." you tried to move again, but he held you by your throat, his thumb digging into your neck. you gasped, and his hand went down your shorts. you shuddered when you felt his finger run down your pussy, his gloved fingertip sliding in between your lips. he watched your brows furrow, and your lips part slightly to let out soft gasps.

you didn't know how to feel. were you angry that he was treating you like this? speaking to you like you were below him? all of that faded as you felt his finger circle your clit. a sharp gasp exiting your mouth, your back slightly arching on its own. you felt him press you into the mattress, his strong arm holding you in place. "that's it, good girl." he murmured, watching as you moved your hips like some bitch in heat. he removed his finger, his hand disappearing under his mask as he tasted you on his fingers. you opened your eyes and looked at him as he tasted you. you couldn't tell what he was thinking.

his legs were spread as he straddled you, but he got off of you, and stood by the edge of your bed. he yanked you to the edge by your ankles, until your lower half slightly tipped over the edge. he pushed your legs up to your chest, a hand under your knees as he traced your clothed pussy with his finger. his breathing had become heavier, and he practically tore your shorts off you. he moved his mask slightly, just to spit in your mouth. he forced it open, dragging his ring and middle finger along your tongue. when he pulled your thong to the side, his eyes glimmered in amusement at how wet you were already. "didn't even need to use spit," he chuckled. "suck it off." his fingers returned to your mouth, and you sucked his spit off of them.

he couldn't wait, he was hard the moment he stepped into your room, and saw how your shorts hugged the fat of your ass. he pressed himself against your wet pussy. the front of his jeans were dampened, and he groaned feeling you pressed against him. in a quick motion, he unbuttoned his jeans. "spread that pussy for me," he ordered. your hands came around your thighs, spreading open your pussy for him. he ran a finger in between your folds, your mouth parting to let out soft pants. he circled your clit slowly, before teasing your hole with the tip of his finger. he leaned down, his ring finger poking at your hole while his thumb caressed your clit. "you're dripping," he sneered. he felt pride knowing you were so wet because of him, and something darker gleamed in his eyes as he heard your soft whines and the sounds of you sucking in a breath. he slowly sunk his ring and middle finger in your hole, watching as you tipped your head back. a soft whine left your mouth, and he picked up his pace seeing your reaction. "come on," he encouraged, "show me how good this pussy is." upon hearing that, your pussy clamped around his fingers, and he looked at you with amusement.

he curled his fingers, making you arch your back. his pace quickened on your clit, and you swore you were going to cum, when he suddenly pulled out. you opened your eyes, shocked to see him laughing. "oh baby, you're not gonna get to cum so quickly." he stood up to his full height, taking his pants off and pulling them down. he pulled out his cock, rubbing the tip in between your folds. you looked at him, brows furrowed as he teased you. "you're still being punished, remember?" he taunted, leaning down to choke you again. you held onto his wrist, and this time he let you. "please," you whined. "please what?" he tilted his head, looking down at you.

"please, put it in. i-i can't.." you squirmed, trying to gain some friction. but instead, he pushed your hips down into the mattress, his voice quickly turning menacing. "stop moving, girl." he warned, his cock resting heavy on your pussy. he tapped his tip against your clit, rubbing it up and down before teasing the tip in. your painted toes curled with anticipation, as you let out a soft gasp as he stuck it in. but he quickly pulled out, leaving you with an empty feeling. just as you were about to protest, he stuck it in quickly, instantly filling you up. you let out a groan, your back arching again as he stood still. "relax, i haven't even done anything yet." he said with contempt, but it was amusing how turned on you were by this. "do you not get dick often? that would explain it," he smirked, loving the look of frustration on your face.

he started to rock his hips, fucking you at a painfully slow pace. but you knew not to disobey, even though you just wanted to move against him. he held open your legs, watching as his cock disappeared inside your pussy, how you sucked him in so fucking good that his eyes rolled back. your breathing was shaky as you tried to handle his slow pace, and to make it worse he added a finger to your clit, rubbing it in all the right places. he loved how your mouth hung slightly open, your brows furrowing as you looked as his cock inside you. your eyes trailed over his body, the distinct v line fading into the carved muscles of his upper half. he noticed you looking, and lifted his robe up to expose more of his stomach, while rolling his hips into yours.

a sharp gasp left your throat, as he started to pick up his pace. he pounded into you harder, yet his pace was still slow. he enjoyed watching you nearly cum all over his cock, and pulled out just before as you were about to. "do you wanna cum?" he taunted, leaning next to your ear while he pounded into you. you couldn't help the gasps and moans that left your mouth, "yes, please let me cum, please.." you begged, your legs sore from holding them up for so long. he suddenly pulled out again, forcing you onto your hands and knees. "I'll make you scream, baby. " he pulled your hips towards him, slapping your ass until it left a mark. he stuck his cock back in, pulling it back out and watching as your hole stayed in the same shape he stretched it. "I'm gonna make this pussy cum," he groaned, fucking into you sloppily. his abdomen was pressed into the fat of your ass, and you could hear the heavy breaths that left his mouth as he pounded into your pussy. his fingers returned to your clit, sloppily rubbing it until your pussy was clenching around his cock.

"be a good girl n' cum for me, show me how much you like this dick bitch." your knuckles were gripping the sheets, your toes curling and your eyes rolling back as he fucked you into oblivion, the side of your face pressed into the mattress as he buried his cock deep inside you, his fingers rubbing at your clit until you were a moaning mess. you swore you've never came so fucking hard - after nearly three times of him almost coaxing it out of you. "oh my god," you tried to move away, a scream leaving your throat as you felt him fuck you past your orgasm. you could feel him filling up your pussy with his cum, and he let out a deep groan, leaning against your body for support. your body collapsed, as you let out heavy pants. your eyes opened in shock when you felt yourself being lifted up, and he slammed you into the nearest wall, pounding into your pussy as if the two of your bodies weren't aching.

you couldn't remember how many times you came. he ran a finger up your pussy, practically fucking his own cum out of you. he pulled out his cum coated cock, and stuck it in your mouth. you licked him up, savoring the taste of him. "you freak bitch," he chuckled darkly, holding the side of your face. you sat on the edge of your bed, putting your clothes on while he pulled his pants up and left. you figured that he'd be the type to do that, and you decided it was time for another shower. but you could only imagine the surprise when you came back to your room, and saw him laying in the bed. he pat the space next to him, and as soon as you laid down he pulled you close to him.

"sleep with me," he moved up his mask slightly to kiss your neck (which you couldn't see since you were the little spoon.) you hummed in acknowledgement, laying comfortably in his strong arms. his fingers caressed the soft curve on your side, prompting you to fall asleep.

after that encounter, things had gotten strange. the girls that he'd fucked before you went missing. that or they were brutally murdered. when he heard shuffling around in the kitchen, he rose from his bed with a hunting knife tucked into his pants. "what the fuck?" he muttered, seeing you bloodied. "killing spree?" he let go of his knife, leaning against the wall. you came up to him, lifting up the bottom of his mask just enough where his neck was exposed. you started to kiss the skin, sucking on all the right spots. his hand rested on the small of your back, unsure of what caused the sudden affection - not that he was complaining. then you said something that made him shudder, "this dick belongs to me." oh fuck, he was losing his control. your hand ran down his stomach and groped his cock, eliciting a deep groan from him. "I don't belong to anyone," he panted, knowing you'd get angry. "tell that to them." you looked into his eyes, and his face fell as he connected the dots. but he wasn't afraid of what you were capable of - in fact, he found his perfect match.

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authors note: since halloween is coming, I decided I should throw in another ghostface fic cause he's so fucking hot likeee...

#reader insert #fanfic #scream smut #scream #ghostface x y/n #ghostface smut #ghostface x reader #ghostface #ghostface x you #scream series #horror #horror smut #slasher smut #slashers #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x y/n #slasher x slasher

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heartfullofleeches · 4 months

Note

you know how the correct safe way to hold snakes is by their tehnically thirsts so they can’t bite you? Imagine just Everglades darling gently choking the shit out of an aggressive naga while rambling to the camera. I kinda wanna get choked by them now, just imagine their arm muscles🤤🤤

-love, shark anon🦈

The naga thrashes in your hold as you drag them from their hiding place. Sneaky thing thought they could hide from you in the bushes. Their jaws unhinge to hook into the tender flesh of your forearm - a hand slipping beneath and locking them back into place as it latches around their throat.

"Hey, guys - noticed this little sweetie following me - think they wanted to say hi."

The naga hisses as the light of your camera flashes in its eyes. Their nails scape at your pants legs, but can't quite get through the material. Your fingers press deeper into their flesh as they squirm and writhes - curled lips pulling back over their teeth, presenting a missing tooth in their snarl.

"Aw, yea - you're a beauty. What happened to your other fang, sweetheart?"

The naga stills in your arms - seeming to register your words to some degree as eyes centered on the blistering light of your phone cameras. Feeling them relax, you pocket your phone and bring your hand up to their head - gently petting the top of their head as their sharp hisses fade into the quiet of the night.

"That's it.... Quit hissing and be a good boy...."

The naga's head falls to your chest. You rub at its lower jaw as reward for its compliance. Right as the snake warms up to your touch, it's quickly pulled from them as you release the beast from your grip - already a few steps away once it's regained it's mobility. You wave as the naga stares at you blankly.

"Thanks for playing nice today - see you around!"

The beast paws at its jaws, gazing fondly at the spot where you once stood. It slinks off into the bushes to stalk you from afar as you continue your nightly patrol of the Everglades, unsure if it should take you to its home now or allow you to lead it to yours.

#Everglades Darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere scenarios #yandere #yandere blurb #yandere naga #yandere oc #yandere hybrid

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scripture-pictures · 4 months

Text

#technology is morally neutral #jesus #matthew 12:35 #treasure of the heart #christmas presents #daily bread #nightly bread #god is love

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justporo · 6 months

Text

Brewing Storms

A storm is brewing - oh yes, a literal one too. Tav's scared to be alone during a thunderstorm. Astarion is reluctant but stays to provide some comfort - and realises it might have been one of the better things to happen to him.

Author's Note: I started this a while ago and then stuff got in the way - like Gale for example (lol) - and now I'm happy to be back to write something soft for Astarion and Tav!

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You) Warnings: Talk of trauma, very light smut Wordcount: 2,4k

~~~

Astarion and you had fallen into a sort of weird routine with your little late night escapades. Since the party after you saved the Grove and the first night you’ve spent together you had come together time and time again.

First only every couple of days. Always meeting somewhere away from camp and then sneaking back sometime before the others woke up. Although you were surely fair they all knew already anyway. But now you were almost spending every night together. Fortunately for the two of you, being elven meant you were still getting enough rest despite the nightly adventures.

Astarion kept feeding you his cheesy lines – you ate them right up. No one had ever given you this kind of attention. And as much as you knew that it was an act: how could you resist? You had never experienced such flattery nor could anyone you’d shared intimacy with ever compare to Astarion. But that wasn’t even the main thing.

You’d had crushes before, you’d fallen in love before but you were pretty sure it had never been quite like this. Your whole chest sometimes ached when you looked at Astarion. Sometimes when you caught him in a rare moment when he let his perfected mask drop for a second you saw the bottomless sadness and worry in his eyes. And all you wished for was to erase whatever it was that caused that sadness – to keep him safe and always give him something to smile about.

You had quite positively fallen for the vampiric elf. What had been a crush at first had very quickly become an unyielding need in your heart: desperate to be near him, to hear his voice, talk to him, to laugh at his sassy comments, to lay in his arms and to hold him in turn. Out of everything you surely hadn’t wanted or planned to fall in love with everything else going on – but there you were.

You were a hopeless case – even though you were sure it would come back to bite you (and maybe even literally): be it that he lost interest in you way quicker than you would like or that he had ulterior motives and that you were merely a means to an end.

In fact, you were entirely sure that there was more to Astarion. You weren’t all fooled and blinded by your brewing emotions for the vampire. Maybe not really the first time, but as you got more used to sharing a bed with Astarion you were well aware that it seemed like he wasn’t fully there with you.

You could take only guesses at why that was exactly – and you didn’t like any of those.

At several occasions you had tried to bring it up. But he had swatted your concerns away every time, just making a sultry joke or drowning you with kisses until you had forgotten what you had wanted to say. In any case he always pushed you to get back into his arms.

Gladly, you would have offered him an open ear – your heart was already wide open.

But you were sure this wouldn’t last. You were in way over your head and you so desperately wanted to avoid breaking the spell.

And as much as you would have wished for him to open up more, to let you in a bit more and as much as you would have liked to confess the way you felt: you didn’t think you could do it without ruining whatever it was between the two of you.

At least, he seemed to be a bit more present when he was with you of late. The changes seemed subtle enough, but you were convinced that it slowly became different. Maybe it was just that the two of you had gotten used to this dance now, but you could swear his hands lingered longer now on your skin, that his kisses became deeper and more tender, that the way he looked at you became softer sometimes. And that those moments, when he seemed miles away, became fewer.

Tonight, when you had set up camp it had seemed like a storm was brewing.

You had already felt tense when you had noticed: growing up on the streets of Baldur’s Gate as a child with nowhere safe to go had traumatised you for life. Especially when it came to storms: too many nights you’d had to spend outside somewhere while the rain kept pouring down.

But worst had always been the thunder. Every single one like an explosion while a little child sat somewhere cowered trying to stay safe and crying from fear and loneliness. Even when you had gotten older and had always managed to secure a safe spot for sleeping and shelter the fear of thunderstorms had remained.

And thus far you’d gotten lucky that there had been no storms since this whole chaos had started. But the stroke of luck was over now it seemed.

When Astarion had thrown you certain looks after the party had gone to unwind each on their own after eating, you had very rambly and awkwardly suggested to maybe spend the night in your tent this night, because the others surely knew anyway and what if it started pouring and wasn’t it more comfortable anyway?

You just were desperate to not be somewhere outside when the thunderstorm was going to hit – and maybe even not alone.

And Astarion had looked at you suspiciously with a raised eyebrow, surely noticing that something was up. But in the end, he had simply shrugged and followed you to your tent.

So now you lay pressed against each other. Astarion on top of you, his body delightfully weighing you down, both of your shirts already off and his hands kept roaming your body as you gratefully gave in to his open-mouthed kisses. His hand had just dipped below the waistline of your trousers when you could hear the first far away rumbling.

Immediately you tensed a little but forced yourself to try and not be bothered by it. Astarion’s kisses wandered down your throat now.

A second already much louder rumble. You gasped.

And apparently Astarion had noticed that it wasn’t because of his touch – you could almost feel how he had furrowed his brows. But he kept silent and continued to kiss and caress you, leaning on one of his forearms.

When a third roar of thunder made you actually wince and recoil, he pushed up on his arm and looked at you. The other hand though stayed right where it was inside your pants.

“Afraid of a little thunder, love?”, he said and cocked an eyebrow. His tone wasn’t even overly sassy but you still couldn’t help but to feel hurt.

More thunder. This time so loud it felt like it was exactly above you. You recoiled again and felt how panic rose in you. You pushed the vampire - who actually looked hurt by that - off of you. His hand slipping from where it had caressed you.

“Maybe I am afraid of thunder. So?”, you spat back while you sat up and hugged your knees to your naked chest. As much as you wanted the comfort of his arms: panic and whatever feeling it had been that had overcome you when Astarion had looked hurt when you’d pushed him back got the better of you.

Shame mixed with the fear and you could feel your throat close up.

Astarion had knelt back on the balls of his feet watching you with a look in his eyes you couldn’t quite place. He definitely didn’t seem as cocky as a few moments ago though.

You looked away as another thing spiced up the mix of emotions running high: worry, that you had just broke something that couldn’t be repaired.

“I-“, Astarion started and then stopped helplessly.

The vampire was actually worried about you in this moment. Astarion was surprised by the sudden outburst of emotion and he was certainly hurt that you pushed him away. But more than anything: he didn’t know what to do now. Quite obviously you were not in the mood anymore for getting down and dirty.

It occurred to him that he did not want you to be afraid and upset. But then again, he had no idea how to make it so. And on top of that: he was pretty sure you weren’t interested in anything of the sort. Sure, you were absolutely the one person he talked the most to in the party. And yes, you were always making sure he’d gotten enough blood – but that was probably because you had need of him being his fittest for fighting. Also, you did actually seem to care about what had happened to him, wanting to learn more about him – but…

The vampire was confused and helpless. So he opted for the one option he deemed reasonable: leave.

He grabbed his shirt and started pulling it over his head while saying: “Alright, since it seems there won’t be any naughty indulgence tonight, I guess I better get back to my tent and you can try and-“

He was interrupted by you grabbing his wrist firmly.

“Please”, you pleaded, “don’t leave me alone.”

You were desperate: you didn’t want him to leave, you didn’t want to have ruined the delicate thing that had been forming between you.

Astarion let his shirt drop again and looked at you. Your eyes were filled with tears and full of fear. His confusion became even more: “Darling, I’m not… Maybe you should ask the druid to… help you. Maybe he has something herbal to-“ You basically yanked on the vampire’s arm.

“No please, Astarion, I just… want you to stay here with me. Just… hold me? Please?”, you pleaded with him as tears started to stream down your face.

You really didn’t want to be alone for one but also you were desperate to feel his arms around you again – to be sure he would still want to hold you, as much as wanting his comfort.

Astarion’s brows furrowed again but he dropped his shirt again and crawled over to you as you shyly opened up your arms to him to be cradled by the vampire. He slid his arms around you and softly moved you until you were laying there: him on his back with you carefully snuggled up against his chest – skin on skin.

The relief you felt was almost instant. Not only because he had agreed to stay but also feeling his body against yours immediately made some of the tension inside you ease.

Astarion reluctantly started to stroke your back as you buried your face against his chest. It all felt more than just a little awkward and you felt a blush creep onto your cheeks, but you just wrapped your arms around the vampire and tried to calm yourself.

Still tears kept coming and thunder was rolling in quicker now. Then the rain started as well and became a constant drumroll on your tent. The loud rumbles kept going and made you wince from time to time, but it was now considerably better than before.

Astarion grew more confident with just stroking your back. He even carefully placed a kiss on the top of your head at one point, in your all messed up hair. You both eased into this rather unfamiliar form of closeness.

After being stressed about the coming storm all evening, you felt that your body couldn’t retain the tension anymore. You weren’t entirely sure what all this meant for Astarion and you, but you forced yourself to just stay in this moment. Because this already was something you wouldn’t have thought to ever be possible. It was tender and sweet. Something you would have never imagined when this vampire had, upon first meeting him, thrown you on the ground and threatened you with a knife.

You were so desperate to hold onto this. So, you wrapped your arms around him a little tighter and cautiously tangled your legs with his. He let it happen.

And Astarion – Astarion’s mind was racing, utterly confused by the turn the night had taken. It definitely wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy this outcome – to his own surprise. Quite the opposite actually.

When the thunder subsided and the rain tap-tap-tapping on the tent ceiling was what remained of the storm and he felt you quite noticeably relax into his arms even more – his chest started to ache.

He was overthrown by his own sentiment and the trust you put into him; surprised, scared even.

In his thoughts Astarion kept turning around the fact how you had specifically asked him to stay with you although you had so visibly been upset. More upset even than he had ever seen you in any battle. And that you had wanted nothing but to be held in his arms. And he – to his own surprise – had been happy to be there for you, proud even, realising that he really wanted you to be alright.

You hadn’t even talked since he had taken you in his arms. Just felt the connection, your skin warm on his. His hands hesitatingly caressing and trying to comfort you while your tears subsided and your breathing became more even.

And even though it had been you who had pleaded for comfort – Astarion could feel it too. Felt, how the warmth of your body soaked into his undead body and your breath brushed over his naked upper body – now in a steady and calm rhythm again. You were so close, he could even feel the beat of your steadying heartbeat through your conjoined chests.

And when Astarion was sure that you must’ve drifted off into your dreams – because he had held you – he kept staring up at the ceiling of the tent.

The rain had become almost non-existent after what must’ve been hours now.

The vampire’s chest still ached with something he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge yet. But he could feel that it had become something way too big to ignore. Something that would soon be unleashed – for better or for worse. And he was frightened about that.

But not in this moment. This moment he would hold onto. So he wrapped his arms around you a little tighter still, closed his eyes and full on buried his face in your hair while he was so fully aware of the feeling of your body against his.

Then he whispered so silently, even the last of the raindrops would have drowned out the words. So silently, because he was still so unsure, so scared and the words were only meant for him – and maybe sometime for you: “My love, what ever have you done to me?”

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #tav #one shot #drabble #bg3

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smileysuh · 1 year

Text

heir

🌙 staring. mingyu x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. As a princess, you’d grown up knowing you’d marry a prince and help him sire a number of adorable little royals. Truth be told, one of the things that had drawn you to Mingyu had been the way he’d interacted with his young cousins, children that would run up to him- and despite his princely stature, Mingyu always had time to entertain them, with a glint of adoration in his eye that had convinced you he was the one to marry- moreso than any of his older brothers.

cw/ tw. unprotected sex, breeding/baby kink, fingering, size kink, big!mingyu, mentions of mingyu taking y/n's virginity, dumbification, praise, finger-licking, etc... I petnames. (hers) darling, pretty little princess, wife.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.4k

🍭 aus. royal/prince au, established relationship, etc...

☀️ mlist + an. I wanted to do a short and sweet Mingyu smut, I figured prince au and breeding would be a fun variation from my usual work :)

You look like a dream; dressed to the nines, with a pretty, sparkling tiara atop your head. The hem of your gown brushes by the floor with each movement of your hips, and a hand slides across your corsetted waist-

Mingyu takes a sip of his scotch with a grimace, because you’re his dream, and yet, he’s not the one dancing with you.

“It’s a wonder that prince Minghao can’t feel your eyes glaring into the back of his head,” Prince Jeonghan says on Mingyu’s right with a knowing smile, and it causes the larger man to release a deep sigh.

“Am I being that obvious?” the newlywed asks; he’s still getting used to the idea that you’re his now, that there’s no risk of you running away, not that you would wish to-

“Yes,” Jeonghan tells him, “but with a wife like her-” both of them look to you again, and the elder of the two princes shakes his head, swallowing thickly, “who can blame you.”

You’d never do anything to hurt Mingyu, and the prince knows it. He knows you love him, through and through, or you wouldn’t have married him over one of his elder brothers, who are closer in line to inheriting the throne.

There’s something else, a different emotion hiding under the hot fires of jealousy that lick heat against Mingyu’s throat- a feeling in his chest that becomes apparent when you make your way over to him after your dance.

He’s proud that you’re his, and the jealousy of seeing you in the arms of other men doesn’t stem from the thought of losing you- but the thought of losing precious moments where you could be in his arms instead.

When the two of you arrive at your suite in the wing of the castle Mingyu had gifted you for your wedding present, your husband is quick to dismiss your royal ladies in waiting.

“But, her dress-” your head maid protests, as Mingyu ushers them from your room.

“I’ll help her out of it,” the prince assures the shocked and now scandalized trio of women who usually help you with your nightly duties, especially when removing a dress from a ball is involved.

But this won’t be the first time Mingyu helps you out of your clothes - he’d wrangled with the many lacy ribbons of your wedding gown after all - and it definitely won’t be the last, because when your husband turns to look at you, there’s a hunger in his eyes that you only see when a thorough unwrapping is involved.

You’re his little present, and you can tell that the prince can’t wait to get to you- God, he has a thing for opening you up-

“Darling?” You hold out your hands for him, and your husband is quick to approach you. “Are you alright?”

“I’m perfect,” he tells you, grabbing at your waist and leaning down to press a kiss you. His mouth lingers on your own, teeth gently grazing by your lip, and you find yourself sighing as you melt against his strong chest.

“You looked upset-” you try to continue as he moves to press his lips to your neck, “when I was dancing with Minghao-”

“Are you suggesting I was jealous?” Mingyu smiles against your throat, nipping at your skin and making you groan.

“Were you?”

Your husband’s hand slips behind you, and he tugs at one of the ribbons keeping your corset tight, the ribbed fabric slackens ever so slightly. “You're my wife,” he tells you, pinching your chin between two fingers, “I have no need to be jealous… do I?”

He’s so beautiful- his brown eyes dark and seductive, his lips as kissable as they’ve ever been-

“No,” you assure him, swallowing thickly. “No need to be jealous at all.”

“Good,” he breathes, releasing your chin in favour of spinning you around so your back is to his chest. His mouth returns to your throat, and he ghosts his lips to your ear, making you shiver with sensitivity as his fingers begin to work at your corset. “If anything…” he continues, “I was upset that other princes still find it appropriate to ask you to dance, even though you’re my wife.”

“Minghao only wanted to inquire as to how our honeymoon went.”

“And?”

He roughly tugs at the roping of your corset and you stifle a groan at the sensation before responding. “I told him I couldn’t have wished for anything better.”

“I’m not so sure that’s true.” Your husband’s breath is hot against your bare shoulders, and his words make your stomach twist into confused knots.

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” he continues to unwrap you with unforgiving fingers, tugging at your corset, “I know it’s too early to tell, but I’m sure my little princess would love to have come out of our honeymoon more full than when she’s started.”

“Do you mean-” your heart is thundering in your chest and you can hardly find the words.

Luckily, you don’t have to, because your husband is quick to fill in the gaps, pressing his lips to your neck again as he whispers, “A baby. I know you’d like for me to give you one.”

“We’re newly weds-”

“So?” Mingyu chuckles, and a moment later your corset is undone enough for him to pull it up and over your head. “Tell me you don’t want to give me an heir.”

You open your mouth- but nothing comes out. Because Mingyu is right, as he always is when it comes to you.

Of course you want to give him an heir. As a princess, you’d grown up knowing you’d marry a prince and help him sire a number of adorable little royals. Truth be told, one of the things that had drawn you to Mingyu had been the way he’d interacted with his young cousins, children that would run up to him- and despite his princely stature, Mingyu always had time to entertain them, with a glint of adoration in his eye that had convinced you he was the one to marry- moreso than any of his older brothers.

Sure, being a queen would be nice- but you’ve never been one who thirsts for power. No, you’d much prefer a luxurious, happy life, with a husband who loves you, and children running around.

Mingyu also happens to be right about the fact that it’s much too early to tell if you’re pregnant. Your wedding night had been the kind of whirlwind that left you weak in the legs and unable to get out of bed- not that your husband had minded.

“What do you say, princess?” Mingyu asks, turning you in his arms so he can look you in the eyes. “Should we continue to practice baby making and hope this one sticks?”

“As if I’d ever say no to you,” you smile, pressing your hands to his chest and getting on your tiptoes to bring your mouth to his own.

It’s nice to already be thinking about children with Mingyu, and to be speaking about it openly like this. Your kisses are more passionate now, and his tongue slips into your mouth, teasing you.

A whimper bubbles out of your chest, and your husband returns it with a growl of his own. His hands slip down to your bum, and he lifts you off the floor effortlessly.

Despite the long fabrics of your gown, your able to wrap your legs around his waist securely, and Mingyu carries you the short distance to your bed.

He doesn’t simply toss you down, as a motion like that would dislodge the tiara from your hair. Instead, he holds you with one hand, reaching up to take the crown off your head while you marvel at his strength.

“Mingyu-” you whine his name as his lips make contact with your throat, tongue trailing up your jugular-

With your tiara safely in his grasp, he lowers you to the mattress, and your gown floofs out around you before he pulls away, straightening to his tall stature and looking down at you with lust filled eyes.

“You’re so beautiful-” he breathes, taking off his own crown. “How are you always so beautiful?”

He’s such a sweet talker, and it makes you smile as you gather up your skirts, teasing them up your legs.

“Would you hate me if I tore your dress?” Mingyu asks, and it brings you back to your wedding night.

“I could never hate you,” you tell him, watching as he sets your crows to the side, free hands now grabbing at your legs- “but my dress maker would have a fit.”

Mingyu sighs. “And we can’t have that, can we?”

“No,” you shake your head, “it would be unprincely of you-”

“Would it really be unprincely of me, naughty princess?”

His warm palm skims up your thigh, pushing your skirt fabrics and underdress higher.

“Very scandalous of the both of us, I think,” you tell him, shifting on the bed as your husband’s hands reach your panties.

On your wedding night, he’d simply burrowed under all the fabric, mouth eagerly searching out your pussy- but that’s not what Mingyu does this time.

This time, it’s his fingers that rub against your entrance, playing with you through your underwear. “Already so wet for me, darling,” he coos. “I didn’t realize talking about babies would do this to you.”

You whine his name as he pushes your panties to the side, and two of his fingers easily slip into your core.

“Such pretty sounds from my pretty princess,” he groans, thumb finding your clit.

The sensation makes you whimper again, pushing your hips up toward his hand.

“Steady, princess,” Mingyu warns you, free hand flattening in all the fabrics around your waist. He pins you to the bed as easily as ever, and there’s something so freeing in the slight confinement. “Let me open you up.”

He’s very good at foreplay- good at getting you prepped to take his cock. You’d been a virgin on your wedding night- as is custom for royals in your positon, and you’re still not used to the size of him- you’re not sure you’ll ever be.

But at least you can take two fingers easily now, and the feeling of them curling up and stroking your inner walls has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Does that feel good, princess?” His lips press against your inner thigh and you twitch at the feeling.

“Yes- Mingyu- you’re so good to me-”

“You deserve it, don’t you, wife?”

You moan as he crooks his fingers just right, finding the spot that makes your toes curl. “Yes- please-”

“Please what?”

You swallow thickly, grabbing at your skirts to pull them higher. “I need you-”

“Where?” he asks, stroking your spot, “here?”

“I want to be full, like you said-” It’s becoming harder and harder to form coherent sentences, your mind much too fixed on the feeling of pleasure that’s coursing through you with each motion of his fingers.

“How about you cum for me first?” He suggests. “You can be my good little princess wife and cum for me, right?”

His words make the chord in your stomach tighten, and when his thumb begins to rub gentle circles on your clit it’s enough to make you snap, gasping loudly as your orgasm is torn out of you by your princely lover.

“That’s it,” Mingyu groans, pumping his fingers in and out of your core expertly as his thumb continues to work your most sensitive spot. “You always sound so pretty for me, darling. My pretty little princess.”

You moan louder, enjoying the praise that always seems to tumble out of your husband. You love him more than you could ever express-

“Mingyu-” you whimper his name when the feeling of pleasure almost begins to be too much for you to handle, and your husband relents, slowing his pace and taking the pressure off your clit.

He pulls his fingers from you, and you open your eyes to watch your royal lover do something completely sinful- he licks his digits clean, groaning at your taste.

The vision makes your pussy twitch with interest again, and you let out a small gasp, feeling needier than ever. You’d never thought marriage could be like this- never thought you’d get as lucky as you’ve been with Mingyu.

“My love-” your petname for him draws Mingyu’s attention back down to you, and he takes his hand from his lips, spit covered fingers finding the buttons at the front of his royal attire.

“Just a moment, darling,” he assures you.

You’re impatient- more impatient than you’ve ever been in your life.

That’s the thing about Mingyu- with him, all your royal training can go out the window. He brings out the feral side of you, a side reserved just for him.

“I know, princess, I know,” your husband sighs, “I’m not sure I can wait either.”

There’s always so much fabric that needs to be taken off- so many buttons and ribbons and layers-

You don’t want him to tear your clothes, but you know neither of you have the time or patience for the dressing gown that’s still covering your form. So you do what you think will be easiest, moving slightly up the bed and flipping onto your stomach, hiking your dress up high to your waist, arching your back-

“Princess-” His voice is breathy, and a moment later he’s grabbing at your ass with his large hand, massaging you and pressing his warm palm to your skin. “You’re so beautiful- always so beautiful for me.”

“Mingyu-” you whine, “I need you-”

You can hear the rustling of fabric, perhaps the sound of your husband pushing his pants down, and then he’s joining you on the bed, mattress dipping to accommodate his size.

“How did I ever get so lucky?” Mingyu asks, pulling your asscheek to the side so he can access your core. The head of his cock presses to your entrance, and you can tell from the feeling of it that your husband has lubed it- likely with his own spit.

The thought has you arching your back even more, eager for him to push into you-

“Please-”

“Relax for me, princess, I don’t want to hurt you-” his breath is hot against your back, and it makes you shiver. You do your best to clear your mind, to release the tension in your body-

The head of his cock slips into you and you moan desperately, pressing your face down against the bed to muffle the sound-

A gentle hand wraps around your throat, forcing you to tilt your head out of the covers- “I want to hear you,” your husband whispers, kissing your cheek and nosing your skin. “Want to hear all your pretty sounds-”

“So deep-” you whimper as he sheiths himself inside of you, hips flush with your ass. “So big-”

Mingyu smiles, and you know he enjoys the size difference between you two- enjoys stretching you out to accommodate his massive girth-

In all your princess training, one of the big rules was never to swear, but you find all sorts of naughty words coming to mind as your husband ruts into you, quickening his pace as you get used to his cock.

You bite your tongue, releasing whimpers and whines while Mingyu kisses your shoulders and neck, one hand pressed against the small of your back to keep you pinned.

He’d been similarly trained, and the first ‘fuck’ you’d ever heard slip past his lips on your wedding night had opened the flood gate for you both- but in the short time you’ve been married, you’ve become accustomed to letting him make the first move.

Tonight, the first swear to grace your ears is a low “shit,” it’s whispered as his fingers dig into your hip, pace quickening- and your husband’s teeth graze by your ear. “You sound perfect, princess- I want to fill you so bad- you want to be filled, right?”

You moan loudly, nodding as you find your own words. “Please- Mingyu-”

“Tell me, darling, tell me you want to be full.”

“I want to be full-”

“Tell me you want to be bred- want to be all swollen and pretty for me-” He fucks into you harder. “You’re going to give me pretty little heirs- pretty little heirs from my pretty little princess-”

“I want to be bred-” you repeat diligently, grabbing at the sheets to ground yourself as the pleasure between your legs increases rapidly- “I want to give you all the pretty little heirs- please, Mingyu-”

“Your pussy is getting so tight around my cock, darling-” he groans sinfully in your ear. “You’re doing so well for me- always so good-”

“Please-” you whine again, feeling your orgasm getting closer and closer-

“Always such good manners too,” Mingyu chuckles, lips teasing by your ear. “Who’s my good, well mannered, needy little princess?”

“I am-” you shiver, closing your eyes and enjoying the perfect feeling of being fucked by your lover-

“Yeah, you are-” Mingyu breathes, pressing his fingers against your hip again. “You deserve to be full, right? Deserve to have that pretty pussy coated in cum-”

You love when he talks dirty like this, and you whine loudly in response, nodding as you hold off your orgasm, eager to reach your high with your husband.

“Are you close, princess?”

“Uh huh-” you nod eagerly, “waiting for you-”

“Yeah?” You feel him grin against your shoulder. “Good princess. Tell me you want me to cum with you.”

“I want you to,” you confirm.

“Say the whole sentence, darling, I want to hear the words coming from my perfect princess- wanna hear you admitting how dirty you are for me.”

“I want you to cum with me-” you whimper, a flush of embaressment heating your skin at the full admittance. “Want you to fill me up-”

“Fuck, you sound so good-” he groans. “I’m almost there- keep talking, keep talking for me-”

“Please- Mingyu- it feels so good- I just want to be full!” You give up on all your self restraint, and the moans of appreciation in your ear spur you on. “You’ll make me full- I know you will- always make me so perfectly full and satisfied-”

“Shit-” Your husband sounds glorious even when he grunts, and you think this must truly be love, as he pins you to the bed and uses you to reach his own end while you enjoy every moment of it- every motion-

“Please-” you say again, knowing that he loves it when you beg for him. “I’m so close- I just want to cum with you-”

“Then cum with me angel- let go and squeeze my cock with that pretty fucking princess pussy of yours-”

A shiver of stimulation runs through your form as you let go, and a surge of release jitters out from your core, causing you to gasp and grab at the bedsheets.

Your husband is moaning loudly behind you, and you can feel him cumming deep in your pussy, his forehad pressed against your shoulder, fingers digging into your hips as he rides you both through your orgasms.

You love giving in to Mingyu- giving him complete control. You trust him more than you’ve ever trusted anyone. The thought of having children with him is in the periphery of your mind as your heart races and your pussy pulses around his cock. Something tells you that the two of you will have no problem producing a sweet little heir.

“You feel so good- so perfect for me,” Mingyu groans in your ear as his thrusts begin to slow.

The most you can do is smile, mind too hazy to come up with a worded response- not that your husband needs one, as he presses kisses along your throat.

His hips come to a stop, cock still burried deep in your pussy. “You know… I’m not sure if this really did the trick.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, confused.

“I just mean… maybe you’ll get pregnant from this, but maybe I should strip us both naked and try again, you know… to better the odds.”

Yeah, you’ll definitely have no problems producing an heir with Mingyu, and with a laugh, you agree to the idea, knowing you have a long, wonderful night ahead of you.

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🔮 preview. “Are you sure my massive cock won’t hurt you or the baby?”

cw/ tw. unprotected sex, breast play, fingering, oral (f receiving), praise, breeding kink, early-stage pregnancy, quickie, etc... I petnames. (hers) pretty princess, darling. (his) perfect prince, my love.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.4k I teaser wc. 250

🌙 staring. mingyu x afab!Reader

bonus

Your husband has been busy all day. He’s been in meetings of all sorts, and the brief interaction you’d had around lunchtime hadn’t been a long enough opportunity to tell him your good news.

Besides, you know how Mingyu is going to react once you tell him what your court doctor had told you in the morning, and you’d wanted him to be focused during his day of diplomacy.

You’ve been testing your own patience, and you’re nearly buzzing when Mingyu finally returns to your chambers after missing your nightly dinner in favour of royal duties.

It’s a stark contrast in moods, and you try not to overwhelm the exhausted man as he trudges into your room, royal jacket already half off and ready to be thrown on your bed.

“You had a long day,” you muse as you open your arms for your lover.

Despite being substantially taller than you, Mingyu bends down so he can rest his cheek against your bosom, and he releases a low groan. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Your fingers thread through his silky hair, and you do your best to calm yourself- to be a pillar of safety for the man you love, but within moments he’s pulling away from your chest and giving you a quizzical look.

“You’re heart’s racing,” he tells you. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” you shake your head, fighting the smile that threatens to overtake your features. “In fact… something is very right.”

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 6 months

Text

Black Metal and Bourbon (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.1k

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, drug usage, mentions of sex & intimacy, dark jokes/dirty jokes, rumors, gossip, past toxic relationship, a shitty Ex, protective!Simon, etc. (18+ mini-series)

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

You slapped the damp rag back into the bar top, the fabric heavy with spilled alcohol and other fluids that you didn’t even want to try and think about.

“Jesus.” Your muscles ache, neck stiff from having to try and slap a dart from the ceiling where some jackass had been too drunk to attempt and hit the target. The thing was still up there, as you weren’t about to spend your entire night fruitlessly attempting to fix someone else's blurry mistakes.

You glare over your shoulder, seeing the unconscious form of the man in question being dragged out by his friends presently, his slurring chuckles making him sound like a drowning elephant. Intoxicated yells of goodbye attached to your name make you roll your eyes slowly as they begin being said; you push through the waist-height door to allow you behind the front counter. Your middle finger flips the patrons off before boisterous flirting hits the air.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that—!” Is cut off by the slam of the front doors and you couldn’t be more happy that your boss hadn’t gotten the bolts tightened.

“Don’t get paid enough…” You grumble, eyes slithering over to the tip jar and seeing the overflow of bills and coins as your fingers wrap the neck of a bottle of Vodka.

The profit would be split with your coworker even if she’d been gone for more than half a night getting railed by her new boy toy. You can still remember the look she’d given you as she’d walked out during rush hour, her sharp smirk and smug sheen of ‘you won’t say anything, will you?’

Grumbling under your breath, you slip the Vodka back into its slot on the wall racks, while telling yourself you can’t drink on the job; trying to forget the face of the man that had been attached to hers before they’d stumbled to the back alley.

“Graham Whitaker, you’re such a five-cent sell-out,” you shake your head, sighing heavily into the air that smells like booze and sweat.

Graham Whitaker—your Ex in every sense.

You decided to tell your coworker, if she ever showed back up, that the only reason she was getting dicked-down was because it was that man’s plan to try and make you jealous. As if you’d be caught with your pants down over a prick that had cheated on you more times than you could count before you threw his ass out.

“Not my problem anymore,” your hands move to display themselves in a motion of a settled disagreement before wiping them on your black pants.

It was late now, of course, with the dart-drunk and his friends being the last patrons that you had to serve. But you’d been in this town a long, long time.

Sorrel the construction worker came in an hour, Miss Anna-Lee accompanying for her nightly Gin and Tonic before she talked about her late love from the seventies. From there it was three more regulars before closing activities and fighting to get up tomorrow by noon only to do it all over again.

Over and over and over.

You lean back on the counter and look across the brown wood and warm overhead lights, behind you, the illumination from the drink rack gives off a dead glow.

This was your workplace since you'd been of age, and over the years that seemed to drag, here is where you’d stayed. Nothing ever changed in this town—the biggest shock was when you’d broken up with Graham; people hadn’t stopped talking about it for months.

This place was like a prison of slow death and abandoned dreams. Safe to say this was not what you had envisioned for yourself.

You scoff, pushing off the back counter and snatching your rag back up before you can spiral once more.

The stains weren’t going to buff themselves out.

Maybe it was chance that the mechanics shop across the street had shut down, too few employees and too many drug busts. Chance, or fate, whichever it was you chose to believe in that still-air Sunday, it was still a shock to you when you looked out the front window as Sorrel called goodnight through his heavy accent.

‘SOLD’

“Sold?” Sorrel pauses with one foot out of the door, and he chuckles when he sees where you’re looking in shock, your hand holding a dirty glass.

“Haven’t heard, then? Few newcomers snuck in under our noses—they’ll be running the place; mechanics!”

“New?” You laugh. “Who in their right mind would come here of all places?”

Sorrel shakes his head, grumbling as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket. “You’ll just have to meet ‘em, Doll. Sure you’ll leave a glowing impression.”

“Take that shit outside, you ass. You know I hate the smell.” A smirk graces your dead eyes.

“Like I said. Glowing.” You glare, but the man slips out of the door quickly and his form passes by the window outside to climb into his truck parked in the street. Two honks from the horn and the older man is off, grizzly-like beard gone just like your boredness.

New arrivals?

You blink at the blackened shadows of the street, illuminated by the lights and their tall tree-like bases—the sway of the planted bushes in the boxes outside. Your head tilts at the abyssal building that was once in working order.

It was a shitshow now, years of abandonment not giving it any helping hand regarding upkeep. The concrete was cracked, the garage door was hanging off of one side, and the front windows had been broken by your Ex’s buddies when they had gotten into a fight like the three-year-olds they were.

You hum lowly. A hard-chucked set of keys, you recalled. You’d seen it from here easily enough. Hadn't lied to Sheriff Russel when he’d come knocking, and, you suppose, that was why even now the immature posse still tried to scare you by following you home at night to this day.

As if everyone didn’t know where everyone else lived already.

But back to the current interest for the night.

“Let’s have a little look-see, then,” you breathe, knowing Miss Anna-Lee would be a good while away like always. You could chance five minutes—it was just across the street after all.

Shuffling outside, making sure to hold the door until it closes slowly, you step down the single step and stick your hands into your pockets. The night wasn’t hot or cold, simply there like a metaphorical cut on your palm; it wasn’t surprising the more you lived with it, but it still made your skin itch.

Feet padding, you cross the dead street and take in the long stretch of unkempt grass, stepping onto the broken curb as your shoes crunch broken glass. Long-gone cigarette butts are scattered here and there, the occasional stray bit of metal or trash. Your eyes shift slowly from one brick that makes up the frame to another, the peeling blue color that could use touching up.

The mural you had painted in middle school had faded a long time ago, just like the great expectations of going into an art career. The eyes of a great gray wolf are only a dark outline that you can’t help but stare at as if a cancer was growing in your brain, hidden behind the reach of green ivy.

Ripping your eyes away, you ignore the cry of tires from across the town and the pop of an exhaust pipe—the roar of either a car chase by the repeat offender Irene Chaney, or by some stupid kid related to Irene Chaney.

“She’s gonna wreck one of these days,” you breathe, looking down at your object of intention—the sold sign in all of its red and white glory.

Your hand snakes out and grabs the cheap plastic, stopping its swaying with a creak and a tilt of your head.

You just couldn’t understand it—who in their right mind would buy this place? The only thing it would be good as is rubble, at least then some rabbit could make its very dusty home here.

Sorrel had mentioned multiple people too.

“Must be up at the B&B then,” your voice carries over the space, the stars twinkling above you as a shadow stands at the end of the cracked driveway. Its hands are in its pockets, tall form bulky with the dark brown leather jacket around its intimidating form. You’re none the wiser, letting the sign drop as you put your hands to your hips. “They better not be fuckin’ dickheads—”

“Mind explainin’ to me why I came to get a drink and now I’m talkin’ to some Bird on my property?”

You startle, gasp peeling out of your lips as your head swivels as if attached to a string which, in turn, tracks back to the source of a heavy Manchester accent. Grass breaks under your feet, as the gravel of the tone makes you cringe. Your eyes lock on the man who looks like he just came back from a warzone.

The first thing you noticed was the balaclava and the skeleton detailing, of course, how could you not—the lower half was an inch below those October eyes of the deepest shade of brown you’d ever witnessed.

Your spine straightens in cautious surprise, hiding the way your hands had clenched as if ready to swing on your Ex if he so happened to be there instead of…this person.

“Excuse me?” You say, quickly, as if it was forced out instead of a scream. Your face pushes that stern expression back to your face as your throat clears out the hoarseness.

A covered head tilts with its small sliver of pale flesh visible to you—the strong bones of his nose bridge and hidden jawline. The bulk of large muscles and thighs spoke to hard labor, and his booted feet shifted below loose black cargo pants.

The mask alone caused you a hint of worry in those few seconds of fast study of this phantom’s anatomy.

He blinks at you slowly, raising the small corner of a dark brow from a respectable distance away.

“Said you’re trespassing, yeah?” Your face gains a sheen of heat, and you glance at your bar behind the stranger, at the bright burn of the lights.

Taking a stiff breath, your lips pull into a frown as you try to hide your embarrassment.

“Well…a holler would have been just fine.” A fake glare is put on. “What’s with sneaking up on a woman in the middle of the night? Are you some creep or something?”

Those dark eyes stay locked on yours, and for a moment you don’t know if you’ve encountered a statue or not because he doesn’t speak for a moment.

A puff of breath from his nose.

“You the bartender, then?” You motion to your nametag above your left breast and grunt. His gaze homes in before he simply says, “Good.”

Without another word, the man turns stiffly before he steadily begins making his way back to the bar; crossing the street with a swift check of the road. You watch him saunter off, jaw slackened and your cheeks hot. The span of his shoulder blades levels out as he rolls his shoulders.

Where did this guy even come from? The answer was simple, the bed and breakfast was only four buildings down and to the left. Guy must have come in for a late-night serenade with a bottle.

A quick glance is thrown back to the rundown property behind you before you growl and hurry after this individual who currently pushes open the faulty doors of your work. Jogging across the asphalt, you catch the thing right before it closes and slip inside with a puff of air and a shoved-down snap of a sarcastic ‘thanks’.

Yet, the man is already pulling back one of the bar stools and easing into it when you make it behind the counter. You study him yet again.

“You’re one of the new mechanics?” Brown-Eyes blinks at you.

Without missing a beat, he goes, “Bourbon—Kentucky.”

“I asked a question,” you cross your arms, not even for a moment looking away as the silence of the bar sneaks in around you and this strange creature. “Least you can do for a lady is answer it when you act like a damn cat and sneak up on her.”

“You were on my property.” This is leveled out through a grunt, and after a moment of staring, you scoff.

“I was curious about who had bought such a piece of junk. Guess I have my answer.” Your hand grabs the bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, the amber liquid inside sloshing as you turn back and put it into the wood. There’s a fraction of a dead tease that makes the man seem more human than he looks.

“Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine?”

“I prefer a solar flair.” You comment dryly and set an engraved glass next to the bottle. Something flickers past the mechanic’s eyes, a quirk to the fabric of his balaclava.

“On The Rocks or Neat?” Your brow raises and you tilt your head.

“That even a bloody question? Neat.” You snort, splaying your hands before you grab the bottle as he watches you blankly.

“Sorry, it's kind of my job to ask.” Your hand shifts and you pour a reasonable amount into the glass, knowing exactly when to stop. As you shift the bottle away, you leave it on the bar top and gently push the beverage to him as his gloved fingers take it up. You repress a small smile at the matching bone gloves to go with the detailing on his balaclava.

“Bartenders always have this much attitude?” The glass is kept in front of his person, carefully held in his large grip.

Moving back, you go to lean on the back counter. This night was quickly taking an interesting turn. “Only if they’re me.” You sigh. “You have a name, then, Brown-Eyes?”

The individual snorts at the title, but his eyes narrow on you at the same time as if he was held hesitant at the ability for you to make him. He had an air of casual tension around him, like a dog on a thin leash that can only just manage to meet others and stay his fangs.

Danger, you pinpoint. The man felt like danger. A riptide; surface tension.

Then why was it that you felt more and more intrigued by the second?

“Simon Riley,” he eases, staring with those numb eyes of his before he tips the glass slightly your way. With the thumb on the same hand that holds the bourbon, he hooks it under his face covering and pulls it up until he can connect the glass to his lips and take down a sip as his Adam’s apple bobs in a swallow.

On the way back, his thumb drags the fabric back to its previous position as if nothing had happened. The image of pale skin and stubble sticks with you, and your eyes shift away quickly without you realizing it as the glass is returned to the counter.

“Well, Simon Riley,” you mutter, “welcome to nowhere.”

The man hums, eyes looking you over in a single glance before the gaze shifts to the wall behind your head. He says nothing, and the door opens to the next three familiar customers as you move to take their order. As you slip out from behind the barrier, you grumble under your breath before you slip past Simon to the corner booth.

“For the record, Riley, I do enjoy seein’ that old place getting taken on. Don’t run it into the ground, would you? And if you need a fresh coat of paint, for the love of all things holy, don’t go down to the Schafersons’ place, you come right to me.”

Walking casually, you greet the three ladies from the downtown library with a smirk and an easy comment about if their husbands knew they were out so late, to which you promptly got cursed out on good faith. Sharing a few chuckles, you get them started on what they need, all the while feeling those brown orbs now following subtly from the side of their sockets, intrigued.

Simon wasn’t sure what to make of you, and the same could be said about this town as a whole. A woman with such a future trapped behind her eyes, adventure in her blood, why were you here in a place with nothing promised for it except dying businesses and old faces? This was a place where people came to hang up the coat, not try and rip it off of its peg.

The children born here with ambitions leave, that was the common denominator. Even Simon could see that. But you? Here you were.

The man peels his eyes away, taking up his glass again and re-hooking his thumb to his mask. Amber liquid seeps into his mouth, pulling the scars on his lips and cheeks as he swallows it down as easily as water. The bourbon pools in his stomach, sending its honied effects to the back of his mind; it would take much more to get drunk, but that wasn’t what Simon was looking for.

Perhaps he was just out tonight wondering why he’d left the military for a mechanic’s job and come out here—asking anything for a sign that this was the right decision even as his head echoed with the screams and the gunfire.

And then he’d seen you standing in front of the fuckin’ worst mechanics shop he’d ever seen that he’d signed the property deed for not three hours ago. Hell, he hadn’t even looked at the place before buying it—Price was responsible for the official financial actions, and the man had made him swear that it was worth it.

But fuck, he’d just needed a way out of the city. Too loud, too unpredictable in that previous shop of theirs right by the busy street. MacTavish and Garrick had been easy to convince; they’d all served together before and had no family over here either.

A new start thousands upon thousands of miles away.

Your head pulls up from where you chat with the librarians, hearing the slam of the door as the draft wafts in from outside—a small breeze has picked up.

Inside walks in your very ruffled, and very well-pleased, coworker, Celina Bell.

She brushes down her top and black skirt, blinking around with blown pupils until her eyes lock on you. A poisonous smile meets your eyes as you raise a brow slowly—Lord, if this girl didn’t realize that fucking your Ex over some workplace squabble wasn’t something to be proud of, she was really a lost cause.

Simon only glances over his shoulder before turning back around and tapping his fingers against his glass absentmindedly.

“You alright?” You ask out of due diligence, sparing the ladies an apology look for them being interrupted.

“Better than alright,” Celina chuckles, walking over with a limp in her step. “Just scored Graham Whitaker.” She fake pauses, blinking as if in realization that a child would know was taking the piss. Your face is stuck in the expression of boredom. “Wait…you two were involved for a few years, right? Oh, I’m really sorry—I had no clue.”

“Yeah,” you look her up and down and blink at the disheveledness. “Sure. Quite the score.” A pause, her lips pulling back into that smug smirk that reminds you of a weasel. Yet your next words leave her face devoid of blood. “You know he got Chlamydia from Stacy Green a week ago, right?”

A pin could be heard dropping. Brown eyes are firmly stuck to the scene, unsure what to make of it. The ladies stifle their laughter.

“...W-what?”

“Y’know,” you motion a hand to her lower body, walking past her back to the bar. “STD. Chlamydia. Results in—”

“I know what the fuck an STD is, you bitch.”

“Woah,” you whistle, “language.” Your body returns to the counter as loud stuttering is left behind you, the frantic patting of a pocket to look for a phone before enraged feet rush to the exit. “Need a refill, Riley?”

“It can wait,” Simon utters slowly. The door slams shut.

You chuckle, shrugging. “Alright, suit yourself.”

The man takes the names you drop and files them away, slotting them into his mental database for when he needs to work with these people. Yet, there’s already a sour impression just off of comments alone. Who better to get your news from than a bartender?

You know everyone's dirty little secrets.

You diligently serve the drinks to the librarians, placing them down carefully before Simon once more has a re-filled glass of his drink. He moves it slightly up in a cheer and gives you a stare as you wipe your hands with a clean rag.

“Seems you know everything ‘round ‘ere.” His accent is what draws you in, and you find yourself eager to hear more from him.

“I’m easy to talk to,” you respond, shrugging and leaning on the counter a foot or two away as you both watch the other. A smirk overtakes your features. “And I am the one that gives people the drinks.”

“So, what I’m hearing,” Simon raises a brow. “Is that you get ‘em dunker than a man on his execution date.”

You click your tongue, tilting your head in a teasing manner while maintaining a serious face.

“Afraid you’ll spill your secrets, Riley?”

His eyes flash at you, and his lips flicker into a smirk you can hear in his voice.

“It’ll take more than two glasses of Bourbon to get me talking, Sunshine.”

Your face shifts away, but the sudden fight with a smile leaves you nearly breathless.

Who is this man?

“Why are you here,” your question meets his ears as he takes back the last of his drink, stomach filled for the night and his searching, for the moment, abated.

The glass meets the bar top.

He grunts. “Needed a drink.”

Your lips pull in annoyance. “You know what I mean. You’re terrible at answering questions.”

“Hm, maybe.”

“Fuck off,” you grumble, shaking your head as a low chuckle makes your insides swirl.

A stack of bills is placed on the counter, and the man stands, grabbing the hood of his black sweatshirt and pulling it up. His gloved hands go to the pockets of his leather jacket with a roll of his wide shoulders. From under the hood, the white of the painted mask glares out from under the shadows that now shroud him.

You both sneak a glance at the mechanic's shop—a clear view from the front window.

“See you around, then?” Your head is tilted at him, blinking. You hum under your breath. “I’m going to keep asking you why you showed up in this town, Riley, and I won’t stop until I get an answer.”

Simon quirks a brow, eyes glinting with interest. When was the last time someone had spoken to him like this outside of his boys?

“Look forward to it,” he utters slowly. With a blink and one more dead look, he’s already out the front door and walking back down the street—disappearing like a ghost the same way he had appeared.

Picking up his cash and counting through it, the librarians across the way snicker, and one calls out, “So, the new mechanic, huh?”

“One more peep and I’m doubling your tab.”

But…you did have to admit, he had been charming…hadn’t he? At least someone here could juggle your attitude.

—

Three days pass with no sighting of Simon Riley, but just because you didn’t see him doesn’t mean you weren’t witness to his aftermath.

The shop across the street was practically fixed up while you were asleep.

Where there had been overgrown grass, there was now a cut lawn getting watered by the reach of an angry sprinkler. The fast movement of the spray reaches the sidewalk that was, somehow, still there under all that trash hiding away like a criminal. Stray bricks are gone and stacked into a pile as you pause outside the bar, staring wide-eyed with your breath caught in your throat in the late morning air.

The ivy over your mural was peeled back—that faded wolf’s gaze locking with yours, unyielding to the calls of time as its canid body stool as a silent sentinel.

But, on the third day, as you’re going on break before the night sets in, you manage to not only see Simon again but meet two of the other men who’d moved here.

You pick up your feet and jog across the street, hopping the curb as you blink, impressed at the open garage with its fixed and oiled bay door. Inside it was still dusty—remnants of what was left behind in the corners and scattered. But it was getting there. Quickly.

“Didn’t know Simon was goin’ to sign on such a piece of rusted shite—where’s the fuckin’ outlets?” Gritted Scottish. You stick your hands into your pockets and enter the large opening.

“If I remember,” you speak, finding the two men standing slightly off to the side as the bulkier one with a mohawk carries a series of extension cords. Cobalt and brown eyes dart to you in shock—the second man of darker complexion sharing a glance with the other in swift confusion. “When you manage to find them, they’ll all be burst.”

Blank stares are sent your way.

“Kids would come by and watch ‘em spark when they were bored. No one really cared enough to stop them.” A clearing of a throat meets your ears as you study the room more.

It was small, with only one main garage for all the repairs, but that wasn’t new to you. The motorcycles were, though.

Five in total all parked and resting next to one another near the back wall, all in varying shades of black and gray. Your lips twitch at the sight, imagining your late-night acquaintance riding one of them—you dare say that it fit him quite well, and you weren’t that surprised at all by this.

Biker mechanics. It fits the script.

“Who’s this then?” The Scot asks you, raising a brow as a friendly smirk pulls his mouth up. “Can’t remember bookin’ any repairs today, Ma’am, might have to wait a few more days before we get it all up and runnin’.”

“I can see. No, I work just across the street,” you spare a friendly smile.

“So you’re the bartender? The bartender.” The second man speaks, grinning kindly as he searches through a toolbox on a small table. He hums, looking playful. “So that’s why Ghost was gone so long.”

Ghost…? Did they mean Simon?

The skeletal accents suddenly make far more sense.

“Johnny MacTavish,” A hand is leveled out ahead of you, and you take it casually with a muttering of your own name. “Soap’s just fine as well.”

Your brow quirks, but you only share an amused nod.

The other individual stands and makes his way over, tall and leaner as to where Soap’s more blatant strength is.

“Kyle Garrick—Gaz. Pleasure.”

“Just came over to introduce myself,” your hand shifts back into your pockets as you motion with your head back to the bar. “I’m on my break.”

“Ah,” Soap’s hands move the cables he holds as he loops them into a more storable shape vertically around his elbow and palm. “Last one to meet then is Price—man’s in town gettin’ lunch for us,” he grunts under his breath. “Hopefully a damn set of zip-ties, too.”

“Zip-ties, Mate?” Gaz breathes a chuckle with a fix of the backward ball cap on his head. “C-4 would bloody help more. At least then we can have a clean starting point.”

“I think we’re fresh out of C-4, unfortunately,” you huff a laugh, motioning around as the men smirk at you, Johnny snorting a chuckle. “You guys have done a pretty good job so far. I can’t remember when it looked this nice in here.”

“Well, we’re honored, Bonnie,” Soap tilts his head as he ties off the cord with one of the ends. “Makin’ me blush.”

“If Simon had just looked at the place before buying it, we might have been able to open sooner.” Gaz huffs, thinning his lips as he glances over the broken window and the peeling paint—the door to the main lobby that has a punched dent in it. “Couldn’t be worse.”

“Well then it can only get better,” you breathe, shrugging.

Gaz huffs affectionately. “Not wrong there, then.”

You lean forward, tilting your head. “You’ll find I rarely am.”

“Second time you’ve snuck on,” a Manchester accent scares you once more, head snapping to the side as the light spills in from the garage opening. “This a pattern, Sunshine?”

Simon’s brows are raised as those October eyes lock with yours. Gaz and Soap share a look, smirking before the Scot peels off to find a place to store his belongings.

“Where have you been?” Gaz asks as you glare at the masked man for once again coming up behind you.

A bag is presented, leaning off three fingers as a glance gets thrown past you.

“Down the street. Needed these made.” The bag is tossed and Kyle catches it easily.

You watch as the crinkly plastic is opened and the dark fabric of four black pairs of overalls is produced, each embroidered with their respective names.

“What’s wrong with the old ones?” Johnny pipes up, brows furrowed.

“Looks like you got fuckin’ mugged in ‘em.” Simon slides his attention back to you as Johnny curses with a glint of amusement in his blues.

“Aren’t open yet.” Your face peels back to a stiff annoyance.

“I can see that, Riley.” You motion to the other men. “I was being polite.”

He grunts while walking past, muttering through a brief smirk, “Doubt that.”

Your jaw slackens, but you only growl and hold your tongue as you glance the mechanic over. He still had his leather jacket, but a loose shirt took the place of a hoodie.

“You ready to answer my question?” Simon locks those eyes with yours from over his shoulder before sliding up to the black form of one of the motorcycles.

Visible to the naked eye, you take in the lack of fairings around the frame—eyeing the pure black metal of the entire engine from any angle that you might move to you’d still be able to see. It was nice. Perfect, even; damn expensive too. While the thought was enticing, you can’t imagine Simon riding it—he seemed more rugged, more…classy.

“Negative.” You roll your eyes, but Soap speaks before you can retort.

“Finally takin’ out the CB1000R, Ghost? ‘Bout time.” The brute throws a blank look at the Scot as Gaz utters to you a few feet away before a casual ‘no’ is leveled out through the space.

“He got it months ago,” Kyle’s eyes crinkle. “Can’t seem to take it out for a ride yet. No one knows what he’s waiting on.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” your words confide. “It’s beautiful.”

“It was a fucking fortune—no use collecting dust is what I say.” You hum, shifting back to Simon who taps the seat of the CB1000R before moving past it to an older cruiser with dents and dirt along the sides. This was more him you thought. Rugged and more dated than the first; something you use on long rides to nowhere.

“Maybe he’s just waiting for a special occasion,” you guess.

“Better get on with it.” Gaz moves away with a shrug and a huff.

Your lips pull in a small smile, and you watch Simon pull keys from his jacket and insert them as he moves to straddle the larger body of the cruiser, easing into it slowly. Staring, you think about how far that bike could take you—what you could see with it on the open road of possibilities and whipping air. Where would you go? Anywhere. Anywhere and everywhere.

Eyes shifting away from the motorcycle, they widen as they softly meet Simon’s own—locked for a moment in a staring contest. His lids barely pull down, studying something. You clear your throat and exhale.

Sensing your company was most likely a hindrance at this point, you turn to leave as the engine flares—you wave easily behind your back with a call of well-wishes.

“Come have a drink one time, boys, yeah? I need stories that come from strangers for once.” A ruckus of ‘affirmatives’ and ‘will do, Ma’ams’ sparks up from Johnny and Kyle as you exit to the roar of the motorcycle behind you, your feet kicking a stray rock into the grass before you make it to the curb.

Before you can cross, a steel body blocks your path.

“I’ll be needing a drink later tonight, then.” Simon watches from atop his seat, one booted foot to the ground to steady himself as he comes to a slow halt. His fingers curl the handles, twitching.

“Let me guess,” you tilt your head, smirking, “Bourbon?”

“A woman after my own heart,” he draws numbly, October browns as dead as mulch. As dead as dirt.

“And do you have a heart, Simon Riley?” You question, blinking at him as your mind tells you to walk away. Your brain doesn’t need a repeat of Graham—you already had enough problems on your plate right now besides some attraction to this stranger. This push and pull made your heart jerk, even when you know it shouldn’t.

You’d only just met him.

The man hums, thighs shifting on the black metal frame. He says the easiest answer he can.

“A cold one.”

Pushing on the ground, he takes off down the road back into the main town for whatever errand he was on this time. Your eyes follow until the figure is no more than a memory of the smell of oil and the metallic tinge of caution.

—

You hated the smell of cigarette smoke.

Like a pregnant woman’s aversion to the scent of meat, you grew nauseous at the very hint of cheap tobacco and paper on the air—loathed the burn of it. It had to do with your Ex, of course. The man had been a habitual chain smoker, lighting up one after the other until you had to leave his house entirely to puke on the front lawn. If you thought about it hard enough, you could still taste the ash on your tongue from when he kissed you after lighting up.

But that was only one of the reasons you’d never moved in with him despite being together for years—the cheating was the other problem.

Girl after girl, broken promise after broken promise, you’d still held onto him as if he deserved it. Hell, all that Graham Whitaker deserved were the copious amounts of STDs he probably had after sleeping with as many women as he could to try and get back at you. You didn’t have ample reason to ban him from the bar—him or his loud-mouth friends, you should say—so the problem, like a bad rash, persisted. Cars following you after work and all.

But, the here, the now.

Simon had, in fact, come in for that drink that night—just as he had for the last week up until the grand opening of the boys’ shop. You’d both spoken throughout these encounters and formed some sarcastic and sly-looked bond that the other locals couldn’t understand. You had even learned about his military service.

The both of you were just…different, people said. No one else really argued with it.

You finally met John Price before the party that you’d heard from Simon that Soap and Gaz had been eager to host for the town—‘come meet the bastards that bought that old shitty building and see how they fixed it up all by themselves. You should come and give us your money.’

It was there that a proposal was offered.

“Simon says you told him to come to you about paint.” John was late thirties, keeping a well-trimmed beard with a mustache that was the same shade of brunette as his head of hair. Tall, as well as built, he had found you as you were closing up the bar early for the town-wide party, Celina having already slipped out.

You were dressed in a long skirt and a nice shirt for the occasion.

“John Price, I’d imagine,” you comment, stuffing your keys into your pocket as your purse hangs from your shoulder. A throaty grunt tells you all you need to know as you move down the step. “Yeah, I did say that. Do you need some?” You look over his shoulder to the still peeling color on the outside of the bricks as the men are dragging out folding chairs and long tables. There was the clatter of laughter and loud calls.

John’s blue eyes shift behind him, and he raises a brow slowly.

“Thinkin’ we’d just hire you,” a side-eye. “If you’d be interested.”

That was a surprise.

You begin walking across the street, the man beside you and awaiting your answer.

“Hire me?” Your voice asks, but you aren’t against the idea. “How do you know I’ll be any good at it,” you chuckle in question.

“Simon says he found your initials next to the mural—the wolf.” Your feet pause, stuttering for a second before you catch yourself. The blood on your face stops its circulation in shock. “Not a bad piece, then.” John grunts. “...Think you can do a skull and wings?”

So, you sat with your sketchbook in front of the wall, a portable camping chair below your bare feet as your legs folded under you. Your slip-on sneakers rest in the green grass, kicked off with a sigh. Blinking, the chatter and mumble from the party surround you in a sheen of community and calmness. You can pinpoint every voice, every story being re-told as if new news when it goes in one ear and out the other like a breeze on the wind.

Humming under your breath as the sun is low in the sky, you hear the silent feet still from over your shoulder. A smirk flickers your lips.

“Snooping, Riley?”

“My building.” He grumbles, “Seein’ what you plan to do to it.”

You snort, looking over your shoulder and smiling. “If I recall, you’re the one who took up my offer and told Price about it.”

Simon was dressed in cargos and a compression shirt pushed up to his elbows, the swell of his forearms on full display along with the scars and…tattoos. You blink at them, the swirl of black skulls and guns; barbed wire and dog tags—the dark images that fit him as his motorcycles did on his left limb. Brown eyes flicker from yours to the painted wolf.

“Good at that,” the man says, balaclava shifting.

Your expression slowly shifts to something far softer than you can remember it ever being; inside of your chest, your heart tightens.

“Thank you.”

He levels you, the corners of his eyes easing out of the numb nothingness to show something akin to shielded affection. Molten sunlight on the side of his face, making the color of his irises glow amber. Simon nods to your sketchbook, clearing his throat.

“I able to see it, then, or is it some secret?” You huff.

“Come here,” your hand motions, palm brushing away eraser shavings as your fingers get stained with graphite. The shadow comes closer, leaning over you as the scent of oil pools in your gut. You blink at the side visage, swiftly looking back down to your sketchbook as a slight wind ruffles your skirt.

“Price was talking about a skull with wings beside it—later on he made mention of a sword through the top.” While you explain the concept, you inadvertently study the tattoos on the flesh beside you, one scarred hand coming out to lightly grab the armrest of your chair as Simon leans even closer.

As your face begins burning, breath caught in your throat, he blinks down at the image as he looms, head tilting.

Simon breathes, chest rising and falling as his eyes go far off. You know the symbol means something, though you also have a good guess that it’s related to this group’s time in the service.

He hums, and you see his lips open, the rough grate of his vocal cords as he begins to form words for you.

“It’s—”

Your name is loudly called from across the way, both Simon’s and your heads snapping back as you both realize exactly how close you two have become. The stealing of the other’s warmth like wraiths of hidden longing ceases when you wrench your attention to the man you wished would leave you alone.

Graham raises the dark bottle of a cheap beer from the dollar store in your direction, walking over. Now, your Ex wasn’t anything spectacular, but even you had to admit it was the best you could do around here if you didn’t want to date men only five years from the grave. Graham was tall, strong, and heavy-willed like a bear. In the day hours, he worked as a farmhand down the way.

Your body tenses, eyes going tight. Simon sees.

“Who’s this,” he asks slowly, fingers twitching.

“Ex,” you mutter, grimacing. “He’s going to make a scene.”

Already gazes had started drifting over, conversations lapsing into mute silence as orbs shifted to three different individuals all stuck in the same storm.

Simon grunts, standing up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest, legs shifting below him and thighs trading weight. His moving leaves half of you kept firmly behind him and your eyes study his stance as you notice that fact. You blink, and feel something stir in your ribcage, blooming like a flower.

“Hey, Bartender!” Graham takes a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it as his fingers fumble over the neck of the bottle. “Though I’d seen you over here missing all the action. Nothing’s changed I see.”

Your face pulls in with disgust.

“Graham, you’re drunk. Go home.” It was true—his words were slurring, his limbs loose with drink. He smirks at you, taking a drag of his cancer stick and puffing it directly at you. Your hand snaps to your nose to try and cover the horrendous smell.

“Nah,” he breathes. “I’m here with Celina, see’s a pretty nice lookin’ broad don’t you think? Not as good of a fuck as you, but, hey, I take what I get.” His expression shifts to hidden anger and Simon takes a heavy step forward before he can finish the rest of his sentence, hands shifting to grasp his biceps harder. Those browns simmer with low ferality—a warning.

The air gets heavy.

“Pretty good little lie you spread about me gettin’ that shit from Stacy.”

“That was a lie?” You drawl lazily and watch your Ex’s eyes flash with rage. But he should know you don’t take shit from him anymore. “Oh,” your fingers tighten over your flesh and make you sound stuffy. “Maybe I heard wrong, you’re right. You don’t have Chlamydia.” You glare. “It was Gonorrhea, wasn’t it?”

“Bitch!” Graham barks, moving forward, but before anyone can realize it, Simon already has him shoved back with a stone-like push to your Ex’s chest.

“Not smart, Mate.” The former soldier utters, arms falling back to his sides. The party by this point had entirely halted in sharp gasps and bated breath.

Graham’s beer bottle shatters as it hits the ground, the grass not able to absorb the way it slams down to dirt. Your wide eyes stay stuck on Simon’s figure, who’s now entirely hiding your view of your Ex—the wide expansive back that shows the writhe of his shoulder blades and how his spine shifts under the tight shirt.

Your hand lowers from your face.

“What the fuck?!” Graham spits. “You made me drop my fucking drunk, man!”

“Be thankful that was all, yeah?” Simon’s dead voice is a cold chill on a winter evening. Any sane person would turn and leave immediately. “Cut your losses.”

No one breaths for a long minute, and you can see the other new mechanics inching closer from the sides. All of the locals are deep into the scene, fingers to their lips in surprise. There’s going to be talk tomorrow—the bar will be busy.

“Graham,” you try to sway the pig-headed man once more from behind Simon. “Go home.”

“So this is what I get,” your Ex spits, head trying to peek over the larger man’s frame to look at you. Simon’s hands clench into tight fists. “I’m with you for years and this is how you treat me? I gave you everything!”

“Those are years that I never want to think about again,” you say with a stiff finality. “And it’ll be a cold day in hell before you ever see me worrying about where you are or who you fuck.”

Knowing that the situation is over and done with, Simon takes a single step forward and leans into the man.

“You heard ‘er,” he levels, unblinking. “Scatter.” Simon’s accent made it sound more like a threat, but maybe it was.

Graham growls and takes a long drag from his cigarette, staring Simon down.

“Fuck you, you piece of shit.” But all he does is turn sharply on his heel and stomp away, crossing the street to his truck before he opens and closes the door with a violent slam. From across the way, Celina gasps and calls his name, but the engine has already started and Graham is down the road with a roar from the exhaust.

Everyone is watching you and Simon, and the staring peels back your skin until Simon grumbles and grabs your arm.

Blinking in shock, he only gives you a moment to steady yourself and slip on your shoes before he drags you inside the garage. You huff and look up at him as you close your sketchbook–trying to not look at those tattoos again. Your finger wanted to trace them—to study the ink down to the layer of skin where it ended and became red flesh and weeping veins. How far up his left arm did they go? Did they only stay at his forearm, or up to his shoulder?

Inside he lets you go, head slightly tilted to the outside as the sounds of hushed whispering pick back up; hurried and filled with electricity. Simon grunts, blinking.

A heated silence encompasses the two of you, and as your eyes lock, neither can speak for a moment.

“Sorry about that,” you glance at your feet. “Should have guessed he’d show up and do something.”

“Don’t apologize,” Simon crosses his arms again, boots righting themselves. “That’s not your fault that some bastard can’t act right, yeah? Forget about it, it’s all nothing.”

“You shouldn’t have to be involved—”

“Bloody cut it out, would you?” Simon glares, brows pulling in. “I said it’s nothing.”

He was very passionate about this, it seemed.

You sigh, shaking your head before a tiny chuckle makes the mechanic blink in confusion. “Suppose I can call you my guard dog now, huh?”

“Piss off,” you laugh, covering your mouth with your hand while your eyes narrow down. Simon's own crinkle along the edges, lowering his hands to push them into his pockets.

A second leads into another, but neither of you has any particular interest in re-joining the others, even if Soap is smugly passing looks and Price smirks into his drink. Gaz fixes his hat while he tips back a beer bottle, hiding a glint of amusement.

Simon’s voice lowers, seeming to hover closer.

“You alright, then?” You nod, face heating up as you stare at his shadow-tainted visage and how the face-covering obscured him from your eager eyes.

“I’m used to his drama. I have no problem giving it back.” Simon hums, October browns glinting like Halloween lights.

“Seems so.” He pauses, and pushes out a joking, “Not surprised, Sunshine.”

“Good, Brown-Eyes,” you lean back on your heels and smirk. “I’d be offended if you were, with all we’ve been talking to one another.”

“Getting familiar, Bartender?”

“Of course, Mechanic. Haven’t you heard?” He tilts his head, prodding you on as his eyes soften that candle-like smidge. “I keep everyone’s secrets—and you still have to tell me yours.”

Simon chuffs a low chuckle, and the fabric of his mask pulls as he shakes his skull. “Maybe one day, yeah? Need to stick ‘round to know ‘em.”

Then perhaps this town was worth wasting away in.

—

“Bastard won’t cause any problems, will he?”

“No, no, he’s too much of a coward to try and get back at anyone. He won’t do anything.”

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