That’s it. This is a curated collection Im an adult and I post adult content, I’m not responsible for your online experience if you’re a minor be responsible
Horus x Fem!Reader based on this idea. The romance is light, since the focus is mostly elsewhere, but it exists if you squint. Anyway, enjoy.
Was going to do this all in one but I decided to split it into two instead okay bye
Despite what everyone thought, your life wasn't exactly glamorous as Lady Lupercal. Sure, Horus was kind to you, but there was always a tension that you could never shake. A weight pressing down on you that made it hard to stand.
It had been a purely political move, your imperfect marriage. The Emperor had been poked and prodded by Terran nobles about such things for years, and he'd always shoo them away or ignored them. But now that he had eighteen perfect sons, the demands got louder. He wasn't a man to be easily swayed, but he'd finally ceded- just a little.
One son, and after that there would be no more consideration on the matter regardless of if, when, or how it ended.
The Warmaster had been the one to volunteer for this ever daunting task. He was his father's favorite, after all, so it only made sense that it was he who stepped up to the plate. There had been whispers that the warmhearted and beautiful Sanguinius had also raised his hand in that meeting, but the only people who know for sure are the Emperor and his sons.
It had been like an ancient fairytale. The Emperor threw a party grander than any most people had ever seen, and had let Horus pick any eligable candidate he wanted. Why that so happened to be you, though, remains a mystery.
Your wedding had been surprisingly simple, and very fast. Horus was a busy man who had little time for ceremony. There were vows, he'd kissed your hand, then you were taken and dumped in his home and told to stay. You weren't even given any real duties for the first handful of weeks. The serfs claimed it was because you were technically in a honeymoon period, but you knew better. There was nothing for you to do at first. Horus was so efficient in running his own affairs that there had never been a need for a secondary person- even while he was away.
And he was away often.
You saw him for only a handful of days at a time, and they were almost never in succession. Even when he was home with you, he was a rare sight. He did not go out of his way to seek you out, and there was never any sharing of a bed. The most you typically saw of him was of the back of his shoulders.
You didn't love Horus Lupercal, but you didn't hate him either. It was hard to feel such a strong emotion towards a man you never saw, and you were just fine with that. You told yourself often that it was easier to watch him leave you when you didn't desperately want for him to stay. There was no affection from him, only distant kindness.
His sons were a different story entirely.
For the majority of them, you barely existed. You were their father's wife, but you didn't matter to them like Horus did- they often forgot you were even there half the time, and when they did remember, they were even more distant and cold towards you than your husband. The rest of the household- staff and whatnot- were quick to follow their example.
But out of all of them, the Mournival were the worst. They hated you. And they made sure you knew it as often as possible.
Aximand ignored you. He looked past you when you spoke, acting as if he hadn't heard you even though you knew he had, and you'd gotten more than a few bruises from him practically running you over in hallways. The only time he really spoke to you, was to snap at you for being in his way.
Loken and Torgeddon were awful in the way all two-faced people were. They smiled and nodded along while you spoke, pretending to listen and agree with you, only to turn around and whisper cruelties when you weren't watching. The only difference is that they didn't care if you heard them.
And Abbadon? To him, you were worse than any parasite or xenos. You burdened him just by existing and breathing the same air, and nothing you did made it any better. In fact, any attempts at speaking to him only seemed to make him angrier. You considered yourself lucky that he wasn't foolish enough to put his hands on you. Not that he needed to- his words were sharp enough to cut you open.
You never say anything about it to Horus- though you've thought about it many times. You're not sure he would really care. He may get angry, may punish them, but it would only be because their behavior made him look bad, not because your life and happiness really meant anything to him.
So you kept it quiet, and just tried to avoid his four favorite sons as often as possible.
-
The door to your personal office opens without any warning, and you can feel the headache forming before your unruly stepson opens his mouth.
"Here," Abaddon dumps a large box onto your desk.
"What is this?" You ask, hesitantly.
"A gift from my father. Be grateful- you don't deserve it."
He doesn't wait to hear your response, turning on his heel and stomping off like he always does when forced to interact with you. But despite his sour attitude, you were actually a little excited.
Inside the box is a cloak of white fur similar to the wolf pelt your husband wore around his own shoulders. It's soft to the touch, and made to fit you perfectly.
Tucked in the bottom of the box is a small piece of paper with a simple note written neat handwriting.
Keep yourself warm. -H
A smile touches your lips. You'd made a comment last time you spoke with Horus about the nights getting cold. You knew it wasn't out of love, but you appreciated his attempts at keeping you comfortable nonetheless.
You ignore the stares that follow you as you head back to your rooms that evening, your wonderful gift wrapped around yourself. Perhaps it was a bit too prideful of you to flaunt it, but could anyone honestly blame you? Gifts from your husband were extremely rare- it only made sense that you showed it off a little.
It doesn't matter that Loken snorts when he sees you. Doesn't matter when you hear Torgeddon mutter that you look ridiculous. Doesn't matter that the first time Aximand looks at you in months is in disgust and annoyance.
-
You've been losing a lot of things recently, now that you think about it. First it was small- a pen, some small accessories you brought from home, makeup, and at some point you even lost your own hairbrush. But now, it's gotten worse.
The bracelet Horus gifted you on your wedding day. Clothing. Shoes. Other jewelry. The beautiful fur cloak. Things that made it look like you were slowly packing yourself up to disappear, should anyone look closely enough. You were never this careless with your things before, and as bigger and bigger items start to go missing, a worse and worse feeling grows in your chest.
You're going to have to tell someone. And soon. But your list of contacts within this house is painfully small, and any communication you have with your family or anyone else outside is highly monitored. Even if you didn't tell them, the Mournival would hear about it- then you would never hear the end of it.
They already thought you undeserving of everything you had, this was only going to exacerbate the problem.
But if you didn't tell anyone, if you kept this to yourself like you keep the bullying and unkindnesses of the people in this house to yourself, it would only make you look guilty of something when someone finally noticed. Guilty of cowardace, of betraying the husband you barely knew, of being everything everyone here thought of you.
Informing Horus was out of the question entirely. Not only was he not even home, but as Lady Lupercal, it was your responsibility to keep things in check. To keep staff under control and make sure everything stays at his perfectly strict standards. Telling him that someone was stealing from you was only going to cause you embarrassment, or worse- make him disappointed in you.
That left you with only one unsavory option. You had to tell the Mournival yourself, before they found out through someone else.
-
"Aximand!"
He doesn't stop. He doesn't even slow his pace.
"Aximand please! It's important! Just give me a moment-!"
He turns the corner. You stop following him, wondering why you even tried in the first place.
Because telling Abaddon is basically suicide, your mind unhelpfully reminded you. And considering he and the man who'd just abandoned you in the hallway were the only two of the four sons currently here, Aximand had been your only option. He still is your only option.
You take a breath, gather yourself a little, and start off after him once again.
He's fast, but then again, he's also significantly larger than you, making his casual stride enough on it's own to outpace you with annoying ease. Stars above, you hated it. Hated how you had to chase him. He didn't even need to stop- you only wished he would slow down enough for you to catch him, wished he would just pay attention to you for once.
What a childish thought, you tell yourself bitterly. You were a lady. You were the lady. You should be handling yourself with more poise, more decorum. You should raise your voice and order him to pull his head out of his ass long enough to hear what you had to say. Remind him of who you were, and maybe even threaten him with his father should he continue to refuse.
Yet here you were. The wife of Horus Lupercal, the woman who was only good at sitting pretty and taking up space- who only pretended to have authority- chasing after a man who had so little interest in you that you may as well be invisible. How embarrassing.
"Aximand-!" Your call of his name ends in a yelp, as you manage to trip over your own feet in your hurry to reach him. Pain shoots up your leg, your ankle throbbing. Horus' son still does not falter. You watch him disappear once again from view, leaving you to handle your injury yourself.
You sit there for perhaps a handful of seconds too long, but you do eventually pull yourself up. It hurts to stand, and hurts even worse to walk- there would definitely be no catching Aximand now. Using the wall as support, you begin limping back towards your rooms, deciding that it was better to rest and hope you were well enough tomorrow to try again.
Or you would, had you not collided face-first with your most spiteful stepson.
What kind of awful luck were you having today?!
"Abaddon-" You look away when he scowls at the sound of his name coming from you. "Excuse me."
You try to shuffle around, but his form blocks your way.
"What happened?" He practically spits the question at you.
"Nothing."
He scoffs, looking you up and down.
"What did you do to yourself?"
Yes, you think, because everything must be my own fault. It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that your brother cannot be polite enough to stop when I yell for him.
"I fell."
"What are you, a child still learning to walk?"
Something in you finally breaks, just a little.
"That's enough!" You snap. "If all you have to say are useless cruelties then find yourself elsewhere! I have better things to do than be accosted by an impolite astartes!"
Abaddon blinks, eyebrows shooting upwards in what appears to be genuine surprise. You'd never raised your voice at anyone- most especially him of all people. You can see the wheels turning in his head, but you don't wait to find out what he has to say in response. You use his momentary mental imbalance to squeeze past him, and keep moving.
You don't make it far.
The sharp Hah! that comes from him is your only warning before you're unceremoniously ripped from the ground and tossed over his massive shoulder.
"Hey!" You gasp, panic flooding your whole system. "What do you think you're doing?!"
"Taking you to get treated." It doesn't matter how much you struggle, his grip on you is impossible to wiggle free from.
"Stop it! Put me down right now! Ezekyle Abaddon! I am not a toy!"
"No," For once, he agrees with you. "You are my father's foolish, useless wife who can barely carry her own weight without hurting herself."
Your face burns with embarrassment and frustration.
"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself!"
That, and all other protest goes ignored as he carries you away. The heavy gazes of other astartes and servants alike sit heavily upon you, and it drives you insane how little it affects him. Because he wasn't who they were staring at, he wasn't who was being judged for his behavior, for his pathetic need for assistance.
No, it was all directed at you. It was always directed at you.
-
You're surprised by the appearance of your husband at your bedroom door. You hadn't even been told he was going to be home- though to be fair, you had been borderline hiding in here for the past several days.
He smiles at you, and insists you sit.
"I heard you had some trouble," He says, and you already know what exactly he means. "How bad is it?"
"It's really not that bad- I just took a bit of a tumble," You offer him a smile in return. Horus was kind to you, more than you really deserved considering what a shit job you were doing as his lady.
He kneels, lowering himself so you don't have to strain so hard to look at him, and reaches to take your foot in his hand to inspect it for himself. It's shockingly intimate, and has you turning pink, your heart beating faster than normal.
You try to remind yourself that he holds no affection for you, that he is only kind because that's simply who he is. But it's hard to do so when his touch is so gentle it makes you think he's genuinely worried he might break you, or when he warms your bruised ankle with his hands as if he, alone, can heal you.
It's hard to remember Horus doesn't love you when he's looking at you like that.
Curse your delicate heart- curse your desire for closeness with the one person in this house who you should be close to. Curse his ability to make people fall under his spell simply by existing in their space.
"You're cold," His voice rattles you back to reality. "Where is your coat, I'll fetch it for you."
You flinch and look away from him, pulling yourself from his warm grasp. He doesn't stop you, which somehow makes the guilt eating at you even worse. He says your name. Patient, but firm. He asked a question, and he expects an answer.
"I…" Stars, what did you even say? You'd failed to tell anyone about your theft issue, and now your literal worse-case scenario is on his knees at your feet waiting for you to admit to your failure. You wanted to cry. "I don't…know…"
Horus is silent for a long moment.
"You don't. Know."
You wonder if you can get to the window and throw yourself out of it faster than he can stop you. You decide that no, you most likely can't. And even if you did, something tells you one of his sons would manage to catch you before you hit the ground.
"I…it…" You try to look anywhere but at him, and find your eyes settling on Abaddon, hovering in the doorway. When he got there, and how long he's been there you have no idea. He likely followed your husband, and has been waiting for him to finish with you this whole time. But somehow, the confession spills out of you easier. "Someone…took it. Someone has been taking…a lot…of my things…"
Abaddon goes very still. You think he might even stop breathing for a moment.
"For how long?" Horus asks.
You shift your gaze to the floor.
"A while…"
You catch the way Horus turns to look at his son from the corner of your eye. He doesn't ask anything of him, nor does he need to. Abaddon already knows.
"This is the first I'm hearing of it," He's quick to defend himself. "The lady hasn't said a single word about anything going missing."
Horus hums, and returns his attention to you. Again, he asks no verbal question, but his inquiry sits in the air between you regardless.
I tried to tell someone! You want to scream. No one listens! No one cares!
"I…" You hate how your voice shakes. "It- they're m-my belongings, a-and it's my duty to keep things in order. I- I didn't want to burden your sons wh-when they're already so busy."
It's a weak excuse only made weaker by your inability to look him in the eye, finding a scuff on the floor much more fascinating than whatever expression he or his son might be wearing on their faces.
Horus lets out a hard breath through his nose and stands. Once on his feet, he hooks a finger under your chin and tilts your head back to look up at him. The way the light illuminates him from this angle is an almost surreal reminder of his ethereality. A giant of a man, made by the Emperor of Mankind himself to be perfect in every way.
"Rest. I will see it handled."
He leaves no room for argument.
-
Abaddon doesn't yell at you when he returns later for more information about the theft. Somehow, that makes it even worse than if he did.
"Is that all of them?" He flips through the list of people you'd given him that could in theory get close enough to you in order to steal. He hadn't asked about what exactly was missing, though you're certain it doesn't necessarily matter in this case- if they found the culprit, they'd find their stash.
"Yes," You mumble.
He turns, making his way towards the door in the usual fashion. Except this time he pauses just before stepping over the threshold.
"You should have said something. My brothers and I were reprimanded because of your secrecy."
You let his words sit between you for a moment, your gaze finding your sore ankle.
"What would have been the point?" You ask, voice low. "The only reason you care now is because Horus does."
His hands ball into tight fists, whatever sharp remark he was preparing dying before it can escape him. He leaves you in silence.
-
Abaddon has been more attentive in recent days. You wouldn't go as far as to call him kind, but his immediate aggression towards you has somewhat faded.
You don't know if it's because he is actually starting to care, or if it's just because he's under orders from his father to look after you better. Regardless, he's become a more solid figure than he was before. He's still short with you, still glares and rolls his eyes and makes faces, but at least now he seems to listen when you speak.
You take your wins where you can get them. They're hard to come by in the Lupercal household.
There has been no word about the thief. No news as to whether they've been caught, or if any of your things have been found, and Horus has not been back to see you since that night. Not that you really expected him to, it wasn't like it was out of character for him to visit and vanish. It stopped bothering you rather early in this arrangement.
The person his absence does seem to bother, oddly enough, is Abaddon.
Whenever there is mention of Horus not coming to you, his face twists in an unpleasant way, and he lets out a huff before muttering to himself words that you can never quite catch. It confuses you, and he refuses to humor any of your questioning about it, always snapping that it was nothing, and to mind your own business.
It's almost endearing, in a way. It makes him seem so much more…human to you. And much less like an unfeeling jackass who wants you dead. Sometimes, it even makes you laugh, which has your rude, unruly stepson turning red and yelling at you to shut up.
-
You're practically vibrating with excitement, despite how desperately hard you're trying to remain calm. Your fingers rake through long hair that you never even imagined you'd be allowed to touch, catching a few stray tangles here and there. It was to be expected with hair of this length, but you still offered soft apologies every time.
Abaddon simply grunts in response.
It had been shockingly easy to get him to sit down and allow this, and a fairly large part of you is certain it will never happen again. But the two of you have gotten…well, you're not sure close is the right word, but at least he didn't seem to completely despise you anymore. If anything, you were little more than a mild annoyance to him these days.
Three very long months of dedication to forming some kind of genuine relationship with your husband's favored son was finally paying off. The other three hadn't come around yet, but they were getting curious, you could tell.
Loken started to linger in common areas where you were. Torgeddon actually asked your opinion on something and took it seriously. And Aximand steps to the side when you meet in the halls- though that one could be because Abaddon has taken to following you most places.
Part of you doesn't care if the other three sons in the Mournival ever fully decide you're not a waste of space. Part of you is just glad one of them has changed his mind.
You separate his hair into three even sections, and begin braiding it, humming softly as you do so.
It had started as him coming to inform you of Horus' expected return in a handful of days. His most recent campaign had been rather short, and apparently he was actually going to stick around for longer than normal.
You'd thanked Abaddon, and as he'd turned to escape, you'd spotted it.
"What is in your hair?" You'd asked. He'd stopped, and lifted his hand to touch his hair, frowning a bit.
"Dirt."
"That looks like more than dirt- were you sleeping outside?"
The way his eyes cut to the side told you that you're correct.
"No," He'd lied anyway. "I was training with my brothers."
"Ah huh. Come here and sit down, I'll fix it for you."
His face had twisted.
"I don't need-"
"Abaddon. Sit."
It was thanks to him that you'd started to assert yourself a little better, and it always felt good when he listened. He'd stomped over to you, sat himself on the floor with his arms crossed, and let out an annoyed huff.
You were supposed to be working on some basic household administration work, but this was much more fun.
"It's so long," You mused to yourself. "Honestly, I'm a little surprised you keep it like this."
"I like it," He grumbles. You let out a light chuckle.
"I like it, too. It suits you."
"Shut up." You laugh again at his words, tying off the braid and patting him on the shoulder to signal that you were finished.
"Be gone, you. I've things to do and you've distracted me long enough."
He turns to look at you, offended. The giggles that escape you frustrate him more the longer it takes for you to calm yourself back down. He lurches to his feet, glaring at you, the tips of his ears the slightest bit red in embarrassment at being successfully teased.
He stomps out without another word, leaving you to your amusement.
-
It's late- you should have turned in hours ago. But you'd had more work than you realized, and had ended up working well past your usual time. You shuffle through the halls on the way back to your bedroom when voices filter through the silence.
Creeping closer to the source of the voices, you realize quickly that it's the four members of the Mournival, tucked alone in the dining hall. You press yourself to the wall just outside the cracked door and listen despite knowing that you should probably keep walking.
"-just don't get how you can stand it," Loken is saying. "If I had to spend every day with her, I think I'd go insane."
"Enlighten us then. How has our fine Lady Lupercal managed to sway you to her side?"
You perk up a bit and listen closer, curious as well of what his answer might be.
"Our father adores that woman. Yet she refuses to see him while claiming he never actually visits, and every gift he's sent has managed to end up 'missing' somewhere we can't find any of it. I'm not swayed, I'm staying close so that I can make sure she doesn't cause further harm to our father or his house."
What was he saying? What did he mean Horus adored you? He was never around! You never refused to see him- not once! If anything, though you are loath to admit it even to yourself, you missed him when he wasn't around. And it wasn't your fault your things had been stolen!
Was it really all a lie? A play he was acting in just so that he could expose some wickedness in you that didn't exist?
No- no that couldn't be it. There had to be something else going on- a misunderstanding or- or-
"If she vanished tomorrow, I wouldn't even blink."
You don't remember getting back to your room after that. The journey is a blur of tears and muffled sobs that you pray none of them heard.
Thick coarse hair tickled your nose as you buried yourself among the pile of heavy furs, Grey and auburn strands rubbing against your skin as you slid beneath the huge oaken bedframe.
Muffling your laugh, you shuffled until you were completely enveloped under the tanned hides. The sound of approaching feet grew louder until your chamber door was thrown open with a loud bang. You clasped your hand over your mouth, a fit of silent giggles wracking your body as a pair of leather boots appear next to you, still splattered with mud and melting snow.
"Little wolf? I know you are here"
You watched as the boots slowly stepped around the bed, the floor groaning under each heavy footfall as they paced. A sharp inhale of air, and then the voice chuckled.
"Do you think you are clever? Your scent is still fresh, feilan"
A shiver ran through as he spoke. Deep and rich, the fenrisian drawl added a roughened edge to his words as Leman Russ stalked around the bed.
"Hiding from me is not a wise move"
With a squeal, large hands grabbed your ankles and hauled you out from your cover, dragging you along the cool floor.
"Not when I enjoy the hunt"
You kicked out, his fingers falling away from you with unexpected ease as you scrambled to your feet and shot off, rolling over the bed and landing on the other side as you spun to face him.
"How was your venture, my lord" you asked innocently, biting back your laughter as you watched him cock his head, his icy blue eyes trained on you.
"It went very well. we killed the beast with ease, as expected" he hummed. You could see tension in his body, even beneath the leather shirt and thick fur coat. His hands clenching and unclenching into fists as he stepped towards you only to pause as you matched his movement and stepped back.
"This is not a game you want to play, little wolf"
A shiver racked up your spine as he spoke, his voice dangerously low, almost a threat. The adrenaline from his hunt was still pumping through his taught muscle as he took another step forward, growling softly as, once again you stepped away.
"And why not?" You questioned, feigning boredom as you tugged at a loose string on your tunic, enjoying the rumble that emanated from the wolf kings chest.
"I won't be able to hold back"
He raised his hand in a calming motion as he saw your eyes dart to the open door and back to him.
"Don't. Run." He warned, chest heaving in massive breaths as he fought to maintain control.
Too late
Flashing a bright grin you leapt forward, ducking under his arm as you sprinted out the door and down the stone hall of the fang. The hair on your neck prickled as the primarch snarled, his thundering steps quickly gaining. Eyes darting back and forward you skidded round a corner, feeling his fingers brush against your shoulder as you slid into a serf access corridor, too small for an Astartes, let alone the mass of muscle and sinew that made up a primarch.
You turned on your heels, a shout of triumph on your lips to goad your hunter.
"What's wrong, Leman, can't you catc-"
You fell back with a shriek as leman slammed into the wall. Roaring, he reached him arm into the shaft, clawing towards you as his other hand ripped into the wall, tearing cement and brick away in his fervour. His eyes dark and long canines bared as his fingers brushed your cheek, desperately aching to catch his prey.
Wet heat trickled down your face from the contact, a thin red ichor that spurred him on. Your nerves were on fire, blood rushing through your veins as your body screamed at you to run. Run fast and far, get away before he catches you.
You stumbled further away from the entrance, trying to slow your heartbeat. The great wolf howled as you stepped beyond his grasp, before eyeing the service shaft and bolting away.
Crap
The aett was his home, he knew this place better than he knew himself.
Your eyes wandered to the clawed gouges in the wall. Deep and ragged, he had shattered stone and rendered metal apart in his outrage. Wiping away the blood from your cheek with a shuddering breath you took off, weaving through the tunnels until your lungs burned from the exertion, only stopping when you found a small door of rusted steel propped open by a forgetful serf.
Peering out you eyed up your next escape.
The corridor had led you to the main hall of the fang. Beneath giant, sloping ceilings a warm, stoked fire burned hot and high in the ancient carved fireplace. A few space wolves lounged on great oaken benches, nursing flagons of potent mjord as they relaxed in the warmth, some still splattered with blood from their earlier hunt or displaying new scars to their brothers.
You stepped through the door, cringing as the hinges squeaked and groaned under the movement. Wincing you looked about, feeling the heavy weighted stare of the space wolves all turn to you.
"What are you doing here so late, My lady" one drawls through a fanged grin. "Come to celebrate our success?" He brothers laugh, raising their drinks in a toast.
"Maybe later, lieutenant Halric. Im a little preoccupied right now"
Halric's amber eyes lingered on the trickle of red slowly weaving down your face, His smile widening as a young blood claw scented the air before whispering in his ear.
"Aaah I see. Trying to outrun the wolf are you, little rabbit?"
You grinned back, a biting response on your tongue to put the Astartes back in his place.
Boom
The pack hollered and howled as Leman Russ barrelled into the hall through the main doors, nostrils flared and mouth pulled back in a snarl as he casts his gaze about. The frozen winds of fenris whipping his hair about him as he lumbers in from outside, snow already melting from his broad shoulders.
"There you are"
"Run My lady!" Halric crowed as the primarch sprinted towards you, fueled by his son's cheers.
Your legs start moving before you realise, pushed forward by adrenaline as the mountain of fang and muscle gallops towards you.
Thoughts a tumbling mess as your blood hammered in your ear, you found yourself backed into a corner. The hall fell silent as Russ stepped up to you, tension thick in the air as he swept a finger through the bloody streak on your face, rubbing it between his fore finger and thumb as he looked down at you silently.
"Game over, little one" he grumbled, pupils still blown and fingers curled as he ran his bloodied fingers across his lip. Your chest was tight, muscles aching and your vision blurred as you stood in his shadow.
He wouldn't hurt you
Would never hurt you.
But the familiar look in his eye was gone, replaced by raw instinct.
And every fibre of your body was screaming at you, begging you to get away.
Dropping, you scrambled between his legs and tumbled towards the open door, ignoring the concerned shout of the space wolves as you vanished into the fenrisian forest.
"Skitja" A young blooded rose to his feet, cussing as you vanish whilst his father stood watching.
"Stay out of it" growled his brother, forcing him to his seat as he gestured at their father. "This isn't your hunt." The Bloodclaw glanced between the primarch and the door, staring as your figure dissolved into the white flurry.
"She could get lost out there" he huffed, looking about the astartes.
Halric laughed, clapping the young warrior on the shoulder as he climbed to his feet, his flagon held high to his primarch.
"Øjor va Russ!'" he bellowed, the pack chanting with him, slamming their fists on the table. "Glory to Russ!"
With a deep, bellowing laugh, Russ ran after you, your scent fresh in his mind as he inhaled the fridged wind. The thrill of the hunt pushing him forward through the night as he picked up your trail.
"If you want to get between father and his prey, be my guest" the lieutenant groaned, returning to his seat and swiping another mug from the tabletop as his lord vanished into the night.
"But trust me, she's only as lost as he wants her to be"
You clutched your tunic to your body, the steel blue wool whipping against your skin in the storm. The lining of warm wolf fur kept the worst of the cold at bay, but couldn't stop it biting at your fingers and nipping your face.
Darkness was settling in quickly around you as the sun began to sink below the horizon. The snow was cold against your legs and ice cling to you as you sprinted through the thickening treeline.
The air burned your lungs with each clouded breath as you slowed, turning about in confusion. The warm light of the Aett was lost, hidden behind thick, snow laden boughs of arching trees, leaving you surrounded by darkening shadows.
Crystal flakes danced in the air, spinning slowly as a new fear crept in.
Lost in the quiet forest of the frozen death world.
Crack
You jumped at the sound as it splintered the silence. The darkness between the trees offering no respite as you peered through the gnarled trunks for the sound source.
"Leman! I know you're out there" you barked, the quiver in your voice betraying you as you tried to straighten yourself against the bitter wind. Nerves frayed and your anxiety at its peak, you flinched at the rolling laugh that echoed from the depths of the woods.
"I warned you little wolf, that you wouldn't like this game"
"I promise I won't run" you gasp backing up against a twisted oak and pressing yourself against its coarse bark in a pitiful attempt of cover.
The wet crunch of fallen pine needles beneath heavy boots had you spinning, ears straining and eye wide as you desperately searched the undergrowth and recoiling as a pair of bright, moonlit eyes appeared through the cover.
"Oh? But I rather like it when you do"
A spray of wet slurry kicked around you as you balked, caving into intuitive pressure as Leman tore free from the underbrush.
Too slow
His bruising grip clutched at your shoulder and with a strangled shriek, you were wretched backwards, slamming into his solid frame, clawing at his forearm in mad panic as he held you against him.
With a triumphant yell, the Primarch flipped you onto your back, towering over you as you shuddered. A large calloused hand rested either side of your hips as he looked down at you, his wide blue eyes trailing over your frame as he bared his canines as a large smile spread across his face.
Laying stunned beneath him, listening to the bellow of his lungs as his breath began to even out, you watched as he slowly clawed back control of himself. His iris' still swamped by his pupils as his gaze flicked over your face, lingering on the cut furrowed through your cheek.
"You scared the shit out of me" you whispered, heart still pounding as you tentatively reaching for his face. His jaw tensed when you ran your fingers through his stubble, before relaxing under your touch.
"I know" he muttered, sweeping his thumb across your cheek.
Russ leant down, pressing his face against your neck and inhaling your scent.
"I couldn't help it" he whispered against you skin as his hands moved to grip your waist, kneading into the soft plush of your hip.
You sighed as his lips moved across your throat. Titling your head, you ran your hands through his blonde hair, tangling in a braid as you pulled him towards you. He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your jaw.
"But I think you enjoyed it"
The primarch's breath was hot on your skin as his hand danced across the waistband of your trousers, now soaked with melting snow. You felt his lips curl in a smirk as he snuck below the fabric, sliding towards your core.
"I could hear your heart beating" he muttered as he ran a finger through your growing slick, coating the digit before pressing it softly against your clit. "Like a frightened little rabbit"
You crooned at the touch, arching your back towards him as he rubbed circles across your sensitive bud.
"And look at you now"
His lips crashed into yours as you writhed under his touch. He tasted wild and fresh, smoke, spice and pine overwhelming you as he ran his tongue across your lips before pushing in to taste you. You moaned into the kiss as he slid a finger inside your cunt, curling against the soft spot that made your eyes roll whilst his thumb rubbed against your clit.
"L-eman" you gasped, clawing at his shoulders as his mouth suckled against your collar, nipping and marring the skin. "Fuck I'm gonna-"
You cried out as you came, your legs shaking as Russ kept stroking your walls through your orgasm. You fell back panting as the wolf wretched the furs over his head and tossed them to the snow before ripping your tunic away. Your fingers tangled through his blonde locks as he wretched down your trousers and mouthed at your wet cunt, lapping at your slick as his calloused palms held your legs open.
"Too much" you whined, tugging on his hair as you twitched.
"We eat what we catch on Fenris" he growled, his nose brushing your overworked clit as he devoured you,
"Please, leman I cant~"
You sobbed as his tongue lathed over the pussy, thrusting into your soaked hole before twisting around your nub, building you back towards a crescendo. Russ grinned against your skin, nipping your thigh as he wrung another orgasm from your shaking body.
Leman leaned back on his knees, admiring his work as you shuddered and gasped before tugging down his own trousers. Palming his length, he leant over you again, nudging his leaking tip against your entrance.
"I've earned my prize, don't you think"
Sparks danced behind your eyelids at his size as he pushed forward, laying his hips flush to yours in one smooth movement. Your walls burned with excursion at his girth as he stretched you around his cock, your muscles twitching as they adjusted.
"Pretty little cunt takes me so well" he crooned,stroking your hips as he pulled your ass against his thighs, your legs resting against his scarred abs. With excruciating slowness he dragged himself out of your pussy, before thrusting the full length back in. You arched against the floor as he rutted into you, dragging his tip against your g spot with each luxurious clash of his hips against yours.
He leant forward, pushing you ankles by your ears. With mouth gaping open, breathy moans fell from your lips as your walls fluttered around him, squeezing his cock. You smirked slightly as he growled in fenrisian, his teeth grazing your neck as you clenched around him.
"Do you like that, my wolf" you breathed, dragging your nails down his shoulders as you clenched around him again.
"Do you like claiming this little Cunt as your prize"
With a snarl, Russ flipped you over, pushing your face down his fur coat as he held your hips in the air before slamming back in.
"I think I do" he rumbled in your ear, marking your shoulder as he fucked into you. Tears flowed freely as you, staining the bristly fur as pleasure clouded your mind.
"And I think you like knowing that my whole pack knows what I do to you, woman"
"Fuck Leman" you cried, reaching back to claw at your thigh as you knot in your gut snapped. You threw your head back as you choked, your orgasm ripping through your body.
"Like a bitch in heat" the wolf huffed, his own thrusts becoming irregular. You flushed at his words, the wet sound of your cum squelching around his member loud in your ears.
You bit your lip and crushed your eyes shut, fighting for control of your body as it turned to mush beneath his touch. His fingers dancex across every sensitive nerve and tender muscle sending ripples of pleasure through you.
"please" you whimpered.
With a broken groan leman came, pushing himself deep inside your dripping cunt as he filled you with hot spend. His hips jerked as he twitched, shooting hot ropes against your fluttering walls, spoiling out around him and dripping into the melting snow below.
As he pulled out, you collapsed onto the fur coat, groaning as you began to feel the ache. He chuckled lowly as he ran a warm, calloused hand down your back towards your ass, spreading you apart as he watched his spend drip from between your legs.
"Now that's a pretty sight" he rumbled, patting your backside before rising to his feet.
You remained silent as he gathered you in his arms, pulling you close to his bare chest. Pressing your head against the soft hair of his pec, you listened to the rhythm of his dual hearts as they echoed through his muscled chest. Absentmindedly running your hand along the map of scars along his breast you looked up to find him watching you, startling softness in his expression.
"What?"
He shook his head, clutching you close as he strode through the dark forest. His lungs sounded like billows through his ribs as he powered through the glittering snow, the light of the fang already in view.
"Leman, what?"
His blue eyes remained trained ahead as he responded.
"Just think I should make you a true mother to my sons"
He paused as he approached the doors to the Aett, the space wolves pack already howling as laughing as you approached.
"Marry me"
Your jaw dropped, fingers freezing as he set you on your feet with the heavy wet fur draped over your shoulder. You watched, dumbstruck as he dropped to his knee in front of you, taking your hand and dwarfing it in his own grip.
"Marry me" he said again.
The pack fell silent behind you, a single breath unheard as everyone waited for your response.
"I will"
There are no wolves in Fenris, is how the saying goes. But that night, in the light of a full moon, admit the soft silent fall of fresh snow, the Fang was alive with a thousand howls as the wolves sang for their king.
MY STREAMERS CAN’T POSSIBLY BE THIS SHY ! ft. ANAXA, PHAINON, & MYDEI
streamer shenanigans with our favorite amphoreus men | streamer!au, fluff, a little bit of crack, relationship dynamics, gender-neutral reader, pop references (literally just a challenge to how many i can fit in here), not proofread (i never do that guys) | wc: 2.6k
MENTIONS — @felibrary hi pookie
DIRECTOR’S NOTES — this idea had been rotting in my docs for a long time now; i really need to get back on the trailblazer quest bcs im starting to forget how they sound like anws hope u like this one!
ANAXA — NOW PLAYING: THE ORGANIC PHILOSOPHY TUTOR
the organic chemistry tutor, except make it anaxa and philosophy (as a student of one myself)
curiosity is an essence of being human; you’re one to hold yours in broken reins.
the first time you ever caught his stream, it was purely by accident. you’d been scrolling through the depths of that particular website at an ungodly hour, looking for something to lull you into sleep, when the thumbnail caught your eye: a plain white board, some scrawled text about parmenides and his philosophy, and a username that made you snort. ILoveDromas.
he didn’t acknowledge you at first, too deep in his rambling about heraclitus and the river you cannot step into twice or whatever he was trying to say about rivers, but when you asked, “do you actually like dromas that much or is it ironic,” he stopped mid-sentence, blinked at the chat, and let out a laugh—whether it was a sarcastic or genuine one, you wouldn’t know for you lack the references to differentiate one to the other. it cracked through his usual monotone: “neither,” he said, “it’s a statement of intent. dromas are noble creatures. you, however, are clearly someone who judges books by their covers.”
speechless as you may be, you still stayed to listen to him and watch him fill that ridiculous whiteboard with his ramblings in a neat handwriting.
to him, however, this was a rare occurrence—so rare that this is perhaps the first time someone has interacted with him out of their own oblivion and not just the usual void that would occasionally echo back with a stray “lol” or “cool”. he was used to having less than twenty (20) viewers watching him, his chat becoming active once in a millenia, or nothing at all. so having you here with him, attempting to make a conversation out of this boring stream of his, was odd at first but he welcomed it nonetheless.
your questions, though not profound and maybe even stupid, are willingly entertained by him. such inquiries are fostered by the curiosity that led you here and he would answer them with the same seriousness he’d give a doctoral candidate. something about your presence made him want to foster that spark of curiosity, however clumsily it manifested.
ever since then, it has become a routine for you to join in his streams late into the night which is at 10 pm, sharp. you’ve never seen him as one to be particular with time to which he admits he isn’t really but the habit began to grow on him.
occasionally, you'll be doing something as he serves as your white noise or background music. he has a really soothing voice that you could literally just listen to him for hours talking about the most boring topic ever and you'll still stay and feel your eyelids grow heavy in the best way, like being wrapped in a warm blanket while someone reads to you from a book you've loved since childhood.
silence was something he never let linger. anaxa really had a lot of things to think and say outloud and you are very much impressed by how smart this guy is—why is he even here in the first place? he could be at a proper setting for his teachings instead. turns out, he was.
over the course of interacting with him, you’ve come to learn a lot of things—that the man was a philosophy graduate and was simply doing this streaming ‘career’ on the sides, that he likes dromas (which is obvious to his username already), and that he has a sister he greatly adores and looks up to, who have supported him in every step of his way (you stored every detail like a squirrel hoarding nuts for winter, not sure what you were saving them for, but certain they mattered).
if it wasn’t obvious to you already, it seems like anaxa has grown some kind of favoritism towards you. it became obvious after a night you didn’t show up, having fallen asleep and waking up at 1 AM to your phone buzzing with a notification from the streaming site: ILoveDromas has started streaming! you have clicked it, confused, and found him still there, extending past his usual routine of ending it when the clock strikes 12.
“ah, you’re here.” though no name is mentioned, you know it’s you he’s talking about. between you and the 7 viewers that who rarely send a message, you’re the only who he consistently talks to and greets. he didn’t say anything else about it, but he stayed online for another hour, answering your sleepy questions with a gentleness that made your chest ache. “whatever it is, i hope everything is in order,” and you realized, with a start, that he had been worried.
what first started with you being his audience, and him as the performer, has, eventually, stopped becoming a matter of performing and started becoming a small thing between two people who'd found each other in the dark. call it what you want, call it what you may be, but you're glad your curiosity has always been the kind that pulls you toward things you don't understand because it led you to him.
“see you tomorrow.”
PHAINON — HOP OFF THE GAME, YOU $#1*?!
ragebaiter reader x victim of ragebaiting phainon
“who just called me phainshit?”
phainon takes pride in his patient and understanding personality. even so, he is not one to express his frustrations or annoyance easily but you arrived in his life so abruptly like a meteor crashing down his roof and suddenly, all of that is thrown out the window.
the first time phainon ever encountered you (not you encountering him), it was in a ranked match that he genuinely thought would be an easy win. he'd been streaming for a few hours, facecam on as always because he knew exactly what his viewers wanted, which was, apparently, to watch him slowly lose his mind over poorly coordinated teams and questionable gameplay decisions.
you were his random duo queue partner, and within the first thirty seconds, you'd done something so bizarre that he actually stopped moving his character to stare at his screen. "what," he said flatly, reading the chat explode with laughter, "was that."
you sent him a friend request and when he accepted it, you typed him a message that simply said: "nice moves, grandpa. try to keep up next time." in all honesty, he could have just blocked you and moved forward with his life, but he typed back and you typed too, and him again, then you—all of this were relentless and his chat could only speculate behind their screens on what is happening that is causing the pretty boy’s face to crumple and break into laughter then crumple again.
“accept the party invite, so i can carry you again.” and shamefully, he did.
friendship bloomed between you both despite the endless ‘banter’ that would occur. he couldn't even be actually angry—not really—because the way you'd lean into the bit, clearly holding back laughter, made something in his chest feel weirdly warm. he'd never admit it, but your attention, even when it came in the form of ragebaiting, was better than the alternative. besides, he does the same to you, too, and funnily enough, you also fall easily right into his trap.
“wow, good job. i didn’t know you could read.” he teases and you could only bark, “shut up,” as a response before he fully dropped it after a few more words. he, too, finds joy in ragebaiting but doesn’t do it often as much as you do. it feels like you have established this stupid and ridiculous relationship with your whims and fortunately, or unfortunately, it was a strong foundation.
at one point, he questioned you if you even know who he was and much to his surprise, you do. you just couldn't care less about it and seeing that his chat likes you anyways, you would occasionally acknowledge them as if you, were was a streamer on your own.
you two cycled through games like other people cycled through hobbies; one week it was tactical shooters, the next it was survival games, then fighting games, then random indie horror titles that made him scream in ways that would have chat spamming with "clip that". the throughline was always you, lurking in his ear, waiting for the perfect moment to say something that would make him choke on his own spit.
in horror games, you'd go silent for minutes at a time, letting him forget you were there, and then when a jumpscare happened and he yelped, your voice would cut through with a calm "scared?" that made him want to reach through the screen and strangle you.
he doesn’t really admit it, at least not to you, but you’re a great person and he truly enjoys every second of his time with you. he’s felt it in the small things—the way you'd notice when his voice went flat and ask if he'd eaten anything that day, the way you'd defend him against actually toxic players , the way you'd stay in the call after streams ended and just talk about nothing until one of you inevitably fell asleep.
and he noticed, too, the way his chest would feel full when you did those things. you were still a menace but you were also the person he wanted to talk to first when something good happened, and the person he wanted to hear from last before he went to sleep. you were carving a space into his mind so much that his thoughts are consumed by you. he didn't know what to call that, all he knew was that he didn't want to lose it.
"you know," he said one night, after a particularly ridiculous match where you'd spent the entire time trying to get him killed, "for someone who claims to hate me, you sure do spend a lot of time with me." there was a pause on your end, and for a moment he thought he'd actually gotten you. but your voice came back, perfectly even:
"i don't hate you, phainon. matter of fact, i like you a lot. i just hate losing and you make winning entertaining." he opened his mouth to respond, found he had nothing. whatever you attached with the word ‘like’, it was making him feel like he’d just been hit with an arrow straight to his chest.
MYDEIMOS — COOKING WITH MYDEI
mydei, streamer that became popular for no reason x reader, a popular streamer, who gets shipped with mydei after one mention of him
mydeimos—mydei to his chat, mydeimos on his birth certificate, and apparently the topic of conversation in your streams now—had absolutely no idea how he'd ended up here.
he was a cooking streamer; he showed people how to make perfect omelettes and discussed the ideal sear on a steak. he did not play video games, he did not have dramatic facecam reactions, and he certainly did not expect to be mentioned in the chat of someone who did do all those things. but here he was, scrolling through his own stream's chat one evening, when someone asked "hey have you heard of [name]?" to which he said "no, who's that?" and that tiny moment of curiosity was apparently enough to start a fire.
and because of that, your chat keeps on mentioning a particular name in your streams. one time was a passing, two times is something, three times is a topic, and four times is what gets you calling for their attention. mydei. mydei. have you seen mydei's stream. mydei would love this game. mydei mydei mydei. you'd paused, genuinely baffled, and said, "chat, slow down, who's mydei?" and the response was overwhelming and mostly unhelpful. cooking streamer. he's so chill. he mentioned you once. you should collab. MYDEI MYDEI MYDEI. you squinted at the screen, trying to parse the chaos and the flood of text that fades away in a blur, and finally just said "okay, i'll look him up. calm down."
welp, there goes sealing your fate.
you, being you, decided to watch one of his vods to understand what your chat was losing their minds over and you expected something mediocre. you really expected something bland and boring. what you got, however, was forty-five minutes of a ridiculously attractive man (because of course he was, the universe had a sense of humor) talking about mushroom soup in a voice so calm it made you want to take a nap. you watched the whole thing, then you watched another, then you watched one from three months ago where he made paella and accidentally set off his smoke alarm and just brushed off the incident. all of this witnessed by your audience because you were too drowned and focused on this random guy your chat selected to hyperfixate over in your stream.
by the time you were done, you had a problem and you also had a chat that was very interested in your opinion. "he seems nice," you said carefully, which was the understatement of the century.
mydei’s cooking streams was, for the lack of a better word, calm. his vibes were opposite of yours in every single way possible—where there is peace and silence in his, there was chaos and screaming in yours (literally just hooting and hollering at times). for someone who looks intimidating and scary, he sure does act the opposite. maybe this was why your chat and his find you two as the perfect match.
he'd been doing this for two years, slowly building an audience of people who found his voice soothing and his food beautiful. he'd never had a viral moment, never been in drama or any allegations (which is quite rare in this playground), never done anything except exist quietly and make really, really good food. and then someone in his chat asked about you, and he said "[name] sounds like a cool guy," and somehow that was enough to break that fragile glass.
you feel bad for the guy, really, that you sent him a private message, apologizing for suddenly dragging him in this mess when he’s just trying to do his own thing peacefully. he responded soon after saying that it was alright. his viewer count had gone up because of you, so if anything, he should be thanking you.
the tension between your two communities became its own ecosystem. your viewers would raid his streams with compliments and his viewers would show up in yours. and occasionally, one of you would mention the other in passing; you'd say "i tried making pasta today, it did not go like mydei's," or he'd say, "i don't understand this game but [name] makes it look fun" and his chat would be bombarding him with questions if he was going to ask you to teach him. neither of you addressed it directly, because, of course, neither of you needed to.
outside your streaming life and his own, you would actually talk to him. it started small, just as all things are—him sending you a recipe he thought you'd like after you mentioned struggling with dinner, you sending him screenshots of your attempts: "i followed your video step by step. i don't know what happened." then it became more frequent, more personal, developing and spiraling into something you never expected but embraced. he'd ask about your day, and you'd tell him; he'd send you photos of his cat, and you'd send him photos of your takeout, and he'd respond with gentle scolding about your eating habits that made something warm curl in your chest.
none of you said anything about what it meant because maybe you didn't need to say it at all.
one night, late, after your stream had ended, you were scrolling through your phone when you stumbled upon a short video of him saying something that made you freeze: "i don't know if i believe in fate, but i do believe in the people who find you when you least expect them. my chat found me and i found cooking. and lately, i've found someone i didn't expect to find at all."
notes : established relationship , comment if you want other characters!
You had gotten quite good at hiding your wounds. Not because you got hurt often. Because being with Floyd Leech taught you quickly what not to tell him.
Especially when others were around..Because Floyd reacted strangely to things like that.
past occasions: Someone bumped into you hard, and he spent an hour wondering if he should “squeeze them a little.” Another student stepped on your foot. He was already out the door before you stopped him from chasing them.
The truth was that this time really was an accident.
A student pushed open a door too quickly while you were standing on the other side. The edge slammed into your ribs leaving a bruise.
It hurt, of course. A lot more than you wanted to admit.
Dealing with Floyds reaction seemed easier. So you hid it. And it worked!
For exactly one day.
Floyd was like creepily observant when it came to you.
You were sitting in Floyds room above Mostro Lounge trying not to react when you shifted on the couch.
Floyd was sprawled on the end one arm over the backrest watching you. “You are acting weird,” he says.
Your stomach dropped and you laughed, trying to sound casual as you look away from him. “No I’m not?”
Floyd tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “You flinched three times already.” You curse yourself internally, were you really that obvious?!!?!?!
“Maybe I am just dramatic.” you try to reassure him, surely it wouldn’t seem out of the odd because you do over exaggerate sometimes.
“You are dramatic,” he says. “It’s different this time.”
You try smiling but it feels weaker.
“I think you are imagining things.”
Silence.
That was worse.
Whenever Floyd got quiet it meant he noticed something.
Before you can think of an excuse his hand wraps around your wrist.
Quick.
Not painful.
But impossible to pull from.
“Floyd—!” you gasp.
“What happened?”
His voice lost its teasing edge.
No nicknames. No joking tone.
Just direct.
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrow.
“Liar.”
Floyd pulls you into his lap. The movement sends an ache through your ribs and you suck in a breath quietly.
The second the sound leaves you—
his expression changes.
“Oh.”
The room feels still.
Floyds arm tightens around your waist.
“Who did that?”
“Nobody did anything.”
“I know,” Floyd says quietly.
“It was an accident,” you add quickly.
“Aaaah…”
Floyds humming makes your stomach twist.
You know that tone.
It’s the tone he uses when hes getting irritated.
“Who.”
“Some student opened a door fast.”
“And hit you.”
“By accident floyd,” you repeat.
Floyd smiles.
A small dangerous smile.
“Did they apologize?”
“Yeah.” you knew you had to tread carefully, wording anything wrong right now and floyd would try to squeeze a poor student
“Did you forgive them?”
“Yes.”
A long silence follows after that..
Floyds hand slides against your side, fingers brushing close to the bruise and you tense.
That makes his eyes sharpen. “That bad, huh?”
“No no, It’s probably worse than it looks.” you brush it aside.
“Can I see?”
You hesitate, and that basically tells Floyd how bad it is.
His arm squeezes firmly your waist as he stares at you. “Shrimpy.”
“Okay okay.” You lift your shirt to show the bruise.
Everything is quiet for a second. Then- “Whoa.”
Floyds eyes stay fixed on the bruise, his expression flattening. “You hid this from me,” he mutters.
Your expression softens. “Because I knew you would overreact.”
“What do you mean overreact?” he asks, eyebrow raised, not liking the implication
“Hmm, planning a murder over a minor incident such as me getting hit by a door isn’t overreacting??”
Floyd grins. “Not murder.” then he admits, “Maybe just a little squeeze.”
You look at him.
“You are bruised all over.” Floyd purrs the words softly.
It sends vibrations down your spine.
It is the realization that Floyd hates seeing you hurt “Hate it,” he mumbles.
Your breath catches. “What?”
“I do not like seeing you all banged up.” His voice is quiet, muffled, and sincere.
Some tension leaves your shoulders.
“I am okay.”
“You are not.”
“I will be.”
Floyd stares at you for a moment before leaning down, pressing kisses against your ribs.
Careful, almost gentle, you notice every time he’s touching you he’s making sure to be gentle and not use too much of his strength on you.
“Still wanna squeeze them till they leave dents,” Floyd murmurs.
YOU TWO ARE NOT DATING, BUT! During a movie night in the Ramshackle, using an old projector to watch a horror film through a white sheet hung up on the wall that Deuce had rigged up. A comforter was draped over both of you as you sat close together on the couch, his arm casually resting behind you on the back of the couch. Whenever there is a jumpscare upcoming in a movie or a sudden loud noise, Deuce would instinctively cover your eyes with his calloused hand and pull your body closer to his. "You don't have to look," he said, refusing to remove his hand until the scary moment had passed. As the scene passes, his hand ruffled your hair reassuringly, bumping his head over yours, then quietly nuzzling the side of his face against your temple. "Just tell me when it's too much, 'kay?"
YOU TWO ARE NOT DATING, BUT! It was another season of basketball matches, with all seven varsity teams competing against one another in a fierce battle for the championship title. Floyd didn't want to see you wearing any other team's colors, so he lent you his extra jersey to wear to show your support. Either he intentionally forgot or he really forgot a small, significant detail that you're showcasing to the other spectators that his last name is embroidered on the back of the jersey. Eh, he doesn't care regardless; he just wanted to see his cute little Shrimpy in the bleachers cheering for him. Whenever he managed to score a point, he would glance up at you and blow a kiss in your direction, quietly mouthing it. "That's for you!"
YOU TWO ARE NOT DATING, BUT! You were invited to have a humble afternoon tea with Jade in a cafe downtown. At first, it was a spontaneous invitation coming from him; out of all the students he wanted to toy with, he chose you. Instead of sitting across from each other, he chose to sit closer to you, his knee brushing against yours under the small table. He looked pleased just being near you; meanwhile, you were just awkwardly accepting the sweet treats he kept feeding you, unsure of his intentions, but letting him continue because his company was surprisingly tolerable. "Jwade—Mpmph!" You try to speak up, but he quickly shushes you with another buttery scone, a fond smile playing on his lips, and his hand resting over his chin. "Hush, my dear," he whispers, his eyes remaining closed. "Allow me to spoil you a little longer."
YOU TWO ARE NOT DATING, BUT! Everywhere you go, you are often greeted with well-made presents and letters. Flowers that matched your preferences, novelty items that you mentioned in passing, and handwritten notes expressing their open admiration for you. As any rational person would react, you would've been creeped out by this level of attention from someone anonymous. However, fortunately, a certain someone was courteous enough to reveal his initials as 'R.H.' It takes a no-brainer to connect the dots and realize that it's none other than the infamous hunter himself, Rook Hunt. You sighed, ignoring the gaping looks from other students, and turned your head to the window to see Rook perched on a nearby tree branch, greeting you with his usual smile and a friendly wave.
[This comes from the fact that for some reasons on the file I just started, Nines was really angry with me for some reason. Couldn’t figure it out, but got him to eventually like me anyway.]
Things were not going well. While you were out of the majority of your initial problems were over, you were still stuck being bounced around from place to place by anyone and everyone. You supposed that it was whatever the Malkavian blood did to affect you, but you were having trouble finding people you trusted.
LaCroix was someone that you certainly distrusted, but since you were stuck with him you would have to do what he wanted when he asked; though you knew that he didn’t have your best interest in mind, or any interest other than his own for that matter, he still had the means to make you miserable if not dead, so not complying wasn’t a choice. There was also Strauss. While he did outwardly seem to be one of the kinder people you had met who not only listened to you but also respect you, there was something sinister hiding underneath. It wasn’t clear if those sinister feelings included plans for you, but you decided not to risk being around him more than you needed. Both of those choices also excluded the fact that the longer you were in the world of kindred the more you started to realize that you did not agree with how the Camarilla handled things.
To be truthful, you figured that out very early on, but there was a bit of a catch there. Nines had saved your life twice. And, the second time he even invited you to come see him and perhaps join his cause. However, things went awful once you got to The Last Round. The other Anarchs there were skeptical of you, standoffish at best and suspicious at worst. They were a bit to the point and rude about not understanding you, but by this point, you were used to that. And, you even got them to lighten up a bit before you had even left.
But, Nines… he was a different case entirely.
It was like as soon as he heard you speak and found out that you were Malkavian that he didn’t want anything to do with you anymore. Your words often came out jumbled and eclectic these nights, you knew that better than anyone. But, he seemed to cringe anytime you said anything at least when he wasn’t outright trying to think of ways to spin it where you were insulting him. It did not help of course that your speaking twisted even more when you were emotionally strained, leaving room for even more misunderstandings. By the end of things, you were just barely strongly asked to leave instead of being thrown out, and thinking that maybe you had misunderstood what the Anarchs stood for. You wanted to join a movement that was going to change things, not a group of bullies that had no more room in their clique.
This was something that didn’t sit right with you, and were it not for Jeanette back in Sant Monica and the other Anarchs in Hollywood she introduced you to, you might have disregarded the movement entirely. Still, even though you were almost convinced to join, that feeling of being bounced around from one insult to another in The Last Round like you were stuck in that pinball table they had in the corner left a bitter taste in your mouth. So, you weren’t wholly dedicated to any one group yet, just trying to get by and not bring too much attention to yourself.
On the odd times that you did have to return to The Last Round for odd jobs, you could feel Nines watching you the whole time. You would even say that you were starting to be liked by some of the others there, but there was never a chance to explore that possibility for camaraderie as you weren’t going to push your luck by staying around for too long. Oddly enough, it seemed to you that the only reason the others, and especially Nines didn’t push you around as hard as they did the first time nor did Nines kick you out again seemed to be because Jack, whom the others were clearly afraid of in some capacity, had found himself being rather fatherly, or more closely uncle-ly, toward you. This was something that Jeanette had told you was very out of the ordinary from the little bit that she had known him. Either way, it certainly felt like he had put some open threats out for anyone who tried to push you too far.
Speaking of Jeanette, she had asked you to do a favor for her, and that had led you to deliver something to the Empire Hotel. She said she would have loved to do it herself, but she wasn’t able to leave her club tonight, and she needed to give this message to someone tonight. She handed you a folded piece of paper, assurance that you would do fine with communicating with the contact as you had been getting better at sorting your thoughts, and sent you on your way.
You were nervous at first. But, oddly enough, the closer you got to your goal, the less you felt so. Jeanette was right. You were more than capable of handling something this simple after all that you had been through. And, though you were still rather hard to understand at some points, you had at least gotten where people didn’t think you were on something anymore, just eccentric. Things would go smoothly, all you would have to do is get to the room, knock on the door, say, “This is from Jeanette,” and walk away. The first parts of this plan were all through, and you were up to the door number that she had given you. You knocked on the door and it was answered-
by Nines Fucking Rodriguez.
There was something going on here. How could there not be after all your experiences with him in the past? However, you were resolute on not playing into it. You held up the note and said, “From the White daughter of Janus.” Nines already seemed annoyed by your quirks but still opened the door wider. “If you’re talking about Jeanette, then yeah, I’m expecting this. But, there’s a bit more to this whole thing. We’re supposed to wait for someone else. They’re supposed to be here right after you.” You understood the unsaid instruction to come in and wait. It wasn’t like you could do much else, but you were still uneasy, especially after the door closed. As much as you wished to think that Jeanette wouldn’t send you somewhere to deliberately get hurt, it did happen back when you first met, and you were concerned that old habits didn’t actually die.
Trying to get more of a handle on what was going on, you asked, “Who is the third party?” Nines picked up what you were asking and responded, “Don’t know. All I do know is that Voerman wouldn’t meet here without ‘em.” Just as he was finishing his sentence, there was a bang at the door. This wasn’t someone knocking loudly, it was the sound of something breaking. You were closer to the door, so you tried to open it first. After trying the handle a few times, Nines griped, “What the hell are you doing?” You matched his tone in response, “The doorknob is stiff as a doornail!”
“Move.” He growled and pushed you out of the way. “Dammit!” Nines hissed, “It’s jammed!”
He slammed his fist against the door more out of frustration than an actual effort to break it open. You walked over to the window and looked out. “Don’t even bother. We’re too high up. Even if we did survive the jump, it would catch too much attention.” Nines grumbled as he gave up on forcing the door open. He walked around the small yet still nicely furnished room, yet didn’t find the thing that he was looking for. “Not even a phone!”
That was something that you didn’t even think of. Checking your cell phone, it seemed that there wasn’t an option there either. The only person you could get ahold of really was Jeanette, but based on what she said earlier, she wasn’t going to be looking at her phone, much less be able to send someone over to help you. While you were looking at your phone Nines opened the note that you delivered, trying to see if there was anything there that might say anything relating to the situation. It seemed he did, and while not happy about it, he was strangely resigned for his Brujah nature.
“Better get comfy, kid. Looks like we’re here for a while.” He handed you the note.
There on the paper in glittery, gel pen ink and swooping yet bubbly letters was the message, “Door opens at 7:00pm tomorrow. Have fun!”
Something about this made you feel that there was someone else besides Jeanette that was involved even though she was the ringleader. But, seeing as there were only the whisperings in your head about other Anarchs you both knew and no solid proof, you kept that to yourself. “Betrayal! What good could come from a night in this gilded cage?” You mutter while looking over the note again. “I take it you didn’t expect this either.” Nines gave a brief, disbelieving laugh. “The plot was hidden from my knowledge.” You replied, slightly offended that he would think you were involved.
Nines fell onto the bed like he owned the place, and you did your best to not look at the way his arms flexed as he moved them behind his head. He might be frustrating and his own version of holier-than-thou, but dang, if he wasn’t a good-looking guy. You instead busied yourself with the widows, and more importantly the curtains.
“What are you doing?” Nines asked, truly curious and a little amused at you trying to see how thick the material was.
“Closing the curtains. I’m allergic to mornings.” You responded.
This actually pulled a chuckle out if him. “Well, so am I, but that’s not for another five hours. We have plenty of time to worry about that.” You kept on your mission of making sure there were no gaps between the windows and what you now deemed as sufficiently thick curtains while insisting, “Then I will use the start of that plenty time to make sure this is finished so we are not.” This seemed to annoy Nines as he huffed, “God, you’re a stubborn one.” This in turn annoyed you. But, you weren’t stupid and knew enough to not rile him up anymore. Part of the reason he was so lax on the bed right now was to send the message that you weren’t enough of a threat to him to require all his attention. He was probably correct, but you also left him alone and unchallenged simply because you didn’t feel like you had the energy to try to challenge him, at least for the moment.
“You gonna stand there the whole night?” Nines asked and made you realize you had been staring at the wall for a while. “Got no desire to get a blood hunt called on me for diablery, so I won’t bite.” He teased. That struck you with a weird feeling. Why was he trying to be so buddy-buddy all of a sudden? You knew there had to be some sort of ulterior motives as just about everyone you had met over the past few months had them, but the question was what type of ulterior motives they were. However, to find those out you had to pretend to play along with whatever he was doing, so you walked over and sat on the corner end on the opposite side of where his feet were.
There was another long round of silence, something that you would typically be thankful for, however, you would give anything to hear the whispers of rustling death or loving maggots to break the awkwardness of the silence at least for you. Eventually, Nines’ Brujah nature caught up with him and his occasional fidgeting was not enough to quell his restless nature. He HAD to do something. “Word on the street is that you’ve been picking up odd jobs for just about everyone when you’re not stuck workin’ for LaCroix.” He paused a moment, but not long enough for you to answer. “You officially pick a side yet?”
It was apparent to you that Nines was trying to recruit again. This time was different though as you weren’t going to jump at the offer so eagerly. “I’m still deciding on a flavor.” You answer and the icy tone of it made him get defensive. “Really? Is it that hard for you to figure out the right choice here?” He sat up before continuing. “I saved your fuckin’ life. Twice.”
You turned to look at him, glare at him rather. “And decide it wasn’t the life you were hoping for when I opened my mouth and revealed how my thoughts tangle.” This made him bristle even more. “That’s not true. I told you exactly how it is, everyone is welcome to The Round.” Though he was trying to keep his cool, he was quickly losing it, and quite frankly so were you. “Everyone is welcome except for Malkavian,” you corrected.
“Don’t you put words into my fuckin’ mouth, kid.” Nines snapped and looked like he was about to pounce you. Still, you weren’t deterred and kept talking back, “The mouth words were not the only problem! There was indication from all that I didn’t match your bar’s people decor! I arrived to seek my purpose and all I received was suspicion of motives and rude attitudes; the most from your numbered person! Are such the circumstances that make you feel welcome somewhere?!” Things were getting more convoluted as far as your speaking went, which you knew meant that you were well past the point of aggravation.
Nines went from offensive anger to smug anger, and snidely gave a fake pout, “Aw, did baby get their feelings hurt?” There was clear demeaning in his voice. That was something that you absolutely could not stand above all else. Sure, other people treated you like you were a crazy person, but at least they treated you like a crazy person with agency. That was what finally made you snap, and to actually be the one to tackle him, knocking a very shocked Nines back onto the bed, this time not so relaxed as you had one hand pressing onto his upper stomach and your other arm across his neck to pin him down.
“The infant was deliberately insulted! I have enough ego bruises from my dead life that I no longer bruise easily. The only things that get under my skin are direct stabs, which you seem more than happy to provide!” You snarled.
You try not to let your thoughts invade other people’s minds too often, but it seemed that they at least in part bled over to Nines in your outburst as there appeared to be some sort of switch flipped in his mind and he visibly understood just how truly angry you were. The sight of a furious Malkavian pinning him down made Nines do something he hardly ever did- backpedal.
“Woah, let’s take a step back. Yeah, there was some misunderstanding when we first talked at The Round, but you’ve covered our asses more than once since then. And, I can appreciate that.” Nines then put one of his hands on yours to lift your arm from resting on his throat. “I was just gettin’ too into the argument. Loving a good fight is Brujah nature after all.” He tried to explain. You weren’t having it though. “Even with my new blood, I’m well acquainted with the nature of many kindred. And, right now you’re not being a Brujah. You’re just being a jackass! And, I’m not sure what jumble of words that just came out as, but-“
“No, I read you, loud and clear.” He assured, surprised that it did come out so clearly; it would seem that if you felt something strongly enough it would fight its way through the clutter. “Again, I got carried away tonight, and I’m sorry.” Nines seemed to be genuinely trying to smooth things over. Whether that was an actual desire or a tactical move you couldn’t tell. “Tonight? What of past times when you had glared at me from your perch. What ill had I done to earn such ire?” You questioned.
Nines’ response was to laugh; not snarky, not bitterly, but a true laugh. “Glaring? Man, and you were complaining about me misunderstanding you!” In the blink of an eye, you were flipped over, your hands pinned above your head with one of his and his other arm simultaneously propping himself up over you and boxing you in on one side. “Listen, I… shit! I’m awful with words in these situations.” His face scrunched to the side as he huffed while mulling over his thoughts and how to express them, but only for a second as he was a man of action. “Tell you what; you have full permission to punch me after this.”
Turns out, “this,” was him crashing his lips onto yours.
There was a lot to process here. It was such a surprise that you could swear that whatever thought phantom was whispering its nonsense actually stopped and went, “Oh,” like it was clutching its phantasmal peals at the scene. You were shocked at the revelation, searching over all the past encounters that you had to look for missed signs, you wanted to kiss him back, and you were livid that you wanted to kiss him back. This manifested in you kissing roughly, not caring how his beard scratched as you did while your hands, which Nines had released in case you wanted to stop him, were gripping and scratching at him and occasionally tugging on the longer parts of his hair when they found it from time to time.
And, Nines was living for it.
“Yeah, that’s it… work it all out. Let me know how angry you are.” His words came out as a breathless chuckle the rare times his mouth was unoccupied. For as rough as you were being with him, Nines was more than happy to hold your head up gently so he could kiss you easily while your nails waged war on his back. He let out a particularly satisfied groan when he felt you bite at his bottom lip. But, unfortunately for you both, that was also his sign to settle a bit for now.
Nines rolled the two of you over again so that you were back on top, but your hands were pinned under him. He shushed you a bit while he moved you so you were resting on his chest and he could kiss the top of your head. “Okay, simmer down. Just… simmer down for now.” Nines panted into your hair, the message being just as much for himself as it was for you. Once he felt you still against him, he tilted your head up to look at him. “Still have permission to punch me. Gonna use it?” He was mostly teasing but there was a serious tone to it as well. All you did was shake your head and wrap your arms around him tighter.
There was the smug side of him again, grinning like he called a bluff in poker. “Didn’t think you would.” Nines’ arms wrapped around you in kind, and he gave a playful hum as he briefly tightened his hold to a squeeze. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been actin’ around me. The only reason you knew I was staring at you was because you would catch me while you were staring right back. Hell, just a while ago you were eyeing these arms, probably hopin’ they’d end up around you like this- HEY!” The last part he yelped as you pinched the area on his back that your hand was pressed against.
“So, you were in charge of the planning of this?” You accused, but not totally angry.
“No,” Nines answered flatly, “but, I’m not upset with how things turned out either.”
He shifted so that you could get your hands free. “And, let’s stop with all this accusation bullshit. Both of us.” Nines was willing to admit that he had some part to play in the confusion between you both, which was more than a lot of people were willing to do with your speech patterns. He hummed appreciatively when you started to lightly scratch your fingers through and play with the sides of his beard. “ ‘Sides, we just found a new way to express our feelings to each other.” He slid you up his body so you were face to face again. “Perhaps we should practice…” you whispered against his lips. “We got the whole night to get reacquainted, sweetheart.” Nines purred as he kissed you again, sweetly this time.
in which remmick stays away for a few nights because he’s too tempted by your scent to trust himself, only to come crawling back to your porch like a desperate stray.
warnings: vampire themes, obsession, begging, crying, drooling, blood mention, silver burn, possessive behavior, explicit smut, fingering, penetrative sex (wrap before you tap), praise, dirty talk, mdni!!
requested: yes / no (it's a sequel!!)
author's note: this series is absolutely killing me im obsessed with it. here's pt.2 to western nights!!!
the next night, he did not come.
you told yourself that ought to have been a relief.
after the first long fever of him in your bed, of his mouth and his tears and that old dark gratitude split open under your hands, you ought to have slept easier with your porch empty and your door untroubled. ought to have thanked whatever sense still lived in you that the wicked thing had the decency to leave you be a while.
instead, sundown came, and then the thick purple dark, and you found yourself sitting up straighter every time the boards outside gave a little settling creak.
you banked the lamp low and listened. to frogs in the ditch. to cicadas sawing themselves ragged in the trees. to the far-off sound of music drifting thin from somebody’s radio down the lane. and under all of it, to the plain, humiliating absence of his boots on your porch.
by midnight you were irritated. by one in the morning you were offended. by the time the gray seam of dawn began to show itself at the curtains, you were so cross with him for not returning that you near laughed at yourself.
“fool,” you muttered aloud, and blew out the lamp.
the second night he did not come either. that hurt worse, because now there was pattern to it. not accident. not weather. not trouble down the road.
choice.
and that meant he had left your bed with all those soft, dangerous promises still hanging in the summer dark and then chosen not to come back.
you spent the next day meaner than usual, which was saying plenty. burned the biscuits. snapped at the girl from next door when she asked to borrow sugar. sat in the heat of the afternoon with your mending in your lap and sewed the same crooked line twice because your mind would not stay put. by evening you had worked yourself into such a temper that if he had come then you might truly have shut the door in his face.
which, as it happened, was exactly what you tried to do.
it was near full dark when you heard him. not the careful little knock he used when he was feeling sly. not the weak stumble of the night he came bleeding. this was something in between — boots hitting the porch fast, then a stop sharp enough to rattle the loose board by the top step.
you were in your room then, halfway undressed from the day, changing into a thin cotton dress because the heat would not allow anything heavier. you had not even meant to wear the jewelry. had only forgotten it was there — a little chain at your throat, a bracelet at your wrist, two rings catching the low lamp light. old pieces, handed down and worn so long they no longer felt like adornment at all. only part of you.
your heart turned over once, hard enough to hurt. then anger caught up. good. better anger than that pathetic leap of relief.
you went to the door and opened it only as far as the chain would allow.
remmick stood on your porch with both hands braced on the frame as if he had arrived at speed and only just remembered where he was.
for one second, all your prepared sharpness deserted you.
because lord.
he looked wrecked.
not injured this time. not bloody. worse, in a way.
his shirt was open at the throat, damp and clinging to him with sweat. dark hair fell loose over his forehead in wet waves. his eyes were too bright. his mouth was parted on breath that came hard and shallow, and the sight of you standing there — only half-hidden by the door, skin warm from the heat, hair loose, silver glinting at your throat — seemed to hit him like a physical blow.
“baby,” he said.
the word left him torn clean in half. not smooth. not coaxing. not his usual porch-light purr. just need.
your fingers tightened on the edge of the door.
“you got some nerve.”
his expression changed at once — pain, relief, apology, hunger, all tangled up ugly in his face.
“i know.”
“do you.”
“yes, ma’am.”
“don’t.”
“cain’t help it.”
you could have opened the chain then. could have stepped aside. could have let him in and saved both of you the trouble. instead you crossed your arms and leaned one shoulder to the frame and let all the days you’d spent feeling foolish and disappointed sharpen your tongue.
“thought you might’ve got lost.”
he swallowed.
“no.”
“forgot where i lived?”
“no.”
“found somebody else’s porch to cry on?”
that struck. you saw it plain. his whole mouth tightened. one hand came away from the frame and fisted uselessly at his side, then relaxed again like even that little grasp had cost him.
“don’t say it like that.”
“like what.”
“like i wanted t’be anywhere but here.”
you lifted one brow.
“you wasn’t here.”
the summer dark pressed thick between the columns of your porch. moonlight silvered the sweat on his throat. somewhere behind him the trees moved and whispered in the low night wind, but he stood rooted to your boards like he’d die there before stepping back.
“i know,” he said again, quieter.
“mm.”
that little sound near undid him more than if you’d shouted.
you saw his eyes go softer and wilder all at once. his gaze dropped over you — your bare arms, the line of your throat, the shape of your body under thin cotton — and then jerked back up to your face as if even that quick look was too much.
“you’re mad.”
“i am.”
“with cause.”
“you know that too, do you?”
“yes, baby.”
“stop callin’ me that.”
his lower lip trembled. actually trembled. and because he was a wicked thing and knew what he was about, he let you see it.
“i missed you,” he whispered.
your temper flickered. weakened at the edges. but only for a second.
“you sure had a poor way of showin’ it.”
he shut his eyes one beat, like your voice was a hand at his throat.
“had to stay away.”
you laughed then. hard and low and not very kind.
“had to.”
“yes.”
“from me.”
“from you.”
“why ever would you need that?”
he looked at you. really looked. and all at once you knew the answer before he gave it, because it was written all over him plain as moonlight on water. in the wet shine of his mouth. in the restless set of his body. in the way he kept dragging breath through his nose as if the scent of the room behind you was making him dizzy.
“because i can smell you,” he said hoarsely.
the quiet that followed was thick enough to touch.
you stared.
he laughed once, broken and ashamed and half gone already.
“there. now it’s said.”
your heart thudded against your ribs.
“smell me?”
“honey.” he dragged a hand over his face. “i been smellin’ you from the yard.”
heat rose under your skin before you could stop it.
his eyes dropped to your throat again. then lower. his voice roughened further, that southern drawl fraying open into something almost painful.
“you smell sweeter’n anybody i ever crossed in all my years. not just blood. you.” he swallowed. “skin. sweat. that pretty cooze between your legs. all of you. i came that first night because i was hurt. i stayed gone these nights after because i was healed enough to know better.”
that made your breath catch.
“know better than what.”
“than to keep puttin’ myself on this porch with that smell pourin’ out your house and my head full of the way you tasted.”
the frogs called on, stupid and loud and ordinary, as if anything about this was ordinary.
you stood there with your hand on the door and your pulse kicking like a trapped bird while a vampire on your porch told you he had denied himself your threshold for fear of how much he wanted you.
it ought to have frightened you. and it did. but thrilled you.
which was worse.
you covered both with scorn.
“that so.”
remmick let out a shaky breath and dropped, sudden and graceless, to his knees on your porch.
the sight of it sent a sharp little shock straight through you.
“what are you doing.”
“beggin’.”
he said it plain.
his hands spread helpless on the boards. his knees shifted under him in the damp summer heat. he looked up at you with his hair falling into his eyes and his mouth gone wet again, and if he’d seemed pitiful before, that was nothing to this. because now he had no wit left to hide in. he had crossed over into pure need.
“please,” he said.
you gripped the edge of the door harder.
“get up.”
“no.”
“remmick.”
“please,” he said again, and there was a soft sob under the word this time, as if his body had outrun all his dignity and left it somewhere behind him in the yard.
he came closer on his knees.
not crossing, because he could not. but crowding right up to the threshold, as near to you as whatever old rule governed his dead body would allow. and then he stopped there and stayed there, a beautiful ruined thing kneeling at your feet with his eyes fixed on you and your house and all the soft dark behind you.
“baby, i can’t stand out here no more.”
“you stood out there plenty nights before.”
“not like this.”
the wet shine at his mouth slipped over into a thread of drool when he swallowed. he didn't even wipe it away. it clung there, obscene in the lamplight, and the sight of a creature as old and dangerous as him reduced to slobbering want on your porch should have made you run.
instead your thighs pressed together under your dress.
damn him.
“look at you,” you muttered.
his eyes squeezed shut once, and a sound near like a whimper escaped him.
“i know.”
“like a stray dog.”
that made him shudder.
“yes, ma’am.”
“quit with the ma’am.”
“yes, baby.”
“that ain’t better.”
“no,” he whispered, voice cracking. “reckon it ain’t.”
he reached for you then without touching — both hands lifting and stopping just short of the threshold, fingers trembling empty in the air. it was a terrible thing to watch, all that want with nowhere to go, his body writhing small with the force of holding itself back.
“please let me in,” he said. “god, please. jus’ for a minute. i won’t even—” he broke off and laughed shakily at his own lie. “hell. i don’t know what i won’t do. i just need your smell around me. need you close.”
“you said that’s why you stayed gone.”
“i know.”
“and now you back anyway.”
“i know.” a tear slid free. then another. he did not seem to notice. “couldn’t help it. tried to. fed till i thought i’d make myself sick. did not matter. still ended up here.”
your anger had already gone soft at the edges. dangerously so.
you hated that he could do that. hated more that part of you had been waiting and pouting and hurting over him not coming, and now here he was on his knees on your porch looking like the world had worn him down to one raw plea.
“you're makin’ a spectacle of yourself.”
“i know.”
“you got no shame.”
“none left.”
“you ought.”
“cain’t,” he whispered. “not with you.”
he shifted again, a restless, miserable movement of hips and shoulders and knees, like he truly could not keep still under your scent. like his whole body wanted to crawl through the crack in the door if it could.
“baby,” he said, and now he was crying in earnest, tears running clean down his face while drool shone at his lip and his hands gripped uselessly at the doorframe. “baby, please.”
you should have shut the door. instead you undid the chain and opened it wider.
his whole body jerked.
“don’t,” you said quickly. “don’t you move.”
he froze at once. not from obedience alone. from desperation. from hope. his breath came so hard his chest shook.
you stood there one second longer trying to gather what little sense you had left. then, because you were weak and because he looked so miserable and because some hot, pitying thing in you wanted to soothe him even while the better part of your mind screamed not to—you reached across the threshold and put your hand in his hair.
remmick made a sound no living man should know how to make. it tore out of him low and wet and grateful, half moan and half cry, and his whole body folded toward the touch. his eyes shut. his mouth opened. he pressed into your palm like an animal starved of kindness.
“there,” you murmured before you could stop yourself. “hush now.”
that only worsened him.
his hands flew up and caught around your forearm with frightening speed. not hurting, just clinging. he turned his face into your wrist and rubbed there like he meant to drown himself in your scent, breath going ragged and fast against your skin.
“oh, honey,” he groaned. “oh—”
and then he jerked back with a cry. a real one. sharp, shocked, pained. you did too. for one wild second neither of you understood.
then you saw it.
a raw red mark already blooming where the bracelet at your wrist had pressed into the skin near his mouth.
silver.
your heart dropped clean through the floor.
“jesus christ—”
he was staring at your wrist like it had bitten him. his face had gone white under the gold hue of his skin, the tears on it making him look near feverish.
“baby, your bracelet—”
you didn't let him finish.
you tore it off so fast the clasp snapped. the chain at your throat came next, yanked over your head hard enough to catch your hair. the rings stuck for a second on your damp fingers and you all but ripped those off too, breath coming in furious bursts.
they hit the floor at your feet with little bright, hateful clinks.
remmick looked from the scattered silver to your face with something like disbelief.
you stood there barefoot in your doorway with your pulse hammering and your hair falling wild and your good sense in absolute tatters.
then you pointed inside.
“get your ass in here.”
the relief that hit him was ugly and immense and almost beautiful in how little he bothered to hide it. the second remmick crossed into your house, he kicked the door shut behind him with the side of his boot.
not hard enough to rattle the frame. hard enough to make plain he could not spare a hand for it. because both of them were shaking. his. and, to your great irritation, yours.
the dark thing of him filled up your little hall all at once — heat and damp night air and old hunger and that wild, blood-sweet smell of him wrapped up in the shape of a man. he stood there just inside the threshold breathing like he’d run for miles, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your pulse jump so hard you were sure he could hear it.
probably could.
you turned fast, if only to do something with your hands.
the silver first. that hateful little bracelet, the chain, the rings — you scooped them up from the boards and carried them between two fingers as if they had grown teeth. you set them down on the table with more force than was strictly needed.
metal clicked against wood.
behind you, remmick made a low, shivery sound that might have been relief.
you slid the latch home. slowly. carefully. the little iron catch falling into place sounded much too loud in the heat and quiet of the house. final. intimate. a choice made twice over.
when you turned back, he had not moved.
not much.
just enough that the weak gold light from the lamp caught him full. his chest was rising fast under the open white of his shirt. his hair clung damply to his forehead and temples. his mouth was wet again, spit shining at the corner of it, and his hands opened and closed helpless at his sides like he did not know what to do with them now that he was in.
he looked overwhelmed.
that, more than the tears or the begging or the writhing on your porch, was what cut you.
because this was your doing too. the silver, the scent, the threshold, the denying and then the giving. all of it had worked him up to some fevered edge and now that he was over the line he looked near broken with it.
“remmick,” you said softly.
his eyes snapped to yours. they were not quite human anymore.
you saw it plain now, with him no longer bothering to hold it all in. the blue-green you knew was burning red from the inside out, like live coals banked under a dark grate. not bright enough to throw light, but wrong enough to make your breath catch. his upper lip lifted just the slightest bit when he dragged in another ragged breath, and there at last were the points of his canines — longer, sharper, too white.
beautiful. terrible. and somehow still pathetic.
“i’m sorry,” you said, glancing at the silver on the table and then back to the raw mark it had left near his mouth. “i didn’t realize.”
he laughed once, weak and strange and half drowned in want.
“baby.” he swallowed, throat working hard. “baby, i don’t care.”
you frowned. “it burned you.”
“i know.”
“that ain’t a thing a person just brushes off.”
his mouth trembled around the edge of a smile.
“good thing i ain’t a person.”
you should have been offended at him joking now. instead all your sternness softened at the edges, because his voice was shaking. because he looked one second from dropping to his knees again right there on your floorboards.
“come here,” you heard yourself say.
you meant to offer comfort. you did not mean to watch the last thread of his control snap. the second the words left your mouth, remmick crossed the space between you with that inhuman, fluid quickness of his — not violent, not rough, just immediate. one moment he stood by the door looking at you like a starving thing, the next he was there, all but folding around you.
his arms came close but not tight at first, as if even now some last piece of him was asking. then you laid your palms to his chest and that was answer enough.
he gathered you in.
lord.
he was hot. hotter than any living body had a right to be. all long, taut muscle and trembling restraint under linen and bandage, his chest heaving against yours while his face dropped to your neck with a groan so low and needy it made your knees go weak.
“there,” he whispered, though it sounded more like he was saying it to himself. “there. god.”
he did not bite. that was the first thing your body noticed — your body, which had gone rigid all on its own the second those changed eyes and fangs came close to your throat.
instead he nosed there. slowly. helplessly. his nose pressed to the pulse at the side of your neck, drawing in breath like your skin itself was wine. his mouth followed after, open and soft, leaving little wet kisses under your ear, along the line where neck meets jaw, down to the hollow of your throat.
you shivered.
he made another of those shuddering sounds.
“you smell…” he trailed off, as if language had failed him. “sweetest thing i ever— hell.”
his lips found your pulse again. kissed it. lingered. then dragged gently over the spot with just enough pressure from those sharp canines to leave heat behind.
your fingers tightened in the open front of his shirt.
“remmick.”
“mm.”
“you ain’t…”
you did not know how to finish it. bite me. kill me. make me like you.
he knew what you were saying. he lifted his face slowly from your neck and looked at you, and in those strange red eyes there was enough clarity left to understand exactly what was chasing through your mind.
“god, no,” he said at once, so quick and almost offended with the force of it that you blinked. “not unless you wanted me to.”
you searched his face.
“wanted you to what.”
his gaze flicked once to your mouth, then back to your eyes. something old and aching moved through him all at once.
“turn you,” he said softly. “make you like me.”
the room seemed to draw in around the two of you, all heat and lamp-glow and cricket song and the weight of those words hanging between your bodies.
you swallowed.
his thumb, where it had come to rest low at your back, moved once.
“i’d never do that to you,” he murmured. “never. not with my whole dead life. not less’n you asked me plain.”
his accent had gone thicker the more undone he got, every word steeped in mississippi mud and moonlight until it all but wrapped around you.
“you’d want to?” you asked before you could stop yourself.
and that — that made his face do something you had never seen before. all the heat and hunger and old wickedness in him stayed where it was. but under it came grief. yearning, too. great impossible yearning.
“baby,” he said, and the word was so soft it almost hurt. “i’d want near anything that meant keepin’ you.”
your chest tightened with a suddenness that felt almost cruel.
outside, the frogs kept on with their foolish choir. the night breathed wet and green through the cracked windows. and in your little hallway a vampire held you like something precious and admitted, in the plainest way there was, that forever with you had crossed his mind. more than crossed it, likely. lived there.
he seemed to hear the stillness in you and hurried on, voice roughening again, shaking with how much he meant it.
“i ain’t sayin’ i would. not to trap you. not to change you from what you are. i know what this is, honey. i know what i am. but if you’re askin’ would i want you with me for all my nights—”
his mouth pressed once, reverent, to the side of your neck.
“yes,” he whispered there. “lord help me, yes.”
for one second all you could do was stare at him. at the red in his eyes, the points of his teeth, the mark the silver had left him, the open, impossible want in his face.
you were not going to ask him for that. not tonight. maybe not ever. you did not know enough of eternity to invite it in so easy. but hearing that he wanted it — wanted you — hit somewhere tender and deep enough that your hands moved on their own.
you caught his face and kissed him.
if what he had done on your porch had looked like relief, this was worse. the second your mouth touched his, every piece of him gave. he made a sound straight into the kiss — low and jagged and almost disbelieving — and then both hands were on you at once, one at your waist, one climbing up your back to hold the nape of your neck while he kissed you like all his carefulness had gone clean out the window.
hard. so hard.
his mouth opened over yours with no patience left in it, all that thick southern heat and red-eyed hunger coming down to one starving thing: your kiss. he took it like a man who had been denied water for days and had finally found the river.
you gasped into him. he swallowed the sound whole.
his fangs grazed your lower lip — not enough to cut, just enough to make you feel what he was now that the veil of ordinary had slipped. not man, not wholly. something older, stranger, all appetite and impossible tenderness mixed together.
“baby,” he breathed against your mouth, then kissed you again before the word had fully left him.
the whole of him seemed to pour into it. all the want from the porch. all the misery of staying away. all the ache of your smell and your blood and your pussy and your silver burning him and your hand in his hair and your threshold at his back.
he kissed like he meant to drown in it.
your own body answered in kind. hands in his hair. mouth opening for him. hips finding his before you could think better of it. when you made a little helpless noise at the taste of him — blood and mint and something wild and green underneath — he near came apart.
“don’t,” he whispered against your lips. “don’t make that sound ‘less you mean t’kill me.”
you would have answered if his mouth had left you room for it.
it did not.
and when he finally tore himself up from the kiss enough to look at you, his eyes had gone black-red, his fangs fully down now, his whole face sharpened by hunger and worship and need until he looked every inch the little monster he’d called himself. only now he was your little monster.
he looked one breath away from losing what little mind he had left.
then he did.
you barely had time to drag in another breath before remmick kissed you again, harder than before, if that was even possible. it was not a neat thing now. not courtly. not porch-light sweet. it was wet and open and almost violent with want, his mouth sliding over yours like he meant to devour every sound you made before it could fully leave you.
and lord, he was drooling.
there was simply no dignified way around it. spit shone at the corner of his mouth and smeared warm over your lips and chin when he kissed too deep and too long, and those fangs of his were all the way down now, flashing white every time his upper lip curled.
it ought to have frightened you. instead it made heat rush low and hot through your whole body.
you made some helpless little sound into his mouth and he answered with a groan so rough and hungry it seemed to shake straight through both of you.
“baby—”
the word dragged out of him half-broken.
his hands moved all over you at once. one at your waist, one up your back, one somehow tangled in your hair — and if that sounded like three hands, perhaps it was only that he moved too quickly for human accounting. every place he touched seemed to wake. he backed you down the hall not with any proper thought, just with his body pressing into yours and your own feet stumbling backward over the floorboards while your mouths stayed locked together.
you hit the bedroom door frame with your shoulder. he swallowed your little gasp whole.
the room was dim and close and warm, the sheets still turned back from before, your nightdress rucked and twisted around your body, his shirt half hanging off him like the ghost of decency.
you got your hands on the open placket of it and yanked. buttons went flying. one struck the wall with a tiny sharp ping. remmick laughed against your mouth — low and wrecked and delighted.
“that’s right,” he murmured. “tear at me.”
“you deserve it.”
“for wantin’ you?”
“for making me wait all these days.”
that near undid him all over again. his whole face changed, eyes gone near black with red burning underneath, mouth open as he dragged breath through it and watched you claw the ruined shirt down his arms.
good god, he was beautiful like this. all his polish ruined, bandage bright white over one shoulder, dark hair a damp mess, fangs out, spit shining at his lips.
his chest rose and fell hard under your palms, all taut heat and old hunger, and the look he gave you when you shoved the linen from his body was one step shy of reverence.
then he got your dress, or tried to. he fumbled the ties and nearly tore the seam in his hurry, kissing you all the while, mouth everywhere, so messy and consumed that your own hands lost patience too. between the two of you the cotton dress came half-open and then simply gave up, sliding down your arms in a whisper to pool around your feet.
you stepped out of it.
his stare dropped.
for one long, breathless second, remmick just looked at you — bare to him now in the low lamp glow, skin flushed with heat, hair fallen wild around your shoulders, silver gone from your body, nothing left between you but your own breath and his stare and all the wicked wanting in the room.
“oh, baby,” he said, voice gone soft and shaking. “you gon’ kill me sure.”
you got both hands on his face and kissed him before he could carry on with that.
he stumbled backward with you and the backs of his knees hit the bed. he sat because there was nowhere else for him to go, and you climbed right into his lap, still kissing him, still tugging at him, and the second your bare skin settled over him he made a sound like his soul had left his body.
his hands flew to your hips.
“woah,” he breathed, almost laughing with the shock of it. “woah, baby, slow now—”
you pulled back just enough to stare at him.
“are you serious?”
his mouth, all wet and kiss-swollen, parted on a helpless inhale.
“what.”
“you have stood on my porch, cried on my porch, begged on your knees, near died over a kiss, and now you’re tellin’ me to slow down?”
for one beat he just looked at you. then something wicked flashed through his face.
“nope,” you said before he could answer, voice all breath and heat and challenge. “you wanted this. don’t you start acting gentlemanly now.”
that did it.
the last thin scrap of caution in him snapped clean.
he got one hand behind your neck, the other under your thigh, and rolled you onto your back with a speed that pulled a real surprised laugh out of you. he came over you at once, all long limbs and hot skin and fangs and those terrible red eyes burning in the dark.
“you should not provoke monsters, honey.”
his accent had gone syrup-thick with want, every word dragged slow and rich over your skin.
“then don’t act like one if you ain’t ready to back it up.”
he barked one low, disbelieving laugh and then he was kissing down your throat, across your chest, lower and lower until his mouth found your breast and he groaned around it like even this was too much. his hands were not gentle now. not rough enough to hurt, but full and sure and possessive in a way that made your whole body answer him.
his bandaged shoulder should have slowed him. it did not. if anything, it only gave him a kind of crazed focus, as if pain and lust had braided together in him until he no longer knew which one drove the other.
“you smell so good,” he muttered against your skin. “sweet little thing’s drippin’ for me.”
“then quit talking and do something.”
he lifted his head slowly. those eyes. that mouth. those fangs.
“you are a bold little sinner.”
you smiled at him through the heat.
“and you ain’t?”
remmick laughed once, dark and low, and then slid a hand down between your thighs. his whole body went still at the first touch. because you were soaked. truly soaked. all his porch begging, all his mouth on you, all those desperate wet kisses down the hall had left you slick and open and aching. when his fingers slid through the mess of you, he cursed under his breath and shut his eyes like the feeling of it almost hurt.
“good lord.”
“what.”
he looked at his hand. at the shine of you on his fingers. then back to your face.
“you are drenched.”
you were not about to be shy now.
“whose fault is that.”
his answer was to suck two fingers into his mouth and moan at the taste. the noise that left you at that was downright obscene. he smiled around his own fingers.
“mine, i reckon.”
then he pushed them into you. you both gasped. his fingers were long and hot and relentless, pressing in slow and deep while his thumb rubbed over the little aching place he’d made so sensitive you nearly climbed the bed.
“remmick—”
“i know. i know.” his voice dropped lower, all warm southern dark. “lemme ready you proper.”
he worked you like that until your thighs trembled and your hands were clutching at the quilt and his own breathing had turned ragged again just from the feel of you. every time you clenched around his fingers his jaw tightened. every time you made a little sound he answered with some murmur half filthy and half praise.
“such a greedy thing, look at you. wettest little cooze i ever laid my hands on.”
it was enough to drive a woman mad.
and then, when he finally reached for his trousers, when he shoved them and his drawers down far enough to free himself, madness seemed a downright sensible condition.
because he was massive.
there was simply no better way to put it.
long and thick and hard enough it looked painful, flushed dark at the head, leaking with precum, heavy against his belly when he first got free. the sight of him there between your knees sent a hard little shock through your whole body.
he saw it. of course he did. his mouth twitched, but there was no smugness in it. more like a kind of dazed apology mixed with hunger.
“baby.”
you stared.
“remmick,” you managed.
“yes, honey, that’s me.”
“that ain’t—” you licked your lips. “that is excessive.”
he laughed then. a real one, brief and rough and gone too soon.
“reckon i can’t argue.”
you should have been nervous. maybe you were, a little. but heat and want had burned too much caution out of you by then, and the way he was looking at your body — not just greedy but awed, undone by the sight of how ready you already were — made something bolder in you rise to meet him.
“well,” you whispered, “don’t just stand there terrifying me with it.”
that sent him clean over the edge again.
he came down over you with a groan, kissed you once — hard and filthy and too deep — and then lined himself up. the first press of him at your entrance had you both going still.
he hissed through his teeth.
“god.”
you grabbed at his shoulders. “you all right?”
he laughed breathlessly, forehead dropping to yours.
“no, baby. i’m not all right a’tall.”
then he pushed in. slow, at first. there was no other way. you had been wet and wanting and worked open already, yes, but even so the stretch of him felt huge, impossible, almost punishing in how full it made you. your mouth fell open on a cry and remmick answered with a broken groan, hips jerking once as if he had to fight not to lose all control right then.
“easy,” he muttered, though whether to you or himself was unclear. “easy, honey. take it. take it.”
you did.
inch by inch.
the bed creaked. the lamp flame shook. outside, the whole wet night of mississippi seemed to hush to listen.
when he finally bottomed out, you thought for one delirious second that you might split around him.
remmick looked near as wrecked. his eyes had gone fully red now in the low light, not glowing, not monstrous in some storybook way, just wrong enough to steal the air from the room. his fangs showed when he breathed through his mouth. his hair hung loose in dark damp curls over his brow. he looked less man than hunger made flesh.
“look at me,” he said.
you did. and the sight of him, of all that restraint breaking in plain view, near made you come before he’d even moved. his thumb slid over your cheek once.
“there you are.”
then he pulled back and thrust in harder. the cry that tore from you seemed to strike him right in the chest.
“that’s it,” he groaned. “that’s my good girl.”
he began to move in earnest then — not wild at first, but hard enough to feel. every thrust deep and dragging and full of the size of him, every pull back making you clench and every push in making your breath shatter. his mouth found your neck again and again in between, leaving hot little kisses and tiny nips and marks that would bruise by daylight.
he was dominant in the old, dangerous way of him — not modern and polished, not asking every breath, but reading you close and using what he saw. if your hands tightened, he took your wrists and pinned them for a moment over your head. if you arched, he slid his hand to the small of your back and held you there for him. if you made a sound he liked, he repeated whatever got it from you until you were louder.
and he wanted you loud. lord, he wanted it.
“lemme hear you, honey. don’t hide nothin’ from me.”
and when he rolled you over onto your knees with one hand broad and sure at your waist, the world narrowed all the way down to his body behind you and the iron rails of your bed under your hands.
for one second he just stared.
you looked back over your shoulder enough to catch it — that open-mouthed, almost dazed look on his face.
“what,” you gasped.
his eyes dropped to your ass and stayed there.
when he spoke, his voice had gone so low and thick it was nearly a growl.
“sweet jesus above.”
heat flashed through you.
he got both hands on you then, broad palms spreading over the curve of your ass as if he had to feel it to believe it was real. his head tipped back once like the sight of you on your knees in his bed was almost too much for him.
“you got the finest little backside i ever put hands on,” he muttered. “look at this. lord have mercy.”
you would have laughed if you had not been so busy trembling.
“are you done sermonizing.”
“no,” he said at once, with feeling. “not hardly.”
and then he thrust into you from behind and all possible replies left your head. that angle. good god.
he lost what was left of himself then.
his hands spread hard over your hips and ass, thumbs digging in, and every thrust after that came deeper and harder than the one before. the bed knocked rhythmically against the wall. your own voice was gone to pieces. and remmick was drunk as any creature could be on the sight of your ass taking him.
“that’s right, take it. look at you spread open for me.”
when one hand came down in a hard, hot smack over your ass, you cried out so loud he groaned like the sound itself had struck him.
“you liked that.”
you did.
another followed. then his palm rubbed the sting out slow and possessive before he drove into you again with enough force to make your whole body jolt forward.
“my sweet little sinner,” he muttered. “my little temptress.”
mine, he did not say. but it sat there all the same.
the room smelled of sex and lamp oil and your sweat and his old green scent and the faint iron tang of blood still haunting his collar from earlier. it was all too much. too hot. too filthy. too perfect.
when your body started to tighten toward another climax, he felt it at once. one hand slid around your middle. the other dropped between your thighs.
“come on,” he rasped. “gimme another. make this sweet little cooze milk me proper.”
the vulgarity of that, in his velvet mouth, nearly sent you over by itself. then his fingers found the swollen, aching place he’d already ruined with his mouth, and you did go over. hard.
your cry cracked in the middle and turned into his name.
that was what broke him.
“baby—” he gasped, and then his voice was gone, all of it gone, replaced by groans and curses and one final, wrecked string of praise as he drove into you through your climax and then came with a sound so low and rough it seemed to shake the very bed.
for a little while after there was nothing but breath. yours, shuddering and ragged. his, broken all against the back of your neck.
then, slowly, he gathered himself enough to pull you up and over until you were turned half toward him, his body hot and trembling behind yours on the bed.
you expected him to roll away. to laugh. to say something wicked and spoiled and self-satisfied. instead he drew you back onto his chest, one arm wrapped around your waist so tight it felt almost desperate.
you lay there in the dark with his breath at your shoulder, the damp summer night pressing in through the windows, and after a moment you felt his mouth brush once against the back of your neck.
a kiss, soft.
you smiled despite yourself and climbed back onto him before good sense could intervene — one knee over his thigh, one hand braced on his chest, your hair falling all around his face.
his eyes, still red in the low light, widened with surprise.
“baby.”
“what.”
“you gon’ kill me.”
“thought we settled that.”
he laughed then, tired and low and still a little wrecked, and got both hands on your hips like he could not quite believe you were climbing right back for more.
but this was not the same hunger. not the mad porch-hunger. not the filthy, greedy thing that had had him drooling in your kitchen and praising your cooze like it was the hand of god. this was softer. worse, maybe.
because now that your body had gone loose and warm with satisfaction, now that the sharp edge of want had eased enough to let other feelings in, all you wanted was to stay close. to stay full. to stay wrapped up in the heat and weight of him while the night thinned itself ragged outside your windows.
you settled against him, one leg draped over his thigh, one palm spread flat over the hard plane of his chest. he was still half-hard under you, still worked up enough that every shift of your hips made his breath catch, but you were not chasing another frenzy now. you only wanted him in you, his arms around you, the strange impossible comfort of his body holding yours through the hour before dawn.
his hands slid from your hips to your back, slow and careful, as if he were handling something fragile and knew it. his mouth brushed your shoulder. then the side of your neck. then lingered there, not biting, just breathing you in.
“what’s this now,” he murmured, voice rough and warm and still not fully steady. “you climbin’ back on me to be wicked again?”
you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“maybe i jus' wanna be full of you.”
that undid him in a whole new way. his eyes shut. his head tipped back against the pillow. his fingers spread hard at your waist like he needed something to hold onto.
“lord,” he whispered. “you say things that ain’t fit for a creature in my condition.”
“what condition is that.”
“one breath from losin’ what little sense i got left.”
you smiled and shifted over him just enough to line him up. the softest drag of his body at your entrance made him groan low in his throat.
“easy,” he muttered, though his hands were the first thing to guide you.
you sank down slowly.
both of you exhaled at once.
the feeling of him was different now. still huge, still stretching and filling you in that almost unbearable way, but gentler for the pace of it. a settling-in instead of a taking. a long warm slide until you had all of him seated inside you and nowhere else in the world to go.
you both stayed still after that.
remmick’s mouth fell open a little on the breath he dragged in. his hands slid up your back and down again, not urgent, only smoothing over you like he could soothe himself by mapping the shape of you. you tucked yourself closer, your cheek resting to his shoulder before it found the broad, warm span of his chest.
and there it was again.
nothing. no heartbeat. no thud under your ear. no steady human rhythm to answer the one racing in your own body. just the rise and fall of his breath and the faint old hum of him that had no name at all.
the first time you’d noticed it — or rather, noticed the lack of it — you thought it would have chilled you. ought to have. some sensible woman ought to have laid her head there and jerked back in horror at the emptiness under his skin. now, it only made him stranger and dearer all at once.
you stayed there and listened to the silence in his chest while his hand moved slow up and down your spine.
“cold?” he asked quietly.
“no.”
“lyin’.”
“i ain’t cold.”
he tilted his head enough to look down at you, one brow rising.
“you got gooseflesh.”
you could have argued. but you shifted your face more comfortably against him and said, “that’s because you don’t have a heartbeat.”
the words landed between you strange and true. for one beat he said nothing. then his fingers stilled at the nape of your neck, and when he spoke his voice had gone softer than you had yet heard it.
“that bother you?”
you thought about it honestly. about the silence in him. about the red eyes and the fangs and the old dead thing in his body that still somehow held you gentler than some living men ever might. about the blood and the threshold and the tears on his porch and the way he had said forever as if it hurt him to want it.
“no,” you said at last.
his hand resumed its slow path over your back.
“good.”
outside, the night had begun to turn.
you could feel it before you could see it. the air changing. the insects sounding farther off. the darkness thinning from black to some softer, grayer thing at the edges. dawn was still out beyond the trees, but it was coming, and both of you knew it.
you felt remmick know it in the way his body tightened around the fact.
his arm drew a little firmer over your waist. his mouth found your hair and stayed there.
“you got to go soon,” you murmured.
he did not answer right away. when he did, it came low and strained.
“i know.”
you should have left it there. you traced one idle line down the center of his chest and said, “you don’t sound like you know it.”
that got a weak laugh from him. weak enough to ache.
“i know it,” he said. “i just ain’t fond of it.”
“i ain’t fond of it neither.”
that made him go very still. his hand stopped. his mouth, where it rested in your hair, pressed once closer. when he finally spoke, you heard the bare edge of wonder under the weariness in him.
“you just say that to keep me sweet?”
you lifted your head enough to look at him. the red had faded from his eyes some, banked down low now into dark warmth. his hair had dried in wild waves around his face. his mouth was pink and softened and no less wicked for the tenderness sitting in it. his bandage still showed white at one shoulder. and he looked, in that first gray wash before dawn, more heartbreakingly young than he had any right to.
“do you need keeping sweet?” you asked.
“you got no notion what i need.”
“tell me, then.”
that smile of his came back. small. sad around the edges.
“dangerous invitation.”
“you keep saying that and i keep surviving.”
“barely.”
his hand rose to cup your cheek. for a moment all he did was hold you there and look.
“i don’t know if i can leave you easy again.”
the truth of it sat heavy in the room. because that was what this was, in the end. not just desire. not just curiosity. not just a creature and a woman circling one another in summer dark. it was attachment now. dangerous as any bite.
you let out a slow breath.
“you have to.”
his jaw tightened.
“i know.”
“you need to feed sometime.”
at that, he looked away. not ashamed, exactly. not after all that had passed. but there was still a shadow there whenever the practical ugliness of what he was rose up between you.
“don’t turn solemn on me,” you murmured.
his eyes came back to yours.
“ain’t solemn. just thinkin’ how little i like the notion of anythin’ with blood in it but you.”
heat and something sharper swept through you both at once. you hid yours with a scoff.
“that’s a terrible thing to say.”
“honest, though.”
“you are impossible.”
“mmhm.” his thumb brushed your cheekbone. “an’ yet here you are.”
you ought to have had a sharper answer. instead you leaned down and kissed him. just once. when you parted, his mouth chased yours for half a breath before he caught himself and settled back.
“trust me,” he said.
“that seems unwise.”
“still.” he slid his hand down to your neck and held you there gentle. “trust me. i’ll be back.”
you searched his face. in another man, another life, those words might have sounded easy. careless. a thing said to keep the peace till next time. from remmick they sounded like a vow. perhaps because he was old enough to know the shape of one.
you narrowed your eyes a little, if only to disguise the way your chest had gone soft.
“i’m gonna hold you to it.”
his smile deepened, tired and real.
“i reckon you will.”
“and,” you added, because once you started you could not seem to stop, “if you can’t make it—”
his brows lifted at the clear reference to the past few days.
“leave me letters,” you finished.
that surprised him more than forever had surprised you. you saw it plain. his mouth parted. his eyes widened just enough to lose some of that old smoothness.
“letters?”
“yes, letters. with words in ‘em. on paper. like a normal person.”
he laughed softly then, and there was such open pleasure in it that you nearly laughed too.
“baby,” he said, sounding a little stunned by the sweetness of the idea, “i can do that.”
“you better.”
“you’d want that from me?”
the question was almost boyish. lovesick vampire puppy, you thought wildly, and had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too openly at the truth of it.
“i just said so, didn’t i.”
that pleased him beyond all reason. you felt it in the way his whole body eased. in the way his hand drifted up and down your back again. in the little huff of laughter he let out as if he had just been handed some great gift instead of a simple instruction to write.
“letters,” he murmured to himself, tasting the notion. “reckon i could leave ‘em under your door. tuck one in the porch rail. hide ‘em in your sugar tin if i got ambitious.”
“don’t you put bloodstained love notes in my sugar.”
his eyes flashed.
“love notes, is it?”
you cursed yourself instantly.
he grinned — slow and wicked and far too pleased — and rolled his hips the barest little bit under you, enough to remind you both of the shape you made around him.
your breath caught.
“remmick.”
“mm?”
“don’t start.”
“ain’t startin’,” he said, and then, because he was still himself no matter how lovesick, “jest admirin’ the feelin'.”
you pressed a hand over his mouth. he kissed your palm. it was impossible not to smile then, however faintly.
he saw it.
and because he was leaving soon, because the dawn was coming whether either of you liked it or not, because tenderness made him bolder rather than shy, he turned his face and kissed the inside of your wrist too.
“i’ll write you,” he murmured there. “if i can’t come. an’ if i can come, you’ll know by the knock.”
you nodded once.
outside, a bird gave one uncertain little call. both of you heard it. both of you stilled. daylight was not at the window yet, but it was no longer an abstract threat. it was on its way through the trees, over the fields, down every road that ran past your house. the first blue of it would not spare him because you wished it mean.
remmick sighed. the sound seemed to come from some old place in him. he slid one hand beneath your chin and tipped your face up.
“gonna have to move, honey.”
you did not. not right away. instead you stayed there astride him, full of his cock, your hand spread over that silent chest, and let yourself look.
at the dark lashes. the softened mouth. the damp hair. the bandage. the old, impossible thing in him that had somehow made room for devotion.
then, at last, you shifted. slowly. he sucked in a breath through his teeth at the feel of you drawing off him, hands tightening hard at your waist for one involuntary second before he made them gentle again.
“lord,” he whispered.
“you’ll survive.”
he looked up at you with that old wickedness just beginning to glint again under the tenderness.
“you got dangerous faith in my powers.”
you dressed in the hush that comes before dawn, moving around one another in the dim room with strange new ease. he found his ruined shirt and got it over his shoulder carefully. you straightened your dress and combed your fingers through your hair. when he bent to fasten his boots, the first pale seam of morning had just begun to show itself at the edge of the curtains.
he looked up from the laces.
“walk me.”
you did. down the hall. through the little house gone silver-gray now with coming day. past the table where your silver still lay in a careless bright heap.
his eyes slid to it and then back to you.
“i’ll not forget that again.”
“see that you don’t,” he said grinning.
at the door he paused. of course he did. your hand rested on the latch. his on the frame. the whole world outside held its breath in that strange bluish quiet before sunrise.
for one second you thought he might say something grand. something dark and eternal and reckless.
instead he bent and kissed you once, soft as sleep.
“lock it after me.”
you almost laughed.
“there you are again with your orders.”
“letters,” he reminded you softly. “you asked.”
“that wasn’t permission to start bossing.”
“pity.”
he stepped back onto the porch then, and the loss of his body in the room was immediate enough to sting. the boards creaked under his boots. the early light silvered the edges of him. halfway down the steps he turned and looked back.
it seemed impossible, that a thing as old as he was could look that uncertain.
“baby.”
“what.”
“if i knock tomorrow night, you'll let me in?”
your heart gave one hard, foolish beat.
“you best,” you said.
the relief in his face was answer enough.
then he was gone — not vanishing, not turning to mist or any storybook nonsense, just moving fast enough that your human eye lost him in the gray between one breath and the next.
you stood there listening to the morning open itself over the yard.
then you slid the latch.
and for a long while after, the quiet house smelled faintly of summer and lamp oil and the sweet, impossible trace of him.
Uhm haaii haaiiii can i get uhhh our sweet boy Marazhai and some NSFW hc for him orrrr the se but for our big boy Ulfar?
MINORS PLEEASSE DO NOT INTERACT I CANNOT WRITE SFW CONTENT FOR MARAZHAI HES LITERALLY A MURDERSLUT. HUGE GORE WARNING. TORTURE AND GORE FETISH. I'M SORRY MUTUALS.
*Written with a biomancer Rogue Trader in mind.
•lets be straightforward and honest hear. He's a switch, it's canon, it's like his whole romance mechanic.
•He wants you do do things to him that's make you downright SQUEAMISH. Whatever you can imagine. And Throne... when he finds out you can heal people???? His minds swimming with possibilities.
•Imagine his disappointment when your kind's version of "rough" is WEAAAAKK. Don't scratch him! Carve into him! Don't just bite him, tear out chunks, hen undo the damage, then tear him apart all again! His masochism and sadism genuinely gets worse the more he trusts and loves you (albeit he believes love is a "mon-keigh's emotion" as if it's not a universal force). It's to the point he gets off on the thought of you vivisecting him, using ur abilities to keep him alive and conscious, then mend him back together. You easily find a middle ground, he respects you and your boundaries (???genuinely was shocked when I played his romance) so if you don't like pain, he won't hurt you but please, please hurt him.
•lovebites don't cut it, girl CHOMP.
•Yank him around! By his hair, by a leash, shackles, his throat....
•Leashes......
•the more time goes on, the more you get comfortable with meeting up to his pain standards A Little.
•BEAT. HIM. UP. Don't just slap him! He wants his shit ROCKED. Don't just choke him, THROTTLE him.
•he secretly likes human affection, but he's rather slit his own throat than admit it. Please. ORDER him to hold your hand. COMMAND him back to the bed to cuddle you, DEMAND a kiss. Please, he hates asking for something so soft. It's the one humiliation he cant bare.
•doesn't beg you for anything, he either pitches the idea to you like he's selling something (He's VERY persuasive) or, he pulls strings, get you backed into a corner, he irritates you into getting the exact reaction he wants. it usually works
•you may be the dominant one in the relationship, but only when he chooses to relinquish control. And he can be so subtle, when he takes the reigns he just pushes your buttons until you're doing his bidding thinking it's your idea.
•he probably loves edging and overstimulation
•I take that back he definitely loves edging and overstimulation
•his interest starts in curiousity, then when he learns to fear your strength, his interest is purely due to sexual attraction. It took a way (a WHILE) for y'all's relationship to bloom into an actual BOND. It takes even longer for him to learn a mon-keigh's emotion! (Love)
•he doesn't even realize it till later. I think the earliest he'd START to piece it together is when you say you want to break up after the feast in chapter 5. It's the first time he really shows it too. He grovels for your forgiveness for whatever action offended you so, unaware that this is a rather common human prank. But when you clarify, he wouldn't possibly fall for it again. (He'd fall for it again)
•i honestly don't know how he'd kiss. The first one he'd be reeling back, disgusted he's partaking in "mon-keigh rituals". The second your lips collide??? Doesn't let you go till your suffocating, then acts like he didn't like it, but anything for you, right? You wouldn't happen to want another kiss, would you? Better demand Marazhai! Because he'd rather die than admit that he likes affection.
•he's so subtle and suave, his guile unmatched, but the more his love for you grows? The worse he gets at hiding it. He starts staring, he trails around you like a puppy, REALLY leaning into the pet dynamic. He starts being more obvious about his desire and taste for affection, despite him cooly clearing away accusations of harboring such emotions.
•eveyone on the bridge is uncomfortable around you two
•yall are literally that one publically kinky couple
I'm out of headcanons rn..... I'm definitely coming back to this
featuring : heartslaybul - octavinelle ! going grocery shopping is usually a mundane task, boring and usual. that is until the twst boys want to join you in your outing. you just hoped nothing would go wrong this time… for once…
gn! reader. an oldie but a goodie! I was re-reading my old works and this was the one that inspired me to start posting my writings again! not edited !! ( and gosh I was delusional. )
#. RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS.
Taking Riddle out grocery shopping is like taking a very well-behaved child out. He never strays away from you or the cart, and is oddly silent the entire time. However if you look closely you can see a small smile on his face.
He's never been to a grocery store before, due to his mom usually keeping him inside the house and getting them herself. So he can't help but be fascinated by the variety of things and contents of whatevers in the store. He definitely makes sure that no funny business goes on within the store though, he makes sure that everything he does is in order- it's kind of funny how stiff he is in a grocery store.
While out with Riddle, he will absolutely go to the mini bakery, inspecting the cakes, tarts, breads, and cookies. The aroma is enough to put a smile on his face. He probably picks up some ingredients for Trey too, and maybe for himself, if you'd like to help him in creating a tart that it?
10/10 he's so cute the entire trip and pays for you!! Consider it his gratitude for the strawberry tart you bought !
#. TREY CLOVER.
Trey probably needs to pick up some baking supplies while out with you, meaning that the two of you spend a lot of time in the baking aisle or in the mini bakery of the store. It gives him some inspiration when seeing all the different types of sweets and goodies around, perhaps he should bake some of them for you!
Trey is always helpful, and it applies even more so at the grocery store. He helps store workers, random costumers, you. He tries the best he can, either by helping pick up grocery bags, or by carrying the slightly heavier stuff for you. Trey also walks around with the cart, going through aisle and aisle with you, never once complaining about being there for too long.
With him you don't really have to worry about anything either, he makes sure that you get everything on your checklist and that you don't buy unnecessary or unimportant items. It's kind of like going with a parental figure- or someone really calming.
10/10, man's bakes you a whole plethora of sweets- and going with him is one of the most calming trips ever.
#. CATER DIAMOND.
Cater makes Grocery shopping an experience. You know those pictures of people in carts? Or the ones where you're standing in an aisle doing something stupid? Yeah that's him, one hundred percent.
It's always so fun to go out with him though, no matter what kind if shenanigans you get into. He for sure buys a few spicy instant Ramen packs while out, actually he just buys a bunch of spicy stuff in general- not that you're complaining of course. Maybe he'll even buy some actual ingredients to try and recreate his favorite recipes with you!!
Cater tries to help out as best as he can too, by helping out with checkout or carrying certain things! He also has a nack at finding pretty- or the most appealing looking foods- due to his magicam, he knows how to get good angles and can find some of the best quality foods there is. The pictures he takes can make that one package of strawberries look like the most delectable thing ever.
8/10 he's a fun guy to go Grocery shopping with!! And you get to make Ramen with him once you get back home!
#. ACE TRAPPOLA.
As a contrast to Riddle- Ace is a big baby when going out Grocery shopping. He walks behind you, trying to annoy you in every possible way ever. He purposely walks in front of the cart when you're about to move, has a grumpy face when being in the healthy section for too long, grabs a buttload of junk food- you don't mind but he'll share none of it with you. He does all of this with an annoying little smirk on his pretty boy face.
Although shopping with him has its downsides, he knows how to make it fun for you. He's the type to sometimes hijack and blast music into the store's speakers, dragging you along with him for a dance. He makes you sit in the carts basket, running around the store while pushing you. Does it make up for not sharing his snacks with you? Maybe. That annoying boyish grin on his face certainly does though. He's an annoying little shit but I love him for that.
6/10 just cause he's a shit head. Oh and he does end up sharing his snacks in the end!
#. DEUCE SPADE.
Deuce is one of the best people to go shopping with. He trails behind you, only ever walking off when he needs to get something. He probably knows this grocery store like the back of his hand even though he's only been there like once.
Deuce knows the best deals to get as well, going grocery shopping with his mom definitely helped out a bunch. He knows what to do during a sale- running and squeezing through crowds of middle aged women to get that last carton of eggs. Think of miyamura from horimiya!!
He carries the bags back to the car, no matter how much or how heavy. Deuce also tries to split the bill with you, there's something so domestic about it, and he absolutely loves it. He always has a smile on his face whenever shopping, especially when it's with his favorite prefect!! Honestly Deuce's perfect date is probably going grocery shopping then riding off into the sunset on his blastcycle.
10/10 he's a very helpful and reliable man, its cute. He's cute. And with him you'll never forget your eggs.
#. LEONA KINGSCHOLAR.
I don't know what possessed Leona to want to go Grocery shopping with you and not just make you or Ruggie do it for him, but let's say he goes because he needs something.
He walks quietly next to you, looking out for what he needs while walking through the aisles. Unfortunately, after he gets whatever he needs he's a total asshole. He complains about being there for too long, and how he'd much rather be napping then in a store.
It's confusing because it was his car that you took here- he could easily just go sleep in it- or straight up leave if he wanted. Well I guess he was being nice enough to not just leave you in the dust. You wouldn't be surprised if he just randomly decided to lean on you whilst you walk, or he might knock stuff over and over for you to keep picking up. He's quite literally a cat.
4/10 he's another annoying shit- but its not so bad cause he's hot. Well at least he pays for you- right?
#. RUGGIE BUCCHI.
Ruggie is probably tagging along with you because he needs to get something for Leona. And he has to be one of the greatest shopping companions to have graced this world. He points out some of the best products that are also cheap, and knows how to get good deals and haggle with store owners.
Like Ace, he also makes the trip fun, well for him at least. Ruggie's idea of fun definitely contains snatching some wallets or free food while out. If you're at Costco he will take more samples than humanly possible. It's pretty funny- if you forget about the snatching wallets part.
Ruggie will also pay for you- using Leona's wallet!! He tells you over and over that Leona wouldn't even notice your purchase of groceries- no mater you end up getting. The hyena also knows how to get the good stuff for cheap, real cheap. It's honestly kind of a life saver to go shopping with him- he helps with everything.
8/10- he somehow can haggle a grocery store worker so you get everything for cheap- although you wished he wouldn't swipe wallets when with you--
#. JACK HOWL.
Jack is the Grocery man. He probably asked to join you just because he wanted to help out, no hidden motives or questions asked. He's so helpful it's honestly so sweet.
It's kind of funny to see a big beefy wolf man dragging around a grocery cart with a happy smile on his face. Honestly he just loves grocery shopping, its so him. He gets all the healthy stuff and protien shakes that'll help out with both of your bodies, he makes sure to leave room for some junk food in the cart though. Jack always helps out with the heavy stuff too, he carries the water cartons, soda, the eight cat trees you got just for Grim- It's like a mini workout for him!!
I can imagine him rushing when at self checkout, he's scanning those tomatoes like it's an Olympic sport. Oh- and he always gets some cactus seeds just in case.
9/10 helpful wolf man for the win !! hes the absolute sweetest.
#. AZUL ASHENGROTTO.
It's honestly so confusing why Azul would want to go Grocery shopping with you, did he want to start a farmers market or something?? You doubted he had anything to gain from it either. Like- who goes Grocery Shopping for a scheme??? Azul.
Other than thinking he's gonna do something behind your back while walking around the store, he's a pleasant companion! He basically just sticks to himself the whole time, pointing out things he finds interesting, or things he'd never seen before while in the sea. He's very fascinated by the variety of human items and stuff in just one store. Azul does try to be helpful sometimes, like picking out things that would benefit you both for the right price. Something tells you that if he ran his own grocery store everything in it would be way too overpriced--
He has to be scheming though, you can see him mumbling to himself while looking at the pricetags for certain items, and that gleam in his glasses isn't helping clear him of that suspicion one bit.
6/10 he's honestly not that bad- but you just know for a fact he's plotting something behind your back.
#. JADE LEECH.
Jade joins you on your endeavors to try and learn more about the surface. Of course, they have grocery stores down in the sea, but the things they carry are far more different from the things up here. He finds this a learning experience, like many other things.
Jade is the type to like a flea market the most, or an outdoor one at that. Being outside while shopping with the perfect is probably one of his favorite pastimes. He- like Azul- is pretty silent the entire time. He just enjoys being out in nature while exploring the vast marketplace!! If you're out at a flea market he might also try and haggle with the prices, well he wouldn't try- they'd just give it to him for cheaper because of his face.
He probably buys the two of you a bunch of mushroom including foods, and he probably buys some mushrooms just for himself. Perhaps they two of you can make some foods including them later, yes? That would certainly be a fun experience!
8/10 a, shockingly, very relaxing experience- a lot different from the others, but it's not like you're complaining!
#. FLOYD LEECH.
Floyd either tries to squeeze into the baby seats of a shopping cart or stands on the side of it, towering over like the giant he is, letting you drag him around with a silly little smile on his face.
He puts whatever he wants into the cart, showing off things that you definitely don't need. Matching eel phone charms? He's making you buy it. A gummy candy in the shape of shrimp? Well duh he needs that!!
When not clinging onto the cart he's running around the store like a madman. It's quite scary if you think about it- a 6'1 eel man running around a grocery store, bumping into people without saying sorry. He makes it his mission to scare you. Popping up out of nowhere and shoving stuff into your face? Sounds fun!! Sneaking his head into the aisles you're in and watching you from afar like a creep? That's his favorite pastime!!
5/10 its fun to go out with Floyd- but also a hassle. Be forewarned before you agree to go out with him…
☆
Honestly- why did you even say yes to shopping with them in the first place??
Synopsis: When you have to help Rook clean his face, you finally discover that he has freckles underneath his foundation. It was simple but also a very nice little detail about him. One of a lot of reasons why you loved him.
Rook Hunt x gender neutral reader / established relationship / fluff / mention of science club / 750 words / use of “you” pronouns
Notes: The problem when some mutuals love a character is that you slowly understand why that character torments them night and day. In this specific case, I'm looking directly at you @pandoa dear! Dedicated to you <3
Hope you all enjoy this short story!
Dear Freckles
“How are you, lovely Trickster? I hope you don’t mind but this humble hunter is seeking your services at the moment. How can I say this? I’m in trouble,” Rook said, his chuckle soft like the song of a nightingale in the morning.
You would’ve laughed along if he wasn’t covered head to toe by a strange and unknown liquid, recently dismissed from the Science Club day’s activities. It was by chance that you met your boyfriend in the hallway.
But, maybe, it was actually really fate. Probably because he was at risk of being attacked in Pomefiore before he could step foot in the dorm state — and you couldn’t even blame them for this. In that moment, Rook was the stamp face of dirtiness, despite his own good humor.
As you two took shelter in a bathroom that was rarely used in the castle’s tower, Rook told you about the experience he was conducting at the club and the fantastic yellow explosion it caused.
He went on a narration detailed enough that you could almost see the scene as if you were there. Though, honestly, that was making it difficult to help clean his clothes and face without you constantly breaking into chuckles. And Rook didn’t even understand why you wanted to stay stoic-ish like that.
Were you trying to reprimand him for being a dreamy scientist? He was just a little curious by nature. Science knows no limits to the imagination. And, last but not least, you looked much prettier with a free, big smile playing on your lips.
At one point, you both sat down on the floor — shiny and clean, just like the room around — and you continued with the hour-long task of running wet cloth over Rook’s face to remove the yellow liquid remains.
Surprise surely hit you when a bit of his skin foundation came off along with it. Lucky for you, he kept his eyes closed, leaving you alone to enjoy the fascination of the moment.
Underneath the yellow liquid and hidden by one of Twisted Wonderland’s best skincare products were some freckles. You swallowed hard to complete your work until his face was completely clean. Every passing second you discovered new spots in Rook’s cheekbones that were splattered with the natural ink of the Hunt family’s genes.
Nothing but small freckles, yet it gave Rook a special touch that you had never imagined he could have. And you already thought him to be the most handsome man in the whole world.
You were brave enough to throw hands with a combo attack of Vil and Neige’s fans if you had to!
Perhaps the discovery was the greatest advocate for the intensity of your fascination. You wondered how long it would take before you found out that Rook had other secrets beneath his surface. At the same time, taking things slow seemed more fun and productive. You would have more time to enjoy each little revelation as if it were the most important thing of your day.
You could play around comparing and imagining two or more versions of Rook in your head, all to come to the inevitable conclusion that you loved him in every possible way. Any and every Rook was your Rook.
“Trickster? Any problem?,” the boy in question suddenly inquired, still with his eyes closed.
However, you had a feeling that Rook could see better beyond your momentary pause than if he was with his eyes wide open.
“Nothing, mon cher,” you replied, glad the use of French had melted and distracted him soon enough. Always worked just fine. “Um, actually... Rook?”
“Oui?,” Rook opened his eyes and smiled.
But his gaze grew in surprise when you suddenly held his face in your hands. A delicate and careful gesture, full of devotion. It no longer seemed right for any of you to simply act as if all that was nothing.
“I just want to say that… you’re very handsome. In any way and shape. I’m glad the Beautiful Queen is dead, or I would have to duel with her to have your heart, o’ handsomest of all,” you declared, gallantly.
You felt a little embarrassed to put those thoughts into words, but Rook’s smile didn’t fail to elicit in you a giggle. He held your hand and kissed the back of your palm, invigorated by your sudden surge of romanticism, feeling a little warm in his freckled face himself.
“And you’re all that I’ve been wishing most, my amour.”
Special Notes: I’m wishing~ for the one I love~ my trickster~ my dear~
Ok Rook. Now get out of my head!!
And remember, Savana Rook and Pome Rook are just two sides of the same coin. It’s just a matter of outfits at this point, so pls love him dearly. If not for him, for me!
I love your selkie Jade fic!! It’s so good and so creative! I need a Floyd courting fic like I need air, maybe where Yuu has no idea what Floyd strange behavior is, but the octavinelle crew is acting very odd and extra smug when they see Floyd and the prefect together
🐬💥💌Request received! Thank you for your message, your delivery is ready~
THANK YOU!!! I’m glad you liked the Jade Selkie fic AH!!! I really wanted to write a Floyd version too hehe, hope you enjoy~
Floyd Leech, ft. Selkie
Jade! Azul!
Floyd was confident no one would dare take his pelt. It was easy to steal a selkie’s pelt when it was left unattended (like Jade’s) or hidden (like Azul’s). Floyd always knew where his was - always, always, on his person.
When he had to go to the surface to attend NRC, their father gave him two pieces of advice. One, always pay attention to your footwear. And two, always keep your pelt with you. Whether it’s in your bag, over your shoulders, or under your clothes.
People expected Floyd to be more lax with his skin, but he took the advice to heart more than Jade, who liked showing it off tantalizingly to those grubby landers. So, Floyd’s pelt was always under his clothes. He hated the feeling of extra layers, but he hated being parted with the pelt even more. The very thought of being taken away from the ocean made his human skin crawl.
Imagine his panic when he couldn’t find it once he returned to his dorm after club practice.
He’d tied the pelt securely underneath his basketball jersey, and practice went off without a hitch. He was fired up that day too. He’d won points left and right, and left the gym feeling great. Up until he realized his pelt was no longer snugly tied to his torso, and his heart dropped. He’d passed through the gym, the entire school, the mirror chamber, and through the Lounge up to his dorm. He could’ve lost it anywhere. To anyone.
Jade opened their dorm door to see Floyd flinging things around their room, and launching himself to Jade’s side to dig through his things. “What in the Seven’s are you doing, Floyd?” He didn’t even need to a response when Floyd turned to him with sheer panic on his face. Jade felt his throat tighten. Floyd lost his pelt.
Meanwhile, you stared at the… cloth? in front of you. Earlier today, you’d stopped by the gym while running errands for Crowley. As you made your way across, you noticed a teal heap amidst the basketballs. You knelt, curious, and picked it up. Wait, isn’t this what Jade and Floyd wear?
You didn’t really know what it was, only that it seemed special to them. You never wanted to be rude and ask him about it though, since you figured Floyd had his reasons for hiding it, while Jade has his own for flaunting it.
That thing was massive. You didn’t even see a zipper on it, so it couldn’t be a jacket. Not to mention, it felt kind of… leathery, almost. Like fish skin or something.
When you got to Ramshackle, you folded it neatly before tucking it in a spare shoebox you had. It had a few jewelry pieces in it with shells and pearls. You also chucked a shoe polish in, as well as some funky patterned socks you didn’t want. You decided to leave them in, tucked under the cloth. Maybe Floyd would like them.
The next day, you walked into Mostro Lounge with the box. You overheard some students freaking out, whispering about Floyd being in one of his moods, but this time it was even worse.
You frowned, suddenly nervous. Floyd’s freaking out? Why? You clutched the box a bit tighter. Was it because of the cloth?
In Azul’s office, Floyd was damn near about to blow the whole dorm up. It took Jade wrestling him down and Azul placating him, to get him to calm down just a fraction.
Even now, Jade had to keep watchful eye on him while Azul had a million contracts on his desk, hair wild from running his hands through it. Currently, Floyd was staring listlessly at the wall, bouncing his leg wildly. Who could have possibly been brazen enough to take Floyd’s pelt…? Jade and Azul had an understanding. They’d make them pay for this.
You overheard someone say Floyd was in Azul’s office, so you knocked on the door. “Hey, is Floyd in there?” You called, walking in. Jade glanced at Floyd, who seemed to at least compose himself in front of you. How interesting.
You stopped in front of Floyd, who looked up at you from the couch. He looked up at you, irritated. You cleared your throat, presenting the box to him. “I found your… belongings so I thought I’d give it back to you. It was in the gym, I figured you didn’t want to lose it.”
Floyd’s eyes zeroed in on the box, sensing the pelt, and he grabbed it from you. He nearly tore the top off, but at last he had his pelt back. He almost tore his uniform off then and there to feel it against his skin when he suddenly stopped.
You gave it back to him. You, gave it back to him. You gave it back.
Jade and Azul stared wide eyed at you and Floyd. You cleared your throat uncomfortably, “I also put some extra stuff in the box too, if you want it.”
Floyd lifted the skin a bit, and his eyes went wide. Glittering jewelry, shells, and pearls nestled in the folds of the pelt. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and Jade and Azul gasped.
“Oho?” Jade said, grinning slowly. “Oho?” Azul looked shocked. Floyd lifted the pelt out, and more jewelry fell out between the folds. Jade lifted his hand to his mouth, looking sly, “how forward of you, (Name). And in front of us, too.” Azul rose an eyebrow, pleased, “I must say, I didn’t expect you to be the pelt thief. What an interesting development.”
Floyd was quiet, staring at everything in shock. He didn’t expect this from you, Shrimpy. You always were able to surprise him, but this took the bait. It was like everything started to make sense.
You had to know what you’d done. You gave Floyd jewelry, something merfolk did when they wanted to show affection. Not only that, you gave him things directly related to his interests. He eyed the shoe polish with interest, grinning widely. This was textbook courting rituals.
“Ne, shrimpy really is the best~” He stood, mood completely changed. You shrank back a bit as he leered over you. As he gazed into your eyes, you felt the acute sense that you just did something big.
“Don’t you worry Shrimpy, I’m gonna repay you back real good~” Floyd winked at you. You smiled nervously, conscious of the others’ smirks, “I-I should go.” You scurried out of Azul’s office, hearing Floyd’s raucous laughter echo behind you.
Floyd’s kinda weird today, you thought. You didn’t particularly mind it, though. Although dealing with Azul and Jade was a doozy.
Azul ran into you earlier, although you weren’t sure it was on accident. He’d hummed cryptically, with that sneaky businessman smirk he had when he knew something you didn’t. “I must say, it was incredibly forward of you to present Floyd’s pelt, especially with extra gifts. He was energetic all night, he hardly did any Lounge work,” Azul’s words somehow held little annoyance. Confusion filled you. His ‘pelt’? And the jewelry and shoe polish? Was it a big deal?
Azul continued, “You should find Jade later. He will want to speak to you, especially to go over your plans.” Your brow furrowed, echoing “plans?” Azul nodded, amused. “It’s more informal, since we’ve known you before. Just to discuss matters - the timing, ideal circumstance, your intentions, so forth.” He’d walked off before you could ask more. Your head swam.
You hadn’t been able to properly speak to Jade. He was all cordial smiles and, surprisingly, bowed to you multiple times. An amused smile graced his face, and he seemed to revel in your alarm. He’d brush past you just before you could ask him anything, and was always replaced by Floyd bounding up to you and taking you into his arms in giggles.
Ever since you gave him the box, Floyd was strangely clingy. His constant hugging and nuzzling you was borderline affectionate, and it made your heart stutter and stomach feel fluttery. You noted that he was wearing the jewelry you stuck in the box, next to the pelt peeking out of his shirt.
“Hey, (Name),” he said while leaning against you. You were both in the library. Floyd insisted on accompanying you everywhere, and seemed to be exhausted with how much he was yawning at you. “We should go swimmin,’ I’m bored here.”
You sighed, shutting your notebook. “I have work to do, Floyd.” You spied a couch nearby, “you could take a nap maybe, if you’re tired?” Floyd looked you up and down, before grinning. “Nah.”
He tossed you over his shoulder, and you shouted, making the ghost librarians shush you loudly. “Floyd!” He laughed and ran out before the ghosts could catch him.
He ran you all the way to the back of Mostro Lounge by the private fish tanks, where the tanks for the merfolk were. Finally he put you down, still cuddling you as the blue light from the waters washed over you.
Seeing the tanks, you suddenly remembered Azul talking about a pelt. Your mind flashed to the cloth you picked up from the gym. The skin-like texture. Floyd’s moodiness. The secrecy. You’d heard the word ‘Selkie’ being thrown around before, and you knew Floyd was a mer. The thought hid you like a truck - if the pelt belonged to Floyd, then was he a Selkie? Your heart pounded. And you gave the pelt back to him.
Jade walked in, holding a drink and potion in hand. “Ah, Floyd, you’re back.” Floyd grinned at him, shaking you side to side in his arms, “hey Jade~ me n’ Shrimpy are going to take a swim!” Jade smiled pleasantly, gaze locking onto you. “Could I have a moment with (name), please? It should only take a minute.”
Floyd pouted, but Jade gave him a look. Finally, let you go with a little sulk, but not before giving you a final squeeze. “I’ma be back, Shrimpy!~ Don’t go anywhere!” He flounced off, leaving you with Jade.
Jade handed you the drink and potion. “This is on the house, and this is an underwater breathing potion. I thought you may need one,” he said cryptically. You smiled warily at him, and you dumped the potion into the drink to mix it.
Jade sighed happily. “Mother and Father will be so thrilled.” You sipped your drink, throat feeling dry. “What do you mean?”
Jade continued as if he didn’t hear you, “please be gentle to Floyd. He’s never done this before, but I’ve never seen him so besotted with anything before.” Jade suddenly became serious, looking you in the eye. “You will not hurt him. And you won’t need to worry about him. I assure you, our parents took our lessons quite seriously where courting was concerned. He was always the one to wear his heart on his fins, so to speak. He’s quite romantic at heart, really.”
You nearly choked. “C-courting?!” Jade nodded, slowly grinning mischievously. “Of course. You made your intentions quite clear when you gave Floyd back his pelt. With some lovely courting gifts, no less.” Jade looked fondly at you, patting your shoulder. “You will be a welcome part of the family. Usually gifts such as jewelry come much later in the courting process, but I expect you’ll be betrothed quite soon with how taken Floyd is with you.”
Now you actually choked. “He- what?!” You couldn’t lie, you weren’t exactly upset about Floyd liking you, but courting? This was fast. Jade nodded. If he sensed your growing panic and confusion, he certainly ignored it (or found it entertaining) as he smiled at you. “Yes, he was quite pleased that you were the one who found his pelt. Ah, young love~”
You downed your drink as Floyd bounded back to you, sweeping you up. “Shrimpy~ I’m back!” He’d stripped off his outer garments. His pelt was draped over his shoulders like a towel, and he grinned down at you. “Let’s go~ I’ll keep ya safe, promise!”
As he waded into the waters, you decided to just accept your fate. You reached up and kissed Floyd on the cheek, pressing your face to his gently. He squished you against him as the water rose and his lower half meshed with the pelt, turning back into his eel form.
He rubbed his cheek against yours, “I’m happy you gave me back my pelt, Shrimpy.” You felt Floyd smile against your face, and you hugged him back. “Y’know what? I’m happy too, Floyd.”
Y’all know how the whole ‘scent’ thing is used in fics? Mainly Savanaclaw but also for the ones with keen senses - like Vil, for example. Also the octo-trio. Grim too.
Honestly anyone could fit this. Smell’s a keen sense. Like how we can catch a wif of something and get sent back to a memory stuck in the vault.
Yeah so…we’re in consensus that they’d hoard the prefect’s perfume like it’s a lifeline? After they go home? Saw an animation where Ace kept their phone so he could call it and hear their voicemail. Now we’re here.
-
Riddle - who couldn’t bring himself to pilfer from your abandoned dorm and dislikes that he seriously considered it. Too nervous to ask what scent you wore but forever associates it with evenings in the library. Catching it on your wrist whenever you’d hand him a book. Mixed with the smell of old books and burning wax.
Trey - who borrowed one of your ties and decided not to return it. Not unless you asked. You didn’t. The scent’s almost gone, but he can figure out the main components. Buy something similar.
Cater - who has a handful of scrunchies and hairpins. You’d carry them for him. Lined up on your wrist like cased sausages. They all smell like you now. One even with a bit of spilled nail polish on it. Navy blue. Not Cater’s.
Deuce - who doesn’t think about it at first. Until he’s helping clean up your room and drops a small bottle on the ground. It cracks and the scent of cheap perfume permeates into the wood floor. He digs through the shards for a label, ignoring the cuts on his hands.
Ace - who sleeps in your room under the pretense that it’s for Grim’s sake. It’s not dorm betrayal. This was his room as much as it was yours. He’d sneak out or take a collar as much as Riddle’s patience lasts. Since he can’t sleep anywhere else.
Leona - who’s been close enough to you to memorize the scent. He knows the brand. Knows the make and year. Some cheap body spray that barely lasts longer than a few hours. Like gum. He sprays some on his pillows before bed, burying his nose between them and pretends it’s you.
Ruggie - who couldn’t help himself. He swiped your half-empty bottle with practiced ease. Using it sparingly, down to the last drop, spritzing just enough on his collar to make it through the hard times. Doesn’t matter the price now. He tries to tell himself ‘when it’s out, i’m done’ but he said that when you left and look at him now.
Jack - who forgets entirely. Until weeks pass and he finds one of ‘your’ sweaters in his room. A little travel sized perfume in the pocket. He sprays some on the collar and presses it to his nose. For a moment, you’re there.
Azul - who’s paid for new couches in the VIP room. Scent permeates into leather and you’ve spent night after night curled on the originals. They’re moved to his bedroom, where he sleeps on them more than his own bed.
Floyd - who’s used to everything smelling too big. The surface world’s full of more pungent notes. He asks (demands) rather garishly for whatever you had. Soap, perfume, lotion - he doesn’t care. In a world where smells are too big, yours has become too small.
Jade - who brews the same blend of tea every night. Serves it in the same cup, pours out of the same pot, and doesn’t take a single sip. He lets the scent evaporate into the air because it smells faintly of someone who would dab some on their pulse points. Just for him.
Kalim - who supplied your entire wardrobe. Who wouldn’t budge on it, and made sure you had clean clothes besides your uniform. You looked so pretty, so happy, and your gratitude made him feel so loved. He didn’t stop there either. You complimented his bedroom once and that was enough to send more blankets than you’d ever need. Especially after seeing how cold Ramshackle could get. They were for you. So why are these the only blankets he can sleep in? If he closes his eyes, pulls them close, breathes - you’re hugging him, right? From wherever you are.
Jamil - who’s struggling to clean his room. There isn’t much time to dawdle. His sheets need to be washed. His uniform ironed. Then he has to finish his duties, shower, and ready for bed. He opens the top drawer for a new set of sheets and is hit with you. That’s right. You did the laundry last week…he closes the drawer and goes to borrow a set from Kalim. The urge to pull them out strong, but Jamil’s always been resistant to his needs.
Vil - who’s suddenly caught wearing a brand far beneath his normal standards. He rarely shows preference to one over the other. Yet this cheap, poorly balanced - honest to goodness mockery of a perfume has become his favorite. No one knows why.
Epel - who let you use his cardigan one time. More like you stole it during your stay at Harveston. Grandma said she’d make you one for when you came back. You still hogged his. The fibers picked your scent and he’s afraid to wash it. What was supposed to bring homely comfort, now fills him with yearning and nostalgia.
Rook - who seats himself in front of the fire. Barely lit, dim, and more for the mood. To light this abandoned room in a new emotion. He takes one last inhale from the most intoxicating scent known to Twisted Wonderland, and then tosses it to the flames.
Idia - who fingers a little glass bottle between thumb and index. It’s almost gone. He could buy more. Make some. The tags were peeled off, but Ortho could dissect the contents with just a drop. He’s clinging. Idia knows this as he pops the cap and presses his nose to it.
Ortho - who’s learning how to make friends. With new emotions and freedom. He’s studied the senses and how they influence emotions. When asked if there’s anything he’d like from Ramshackle, he thinks of what his brother might like. Idia won’t ask for himself. Yet Ortho’s own thoughts surprise him, because why does he want this little bottle of perfume so badly? It’s nothing special. He can locate 10 online listings with competitive prices and quantities. Yet he specifically wants this one.
Malleus - who slips into Ramshackle at the height of midnight. A ruin once again with relics upon relics of a beautiful soul now gone. He loiters and avoids your bedroom. Yet when he enters the bathroom, he looks at his reflection in the vanity. His eye catches the smallest glass bottle…and he takes it. He dares to spray it once on his cuff. The yearning causes him to stow it away for the next century. Until he craves to feel their warmth and searches.
Lilia - who smiles fondly, pressing the lapels of your blazer down and into a box. Taking it in before that sense begins to dull too. Committing it to memory. In a decade or two he’ll cross its path again, and remember .
Sebek - who chases. Who shamefully gives in to instinct and attachment. Who sprays the last of some generic, cheap, alcohol based scent that was an assault to him with bittersweet yearning. He traps it on your portrait and seals it in a glass frame. If temptation’s going to linger in him, then let it drive him forward.
Silver - whose eyes open easily for the first time. His heart stuttering, mind shifting, attention sharp … the call of your name on his lips, as a random student shakes him awake during class. He asks what perfume they wear and commits it to memory.
Grim - who sleeps curled on one of Heartslabyul’s chaises. He can’t go back to Ramshackle. Home. It’s not home without you there. He sleeps with the same striped throw that was hanging on that old, green lounge chair. The one you’d wrap him in while he waited for the fire to stoke. Each night he begs for Ace to do whatever it is he does to make it ‘smell right’. When he sleeps, he can almost pretend the armrest is your side and he’s right where he’s meant to be.
“I need Skips in a way that make people question my asexuality” yet everytime i see even slightly suggestive art of him, i cry over the fact i saw that of my comfort character
(⚠️ Im not saying people cant make suggestive art, it just isnt for me !! ⚠️)
✦how the boys would react when things are just about to get heated with their beloved… and then bam! someone barges in, killing the mood.
Trey Clover
Everything was perfect. The kitchen was quiet, the air thick with sugar and tension, and Trey had you backed against the counter, voice low and teasing as his lips brushed your ear.
“You taste sweeter than anything I’ve ever baked…”
His hands slid around your waist, lips ghosting along your jawline when—
CRASH.
“YO TREY! Did you put those tarts in the oven—”
Ace burst through the door, freezing when he spotted the two of you tangled together like frosting on warm cake.
Trey jolted back with an awkward chuckle, eyes wide.
“Ace—!”
“Oh. Ohhh. My bad. Real bad. Continue. Or not. I’ll just—bye!” slams door
You sighed, untangling from Trey’s arms.
“Yeah… the mood’s gone, thanks Ace…”
you muttered and left, cheeks flushed in irritation.
Trey stood there, stunned for a second. Then, quietly:
“Ace is never eating anything I bake again.”
Later that night, he showed up at your dorm with a slice of your favorite pie and the softest apology kisses you’ve ever tasted.
Leona Kingscholar
The sun was setting over the sands of Savannaclaw’s yard, but inside Leona’s dorm room? The heat was from something entirely different.
You were pinned beneath him, his voice low and growly as he nipped at your throat, smirking when you shivered.
“Told ya I could make you purr, herbivore…”
But then—
BANG
“Oi, Leona! You left your stupid practice schedule out and now Vargas is—”
Ruggie’s voice froze mid-sentence.
Leona slowly lifted his head from your neck, and Ruggie turned a delightful shade of oh no.
“...My bad, boss.”
You wriggled free, cheeks hot and mood completely dead.
“Well, that’s ruined. The mood’s gone. Good bye Leona.”
You left with a sigh. Leona blinked once.
Then:
“Ruggie.”
“...Yeah?”
“You’re cleaning the training yard alone for a month...”
“Yeah… I know that’s coming… shit…”
Later that night, Leona tracked you down and wordlessly pulled you into his lap, whispering against your collarbone:
“Let me fix the mood. Right now.”
Floyd Leech
You were breathless, half-laughing and squirming beneath Floyd on his bed. His fingers grazed your thigh, teeth just barely nipping your earlobe as he growled:
“Shrimpy looks so biteable tonight…”
Your fingers tangled in his shirt. His knee nudged yours apart—
Knock knock. Door opens anyway.
“Floyd, Azul wanted to remind you to—”
Jade blinked. Stared. Blinked again.
“Ah. You’re... busy. My bad.”
Floyd turned his head slowly.
“Jade...”
“Just passing through.” click Door closes.
You groaned, shoving your face into Floyd’s chest.
“Mood’s gone,” you muttered. “Completely gone.”
You stood and left. Floyd looked betrayed.
“But shrimpy...! We were at the good part… nooo…!”
Later that night, he pouted on your bed, peppering you with annoyed kisses like a sad eel.
“Stupid Jade. Mood killer. I’ll get you back in the mood, Shrimpy... even if I gotta start from scratch~”
Jamil Viper
The music was slow, the lights low, and Jamil had you caged against his room wall, voice husky with restraint as his thumb traced your bottom lip.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me…?”
He kissed you, hot and firm. Your hands slid under his shirt—
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK—BANG.
“Jamil!! Are you in here?! I learned a new trick with the flying carpet and—OH!”
Kalim stood in the doorway, eyes wide with genuine innocence.
You gasped, pushing Jamil back.
“Kalim!” You both screamed.
“Oh! I’m so sorry! You two looked busy!” door slams shut
You straightened your clothes, flustered and groaning.
“thanks to Kalim…Mood’s gone. Se you later Jamil.”
You left. Jamil stood frozen for three seconds.
“...I’m going to hex that carpet.”
Later, he cornered you in the hallway, muttering
“Im sorry for what happened, I’ll triple-lock the door next time.”
Idia Shroud
You were in his room… yes, the room. The glowing screens, and Idia looking like he might combust from how hard he was trying to be smooth.
“Uhh... so... if you wanted to, like, maybe... take this to, um, level 18?”
Your lips were already on his. His hair flickered neon pink as his hands trembled on your waist—
DING DING!
Ortho's voice chirped from behind the closed door
“Big Brother! You said you’d test my new program pack today! Should I come in—?”
“NOOOOOOO—!!”
Idia dove off you so fast he might’ve phased into the digital plane.
You blinked.
“Yeah. That killed it. Mood’s gone. I think it would be better if I go now.”
And you walked out. He groaned into a pillow, hair now a dull blue.
“I’m gonna fake my own death. Then I’ll haunt the server room and live in eternal shame.”
Later, he shyly tapped on your door with snacks and a very nervous
“I promise… it’s never gonna happen again…”
Lilia Vanrouge
Lilia had you right where he wanted you—against his chest, your breath shallow, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“Careful, my love. Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll have to bite…”
You squeaked. He smirked.
“So delicious when you tremble.”
His hands wandered lower when—
SLAM.
“LILIA-SAMA!? I HEARD STRANGE SOUNDS—!”
Sebek burst in, wild-eyed and shouting.
“Sebek!” you both yelled at once.
You scrambled away from Lilia, flushed and fuming.
“Mood’s gone. I’m done! Bye.”
You stormed out while Lilia slowly turned to Sebek, a twitch in his brow.
“...boy… we gonna have a really fun training tomorrow… I hope you’re ready.”
Later, Lilia showed up at your window, upside-down, charming as ever.
꒰warnings꒱ spoilers, probably ooc (it’s my first time writing for this lot ‹/𝟹), second person, purposeful lowercase, suggestive
⠀꒲ ` synopsis . . . nothing more awkward than realising that your entire house has witnessed you lounging freely in your underwear, a flashy robe and or topless? WRONG! it’s even more awkward when they start to miss it after you’ve began nervously dressing more modestly.
⠀꒲ ` characters . . . non-realised! amir, betty, freddy, hector, mitchell linn, tyrell, curt & rod + some others for fun
⠀꒲ ` notes . . . chose some characters that would probably be the most likely to see you and potentially comment on your sudden dressing changes, honestly it was so fun trying to write for this game i might do more if i feel like it :P
summer boils your skin into a warm, molten liquid. clothes stick to you with your sweat as the glue, pants dig uncomfortably into your crotch and your entire body heaves with the needy want for cool. so why haven’t you bothered stripping from the uncomfortably tight long-sleeved shirt and the baggy trousers?
it’s because of those damned dateviators!
dating objects around your house and understanding their sentient thoughts, stories and emotions? that was sick as fuck, totally fun and interesting! do you know what wasn’t? having the sudden realisation that all these inanimate objects have watched you laze around the whole house in a way that’s less than appropriate.
we’re talking ass out with a baggy shirt for the bare minimum modesty; occasionally, topless when the AC decides to work good that day; a cozy robe after your bath, showing just the slightest tantalising slope of what’s beneath; and when you’re particularly lazy? just a towel.
there was no way you were going to be doing any of that while holding the frightening knowledge that they can see, and worse, comment on your habits.
because what’s worst than your neighbours catching a glimpse of a naked shoulder? all the objects in your house having front show tickets. to fight that inherent embarrassment, you clung to your clothes like a shield—with little thought as to how the others would react to your sudden shift from playboy bunny magazine cover to nun. (spoiler; they hate it!)
ദ്ദി(˵⎚ᴗ⎚ ˵ ) ᢉ𐭩 AMIR
♡ he noticed immediately.
♡ how could he not? he’s your mirror, your confidante, your lover—nothing pains him more than seeing less of the form he used to admire so freely especially when it’s very evident from the sweat patches pooling where your limbs meet that this sudden dress change has caused you even more discomfort.
♡ “azizam, what reason do you have for dressing yourself like…” his voice cuts off, his captivating grey eyes giving you a completely overt once-over. “well, that—in such weather? i’m sure i can fit you in something much more suitable.”
♡ he’s not one to particularly pry on what you wear because anything you wear is perfection, but part of him really does miss seeing your bare shoulders…the gentle curve of your back, the soft fat of your thighs—simply, some sights shouldn’t be reserved.
♡ he’s a little more subtle with his pleading—it’s your decision at the end of the day, but if you ask him? he will not shy away from telling you that he really misses getting to look at your bare form, and somehow, when it comes from him? it doesn’t feel demeaning or disrespectful, he looks at you the same way the sun looks at the moon.
♡ oh, but if you do decide to go back to wearing so little? rest assured he’ll find it impossible to not go on long rants about how gorgeous you look (while sneaking in a few gentlemanly kisses).
ദ്ദി(˵⎚ᴗ⎚ ˵ ) ᢉ𐭩 BETTY
♡ she sees you every day so she was definitely the first to notice this sudden change in wardrobe, and while normally she wouldn’t comment…what do you think you’re doing?
♡ it’s not the fact that you’ve been sweating through your sheets for days now, or the fact you’ve kicked off nearly every blanket on the bed due to the excess heat, it’s the fact that you don’t even consider letting her cover your naked form!!
♡ dress up like a nun all you like baby, but for the love of god take off the sweater and hide under the covers if you’re really that worried she can FEEL you tossing and squirming from overheating.
♡ part of her wants you to go back to the free wardrobe for your comfort and another much louder part of her wants you to do so because the silk of your skin feels so much more alluringly sweet than the scruffy fabric of your dusty shirts.
♡ then again…she has to look at it in the more pleasing way too—this way, she can spend hours fantasising about what exactly you’re hiding beneath those clothes. sometimes the chase is better than the reward, no?
ദ്ദി(˵⎚ᴗ⎚ ˵ ) ᢉ𐭩 FREDDY
♡ the fridge is one of the first places you go to during the summer: ice cream, fresh fruit, cubes of ice to slot in whatever drink you need to refresh yourself with and that absolutely lovely immediate cooling from the freezer whenever you open it? pure bliss.
♡ so how come it seems like freddy has been ‘malfunctioning’ more than usual nowadays?
♡ “oop—sorry, cool kid, i’ll get you another right now!” as the nth ice cream drops into a splurge of vanilla on the floor, alongside the cumulating puddle now soaking the edge of your sweats.
♡ you can’t even count how many times he’s told you how he can’t allow you to sit in front of the freezer while you’re waiting for food to cook to “save energy” (it’s totally not because he’s patiently waiting for you to take off that cardigan, no way! you know, it’s just…the energy, yeah!)
♡ he doesn’t even do any of this with the intention to creep on you, he just loves and absolutely misses how squishy and adorable you look when you’re lounging on the kitchen counter while waiting for the timer to tick for your chicken nuggets, it’s so cute!!
♡ yes, maybe the way your thighs press together and the way you lean back to show off a sliver of stomach also gets him antsy but he swears if you don’t want him looking, he won’t! (but also please let him see something, he promises to keep you real cool if you do).
ദ്ദി(˵⎚ᴗ⎚ ˵ ) ᢉ𐭩 HECTOR
♡ he’s too attentive to your every want and need to ever play about with the air conditioning during the summer, but, he’d be a massive fool to deny how much he absolutely winces when he watches you walk around the house clothed head to toe with a clear discomfort shadowing your face.
♡ the others have certainly attempted to try bribing him into warming the house up solely because they think your new attire is ridiculous. okay, frankly most of them are complaining because they can’t peep a glance at you now, but can you blame them? they’re so used to you being so languid and free, this shit sucks!
♡ his voice is low and gentle when he randomly mumbles: “my love, is there…are you not feeling overheated in those…clothes?” when you mention how weird it feels walking around knowing everyone can actively see and have opinions on you…he gets it completely! it’s not like he has any right to judge you and all…but it doesn’t make him any less sad…
♡ because to him? you’re so beautiful :( and lovely :( your body is perfect and deserves to be shown without shame :( what do you mean it sounds ironic coming from him? :))
ദ്ദി(˵⎚ᴗ⎚ ˵ ) ᢉ𐭩 MITCHELL LINN
♡ he’s a gentleman, so he wouldn’t dare outwardly comment on your chosen apparel…ooh but does he loathe it though.
♡ the slick slide of ice cream as it pools down the naked slope of your chest; the way you lick your fingers clean from a melting ice-lolly when it sticks to your skin; the sound of a slurp when you eat watermelon, the fresh juice dripping down your chin: those are some of the delicacies that mitchell wouldn’t trade for even the highest quality truffle.
♡ now?? food drops onto your shirt, mingling into the sharp scent of sweat, you curse and gasp every time you ruin another pair of shorts and while he does feel the slightest bit guilty, he does find it simultaneously humorous how each time you hesitate to take your ruined clothes off. those little hesitant flickers of your eyes? his new favourite thing to watch.
♡ when you come to him to ask for meals that you could make and or snack on to get rid of the heat he very eagerly wants to tell you: “please, just change into something shorter.” but that would be way too distasteful for a man of his calibre.
♡ if you do ask him whether he misses it or not, he’ll try to sugarcoat it as lightly as possible because honestly…the softness of your skin is so much more tantalising to touch and caress than the sturdy material of a sweater. he won’t look…too much.
ദ്ദി(˵⎚ᴗ⎚ ˵ ) ᢉ𐭩 TYRELL
♡ NOOOOO!!! PLEASE! this is the one thing he had above most of the others…getting to be fully skin to skin with you, having you trust him enough to wrap around your luscious body to soak up all that warm water…this was unfair (he’s not jealous of bathsheba or river for getting to feel your body in its full regardless if you were embarrassed or not…he isn’t!)
♡ and don’t think he hasn’t noticed you using him much less or at least much more hesitantly!! he’s never complained about it before but this was starting to bother him because eating dirt off the floor is so much less fun than getting to dry you from your own sweat.
♡ so yes, maybe he has started to discreetly write notes and place them on the towels shaped exactly like your favourite animals just to garner your attention…is it working? :3c please say yes.
♡ don’t blame his hand for wandering beneath your shirt to wipe away at the sweat that’s glistening at your navel, he’s like a siren to water (quite literally). it’s in his nature!
ദ്ദി(˵⎚ᴗ⎚ ˵ ) ᢉ𐭩 CURT & ROD
♡ “okay, but why though?” — “because it feels weird knowing all of you can just see my ass 24/7, this isn’t a free show.” — “but why can’t it be.” that’s basically their entire mindset.
♡ honestly they’re about to crash out, man. they’re willing to draw close (sorry wyndolyn) to make sure the neighbours can’t see, but come on!! why can’t they?? >:( not even one slither of thigh?? not even an arm?? what is this, the victorian days?
♡ just to tease you they will not hesitate to list all their favourite outfits of yours: that very specific set of underwear with the cute cats and whatever shirt you find in the clean pile, a cliche but a goodie is some sweatpants that have seen better, oh and did you know your tummy does this cute thing where it turns squishy? and that your chest—what do you mean they’re making it worse? honesty is the best policy.
♡ they’re one of the few that will actively comment about it when you walk past, because why wouldn’t they? maybe they still hold a little bit of a vendetta when you tugged too hard on the curtain tassels to draw them closed or because the house is 50x more entertaining when you’re giving everyone brain lag from being too fine—either way; they’re not gonna be stopping any time soon.
BONUS (⁎⁍̴̛ᴗ⁍̴̛⁎)
♡ telly hates it. genuinely. you used to sit there so cozily on koa, shorts riding up to reveal those creamy thighs, shirt barely covering your stomach—it was great!! it was the one time he could only focus on you instead of the sound of plates shattering in whatever soap opera you picked to watch.
♡ honestly everyone in the bathrooms think it’s funny. seeing you hurriedly shut the door and take the quickest showers or baths of your life is pretty much better than drama. those little slip ups of skin though? now that’s what they live for. plus, it’s quite fun to hear the others complain about how it’s unfair that the rest of the house doesn’t get a chance to see your body so intimately any more—sucks to suck doesn’t it?
♡ hank 3 specifically hated this change because your body is nice to look at, why the sudden shift in confidence? ass out, baby!! the others don’t want to pry buuut…when you come into the laundry room they do look at each other very excitedly knowing full well they could very easily hide all those long-sleeves and baggy pants of yours (hey, it would make harper very happy too to keep it for a little longer!)
♡ dirk just finds it all hilarious. seeing everyone crash out over not seeing some skin basically all because of him? call it trashy, but he revels in the rage.
♡ speaking of trash, cam doesn’t care…because he can make anything filthy and he’s pretty sure you know it too. he kinda adores how annoyed you get when he can make you flustered just by looking at you a bit too sultrily. you think wearing a few too many layers is going to make him forget the curve of your back when you bend over? or the way water and sweat mingle on your skin?
♡ mac is gonna create a whole damn word file simply titled “RIP MC’S NUDIST LIFE” to commentate the end of an era. all those days of you taking your shirt off in front of the screen when it gets too hot…watching your fingers flex on the mouse and sometime write pure filth while clearly getting a little heated—that’s worth at least a special digital funeral.
