your doll

she/her | please be kind,,, unless i ask you otherwise | feel free to message me or send me ask:) | english n spanish | 18+

[spiritgardener]

very short rn but with the vision of making it bloom

the pitt:

dr. brendon park dr. jack abbot

animal kingdom:

craig cody

[spiritgardener]

Hi ! Do you know when the next part of big girls pants will be out ?

Thank you and have a lovely day

helloooo:) i believe (and hope) that it will be posted before monday, i’ve just been fighting with my thesis so i haven’t even had time to breath lol. but i’m really excited about the next part cause it will have a different tone to change things a little bit and it will be written from brendon's perspective so yaaaay🙂‍↕️

have a lovely day you tooo💗

[reeces-piecess]

big mistake ; frank castle

⋆｡°·☁︎ 18+ mdni, fem!reader summary: after a wild night, you end up with frank castle's baby. the older man is the most medium father of all time, coming around on occasion but always with a couple bruises and an attitude. after a long absence, he returns ridden with guilt, looking for something you're not sure you can give. warnings: SPIDER-MAN: BRAND NEW DAY SPOILERS!!!! frank castle x fem reader, smangst.., absent babydaddy!frank, age gap (reader is 20s, frank is 40s) more toxic!frank x reader (they're bad at handling their emotions), mentions of pregnancy and childbirth, p in v, oral sex (f recieving), frank tries his best tbh but he's got a lot going on! word count: 8.0k wow a.n: this was meant to be just kinda a little plot leading to some more fun smut where frank n reader argue the whole time, but it rly got away from me...both in word count and sadness. some angst ahead. notttt proofread i've been writing this all night and just want to go to bed

it was all a big mistake. 

for you, it was a drunken mistake that all girls are destined to make. get a little too drunk at a bachelorette party and bring some sexy guy from the bar back to your shitty studio apartment. have wild, amazing sex that you remember forever, and wake up with many, many regrets. such is the life of a twenty-something in new york, right?

for frank, it was a shameful mistake. after years of celibacy, he'd broken his vow after one too many drinks got him tangled up in your sheets. it’s not quite forgivable or cute to get sloppy drunk and fuck a girl half your age when you’re forty. 

a mess either way, your night of passion with frank was something you certainly would never forget.

after all, your four year old daughter wouldn’t let you.

your shiny new mba from nyu was supposed to launch your career into the god damn stars. you were a top candidate for any job you could set your mind to, graduating top of your class with an impeccable gpa and offers before you even graduated.

what they conveniently don’t teach you at stern is how hard it is to become a kick-ass business woman with a newborn baby and too many student loans to hire a full-time nanny.

so you took your mba and became a barista. 

at least it’s honest work. you have that comfort. you make just enough money to scrape by and keep your perfect angel alive–as well as your dream that one day you’ll catch up and use that degree for something other than wall decor.

despite having literally thrown your prospects out the window in one passion-filled evening, you can’t bring yourself to say you regret it. why? because shelby is every parent’s dream. silly and sweet, but still well-behaved when it counts. talkative but a good listener, and considerate and friendly. she's also just absolutely adorable, all chubby cheeks and dark hair and eyes just like yours.

she is perfect.

her daddy? not so much.

you didn’t exactly know what to expect from frank. it took you forever to even track him down after finding the news…lurking around the bar you met him, drinking arnold palmers and ice water by yourself, until you finally saw him again. you were surprised the man even recognized you, and even more surprised that he didn’t immediately flee the premises. (that’s what a single girl comes to expect from men who duck out before she even wakes up.)

frank was as friendly as he could be when you approached him. he was obviously uneasy to see you, but his vague caution was quickly replaced by pale-faced horror when you revealed the swell of your five-month pregnant belly under your jacket. he didn’t even believe she was his at first, thought you were trying to make him a sucker. he was still vaguely suspicious when you insisted you hadn’t slept with anyone but him in ages, but he didn’t call you a liar again, for whatever that was worth.

eventually, you convinced him that you weren't some crazy scammer, gave him your phone number, and promised you'd only contact him if you really needed to. he seemed happy with that deal, if not a little bewildered, as you downed your third non-alcoholic beverage and left the bar.

and that was all you saw of frank castle. until...

you were staying with a friend during a period between apartments, when you realized you had a prenatal appointment in thirty minutes that was at least 45 by public transit. with no other ideas, you called frank. he’d been slightly apprehensive, but your desperation must’ve been clear, because next thing you knew, he was outside your building in a gigantic black van. 

you didn’t ask about the worrisome amount of firearms in his truck, and he returned the favor by not asking why you had no one else to call.

frank was actually really sweet at the appointment. you expected him to just leave after dropping you off, but he seemed vaguely offended at the suggestion. ‘what? fuck no, sweetheart, what kinda guy do you think i am?’ you’d responded to that question with a look that told him exactly what kinda guy you thought he was, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his sheepish shrug.

he’d stayed close, holding your purse, insisting you take the elevator and not the stairs. he didn’t correct the nurse when she called him your husband. he’d watched the ultrasound with a complicated expression you wouldn’t get out of your head for days. something soft and conflicted with an unmistakable wetness to his eyes before he cleared his throat and didn’t look up from the floor for the rest of the appointment.

he was quiet for most of the drive home. you can’t remember what prompted you to ask, but after you did, he told you a little bit more about himself. about his history. about who he was. maybe he felt the need to explain all the weapons in his vehicle. maybe the appointment left him feeling vulnerable. maybe a part of him liked you enough to trust you, or trusted you enough to like you. you vaguely remembered hearing about his big court case years ago, but it had happened when you were in high school, so you hadn’t been 100% tapped into the current events. (frank, unsurprisingly, did not seem happy to hear that you were in high school when that happened.) 

for whatever reason, you told frank you weren’t afraid of him. you told him you’d rather keep in touch a little bit than pretend you don’t know who the father of your baby is.

he waited until he pulled up outside of your building to give you a kiss on the temple and a promise that he’d pick up if and when you called.

and that was all you saw of frank castle. until...

your baby was born. you shot him the occasional text when you had appointments and such, none of which got a response. irritated at how he’d broken his promise, you almost didn’t even tell him when your baby was coming. but you knew you probably shouldn’t deprive him of at least that knowledge, and the opportunity to be there if he wanted to. and maybe part of you wanted him there…it wasn’t a crime, nor was it a coincidence you hadn’t even entertained another man since that stupid bachelorette.

and, to your surprise and delight, he showed up. he held an awkward conversation with your less-than-pleased mother, and held your hand like a boyfriend when you pushed your baby girl into the world.

when shelby was born, frank got slightly better. he didn’t…clean up his act, or whatever, or move in with you, or get a real job, or show up more than a few times a month, but he was softer with you. he dropped by when he could, usually bringing some money, and if not, at least dinner. 

frank seemed to care for his daughter. she liked him, too. called him daddy and everything, and you pretended not to notice how the word made him flinch every time.

to your surprise, the older shelbs got, the more frequently frank came around. you’d expected the opposite…he’d pretend to care and try to be an active father for the first few years before slowly fading away. but that wasn’t frank. you guessed it had something to do with his personal life, which you knew better than to question. maybe his life was getting simpler. he seemed to be going through something when you first met him, but now, over five years later, things seemed to be calming down. you knew he did some crime-fighting vigilante shit, and in the past few months, the hero spider-man had been much more active in the city. maybe his work was becoming obsolete.

either way, frank was a more frequent figure in your house. so much so that you’d given the man a key and added him to the list of people who can pick shelby up from preschool. you had a few rules, obviously, no guns in the apartment or anywhere around your daughter, no cursing, no driving with shelby in his truck…but frank had no problems with those rules. he was happier than you’d ever seen him with shelby, even if a cloud occasionally passed over him when she did or said certain things.

all that shit brought you right here. it's been weeks since you've heard from frank. you were promoted to manager at the coffee shop, but were too busy to celebrate in any way other than ice cream with shelby after dinner. you had considered texting frank the news, but thought better if it. 

you’re watching the news when the doorbell rings. something about spider-man being back on his feet after ending up in the hospital with a gunshot wound.

the loud echo of the bell through the apartment makes you wince. you’d just gotten shelby down for a nap after pre-k, after almost an hour of begging for more cartoons or another story. your apartment was a mess of books she’d thrown all over the floor in an attempt to make you read just one more.

you’re exhausted, and you feel like you’ve fused with the couch despite just lying down ten minutes ago.

“go away…” you whisper half-heartedly, closing your eyes.

a knock answers your plea.

“alright, i’m coming,” you complain, groaning as you push yourself off of the couch. you drag your feet all the way to the peep hole, ready to tell off some neighbor for bothering you. you almost pass out at the sight of frank, looking comically large in the tiny stairwell, eyeing your door nervously.

he lifts his hand to knock again, when you open the door, still wide-eyed and gaping.

“hey,” he says weakly. his face is a little torn up, scratches on his cheekbone and forehead. 

“hey,” you echo, staring up at him. it’s been three and a half weeks since he last came over, with one text two weeks ago letting you know he was alive. 

you quickly step aside, letting him in. he ducks inside and carefully takes his boots off right next to the door. 

“shelby?” he asks quietly.

“napping,” you respond, running a hand through your hair. you give him a little attitude for good measure–no matter how relieved you are to see him, you can’t let him off easy. “if i’d known you were coming…”

his jaw jumps, but he doesn't defend himself. “yeah, sorry. been a weird couple a’days.”

you hum. “you have a lot of those. weird days.” you’re reaching up to touch his face before thinking twice. he doesn’t flinch away from your touch, but he does look at you like you’re a little crazy. It’s certainly not the worst look he’s given you, and you ignore it.

he grunts in response to your comment, turning his face slightly to hide his injuries from you.

“let me get you something for those,” you insist, releasing him and starting towards the bathroom. 

“aw, no, c’mon,” he huffs, trailing after you. “jus’ leave it, please. come on.”

you ignore him. he’s whinier than your four year old. it’s not hard to get him seated on the toilet, you standing in front of him, fixing up his cuts. they’re already scabbed over, but you disinfect them anyway. he bats your hands away a few times, but all it takes are a few stern looks before he’s reduced to only the occasional growl.

“you shouldn’t have come over here looking like a thug if you didn’t want me to clean you up,” you grumble. “you think shelby wants to see you like this? it’ll scare her.”

chastised, he stops complaining.

with a sigh, you finish cleaning his cuts and start rooting through your messy first aid kit for bandaids of the right size. “so…tell me about your weird days.”

his jaw jumps under your hand. “nah, girl, that’s not for you t’worry about, c’mon.”

“frank.”

“when have i ever brought ya into my business?”

“it’s been almost a month, i think it’s become my business.”

he says your name warningly.

you don’t back down. “don’t make me pull the struggling baby momma card, frank, ‘cause i will.”

he sighs heavily but concedes. over the years, you’ve learned more about frank’s work. you know who he associates with–he told you so you know who is safe to contact in case of an emergency. you know a couple of the people he’s brought down, but not much more than that.

“fuckin’…spider-man thing,” he mumbles out. “been followin’ that? on the news n’ shit?”

you recall the news story you’d been watching before he came in. “uh, yeah, i saw it. and the whole…frozen forcefield thing, too.” you frown, pulling back from the kit. “don’t tell me you were mixed up in that?”

he looks to the side, shrugging, with a short grunt.

you exhale. “shit, frank. i’m glad you’re okay. that’s…scary.”

“nah, it ain't anything serious,” he grumbles.

bullshit, but you don't call him on it. not yet.

“so... you know spider-man?”

you notice how his eyes soften imperceptibly. “uh, yeah. nice kid. i was…helpin’ him out.”

“i see…” you hum, selecting a couple butterfly bandages from the kit, trying to recall what you remember from the news story. your hands pause, and you pull back again. “wait, did you fight the fucking hulk?”

he huffs, but almost looks smug, crossing his arms over his chest. “uh. yeah.”

“jesus,” you mumble out, surprised. “that’s insane, frank. i’m surprised you’re not a… punisher pancake.”

he doesn’t laugh at your joke, and you roll your eyes. the man hates fun.

 “whatever. it’s not even that, it’s…what happened after,” he says carefully, meeting your eyes.

“after?”

he nods, tilting his head so you can put the bandages on. you’re leaning awkwardly over him, so he huffs slightly, spreading his legs wide for you to stand in between them. you don’t think much about it, even as his warmth radiates towards you.

it takes him a while to keep talking, but you don’t push. you’ve already gotten more out of him than you expected, after all. he sighs. “i… dunno how much i should tell you, but i guess it’s fine. it was some kid, some girl, doing some voodoo shit who froze all those people. i thought she was…a bad kid. pe–” he chokes, clearing his throat. “uh, the kid, spider-man, he knew better. knew the girl just needed someone there for her, or some soft shit like that.” his irritation spikes, but he reins it in. he almost looks guilty. “he…tried to tell me. i didn’t listen. went up on a rooftop outside the radius n’shot a .50 cal right at that little girl.”

you can’t help but gasp, hands freezing on his face. you regret it, from how he flinches, guilt flickering in his expression, but you couldn’t control your reaction.

“he…spider-man, he sensed it, n’moved in the way. i shot him, instead. it was me, i’m the one who got him in that fuckin’ hospital.”

you look at him. he’s torn up about this, you can tell, even as he masks most of his emotions. your hand moves to his hair. 

he leans into your touch for a moment, eyes almost glassy, before he seems to snap back to himself. he knocks your hand away, panic and something angry flashing across his face. he stands up so quickly that his shoulder knocks the first aid kit that had been balancing on the tank. you stumble back, startled by how fast he’d moved, how big he is, filling the bathroom.

he grits his teeth. “fuck. i stayed in that hospital for days, n’ i couldn’t leave, just…couldn’t. i was so worried, about him, about you–”

“me?” you asked, still shrinking away from him.

“yes, you, you and shelby. fuck, i- i thought maybe she’d found you, or you’d been hurt, or you’d been fuckin’ around in the city and were in that- that- frozen…shit, i though something happened to our little girl, and i jus’ wanted to text you, or go to you, but i was so fuckin’ scared you wouldn’t…i just, i…i didn’t know what to say, and i just almost killed that fuckin’ boy, sweet, innocent kid who was just tryin’ to help, and maybe i didn’t deserve to see you after that, or maybe i’m too fucked up, and shelby isn’t safe, and maybe–”

he’s rambling, hands raking through his hair. you don’t know what to do. you don’t know how to make him stop spiraling. you’re bad at this shit, you’ve never claimed to be good.

but you have to do something.

you move in, lashes fluttering, and reach for his face–

–and slap him. hard.

he freezes, staring down at you.

your hands fly to cover your mouth. “fuck, i’m sorry. frank, fuck. sorry.”

he blinks a couple times and rubs his cheek. 

“you were flipping out, and– i don’t know, i didn’t want you to go crazy. not–! that i thought you were going to go crazy, i just…” 

you need to explain. you need him to understand. you’re fucking frustrated, frustrated that he thinks that way, frustrated that this is his stupid reason for staying away from your and your daughter. you cross your arms over your chest and glower.

 “i’m sorry, it’s just absolute fucking bullshit. you think if you were so fucked up you’d carry some kid to a hospital and stay there for days? you think if you were some…some monster, you’d be this torn up about this? i’m sorry, frank, but fuck no. fuck that. that’s crap. and it’s the dumbest fucking reason i’ve ever heard for stayin’ away from your kid. quit punishing yourself and grow the fuck up.”

your words are met with silence. you think he’s probably mad. hell, you expect it. but you don’t back down. it’s something you think he needed to hear.

when he finally speaks again, his voice is rough. you realize very suddenly that you got all up in his face…and you’re very close. he gazes down at you intensely. “you know, s’not how i expected you to shut me up.” 

he’s warm. and really close. 

you and frank have shared the occasional longing glance over years of joint (generous) parenting, but never anything more. it has been strictly business. but shit if you don’t feel like an eager twenty-three year old again, looking at him for the first time.

his palm slides up your side and you suppress a shiver.

“yeah?” you say, voice coming out weaker than you expected. “what did you expect?”

he dips his head. 

“how ‘bout i show you?”

he’s as good at kissing as you remember. his hand slides to the small of your back, radiating warmth. the other one slides up your bare arm to cup your jaw. he practically dips you back, supporting with his hand on your back, devouring your mouth. 

you’re not twenty-three, though. you’re a mother, and a grown woman, who had self-control.

“frank,” you mumble. he hums softly against your mouth, licking at your lips, but you don’t let him in. your hands on his chest push lightly until he pulls back with an irritated grumble. “do you really think this is a good idea?”

“you’re the best idea i’ve ever had,” he growls against your mouth before going to kiss you again.

you turn so his lips find your cheek instead, and you give him a serious look. “uncharacteristically romantic sentiment aside, your last best idea got me pregnant.”

“and?” he fires back. “shelby is fuckin’ amazing.”

complimenting your baby? yeah, he knows the way to your heart.

you smile and pull him back to your mouth. “you’re annoying.”

“yea? you like me.” he kisses you, hands sliding to the backs of your thighs and picking you straight up off the tile. your ankles cross behind his ass and you give it a kick like he’s a horse. he snorts.

“hey. did you…seriously get turned on…by me slapping you?” you breathe out in between kisses.

“maybe,” he grumbles, hoisting you higher up, pulling a quiet shriek from you. he buries his face in your neck, pressing wet kisses to your skin. his mouth slowly travels down, between your breasts, as far as he can go with the restricting neckline of your tank top. you sigh, nails raking through his hair as he starts to walk, bumping into every wall trying to make it blindly to your bedroom. 

you know he's probably just distracting himself with you. fucking you instead of facing how he feels about the whole situation, instead of explaining why the hell he came here.

you wonder if this was his plan the whole time. if he knew as he rang the bell that he was gonna get you under him one way or another.

but, like a naive girl, you let yourself be convinced that it isn't that. with his hands on you, it's not hard to pretend he loves you.

he slams his shoulder hard into your doorframe and rips away from you. “motherfucker!”

you smack your hand over his mouth, incredulous. you hiss, keeping your voice down. “frank! baby! is sleeping! shut the fuck up!”

“m’sorry.” he winces and gives you an apologetic kiss, nose bumping against yours. 

and you can’t help but accept the apology, arms curling back around his neck as his tongue curls into your mouth. he’s careful as he stretches you out on your unmade bed, his lips trailing down your neck. you giggle as his stubble tickles your skin. you feel thick fingers sliding under your tank top, pushing it out of their way. 

you need him to move faster. if he doesn’t get on with it, you might chicken out.

“lift those shoulders f'me, mama…”

you do what he asks, and he tugs the top up and over your head. you’re wearing possible the least sexy bra you own. a cup size too big, from when your boobs were a bit larger, in a greyish-nude color with a couple bleach stains and fraying seams. you’d be embarrassed if frank paid the underwear any mind–he just shoves his hands under your back enough to flick the clasp open and yank it off, revealing your bare chest. the lights are off in your room, but he can see well enough. he lets out a breathless groan.

“so fuckin’ sexy,” he whispers hoarsely. “should’a been doing this for fuckin’ years, baby. even better than i remember.”

last time he saw you like this, you were basically a damn kid. no clue about what was coming your way. no clue who the man on top of you really was. 

“wanna see you, too,” you murmur. “shirt. off.”

“bossy, too,” he responds. “that’s new. you were such a good girl for me back then.”

you glare, gripping the front of his shirt and pulling until the fabric groans in protest, close to ripping. he quickly untangles your fingers from the fabric and yanks his shirt over his head, biceps flexing. you almost drool. you just can’t help it. every plane of muscle is sharp and toned. a tapestry of scars, old and new, each holding a story that he will probably never tell you. you lift your hand and it pressed against his sternum. you feel his heart thundering. he wants you just as bad as you want him.

he doesn’t let you look for too long, however, as he drops his mouth to your newly exposed chest. your head tips back, lips parting in a moan as his tongue swirls around your nipple. he’s growling into you, hands skimming up and down your sides like he can’t get enough of your soft skin. your hands return to his hair, scratching and pulling. 

“oh, frank.”

his tongue rakes over your sensitive tits, relentless. it’s hot, but every time he switches to the other side, his spit cools and you can’t help but shiver. you’re becoming uncomfortably wet under your tiny shorts, squirming underneath him in an attempt to rub your thighs together and relieve some of the ache his touch is causing.

he notices the motion because of course he does, and pulls back. he drops a kiss to your open mouth before trailing small pecks down, between your breasts, down your center. he pauses there for a moment before looking up, chin resting on your tummy. 

“wanna know my biggest regret?” he says gruffly.

“not really,” you gasp, eyes narrowing at him. “i’d rather you get on with the main event. but keep the volume down.”

he doesn't acknowledge your snark. “i’ve thought for five years ‘bout that night, havin’ you, and every time, i kick myself that i didn’t take my chance to taste this pussy.”

his voice is so low, rumbling through you. you want to snap back with something sharp, something funny, but all you can do is whine softly as he slides his callused hands up your thighs. you haven’t shaved your legs, you immediately realize, but he doesn’t seem bothered. he’s preoccupied with cramming his face in between your legs. his nose rubs against your cunt through your shorts, and he inhales obscenely. 

“fuck,” he spits, hopelessly aroused. you see him jerk his hips against your mattress, and it somehow gets you even wetter.

“fuck!” you echo as he yanks your shorts down, no longer patient. 

he freezes with his face an inch away from the sticky gusset of your panties. “you gonna gimme my wish, baby? you gonna let me make up for lost time?”

“yes,” you sob out.

he licks you hard through the cotton. perfectly un-sexy white cotton panties to match your perfectly un-sexy bra from earlier. this time, you don’t even notice your unfortunate underwear choice.

his thick fingers grip the fabric, and they rip it right down the middle.

you squeak, legs kicking out in surprise, catching him in the gut. he doesn’t even react, catching your flailing legs in an iron-strong grip and pinning them to the mattress. his tongue is just exploratory at first, mapping out your pussy like he’s trying to get familiar. but he quickly gets bored of that, sucking softly on your clit until you’re whining, then slurping up the mess he made. his hand travels from your ankle to your clit, circling it hard and fast. he fucks as much of his tongue as he can into your cunt, groaning like he’s the one feeling the pleasure. his jaw must be cramping, but he doesn't slow. your foot braces on his scarred shoulder, just holding on for dear life.

“taste so good,” he hisses. “you wanna come like this, or you want me to fuck you?”

you can’t even comprehend his words, let alone your own feelings. all you know is you want more of him, closer, deeper. so you nod like a bobblehead. 

“no, baby, m’gonna need words.”

fuck this guy.

you whine. “ohhh fuck. pl…please fuck me, frank, please.”

he grins proudly against your pussy. “good job, baby.”

and he curls two fingers deep into you.

“oh, fuck,” you sob.

“you got it, beautiful girl,” he murmurs, kissing the crease of your thigh. “you can do it, i know you can.”

his fingers are thick, but not nearly as thick as you know his cock is going to be. it strikes you suddenly that frank is the last guy who had his dick in you, and that was years ago. suddenly a little scared, your hand flies to grip his wrist.

he stops at the touch. “baby? wha’s wrong..?”

“um, um. just- just careful,” you choke. “careful, please.”

he chuckles gruffly. “aw, cute. yea, you don’t have t’worry, mama. i’ll take good care of you.”

you move your hand on his wrist up to the back of his neck and pull him up your body to kiss you again. his fingers keep moving, slow and so, so deep in your pussy. stretching, getting you ready. the heel of his palm grinds against your clit, sending sparks of delicious pleasure through your body. three fingers is as far as you get before you’re yanking at his hair, begging for him to fuck you.

his voice is almost smug. “yeah, yeah, my girl. i’m gonna fuck you, don’t you worry…”

you yelp at the emptiness when he pulls his fingers out of you, shamelessly licking them clean one at a time before ducking down to kiss you. that’s all the distraction you get from the thick head of his cock notching into your cunt and slowly pushing in.

despite the stretching from his fingers, it’s still a lot. you whine, eyes squeezing shut. 

“so…fuckin’... tight,” he gasps. one of his hands is pressed against your abdomen, but you notice the other is repeatedly hitting a prominent scar on his abdomen. like he’s hurting himself to distract his mind from the blinding pleasure of finally feeling you again. “how many… lucky motherfuckers got to f..feel this pussy after…me?”

you don’t want to answer. you want to lie and say 100 motherfuckers. you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. but you just tell him.

“no one,” you choke. “no one at all.”

he groans. “fuuuck. waitin’ just for me, baby? waitin’ for frankie?”

not really. single motherhood didn’t leave much time for meaningless hookups. but you’re so fucked out that you’d, embarrassingly enough, probably agree to anything. so you just nod desperately. “yeah, yes, fuck. waiting for you.”

he fucks deeper into you and hisses. he’s fucking huge, so big it hurts, but you don’t want him to stop. it’s the closest you’ve felt to anyone in ages. you’re both here, together, connected in this moment, experiencing the most exquisite, painful pleasure imaginable.

“fuck, just give it to me,” you whisper, forcibly keeping your voice down. “i can take it, frank–”

he shakes his head, arms shaking with the restraint it’s taking him to not slam into you. “no, mama, don’ wanna hurt you, ok? lemme handle it. i’ll handle it.”

his hand curls around your outer thigh and hikes it up over his hip, opening you more so he slides in another couple inches. you dig your nails into his shoulders and sob, but it’s not pain. well, maybe it is, but it’s just so much more than that. it’s pain, but more than that, it’s need, a deep, desperate need for intimacy, even beyond just this physical connection. it’s a cry for his ears only, a plea.

whether or not he receives it is unclear, as he smacks a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet and focuses on not blowing his load from the feeling of each tear slipping down your cheek and touching his fingers.

“i need you to fuck me, frank,” you gasp. “i need it.”

he curses, eyes flashing with something deeper than lust. desperation, or guilt. “you gotta tell me if it’s too much. please.”

but you’re sick of the faux-soft bullshit, you know he wants to be fucking you into this bed. if he won't, you will. so you kick him off, knocking him onto his back, crawl over his lap, and sink all the way down until your thighs touch his in one swoop.

it’s like a fucking spear shoving through you, hot and horrible and exactly the pain your brain needs to shut the hell up for one second. your mind goes blissfully blank in that moment, just white-hot pain and pleasure shooting from your center all the way to the tips of your fingers.

frank is not faring much better, his head thrown back against your pillow, eyes squeezed shut. “ohh, fuck. oh fuck.”

you tuck your knees on either side of him and push yourself up on your hands, braced on his chest, and you start to move. at first, just shallow rocks of your hips, gasping softly at each spark shooting through you, but you quickly get bold. you need something, and you’re going to take it. 

luckily for you, you have a very willing partner. it’s not long before his hands are gripping your ass and lifting you up and down on his cock, helping you bounce. his moans are low and restrained, and you struggle to do the same. each drag of his cock through you is torture, and each slam of his tip against your most sensitive spot is ecstasy. it’s not long before you’ve lost control of the pace entirely and you’re just moving, frank thrusting up into you, your hands gripping anything they can find, your name on his lips.

“i’m close, frank,” you squeeze out between moans, sparks collecting in the corners of your vision.

he nods hurriedly. “yeah, baby? give it to me.”

frank just fucks up into you harder, faster, your clit slamming too hard into his pubic bone with each thrust. you collapse forward against his chest, biting down hard onto his shoulder to muffle the sound as you come, long and hard, vision whiting out.

you stay slumped against him, but frank is still going. you vaguely register the movement, a twinge of pain from the overstimulation, but you don’t tell him to stop. you just cling to him.

“m’gonna come, baby, m’gonna come.”

your mind picks out those words through the haze of pleasure, and you go cold for one moment.

mustering the last of your strength you sit up, topple sideways, and roll onto your back, pulling him with you. he almost slips out of you from all the movement, but manages to stay partially inside of you, so when you’re settled back under him, he’s able to get right back to it. 

“y’gotta pull out,” you mumble. “frank, you hear me? we can’t do this again–”

he groans, head throwing back. “oh, fuuuck.”

“frank, pull out–”

he curses, frantically ripping himself away from you. your fist immediately finds his cock and you jerk him, once, twice, and then he’s coming, long, and there’s just so fucking much of it. It flows past your hand and you release him, letting the last few spurts land on your stomach.

he collapses on the mattress next to you, taking heaving breaths. you turn onto your side, fitting perfectly against him, eyes stinging. you want to say something, but you don’t.

you just breathe him in for what could be minutes or hours. your face is smushed into his neck, limbs splayed over his. he smells so good, you could cry. deliciously masculine in a way you don’t know how to describe. like a missing piece, something you’ve been craving for five years.

eventually, he stirs. “gotta get you cleaned up…” he effortlessly scoops your naked body up into his arms. he carries you back to the bathroom, kicking the spilled band-aids and medicine bottles aside so he can set you on the toilet. Once you’ve peed, he carefully wipes up his mess.

“clothes?” he asks gruffly. it’s the first word.

you smile shyly. “closet’s in the bedroom.”

he disappears for just a moment and returns, fully dressed with a t-shirt and sweatpants. he helps you into them, hands carefully skimming over every bruise or bite mark left on your body. you reach up and fix his hair, which is in all sorts of disarray from your hands.

he isn’t smiling, but he looks almost peaceful. once you’re all cleaned up, he sighs and steps away. “you okay?”

“peachy,” you laugh, surprisingly energized.

he exhales softly, pulling you back into his arms. “that was really…nice, baby. thank you. an’ thanks for the er...reality check, too.”

you feel something deep within you, which has been cold for a while, warm up. you don’t know how to respond, so you nervously change the subject. “we can…watch tv or something, until shelby wakes up?” you offer, gesturing towards the little living area at the front of the apartment. it’s not much, a couch and a tv and a mountain of toys, but it’s more than enough.

frank nods, reluctantly releasing you to move through the studio. he steps across the threshold, looking around. shame floods your cheeks, you hadn’t been expecting visitors, and it’s a bit of a disaster. you’d both been in a bit of a rush to get to the bedroom, so you hadn’t stepped foot in here, but the little living room is the worst of the mess. 

you kick some unfolded laundry behind the couch, but a baby pink lace bra loops onto your foot and you make a show of kicking it off.

a smile quirks frank’s lips at the sight. “pink. cute. wouldn’t mind seein’ that one on.”

you roll your eyes. you wish you’d been wearing something like this…of course, the day frank comes over and decides to seduce you, you’d been in your frumpiest clothes. “hah. in your dreams.”

“nah, i mostly dream 'bout seein' what's under somethin' like that. dream came true, half hour or so ago..."

you give him a shove. he laughs. You look down at the little toddler-induced tornado of books and toys scattering the floor, and wince, hurrying to pick them up and hopefully clear a path for him to make it to the couch without tripping. “sorry about the mess. didn’t think you’d be over today.”

“you usually cleanin’ up just for me?” he teases, squatting down to help pick up shelby’s things. his smile grows when you laugh…

…and disappears just as quickly as he picks up a little picture book.

you look over when he goes silent, confused. you hum, recognizing the cover, one you got not too long ago.

“oh, that’s one of shelby’s favorites. it’s cute,” you say sheepishly, walking over to him. he’s still as a statue. you repeat the rhythmic words of the picture book, memorized from the amount of times shelby requested it before bed. “one batch, two batch…”

it’s as if your words were a gunshot from how hard he flinches. 

you quickly take the book from him, glancing at the cartoon bears on the cover. in your embarrassed flurry to tidy up all the baby stuff in the apartment, you miss how shaken he looks. “we went to some book store a couple weeks ago…shelbs wouldn’t leave ‘till we brought it home.”

once the books are tidied, you look at frank. he’s still crouched on your floor, looking at his hands where the book used to be.

“frank?” you ask slowly. “you…doing okay? you look kinda pale.”

he lets out a shuddering breath, and when he looks up, he’s…crying? you drop your armful of plushies and hurry to his side, quickly taking hold of his arm.

“jesus, frank-”

he shakes you off, roughly rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. 

“i gotta- uh, go. i need to go.”

you frown, following after him as he stumbles towards the door. “what? shelby will want to see you, frank, she’ll be up from her nap really soon, i’m sure-”

“no, no, i should go-”

irritation flares within you despite your instinct that he’s struggling. this is the first time he’s been around in weeks. he just fucked the shit out of you, and everything seemed good. for a second, you thought he would stay. god, you feel stupid. what did having sex with him even solve? all you’ve done is give him a way to avoid responding to all the shit you called him out on, before you went full teenager and got distracted by his tongue. you went ahead and let him make a fool out of you, again. getting all sappy and emotional, look where that got you. alone, like always. that soft part of you that warmed goes cold again.

now he’s freaking out. you assume it’s your fault, it all probably feels too domestic or too much like a real family or some shit that the man can’t handle. that hurts, more proof he doesn’t really care enough about you to stay, but fuck your feelings about it. this isn’t about you. it’s about shelby. his daughter. she’d been asking for him every day for ages. how are you meant to explain that daddy came by, but didn’t want to see her?

“it’ll break her heart, you know,” you snap, standing firm behind him. “she’s been begging to see you. i’m running out of creative, child-friendly ways to call you a fuckin' deadbeat.”

he doesn’t get upset like you expected, or maybe even hoped. your prefer anything over this frantic sadness. but no, he just pauses, his massive form filling up the doorframe. He’s very still, so still you’d be afraid he was about to hit you if you didn’t know better.

your anger seeps away the longer he stands there, leaving a crushing emptiness. yelling at him, calling him names, won't change anything. won't change the fucked up situation, or his fucked up life, or your fucked up relationship. the only thing that hasn't been fucked up, that you refuse to let be fucked up, is your daughter.

you take a breath meant to calm yourself down a bit before you speak again. “she misses you, frank."

he lets out a soft sound, like a wounded animal.

you continue.

"honestly. she asks when she’s gonna see daddy almost every day.” emotion enters your voice before you mean for it to. “i’m sorry if i’m being too much, or pushing you away. or being too clingy, or too bitchy. or whatever it is that bugs you. i should’ve kept it in my pants, i know, we fucked up, and i know. i try to do everything for my daughter, but i fucked up, and i'm sorry. i don’t know how to deal with all of this. i like you, frank, even when i don’t hear from you for weeks. even if you don't...like me. or want me. or whatever. i'm a grownup, frank, i can live with it if you don't love me."

you let out a shuddering exhale.

"...but don’t make shelby live with that. she really, really loves you.”

he just turns, still a bit shaky, and looks down at you. the sight of him almost makes you sob. you’ve never seen him so emotional. there’s a lifetime of misery and guilt and loneliness in his eyes as he slowly closes the door and moves back to you.

he doesn’t grab you, or sob, or anything dramatic. his massive, fucked-up hand finds you, and his fingers loosely link with yours.

“i’m sorry,” is all he says. 

you want to ask him what for. you want to scream, or cry, or hit him, or kiss him, or bring him back to bed. you want everything and nothing to do with him, and it’s outrageously painful. so you just nod, noticing how he’s gone blurry from the tears filling your eyes.

he doesn’t explain yet. you don’t ask him to.

you quietly make mac n cheese from the box, as he washes each dish as soon as you're done with it. when shelby wakes up, you all have dinner together, mac n cheese and leftover salad from last night. shelby is so happy to see her daddy that you almost cry again. you don’t say much else that evening, you don’t even get the chance. shelby spends all of dinner and beyond telling frank every hour of her life that he missed over the past few weeks. 

you don’t mention how you almost look like a family. from the way frank’s eyes go distant again, you know you don’t have to.

eventually, shelby tires herself out after hours of talking.

“bedtime, shelbs,” you say softly. 

she looks up from where she’d sleepily melted into frank’s chest on the couch eyes bleary. despite her obvious exhaustion, she is quick to complain.

“no,” shelby whines. “don’t wanna go to bed…wanna stay up with daddy…”

you don’t look at frank as you speak. “you’ll see him again soon, baby girl.” you’re too scared that you’ll see a reaction to those words that you don’t like. “you need to go to bed.”

shelby pouts, about to protest again, when frank scoops her up. he’s smiling, that special little smile he reserves for her. 

“hey, how about this, baby? i’ll come back in th’morning, and we can have breakfast together, and you can keep tellin’ me about your new game from the park. and then, if it’s okay with your mama, i’ll take you t’school. how’s that?

his words floor you. coming back...in the morning? you've never in your life seen frank two days in a row. you can't remember a time you saw him twice in one week. but he's doing this. for shelby. you just stare at him as your daughter squeals, celebrating the news.

she asks for a story from frank before bed, and you thank the lord that she doesn’t ask for that one. frank’s voice, low and soothing, sends her to sleep faster than you ever have. you lean against the doorway, cutting a shadow across the fluffy pink carpet, the entire time. when shelby is asleep, frank closes the book like the sound might wake her up. he stands slowly, wincing at the slightest creak of the old floorboards. he creeps over to you, eyes softening, and nodding outside. you give shelby one last look before following him outside. frank closes the door with the utmost care.

you expect him to go straight for the front door. he doesn’t move yet.

“that was nice of you to say,” you mumble. “you can definitely take her to pre-k tomorrow, just–”

“–not in the van,” he finishes for you, voice gruff.

you nod. you’d laugh if you weren’t so confused. you don’t know where you stand, you think he hates you, you think he loves you. either way, he’s sticking around for shelby, which is enough to break your heart and make you love him more. 

“i…” 

you look up at him.

he pauses, seemingly rewording his thoughts in his mind. he’s struggling, you can tell from the scrunch of his brow and the little puppy dog tilt of his head. 

“it’d be… nice,” he starts, struggling to meet your gaze. he almost looks shy. “if i didn’t hafta come back up here in the morning. i wonder if–” he pauses again. corrects himself. almost smiles. “i’d like… to stay. if you’re cool with that. don’t mean t’overstep.”

you look at him. there’s nothing but genuine, if not slightly cautious, hope in his expression. you know he’s taking a chance here. it would be reasonable for you to say no. to get this man, this man who has hurt you, and hurt others, out of your apartment and away from your baby. but you’re not reasonable. no, you’re not, and that’s why you’ve gone and fallen in love with frank castle despite all of that.

you nod. “yeah, yeah, of course… it’ll be good… to see you here in the morning.”

he does that cute little head tilt the other way.

“shelby, i mean,” you clarify. “she’ll be… thrilled, um, so happy, to see you.”

he finally smiles. there’s a tenderness you don’t recall ever seeing from him, at least not directed towards you. 

“you… gonna be happy to see me?”

you swallow, and your throat feels really tight all of a sudden. he steps closer. cautious again, like he might spook you. your pulse is thundering, you’re almost certain he can hear it with how silent the apartment is. with each disappearing inch of space, you can feel the panic you’ve felt all evening loosening its grip on your heart. 

it’s messy, and you have more questions than answers, and you don’t know what the hell is going to happen tomorrow. other than pancakes, and frank, and a big smile from your daughter, the future is extremely unclear. it should scare you. 

but then suddenly, all you can think about his him. how he’d held you gently in your bed, calling you beautiful. how he’d listened patiently for hours to your daughter’s babbling. how sweet and warm he is when he looks at her. how he’d almost cried talking about shooting that boy. 

frank says your name softly. questioning.

you don’t even answer, and then all you can feel is the familiar-unfamiliar warmth of his mouth on yours, and a sudden, overwhelming peace.

.

idk why baby is named shelby, it just typed itself tbh...

kinda unhappy w some of the pacing and transitions of this one but otherwise i rly enjoyed writing itttt ayy hope u all enjoy too

[narcissa-black-supermacy]

i thought the “this is the face that launched a thousand ships, although now it would maybe be five-hundred.” line was just an internet joke but apparently that's a line Menelaus actually says in Nolan's Odyssey??

Not only that the language itself sounds straight out of a marvel forcibly funny haha moment, but Menelaus? The Menelaus who all thoughout human history, from Homer, to Sappho, to Euripides, to Virgil, to Shakespeare, to Brooke, to Barth; from Classical vases to Medieval poetry to Reinessance art, has been known as the man whose sword fell from his hands at the sight of his wife after 10 years apart?

"What joy for me to hold my wife" Menelaus?

"He flung the sword away, and kissed her feet" Menelaus?

"I believe all. I understand nothing. I love you" Menelaus?

"I have no fault to find; my wife, he daughter of Zeus and Leda, is mine again, she whom her brothers on their snow-white steeds, whilst torches blazed, made my happy bride, but gods removed her from my home." Menelaus?

The Menelaus who was picked out of the suitors by Helen herself? The Menelaus who couldn't kill a begging Trojan so his brother had to do it for him? The Menelaus who rescued Odysseus and got out Patroclus' body? The Menelaus who volounteered to fight Paris one on one so everybody could go home? Who kept expressing his guilt about himself being the cause of war through every assembly he spoke at in the Iliad? Who after 10 years away at Troy, took his wife through a 7-year long journey at sea back home, where he reinstated her as the queen of Sparta? Who wept like a child in front of Telemachus recalling the war and his brother and all the friends he lost and the only consolation being his wife' gentle hand on his?

You want me to believe that man scarred Helen's face and called her only worth half the ships because of it?

I'm actually physically sick just thinking about it.

[spiritgardener]

i just went to a family vacation on the beach this past weekend and i couldn't stop thinking that i'd have an even better time if pope cody was there

[spiritgardener]

anyways now i'm writing bgp next chapter!!!:D yayyyy

[spiritgardener]

i just went to a family vacation on the beach this past weekend and i couldn't stop thinking that i'd have an even better time if pope cody was there

[spiritgardener]

ur decision to make brendon as boy dad n reveal his trauma is soo perfectly fit!!! good choice tho, give much love to ur writings, its so beautifully written!!! 💗💗💗

thank youuuu! i know he gives off girl dad vibes, and the whole fandom sees him like that. but because there is so much of that (which i love, btw, don't get me wrong), i wanted to explore the side of him raising a boy.

i think it puts him in a vulnerable position where he can see a baby version of himself in his child more clearly. and this, even if scary at first, will help him realize that there was nothing wrong with him and that he, in fact, deserved to be loved without trying to earn it, just like any kid.

i imagine the first time he lifts his son, still red, wet, and wrinkled, he would think, "oh, he is perfect, how can anyone hurt such a fragile creature??? what do you mean people see a pure baby and still decide to put so much pressure and too many expectations on them??"

it will become his life's mission to make sure his kid only knows happiness and peace—fuck the rest of the world. in other words, I think having a boy will give brendon the opportunity to forgive himself, and i know he needs it.

thank you so much for your kind words! i'm really happy you enjoy my fics!!!!💘

[spiritgardener]

This tik tok https://vm.tiktok.com/ZNREHqowx/ make me think about Brendon when everyone will learn he become a dad and he have now a little shark

YEEES hahahaha! i imagine everyone will tease him with the "baby shark" song (if not the bravest ones out loud, at least among themselves in whispers, but he will find out eventually). what they don't know is that his son is actually and unironically a fan of that song. brendon pretended to be annoyed for a while, but deep down he is smitten because, yeah, he is park the shark and his baby boy is baby shark because he is his. so, whatever.

aaaand the part about "mommy shark"??? YES. because you are also his.

i think the moment he definitively made peace with the song was when dr. abbott told him that now, when brendon comes down to the pitt, the theme song from jaws no longer plays, but rather "baby shark." it was a joke, a side comment, not of much importance.

but for brendon, it was life-changing.

because, yeah, even if he rolls his eyes every time garcia mocks him, saying he is now softer and asking "what happened to the scary shark?" he knows it's true. his newly formed family has softened him, and he feels blessed.

you and your son have shown him the pleasure of a life of tenderness. so what if people sing "baby shark" to him? in fact, the nickname "baby shark" became so commonly used when you and your son visited him at the PTMC that a lot of people don't even know the real name of his kid.

the cherry on top will be when his son repeats the cycle of being "dr. shark," but now as a biologist specializing in marine life, because for me, that's canon in the big girl pants series.

anyway, he still pretends to be annoyed when somebody mentions the song, but he will also come home after his shift, lift his boy up, and ask the room, "how's my baby shark?"

thank you anon!:)

[spiritgardener]

i mean yeah england eliminated mexico but it also made me discover jude bellingham so is that really a loss?

[se7entyrell]

the world was on fire, and no one could save me but you

(titus danforth x reader)

Titus has always been there to protect you. Your entire life. He'll sleep with you, tell you he loves you, but tells his family he's seeing the hottest new socialite in town. You get sick of it, and hit the apps in a desperate attempt to get over him.

But when the guy you're seeing starts to show red flags that make Titus look like the world's most well-adjusted man, you start to worry that you're about to become a statistic.

OR: the one where you go on a date and don't tell titus, before coming to regret the decision immediately

inspired by a true crime tiktok i saw lmao

warnings: 18+, mdni! evil men (not titus), genuine fears of being murdered, reader makes bad choices in this (don't go on hikes with strange men!), dread, there will be smut and violence in the second part w/c: 3.6k

main masterlist // titus danforth masterlist

Keep your location on at all times.

Tell at least one person where you’re going, and where you’re expected to be.

Don’t ever let them take you to a second location. Risk the injuries to stay where you are.

In the event that you are in a second location, leave as much evidence behind as possible. Hair, nails, jewellery. Take pictures and videos if possible, so your phone becomes an asset.

And most importantly: never trust anyone.

You’ve known Titus Danforth your whole life - you’ve loved him, you’ve loathed him, you’ve done everything in between. As one of the lesser Families, you weren’t subjected to quite the same rituals as him. Your family worked to serve the others. Do the grunt work, and be spared from the hunts and challenges.

Protection and networking with the most powerful people in the world.

Your parents hadn’t planned on you falling in love with the Danforth heir.

As teenagers, the Danforth twins sought you out, as one of the only other people their age at each boring dinner party. Ursula became a confidant, Titus a lover.

He was your first everything.

If it had been up to you, he would have been your only everything.

But the third daughter of a second-tier family was never going to cut it. Not when Titus stands to inherit everything once his father passes.

By your twenties, he’s actively seeing other people. In private, he insists that it’s all for show, to appease his father, but you’re not so sure. You’ve seen the paparazzi pictures - full of the most gorgeous women in the world hanging off of his arm each night.

It eats you alive.

Of course, you still come when he calls.

When he turns up on your door, bloodied and bruised from a tough hunt, you tend to his wounds and kiss it better. When he invites himself into your bed, you let him do it each and every time.

When he tries to teach you self-defence, you laugh in his face.

I don’t do hunts.

You might someday.

Your only shot of that happening would be if Titus marries you. An event which looks less and less likely with each passing day. Sure, Titus has never married - unusual for a Family member well into his thirties - but he’s also made no attempt to solidify whatever it is that he has with you.

Instead, he has rules.

If you won’t learn how to throw a punch, you have to know how to keep yourself safe in a world like this. Even knowing Titus puts you at more risk than most people.

And he’d never forgive himself if something happened to you.

*****

You think you’re making the biggest mistake of your life. Ankles crossed, you glance over at Tony, and try to tell yourself that you know him.

You’ve already been out on three dates, you’ve been in his apartment before, and you’ve seen his Instagram account.

He’s not a catfish.

And yet.

After meeting on Hinge and chatting for a few weeks, he’d taken you out for dinner, and things had looked hopeful. You were out to get over Titus once and for all, while he was ready to get back into dating after his divorce a few years back.

When Titus had asked who you were meeting that night, you’d told him it was a friend from college.

The lie tastes bitter in your mouth, but it’s a necessary evil. Titus always gets strange whenever another man is in your life. You didn’t see him for a whole year while you were dating your college boyfriend. Of course, he was on your doorstep the very night that you broke up.

Quite how he knew, you’ll never know.

You’re never going to build something new if he’s hovering over you at all times. Date two with Tony had been at some upscale bar - exactly the kind of place Titus would usually take you. You hate that it makes you like him more.

Date three felt more domestic: a quiet Italian spot downtown where he split his tiramisu with you and told you the truth about his marriage ending. They were on good terms, but after five years together, there was just no spark anymore.

No red flags.

No psychotic exes.

Just a lonely man, looking for companionship. The exact way you are.

"So," Tony had said, setting his wine glass down on the table. "For next time, I’m thinking hike. More of an activity - to see how we gel outside of the wining and dining.”

You’re a little surprised. Tony doesn’t seem like the hiking type. Maybe he’s just trying to appeal to your interests. “Yeah, that would be nice. Any thoughts on which one?”

“Ah, let me surprise you, okay? I know a great one quite nearby. Incredible sunsets.”

An instant alarm goes off in your head, ringing with Titus’s voice. Never let a guy you barely know take you to a second location, let alone isolated woods, without a pin dropped. Unfortunately, your most recent experience with Titus involved watching him stick his tongue down some model’s throat ‘for the sake of appearances’.

You haven’t spoken to him since, despite the many texts and voicemails left.

Titus doesn't get to dictate your safety metrics anymore - not when he’s the one who left you stranded in this emotional limbo.

Patience wearing ever thinner, you consider Tony’s words. “Not even a hint?”

“Wouldn’t that ruin the surprise?”

Over the next week, you tried in vain to get some more information out of him, to no avail. He wouldn’t even tell you what type of terrain it was likely to be.

Sneakers are fine, don’t overthink it.

He’s picking you up at 4:00 AM, so that by the time you drive out to the trail, the sun will be beginning to rise, and you can catch the views from the top.

In theory? Super romantic.

Titus only hikes if there’s the promise of murder at the end of it.

Tony has a normal-person job, and you’d be able to leave all the LeBail business behind you with him. Which is how you end up in his car when it’s still dark, trying to discern where he’s taking you. You’re pretty familiar with all the trails in the city’s vicinity, and this highway doesn’t lead towards any of them.

You’re trying to ignore the anxious buzzing in your stomach, making polite conversation until Tony asks, “So, did you tell anyone what you were doing today?”

An answer slips out before you can consider your words. “No.”

Shit. Why did you say that?

“Well, I mean-” You stall a little, unsure of what to say, but suddenly desperate to get out of the car. “Think we could stop for coffee on the way? My treat.”

“Nah,” He shrugs. “I’d rather just get there, if that’s okay - we still have a decent drive, and I don’t want to miss the sunrise.”

Your mind races through the geography of the area, desperate to find a logical explanation for this route. None exists. The highway is empty, swallowed by the thick fog of the pre-dawn hours, and his profile in the dim glow of the dashboard looks sharper and colder than it did over tiramisu.

"So," Tony says, his voice abruptly slicing through the quiet. The sudden shift in tone makes you jump. "You never finished telling me about that project at work. The one with the crazy deadlines?”

"Oh. Right," you lie, your throat dry. You force out a brief anecdote of your awful boss, leaving out how you’d rather be having your worst day at work than be here with him right now.

Five minutes tick by. The road narrows. The highway lines fade from bright white to a weathered, neglected yellow. Every instinct is screaming at you to do something. Anything - before it’s too late.

"Hey, Tony?" you say, keeping your voice light, aiming for casual but landing on brittle. "Actually, could we pull over at the next gas station? Or even just a rest stop? I really need to pee. Especially before we start a hike.”

Tony doesn't look at you. His grip on the steering wheel doesn't shift, his knuckles white against the dark leather.

"Nah, we're making great time right now," he says, a small, dismissive shrug of his shoulder accompanying the words. "There’s nothing out here for miles anyway. You can just do it when we get there. It won't be long.”

The dismissal hits you like a physical blow. You can do it when we get there.

You have to let someone know where you are. But who?

You’re not sure that any of your friends are even awake right now. Except…

Titus.

It always comes back to him. You weigh up your options - the smugness when he realises that he has to come and rescue you again. That he can mingle with movie stars and socialites, while the only men that are interested in you turn out to be losers and psychopaths.

When the alternative is death, the decision seems easy.

You slip your phone out of your pocket, and click on Titus’ number. You don’t even tell Tony you’re making a call.

Come on, you think. Please pick up. Please still be awake.

Please please please please please please-

“Hello?”

His voice is groggy and tinged with sleep, and the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

“Mom!” You say immediately, barely sparing a glance at Tony. You’ve already decided that if Tony is as dangerous as you worry he might be, then phoning another man is not a good idea. “I’m so sorry to call so early, but I saw that you’d called last night.”

“What? It’s Titus, kid. Is everything okay?”

Your heart is thumping against your chest as you will him to catch on. “I know! It’s been too long - but I’m looking forward to seeing you tonight. Just thought I should tell you that Dad’s gift is ready to be picked up. I was thinking maybe you could get it, since I’m hiking today.”

There’s a moment of dead air on the line, and for one agonising second you worry that he’s hung up, or you’ve lost signal. You stare straight out the windshield, watching the headlights cut through the pitch-black void, praying that the sharp, calculating mind that makes Titus so formidable in the LeBail circle is firing through his sleep-deprived haze.

"Hiking," Titus repeats. The grogginess vanishes instantly, replaced by a cold, razor-sharp focus. His tone drops an octave, all business now. "Where exactly are you?"

"Exactly! The weather is supposed to be beautiful," you say, your voice bright, breezy, and entirely unhinged from the terror clawing at your throat. You slide your thumb down the side of the phone, blindly feeling for the volume buttons, desperately trying to click them down so Tony can't catch the low rumble of a man's voice.

"Give me a location," Titus commands. His voice is low, but you can hear the rustle of sheets, the sudden shift of weight as he swings his legs out of bed. "Drop a pin right now if you can. What road are you on?”

“The cell service isn’t great out here, Mom,” You reply, continuing to smile even though your cheeks ache from the effort. “But I’ll try and send some photos! We’re headed east, so I think the views are going to be really great.”

"I can't track your signal," Titus says, his voice cutting through with an urgency that scares you. "The connection is degrading. It's dropping to a single bar. I need landmarks, or you need to get out of-”

“Is everything okay?” Tony interrupts, and you flinch slightly.

“Fine,” You chirp. “Sorry - it’s my dad’s retirement party tonight, and I just needed to tell my mom to go grab his gift.” Turning your attention back to the phone, you swallow. “Gotta go, mom - I’ll call you later? Bye, love you!”

Titus’ voice comes immediately. “Don’t hang up the phone-”

You don’t. Instead, you drop it to your lap, with the screen turned inwards so that Tony can’t see. “Sorry about that.”

Tony’s foot hits the brake, and the sudden deceleration jerks you forward. The car swerves right, leaving the asphalt of the highway behind, replaced by an uneven dirt trail.

"Wow, it’s really dense out here," you say, forcing your voice to stay loud and clear for Titus. "It looks so dark under all these massive oak trees. And that dried-up creek bed back there - is that part of the state park border, or are we on private property now?”

“I own this land with a couple of buddies - that’s why it was such a surprise. Nobody else gets to use these trails, so we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

Great. Your heart sinks a little further.

The car crawls forward another hundred yards before the headlights illuminate a heavy, rusted iron gate blocking the road. A thick chain and a massive padlock hold it shut.

Tony cuts the engine. “Just gotta unlock it.”

He pops the door open, and you consider your chances of making it if you start running now. Probably not great. Through the windshield, you watch his silhouette move into the beam of the headlights, his hands working at the heavy chain.

You whip the phone out of your pocket, bringing up the screen to check the call status, ready to scream a real landmark to Titus.

No signal.

Call failed.

You think you might cry.

All you can do is pray that Titus has enough information to find you. Nails digging into your palms, you force another smile at Tony, as he drives you further into the woods.

After what feels like a lifetime, he pulls into an opening, and you immediately start cataloguing all the information you can.

There’s another truck down at the end - hopefully a vehicle they leave here. Because if it’s not, you potentially have another assailant to deal with. The ground is a pale, hard-packed dirt ringed by towering, skeletal trees that completely shut out the sky. Dead leaves carpet the edges, and directly in the centre of the clearing sits a massive, looming stack of logs. They’re piled easily ten feet high - thick, weathered trunks of pine and oak, rough bark peeling away.

“You bring all the girls up here?” You joke feebly.

“Only the really pretty ones.” He offers a small, boyish grin that, just yesterday, you would have found endearing.

Getting out of the car, you note the direction of the highway. It’s past about fifty metres of woodland, but you hope you could make it in a sprint. Maybe if you catch Tony off-guard. “How long do you think the hike will take?”

“Maybe an hour? Hard to say - but we shouldn’t rush.”

Terrifyingly, the cold Tony of the car ride is gone, and he’s back to date one Anthony. Maybe the LeBail paranoia has finally eroded your sanity, twisting a sweet, outdoor surprise into a psychological thriller. Maybe he really is just a corporate guy who wants to show you a sunrise. Maybe you’ve been mis-reading it all, and actually-

Out of the corner of your eye, peaking out from under the logs, sits a shoe. A New Balance trainer, pale pink, and far too small to be a man’s.

The illusion of Date-One Anthony shatters into a thousand jagged, lethal pieces. The normal job, the Hinge profile, the vulnerable story about his divorce - it was all bait.

"Hey," Tony says, the heavy thud of his car trunk snapping shut behind you. You hear his footsteps crunching on the gravel, moving steadily closer to your back. "I grabbed the backpack. You ready to head down the trail?”

If you were to run now, he would undoubtedly catch you. He’s taller, stronger, and far more familiar with this place than you are. Your only option now is to bide your time. “Shall we take a pre-hike selfie? Compare it to the top?”

Your camera is open already, and you snap a few blurry shots of him. If you don’t make it out of this, at least your evidence might stop it happening to other girls.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary,” He laughs. “We can just do one at the top Ladies first.”

He gestures down the trail, and you have to fight back a wave of nausea. This is it. You’re going to die, all because you wanted to get back at Titus for seeing other women.

What a silly thing to lose your life over.

You’re hyper-aware of each and every footstep, checking for service at every possible second. Still nothing. “I’m actually kind of tired,” You try, one last time. “Didn’t sleep too well-”

“We’re here now.” Tony’s tone invites no conversation.

You turn to keep an eye on the trail behind you, pretending to adjust the collar of your jacket, and the air leaves your lungs completely.

A shadow is moving through the trees. It isn't an animal. It’s a man, wearing a dark canvas jacket, stepping silently off the main dirt track and into the brush, mirroring your pace. The driver of the mud-caked truck.

You have to get out of here. Now.

Biding your time is no longer an option. If you walk any deeper into these woods, you will be sandwiched between them, entirely cut off from the fifty meters of woodland that separates you from the highway.

You don't say another word. You don't make an excuse. You think you might die if you do.

Instead, you pivot on your heel and break into a blind, desperate sprint toward the direction of the highway.

"Whoa, hey! Where are you going?" he calls out, his tone mimicking normal, polite confusion for a split second. But as the distance between you grows, the fake concern twists into a venomous, roaring rage. "Hey! Stop! Get back here!”

You don't look back.

"Marcus!" Tony screams, his heavy footsteps crashing through the brush behind you, terrifyingly fast. "Marcus, she's running! Cut her off! Grab the bitch! I fucking told you she knew something!”

Your lungs burn like hot ash as you charge through the final thicket of briars. The trees begin to thin, and through the tangled branches, you finally see it: the steep, gravel embankment leading up to the highway. You know you only have one shot to get up. Tony is hot on your heels, and any mistakes will mean that you’re not making it out of these woods.

You throw your weight forward, scrambling on all fours, your fingers clawing at the gravel to pull yourself up.

"Get back here!" Tony’s voice is a guttural roar directly behind you.

Just as your hands find the flat edge of the highway shoulder, a hand wraps around your ankle, tugging harshly. His nails dig sharply into your skin, pinning you to the dirt. The sheer terror infuses your muscles with a sudden, feral strength. You twist your body, kicking backward with your free right heel as hard as you can. Your shoe connects squarely with something solid - maybe his nose, maybe his jaw, you don't care.

He grunts, his grip slipping just enough. You wrench your ankle free, scrambling the last two feet over the lip of the embankment and onto the cold, hard pavement of the highway.

You stumble to your feet, spinning around. Tony is already rising over the crest of the hill, his eyes wild, sweat slicking his hair, Marcus just a few paces behind him in the shadows of the treeline. You are trapped on an empty road with nowhere left to run.

And then, a light.

From around the corner, a car appears. It blinds you, but you know that if you can’t get this person to stop, there is no doubt in your mind that Tony and his friend are going to drag you back into the foliage and kill you.

You don’t realise that it’s a Danforth sedan until it screeches to a halt a few feet away, door swinging open immediately.

The moment Titus leaps out of the car, the adrenaline that was keeping your legs moving completely evaporates. Your knees buckle, and you burst into heavy, violent tears, the raw sobbing racking your entire body as the pure terror of the last hour finally crashes down on you.

"Titus, oh my god-"

He closes the distance between you in two long strides, his powerful arms wrapping around you, pulling you tightly against his chest. He holds you with a crushing, protective grip, one hand cupping the back of your head, pressing you into his shoulder.

"I've got you," He mutters, his voice a low, vibrating rumble against your ear, thick with what might be worry? You’re not sure you’ve ever seen Titus worried before, even after twenty-five years of friendship. "I've got you, sweetheart. You're safe."

Safe.

You blink through your tears, looking over his shoulder toward the edge of the embankment where Tony had been standing just a second ago.

The shoulder is empty.

They're gone.

It should fill you with relief, but all you can feel is a complete and utter dread. They're still out there.

mhmmmmm part two perhaps with some smut and titus dealing with tony and marcus?

taglist: @lake222 @speeedybaby @outpostsworld @carson1gg @jeshomie @ifsandbuttscarrotsandnuts @abzidabzy @freakedtfout4 @nicobidd @3-smi @buckystwilight_ @saint-ligeia @lostgirllulu @ilumxna @moleperson3 @reblogging-all-i-read @buttercuppy8 @redhooduwu @leannashort @anna-mana @blueblizzardreview @fallinghardforyoumylove @madprincessinabox @theariespov @15christyxoxo @wolveriene @envious3 @dumblani @eliza7up @milflover-72 @boombopbam @rosetintworld @kbakery @artsymaddie @itzpixiebabe @peachyfckingkeen @disco-ddeaky @redstappen @getitoutofmymindwrites @theshiniestgemstone @tjohn63 @alexxavicry @fishfishcaterpillar @sincerely-yours-marsbar @sir-thisisadndserver @4ria790 @karma104th @staticandcigerettes @proudlyvastlake @little-mini-me-world

[spiritgardener]

this is my big girl pants moodboard! .✦ ⋆.✦ . ⭒

(someone asked for it but i lost the msg sorry!)

my asks are always open:D! btw tell me the two pics on the edges of the middle row doesn't look like lou ferrigno jr??? i actually had to do a double take

[muskats]

i’m not celebrating your weight loss, bitch i wanted to fuck you when you was fat

[spiritgardener]

forever mourning chubby shawn hatosy

[sheepispink]

PT2 to my neglected beta!reader x toxic 141 (excluding simon), gn!reader

WC: 7.7k part 1 here

Simon thought Johnny was bad enough getting into his head and convincing him to indulge in an actual friendship for once. It didn't help either that getting along with Kyle was as easy as making a remark and laughing together over it. The team created a perfect dynamic, almost unstoppable. 

Then came you.

You were always hanging around them, fitting in easily, practically always smiling at his jokes even on missions. Maybe a snide remark back here or there, but it was never more— always balanced. He supposed it was in your nature, as a beta and all, to be perfectly in between like that. Not that Simon was the one to pay much mind to societal matters like that anyway— the battlefield was very different to social gatherings, and the only language he knew was that of violence. It wasn't like he couldn't get by either; it felt like everyone grew up with that small talk ingrained in them from the start. The weather, the latest mission, annoying recruits, the bloody royal family if he really had to. 

So, when he started to notice the change around you, he decided to stay out of it. It was plain obvious you felt disappointed when Johnny got an omega, Simon felt a little pang even if he didn't want to. But he didn't know what that feeling meant, and he sure as hell wasn't going to call you out on it. So, he didn't.

Then it was Kyle, and your scent only grew even more sour. Still, you didn't show it on the outside, so he chose not to comment on it again. He probably never would’ve really— after all, who wants to be ‘comforted’ by someone who can't even fix himself?

When the Sergeants hung out, you were no longer in their little circle, always off somewhere else. He asked Johnny once, why you hadn't gone to watch a movie with them, only for him to just blink at Simon. “Oh— them? Guess we kinda just forgot to invite them. We’re not that close, an’ we got an omega ‘n all now.”

Is that what happens? When an alpha gets an omega? They forget everything they ever knew and just.. lock in on that? Still, Johnnys relationship with him never changed, not like he did with you. Something was wrong about all of this but what was he supposed to do, force the Scot to hang out with you again? This wasnt bloody nursery, besides, matters like this meant nothing with the weight of the nation placed on the team. Well, rather on the four alphas, since he soon learnt you were being taken off their shared missions too. For the first time, he faltered during the briefing with Price.

“You’re not bringing them for this one?” He heard about you being taken off of Johnny’s but this was a whole team mission with your file not in it.

“We have to spread resources efficiently. Technically we dont need them anymore, with two mated alphas. They’ll be placed with the extraction team.”

Ghost wasn't stupid, he knew that part of the reason for you being on the team was because of the regulation effects of having a beta on an all alpha team– it’s the same bias that got him into the SAS anyway. Omega’s never got this high in ranks either. But that’s exactly it, it’s meant to be a part of the reason not enough to throw you off an op.

“When we need to go solo, they’ll be on that op. It’s not that bad, Ghost.” Price reassures him, and all he can do is sigh and nod along. He already anticipated how your scent would tighten upon the news, a hint of sadness seeping in. This time he couldn't help himself– this was something he knew. So, he immediately secured your place the second he received orders of his mission, stationed beside him like you belonged. He’d always been able to recognise the change in scent, from the smallest degree, something that was forced into him at a young age. This time, it was clear you were much happier like this, beside one of the 141, on a mission, doing something.

That he could definitely relate to. He’s no stranger to feeling out of control when he can't contribute to an objective.

Having you beside him had a much better effect than he perceived anyway. Not only were you skilled and efficient, but he felt he just worked better beside you. And so he decided to set up a trip to the pub— give you a chance to hang out with Kyle and Johnny too. He was convinced that they had just gotten to in their heads with their new omegas– a honeymoon phase he supposes.

He kicked himself for not saying more at that fiasco, not forcing Johnny to regret those cruel comments in the moment. But you had already retreated back to your barracks at the end of the night, and he was left staring at your closed door with a chest aching with regret he hasnt felt since he was far smaller. The next day he hounded Johnny until he went to apologise to you, listening from the other side of the door in hopes that’d be enough. Still, he had figured you might’ve still been annoyed after yesterday, wouldn't even blame you really, but instead the acceptance was one of a prey who stopped fighting.  It didn't satisfy the wound in his heart even for a second.

“Why have you denied my team for the next mission?” He stands before Price’s desk, an anger boiling in his chest that he hasn't felt for years. He swore to himself he wouldnt let his happen again.

“You know I'm mated, Simon–”

“But i’m not.” His palms press on the desk as he stares at his Captain, the man who gave him a reason to keep going ever since this force had started. But he cant defend this, not when he’s taking away your purpose. “Price..” 

“If i dont do it now, they’ll force my hand later. It’s a better opportunity for them to work with other teams too–”

“Bullshit.” He knows there’s no more arguing when Price gives him that look. It’s not like you’d be happy in your new omega team– he wouldn't be surprised if you grew envious of them from how their existence had thrown you out of the entire team. He knows something violent would burst if it happened to him. 

————-

There’s a heavy haze on your mind when you try to blink your eyes open, like it’s muddling all your thoughts into one. You’re extremely hungry. 

A small groan escapes you and when you finally open your eyes, it’s like they’re forced to droop. You can feel dried stains on your cheeks which explains why your eyes feel tired themselves. What happened?

There’s a small rumble behind you, startling you but you hardly have control of your body right now so there’s not much you can do but blink in confusion. The last thing you remember is training for the mission with the team, and by the pain rippling across your body, something must’ve happened during it. Still, your chest doesnt pump with fear, in fact you feel calm, like your body is well aware that you’re safe wherever you are.

Again, you try to move, inhaling a sharp breath as you force yourself onto your back. The pain is instant and you have to breathe out slowly as if you dont feel like there’s tears across your arms. When you finally sober up, you stop scrunching your eyes so tight and finally notice the weight next to you. Or rather.. around you.

“W-what the—?”

———

He had woken up to the feeling of you shuffling beneath his arm, but the muffled pained sound is what made his eyes snap open. It takes him a few moments to realise the predicament he had found— or rather put himself— in last night. One arm draped across your stomach protectively with his nose pressed as close to you as he could manage.

“You’re up early.” He glances at the clock behind you, sat on the dresser, the early time of eight am flashing beside ‘Saturday’. Even though he knows he should be questioning why he’s even doing this, his body feels strangely at ease. It’s even better than the day after a successful op.

“Lieutenant.. why are we in bed?” You croak out, trying to sit up from the embarrassment of it all but his arm tightens to keep you from going too far. It startles you, against his intentions, leaving you even more confused than before. “Wasnt i on a mission..? And— and there was a hostage.. is she alright? Did anyone else get seriously hurt—”

“Mission went sideways ‘cause of a bomb strapped to a hostage, everyone’s out alright. You got the brunt of the damage saving them, the rest of them are already going home safe.” 

His alpha isnt as fiery as he remembers it the night prior, the ache in his chest now a warm thrum with you so close. Still, you look uncomfortable, and that hurts his alpha more than being away from you. So he pulls away, letting you sit yourself upright against the headboard.

You take a long breath of relief at his words of reassurance, and he can only assume it’s your own instinctive need to keep others safe. “And how I ended up here..?”

“You had surgery to remove shrapnel and a stray bullet that skimmed you. When you woke, the anaesthesia had you terrified, flailing about like a fish outta water.” He murmurs, gesturing towards the bandages peeking out from the hospital gown you still wore. It had ridden up in the night and now showed the gauze and bandages wrapped around your middle. There were some on your calves as well and the way you wince he supposes you realised about the one on your back.

“They called me in to help stabilise you— figured you’d recognise me. You did, calmed down a bit and then..” He trails off for a moment and you look up at him curiously, watching as he leans back against the headboard. He pauses, unsure whether to tell you about what you had confessed to him in your drugged state. “Jus’ started crying… not sure what about.” He swallows and then glances back down to you. “And well, y’know how we’d get, when another got injured”

They’ve always had their fair share of injuries, usually due to their own brashness as alphas. He remembers when Gaz got shot like it was yesterday, the three of them wouldn't leave his side. It took you all the strength you could muster to force John to let you treat him, even if Ghost had been glued to his side anxiously throughout the entire thing too.

“I took you away from there, brought you here. Stayed till you fell asleep, and then I must’ve passed out myself.”

It’s obvious you’re extremely confused right now, and to be honest, even he is. He’s never felt a pack instinct so strong in his life, not even towards the rest of the 141– it’s still shocking him, and yet, he still cant feel anything but calm.

“Sorry.. for the trouble i caused.” You mumble out but he shakes his head immediately.

“You didn't cause any. Just glad you’re okay.” He gets off the bed, mattress creaking from the relieved weight and springing immediately after he stands. “I’ll go grab breakfast. You shouldn't move too much.”

—————

It took everything in him to force himself to leave you to head towards the mess hall. Doing so also cleared his mind from the tranquility forced upon it, letting him finally go over the events of last night to just five minutes ago.

He had forgone all professionalism, and snatched you from the infirmary like it was what he was meant to do. 

When he got back, you practically shovelled the food in your mouth whilst he restrained himself from telling you to eat slower. Still, he offered to help you clean up, since seeing all those wraps didn't make his chest any lighter regardless of instinct. Though,that was enough for you to adamantly shake your head and accidentally shut the door straight in his face.

“Thanks for making sure I was okay.” You say gratefully, dressed in some spare clothes and picking up your phone in your bag to see for any messages about reports or briefings. “ I should head back to my room though.”

He freezes, you weren't supposed to just leave straight away. Well, technically you didn't have a reason to stay, but a burn in his chest makes it physically impossible to watch you step away now.

“Stop.”

You listen to his command, turning to meet his eyes as you wonder what else he could really want. The chair creaks as he stands, making his way over to you until he’s just standing there, scrutinising you.

“You smell.. off.”

“Well.. I'm not using my usual shampoo obviously.” You give him a meek smile, and even though it’s not enough to settle the craving he just nods— accepting it.

“Should probably check by the infirmary just in case.” He mumbles, fighting every urge to scent you before he lets you go.

“I will.”

———

Three days.

That’s all that’s passed since that night, and still his mind is a turmoil he can't unravel. As much as his brain insisted you needed some space, he found himself insistent on making sure you’re okay. 

That’s exactly why the second he saw you alone in the mess hall today, he was beside you in seconds. 

“Are you feeling any better?” Your shoulders jump in a way that makes him wince, but you relax just as quickly when you realise and smile at him.

“What, better than yesterday when you asked me in the hallway?” He likes seeing you tease him like this, as if the pain wasn't eating you from the inside. You hadn't got the opportunity to talk more than in passing, so you answer more when he looks at you attentively. “The nurses gave me ointment for the burns, and I'll be back on regular training soon. Just taking it easier with lighter gym sets, and running instead to keep my body moving.”

Right, he remembers the significantly less damage on your lower half; running must be a bit easier than any other activity for you.

“Good to know, I’ll keep an eye on you too.” 

You look embarrassed by his words, quickly turning your head away as you hurriedly step forward in the queue. “I’m not going to exert myself, you don't need to do that.”

All he can do is shrug, trying to push down the feeling that bubbles with your reaction. Instead he steps in front of you to dish out your portions of food for you. Not too much, or too little, just the way you’ve always liked it. He even skips the sides you don't like. 

“I do, actually. As a lieutenant, you’re under my care. And as my beta, I need to make sure you’re well.”

It slips out so easily before he can stop it and he pauses, waiting for you to narrow your eyes in disgust. Who is he to claim you like that? Although.. you don't even seem to catch it, but he does notice the small quirk of your brow when you finally process a few moments later. “Wait–”

“Im on grocery run on tomorrow— havin’ a team movie night on Saturday. You should come too, get some steps in instead of being in this stuffy base for so long” Before you can even answer he places your utensils on your plate and then locks onto the exit. “Meet me by our usual car, alright? Eight amsharp.” And then he’s already weaving through the crowds, leaving you standing on your own. 

————————-

For the first time in his life, Simon Riley was excited to see you. He hadn't really had time to question it, between the brand new load of paperwork dumped on him today alone and a million other problems in his mind. And yet, every time he glanced at the time ticking towards tomorrow, his instincts roared.

Would you allow him any closer than before? Although, sleeping beside him was already past many boundaries he had only considered he’d need to ease through now. He’s sure you’d flash him that exact smile when he saw you waiting by the car, positive you’d be embarrassed when he no doubt did something for your sake. 

Or you’d back up in fear, your eyes flashing with the same hurt you directed towards Soap that day. You’d realise he’s no different than the rest, infact probably just as cruel as they are. 

“Bit late to still be working, Lieutenant, even for you.”

“John.” He murmurs, voice on the quieter end as he watches from his seat on the Captain’s couch. There was a small wad of paperwork clutched in his hands like he needed reason to be here, and not solely for the true purpose.

“Simon.” Price returns, walking over to his desk to light a cigar before returning to sit infront of him. “Got a feeling I know why you’re here.”

It’s silent for a few moments and John is convinced he’ll have to lure the question out himself. But it never really is that simple with Simon Riley. Straightforward as ever, he can't help but jump right to the point “How did you.. know? Your omega.” 

Price raises a brow this time, having not entirely expected that, but nods regardless as he breathes out smoke. “Feel it in your chest first. Like your instincts are controlling you really… pulling you towards them. It’s not like you can even try to stop it either.”

“And then what..?”

“The mating bite. The feeling will come soon after, fast even— you’ll get violent. But it’s what’s expected, nearly every alpha goes through it. Just advise your omega to not fight back and there won't be much to clean up.” 

He pauses when the air in the room suddenly becomes tense, taking another inhale of the cigar.

“The sooner you do it, the easier it’ll be. You don't know when you’ll see them again with our schedules. I don't want to see you actin’ feral on a mission desperate for their scent.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------

Soon enough, it was the next day, and he had driven you to the nearest Tesco Extra. Luckily you had come just in time for a sale.. although that meant there were a lot more people than usual. Despite offering to hold it, the basket dangles in his right hand while you glue yourself to his left side. The explosion had left your senses much more sensitive, so sticking to him was the best option. 

“Anything else you want?” 

“Maybe another biscuit?” You tease since he’s been filling up the basket with them so far, making you snort a little. When you did hang around the team, him and you were the only ones who’d eat them but you didn't know he liked it this much.

He rolls his eyes at your teasing, and leads you to the next aisle. “Grab what you want and meet me over there.” It’s emptier here, so you nod and watch him go towards the tinned food, now facing the shelves of crisps he left you with.

Well you know Soap and Gaz’s favourites already, and Simon loves kettle chips. You’re not sure if the Captain would also be there, so you grab a mixed bag for him. Would it be weird after not seeing them for so long? Strangely enough, you really can't bring yourself to resent them for what happened. 

Was it really their fault? No one ever seemed to have the same problems as you. There was only one time you confessed it to a fellow beta on base, although he had quickly become defensive, shaking his head at you. ‘We’re colleagues at the end of the day. As long as it doesn't affect work, it’s totally fine.’

“Didn't get the crisps you like.” You jump as he appears, grabbing your favourite and tossing it in the basket. “Come on, we’ll get some drinks and go.” 

You trail behind him as he carries on, noticing an obvious hunch in his shoulders. He’s tense, which for some reason you find entirely out of place despite you not even knowing him that well. It’s just that, ever since that morning in bed with him, he felt soft, and warm, like everything you’d find comfort in. Surely those same clenched muscles aren't the ones that laid beside you?

You’re about to spiral further into analysing his behaviour when you realise you’re at the checkout with him.  “O-oh, do you mind if I run to the beta section quickly? I just need to grab—“

“Already got you one.” He picks up the scent refresher from the basket, scanning it through, as well as other medication he’s also seen you use before. You can only blink at him in surprise—the prices had hiked even higher recently, and you had to debate over buying one or being able to afford morning coffees anymore

It brought a sense of relief to your heart though, that comforting feeling settling in your gut once more. He’s alright, probably just a tough mission coming up.

———————

The past few days it’s like a switch had flipped inside him, too similar to how the others reacted after their new omega. You’re at a loss really, it’s not like he’s being rude, but he’s being distant. Like he’s cautious of you. To be honest, you were half expecting him to tell you not to come to the movie night anymore. 

Though maybe you were judging him too quickly— it’s not all alphas, right? It was almost sickening every time the small bit of hope bubbled up though, like it was stupid to think he’d actually be the one to stay longer than the rest. You just hope the reason for this wasn't because of something they told him about you.

You were.. surprised to say the least when you entered the rec room alongside Ghost. The both of you had retrieved the bags from his car after he surprisingly called to make sure you were still coming. 

Soap and Gaz weren't lazily sprawled across the couch like they usually would—if anything they seemed antsy. They were both sitting there, shoulders tense, Gaz’s leg even bouncing slightly. You did hear they all came back from a mission recently but they were never this agitated, all pent up like this, back when you were with them.  

“Oh, hi.” Gaz looks upon hearing two sets of footsteps and smiles, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. You just nod, awkwardly fiddling with the plastic bags you grabbed from Ghost’s car. “What’re you here for?”

“Ghost and I went to grab the snacks the other day” 

“Y’can call me Simon, y’know.” He takes the plastic bags from your hands and you nod sheepishly, not even realising you had been using his codename. 

“Oops, sorry.”  He shakes his head at your apology and you quickly help him unpack all the snacks onto the coffee table for tonight.

“Completely blew a mission and now ye come ‘ere for a movie night?” Soap must’ve gotten up at some point, now brushing past you. His arms are like rocks when they hit into yours, and his tone is heavy— almost accusing.

It catches you off guard, and you freeze, watching as he walks around the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water to swallow in one gulp. “Well.. we did always have the best ones, no?”  Surely he didn't mean to be that harsh, clearly something had been holding their bodies in a tight limbo. It must be a poor joke, even if it dug deep.

He doesn't take your words in the tone you intended though, brows narrowing down at you in contempt. “Don’t see why we ‘ave to entertain the fuck ups. My omega was in tha’ mission, she could’ve died ‘cause of you.” 

“Johnny—“ Simon cuts in, voice low as he steps in front of you, his scent wrapping around you, weak enough to not fill your head too much. He’s being careful for you.

Though before Simon can say anything more, you let out a soft huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “That’s the risk of every mission, Soap. I thought as a demolition expert you would know that. Or are you forgetting the time you almost killed me?”

“That was a calculated risk. And yer still standing, aren’t ya?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes at your supposed argument. “You were being reckless and stupid out there.”

“That’s not what you said when I was on the team.” You snap back, anger starting to simmer inside of you too now. After all, they had constantly sung your praises when you were here. It’s their own fault for throwing you into an omega mission when you weren’t prepared enough.

“You left the team.”

“Because I was forced off!”

That pisses him off, because your words feel like an attack against him, and he walks right up to you, inches away. “We never needed you anyway— just a beta to balance us alpha out. Clearly you’re useless otherwise.” Though suddenly his nose scrunches, stepping back a moment before his eyes narrow into a glare.  “Ye fucking bastard. Coming in here, stinkin’ omegas, stinking of her?!”

Your jaw clenches as you watch his body language, something you picked upon living around alphas. They get explosive, very strong quickly. First his fists start to clench, the veins in his forearms starting to show. Then his scent starts getting thicker with anger, pumping into the air like a burning building. It’s bad enough that it makes your own anger start to fizzle, hitting your head in waves of pain and you almost stumble backwards. Everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion, his hand rising upwards, the touch of skin against your cheek and the implosion of pain that spreads across your head.

Simon grabs you before you end up dropping altogether and pulls you away from him immediately, shielding you with his body. “I dont know what the fuck has gotten into you Johnny but you need to sort it out— now.” His scent is thicker than you’ve ever smelt it, in fact this is the most you’ve ever been able to make of it. It smells like gasoline, sharp and lingering, and ready to destroy something completely. So toxic, it forces you to gasp for a breath.

“Both of you, stand down, now.”

Price’s voice echoes across the room and you instantly shudder, leaning against the counter weakly as you grasp your face. The bruise will darken tomorrow but you can already feel your cheek starting to swell. What really has you is the mix of scents all around, filling your head so strongly.

“Captain—“ 

“No.” Price doesn't hesitate to march over, standing in between them as Ghost thrums with anger. You look over to the doorway, hearing the small creak as it closes Gaz standing there with his arms crossed. “You are soldiers, not fucking children.” He argues, pointing an accusing finger towards the Scot before turning to give Ghost an equally sharp glare. 

Then his eyes find you. All you can do is stare back, wondering how he’ll react. Would he blame you for all this? Would you be the scapegoat to keep his perfect little pack intact?

Would you let him humiliate you once more?

You’re a soldier, a beta one, but a fighter nevertheless. Missions you’ve fought through, almost died on, saved lives during. For this? To end up like this? You push yourself to stand despite the heavy scents weighing you down, regardless of the stare his alpha is directing to your beta. Everything tells you to submit, the haze in your head and the throb across your cheek. 

“You should go, I'll talk to you about this later.” Price commands, nodding his head towards the door. Surprisingly, his words weren't as harsh, in fact more exasperated than anything. 

“Enjoy your movie night.” You murmur, grabbing your jacket where it was on the chair and throwing it over your arm. 

“Wait—“ Simon starts, backing away from his offensive on Soap instantly to follow you. “Don’t” You hear Price stop him, his hand wrapped around his forearm to stop him chasing after you. 

————————-

If that wasn't enough of a reason for you to give up on all of them, you don't know what is anymore. They’ve treated you so horribly, it was hardly arguable anymore that you shouldn’t have even tried with them again. This was all so stupid—you’re so stupid for even thinking this time it could end differently. You could never coexist. 

As for Simon, all you feel is a deep regret in your stomach. It was obvious really, of course he must’ve just been smelling omega on you this entire time. It was just a biological confusion, not a genuine interest in you. He didn't care about who you were, his alpha smelt an omega, and that’s all that really matters. It makes you feel sick to your stomach, knowing that you had in some way probably tricked him.  His alpha probably had him strung up all week, no wonder he looked so uncomfortable in that shop and every day past. 

The chat with Price never happened. They had been briefed almost immediately after you left for an op, and you heard the chatters of their departure the next day. So with them all gone,it was time to get back to work. You had briefings to attend, reports to fill and to forget about everything that happened. Or what didn't happen between you two.

Except you can't.

Everytime you get a second alone with your thoughts, they drift back to him, to that morning and waking up beside him. The last time you’ve woken to someone’s scent around you was when you were very little, your family huddling together in the nest. That stopped as soon as you presented.

Now you’re stuck with this emptiness in your chest. At first you thought his scent had been too strong, and you even tried two pumps of the scent refresher to try and clear your senses. Not even that worked, if anything making it worse now that you longed for his scent even more. 

There’s a small balcony you used to see him smoke at, when you first joined the team. He came up here once or twice, and then over the two years you spent with them, never again. In fact, you overheard the sergeants say he quit it altogether. You pause by it today, staring out at the worn railing, the remnants of ash sitting upon it, the mark of his shoe making an outline on the unused floor. 

For some reason it makes your eyes water, mourning a connection you could’ve had but seems impossible now. 

—-

It’s late at night a few days later. You had taken the opportunity while they were gone to take all of your things out of the rec room. Sure, you should’ve done it before, but a small part of you was still clinging on to possibility. Your blankets that you and the sergeants would swaddle yourselves in on colder nights, the tea strainer you bought to show Price how to use leaves instead of the bought bags, even the few mugs in the cupboard you bought to match them. You left behind the one Soap bought for your birthday— perhaps it belonged there more than it ever did to you. Can't forget the CD player you let Gaz borrow a million times either.

They don't suit your room, the colour clashes with the boring greys in here, and they look like a pile of junk from where you’re beneath the duvets, staring at them. It’s almost midnight, and you know you should be sleeping, but it's a Friday night so to hell with that. You could afford late night wallowing; it’s not like you had anywhere to be tomorrow.

They were supposed to come back today. You heard it from Laswell when discussing something else; she must not know what happened between you. Either they chose not to tell her..or forgot, since you were never that important anyways. The clock blinks one am, maybe you really should sleep.

———

The knock on the door breaks your sleep, and you can only assume it wasn't the first as it continues, each one seeming to become.. slower. You crawl out of bed, mind trying to run a million possibilities through your awakening brain. An emergency mission? Bad news? A sudden attack? An intruder?

“Please..” You hear the groan on the other side of the door, convincing you enough to open it instantly and reveal the other side. 

Ghost— or rather Simon, with his mask now fallen at your feet— leans against your door frame, blood dripping onto the floor from a wound near his middle and his eyes glazed over. “Beta..” He breathes through a pained wince, chest sinking quickly. 

“Simon?! You should be in the infirmary, not here- ” You scoff, gaze flicking between the blood staining the floor, his hand clenched over the wound and the grime clinging onto his hair and neck.

“No— no- can’t think..” He steps forward, every movement heavy with pain and hurt and yet his eyes stay locked on you. His words are desperate as his hand clenches the handle, sucking in a strained breath. 

“A-alright, fine. I’ve got some stuff somewhere—“ Opening the door fully now, you reach for his hand, letting him lean the brunt of his weight as you haul him towards your bathroom. It’s only when you manage to get him to sit on the toilet seat do you free yourself from him, rummaging through your cupboards desperately. “Here- okay, lift your shirt we need to fix that quickly.”

Luckily the wound had just been leaking into the bandages so all you had to do was repack and replace, although you had to deal with his incoherent groans the entire time. Tucking the clean edge into the wrap, he’s finally alright again and you sigh in relief, stepping back.

“Stop—“ He grasps your wrist as you try to put the box back, forcing you to stay in place as you raise a brow at him.

“I need to put it back.“ You sigh, unable to fathom what was up with him right now.

“Stay.” 

“Simon, I’m just going to the cabinet..” You sigh as he shakes his head adamantly, pulling you closer even as you try and resist. “Let me go.”

“No.”

“Simon.” You say firmly, a fresh wave of your scent rolling through the air. Never have you used it on any of them before, in fact it only ever worked on inconsolable civilians you’ve saved. Beta scent’s only had the purpose of calming down people anyway, not like an Alpha’s commanding force or an Omega’s lure. “Let me go.”

So when he immediately goes lax, fingers grazing  your palm as he gently lets go, you step back in surprise. What? 

You keep one eye on him as you place the things away, but he just stays, unmoving. As you close the cabinet, you take a step towards him again, gently pulling down his shirt only to feel the soaked blood on it, as well as the gunpowder and grime. Definitely not a good mission then.

“Why.. don't you wash up, alright? I’ll get you some clothes.”

For a moment you’re convinced you’ll have to drag him yourself, but he takes a small inhale and nods quietly, standing the best he can before he kicks off his shoes and socks. Listening like a loyal dog.

—

You make your way to his room with your own mind full of questions from his strange behaviour. Why did your scent have that effect on him? Why did he come to you? Why did he always call you his beta?

The door unlocks easily with the card you nicked from his gear, and his room is in disarray. It wasn’t uncommon for a pack to have scented items from each other, or very close friends; it usually helped with sleeping or just getting comfortable. You remember Gaz and Soap often had items in each other's rooms for that exact reason, though they never traded with you, even if you never asked yourself.

You immediately noticed Price’s sweater on the floor, kicked to the door. Beside the dresser was Gaz’s spare shirt, crumpled and half shoved beneath the base. Soap’s jacket was behind the bathroom door, hidden away from sight like something that couldn't bear to be seen. In the midst of it was a pair of gloves you lent him during a mission when he was damaged badly. Like a pillar in chaos, it was neatly placed beside a brand new scent refresher and a pack of your favourite snacks. Surely, just a piece of repayment, right?

——————

The shower is quiet when you re-enter your room, and you hesitantly step towards the bathroom door, turning the handle. “Brought some clothes.” You murmur, watching the door handle turn. 

“Thank you.” He says, the same gruff tone but quieter, and takes the clothes you pass through the gap.

Surprisingly, he doesn't close it after, letting you hear his quiet shuffling as he changes. It feels weird standing on the otherside, knowing you can just walk in and see him bare like this— an alpha left vulnerable. Though, can an alpha truly be vulnerable before a beta? If anything, you’d always be vulnerable alone with him, and he’d always be the strongest in the room.

“I saw my gloves on your table.” You mumble out, stepping back to take a seat on the edge of your bed.  His silence doesn't help your inability to keep in the thoughts running wild in your head. 

His breath hitches behind the door, something you’ve learnt to notice since you can't read his facial expressions. “I meant to return it to you. But.. I hadn't washed them yet.”

Just as you thought.

The door opens, and he steps forward, the grime washed off and bandages covered by the thin cotton shirt. He looks exhausted like this, like everything weighing down on him has finally caused him to crumble. Just like the others, his shoulders stay taut.

“You left their things on the floor.”

Your beta is desperate to soothe, to understand the problems within his pack, and help him through them. No sane alpha would push away his pack’s items, it has your beta ringing alarm bells across your mind.

“Didn’t need them.” He murmurs, one hand tugging at the end of his shirt as it clings to his damp body. You’ve never seen him fiddle with things like this, running his tongue over his lips. 

“You didn't need your pack’s items?” You huff out crossing your arms over your chest. “At least make the lie believable.” Maybe this was his own strange way of pushing you away like they had, because you just wouldn’t understand, would you? 

“It’s not a lie.” He grunts, eyes flickering over you and then towards the door— like he’s about to bolt. Not now, not after everything.

You stand, blocking his path as you look at him. “Why did you come here, Simon? It’s not because you feel guilty about the other day, and you shouldn't anyway— Soap’s right. I’m not needed.”

“You are.”

“I’m not—“ You shake your head adamantly, turning towards the door. There’s no way you were going to sit around and be humiliated again, intentionally or not.

“We need you.” He says firmly, hand grasping your wrist as his strong ash suddenly washes over you and thickens in the air. It’s all you can smell, echoed by the weight of his words. Though, you feel his grip immediately falter afterwards, like instant regret. The scent calms quickly, back to the dull linger it usually is as his fingers fall to gently holding your palm. “I.. need you.”

For a moment you’re stunned, scent sprawling anywhere for something solid to grip onto as you try and weave through the possible meanings of his words. Him, Ghost, the soldier feared across foreign countries’ soil and by his mask alone, needs you? A beta? 

“I dont…” understand. The word falls silent on your tongue, glancing down at his hand on yours in the low light. “I thought.. the omega’s I work with– their scent rub off on me. That’s the reason for all of this, isn't it?”

“No, no.” His grasp tightens when you try to pull back, feet following you as you step back, until you take a seat against the edge of the bed. “Your scent, it’s been driving me insane. It’s like I can't function without it.”

“But that’s not possible, Simon. I’m not an omega— I can't lure you like that- even the sweetest scent is nothing more than cheap perfume.” You argue, because it’s the truth and there isn’t anything more to it. It’s facts, written and studied extensively in biological research that forms the foundations of society. There could be no other explanation because it just didn't exist, it never will.

His grip tightens again and this time his lip curls back, almost like he’s snarling.. except he seems to be more frustrated with his own actions than at you. “Lust isn't going to save us soldiers.” 

You see it now as you look at him properly since patching him up. His eyes are half lidded but you can see how his pupils have expanded in the short time you’ve had him here. Sorting out the blood spilling out of him might’ve helped, but he was crashing fast now that the pain-induced adrenaline was wearing off.

Now he just looked exhausted out of his mind, frantically holding onto his self control as his eyes locked onto the scent glands on your wrist. You could almost read his thoughts now, how he was slipping off the edge, fingers beginning to tremble. Wounded, exhausted and desperate for a moment of solace.

“Simon..” You whisper again, it’s been more than a few times tonight, but this time it’s different.

He drops to his knees before you, hitting the soft rug beside your bed as his hand holds onto yours. His mask had been off the entire time and yet only in this moment do you truly acknowledge the vulnerability before you. “Please, scent me.” He murmurs, low and soft though not gentle with the rasp of greed that bubbles from his throat. Like he told you, he needs this. He needed you. “Let me be.. your alpha.”

The silence rings loud between you, even from the slow drops from the bath’s faucet and the whir of the bathroom fan fading into nothing. “Okay..I will.” You nod, breaking the dam holding him together and he doesn't even let out a breath until he presses his nose against your wrist. The inhale he takes is greedy, like he wants every last scent coating the air, and then the exhale comes, his body dropping like a bomb.

“Thank you.” He breathes and you watch as he lifts your hand as he rises himself, and you realise now he doesn't have his gloves on from the feeling of his bare skin warm against you.

It’s like he doesn't even hesitate, gently rubbing his wrist against the scent glands on yours. You knew what was coming, read about it a million times between alphas and omegas— hell even heard a million more from them in your youth years.

Scenting, when the alpha’s scent envelopes your body, like a shot straight to your brain. 

Except, this isn't like anything they described.

You can feel your scents starting to mix, intertwining together before separating once more. They’re tied in the middle like a promise and yet sprouting at completely different ends and filling the room. His scent changes, shifting from the harsh burnt tinges of ash and smoke like they’ve been washed up by yours. It’s petrichor, the damp aroma whenever rain ingrains itself into the soil and washes over rocks. The smell is fresh, earthy and it feels like the relief of rain when it finally comes crashing down, washing over the ground and letting the dying flora renew.

But yours? Yours blossoms in magnitude, like a bubble that has grown and grown until it suddenly bursts. You’ve never smelt it so strong before, used to the quietness of it all, but it’s finally loud. Sweet honeycomb and chocolate, an appetising combination so rarely put together it makes his entire body melt. It’s comforting like a warm drink on a cold day and refreshing like a breeze on a summer night. 

You barely get a chance to shuffle backwards before he’s crashing into you, nose forcing it’s way towards your neck as his limbs one by one fall slack, muscles turned to the mere meat they’re made from. A low purr rumbles through him, up his arms where they wrapped around your middle and his chest which is pressed against yours. His eyes have fallen shut, content to be pressed against your nose gland as he lets everything go.

“My beta..” He murmurs, squeezing you tighter to the point you’re forced to exhale yourself and appreciate the warmth and comfort in the room. This was the first time you’ve truly been able to appreciate a friend’s scent without feeling your head start to spin, and it felt amazing. Like everything in the world was set in place, nothing could even shift the balance in this room. 

You squeeze him back, a small huff of laughter bubbling in your throat when he groans in contentment. His scent starts to settle once more, now the faint smell of smoke returning though with the gentleness of a campfire, easing your senses. 

“Alpha..” You breathe out, letting your own body relax under his, eyes slipping shut in his grasp. Your beta was satiated, curling up for the first time in weeks, and you were more than happy to lay your heart beneath him.

----------------------------------

part one Buy me a coffee!

one more part and then this will be done!! thank you for reading alonga nd im so shocked at how many people loved the first one sm! please leave ur thoughts in the comments <3333 ALSO THANK YOU FOR 5000 FOLLOWERS!!!!!!

general cod: @heyitsniki18 @insanityall @twoandahalfdimes @ririerm @alexinarcadia @sgt-artemis-owl-riley @fries-pls @tikitsune

taglist (thank you SO much to @lexloon for putting this tgt for me):

@grimtruthes @bingbongsupremacy @xncasi @failing-to-write-again @listen-to-navi @ohcmonsblog @notsoinnocentkaty @certainpeachsweets @nikolowlow @vitalliver @hellishbimbo @muraaaaaa @soapghosteyes @ @md2317 @wowtheuniverse @sulfurflames @rxi-pop @sg-11 @thecraziestcrayon @mysticmaidenxoxo @faggotsmaggots @strangeby-nature @punkrockcakepops @kaeyasfuturewife @idkwhattodosooo @misakik28 @pickles-the-jackalope @katherine-2007 @fndngtmrw @purplefluffgirl @atlasbatman05 @krowsfoot @alternativefalastini

[spiritgardener]

i just had an idea but first i had to organized my playlist for it, but expect more fics coming and more frequently!!! yaaay

[spiritgardener]

pinterest game!—. 𓇼 ִ ۫ ⭒ thak you, thank you for the tag, @mysatnin, it was so fun!

rules: go to pinterest app, type in the prompts below, and pick the very first photo that pops up.

color, quote, character, hobby, accesory, song lyric, flower.

kinda scary how this is so accurate cause i am in fact juan carlos bodoque and i love to bake for my loved ones and i always sound like a rattle cause i wear so much jewerly and that is my favorite flower but it's not really popular and i am a virgo so vienna hits close.

tags: @scrmqwn @pope-codys @taknbythewind

sorry if you've already been tagged, didn't know to tag lol

[pope-codys]

hellooo, for the summer vacation can i ask for titus danforth, fair/carnival, hurt/comfort, dealer’s choice (soulmate or hanahaki disease) and a willow dancing on air? congratulations for the anniversary!!🌟🎂🫂

okay I went a slightly spooky route for this one, I hope that's alright.

i was dead when i woke up this morning, and i'll be dead before the day is done (seven devils by florence and the machine)

Titus had searched tirelessly for you for the past 50 years and he'd finally found you again. He observed you from afar as you milled about through the fair, stopping at booths to admire the mystical wares that other witches were selling. This part hurt every time, seeing you just as you'd been the last time, happy and unaware of your fate. You had no idea about your tie to Titus and the tragedy that has followed you.

Titus continued to stay hidden as you moved along and he even watched you barter at one booth for some spell ingredients you needed. A fierce protectiveness rose in Titus' chest. Once you were his again, you wouldn't need to barter for anything, Titus would give you the world.

He followed you from a discreet distance, sticking to the shadows and letting his heightened senses do the work to keep tabs on you. You left the fair and trailed off into the woods with Titus close behind. His vampiric abilities meant he stayed silent and he was able to get in front of you quickly, pulling you from the path and caging you against a tree. He pressed his body against yours and held your head in between his palms as his heart fluttered at being this close to you again.

You struggled for a moment before realizing it was useless. The skin to skin contact meant your magic could feel things - who he was, what he was, and the sorrow in his heart that gave you pause.

"I know what you are." You said it like a warning.

"I know. Look deeper." Titus opened his mind to you, allowing your magic to reach into his mind and view his memories. The images flashed through your mind, moments you didn't recall but ones that featured you nonetheless. The different clothing and hair clued you into the long history of the memories that spanned over hundreds of years. Versions of yourself that you didn't recognize laughing and smiling with the vampire in front of you, moments where you two were tangled together in a lovers embrace as the words 'I love you' fell easily from your lips.

You saw more memories, darker ones that filled you with fear. You dying over and over again, the vampire always there, always trying to protect you and failing. You watched him cradle your body and scream in despair over losing you for the hundredth time.

You gasped, releasing his mind and staring at him with wide, confused eyes. Titus stared back, his eyes displaying his anguish and his hope of having you here. You were as beautiful as the last time he lost you, still full of fire and curiosity. He hated what he had to do next but he couldn't lose you again, he wouldn't.

"Forgive me my love." You didn't even have a moment to scream before Titus bit you and everything went dark.

[spiritgardener]

wow. yes.

[moonagemaggot]

Full time job at the yearning factory