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lanabuckybarnes · 12 days

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Brats don’t get what they want.

18+ MINORS DNI

(I do not own any photos, credits to original owners)

I’ve been thinking about mob boss’ daughter Reader who is an absolute brat, she’s spoiled rotten and has the attitude to prove it— but, is there a reason why?

Pairing: Bodyguard Bucky x Reader (Princess)

Warnings: Brat Taming, Spanking, Hair pulling, Light Bondage, Degradation, Dacryphilia, Oral (M! Receiving), Face Fucking, Facial, Exhibitionism (?)

Word Count: 1.2k

Any bodyguard her father assigns to her crawls back to him begging to be put on any other job. She was hellish, brutal, arrogant and selfish, and they’d do anything to be far away from her shit storm of an attitude; hell, they’d even take shovelling shit over taking care of his ‘precious little angel’.

After going through most of her father's men, Bucky is assigned to Princess. She smiles wickedly at him. He’s not as big as the last guy and certainly looks easy to knock down a peg or two.

Her mind is quickly changed when, after going out to a party and not telling him, she ends up bent over his lap, dress bundled up at her hips, panties on display and her hands tied up all pretty with his tie. His middle finger runs over the gusset, from her sensitive little nub to her slick entrance.

“My daddy will flip when he finds out ‘bout this” She warns with teeth bared, but she pushes back against the wandering digit anyway, her aching body betraying the fire in her eyes and the words falling from her lips.

He only chuckles, left hand gripping her jaw making her look up at him “Your daddy isn’t gonna know Princess” He smirks before gripping at her hair and pushing her face back down to meet the mattress.

Whatever protest is about to slip from her mouth dies on her tongue when his huge hand spanks her ass hard, the flesh rippling, her body jerking forward in surprise.

She squeals, knees slipping on the sheets when he smacks the spot again, this time gripping at the flesh.

“You’re gonna count the rest of them for me; aren’t you princess?” He whispered, left arm wrapping around her midsection and massaging the flesh on her hip, teeth poking out under his lips as they curled into a smile at the frantic nods of her head.

Each smack across her ass is unforgiving, as if the resentment from each bodyguard she ever wronged powered the swing of his hand down along the flesh of her cheek.

“Ten” She wails, body rocking forward.

Her ass is raw, painful welts forming along the skin. She sniffles, shaky hands wiping away the tears falling from her eyes, and it almost makes him feel guilty.

Almost.

“God, you’re fucking soaked, you like being knocked down a peg Princess?” His hand taps on her clothed heat, sending shocks of pleasure up her spine as the tips of his fingers reach her hard little clit.

She doesn’t respond, too busy in her own headspace. He tuts, fingers carding through her hair and pulling her up until she’s leaning back on her haunches.

“New rule sweetheart; when I ask you a question, you respond, that clear?” He tugs on the hair in his hand, smirking at her painful whine.

“Yes!! I like being put in my place...please!” So much for that bratty princess act. In reality, she just wanted a man to treat her like a slut.

“Mmm good girl” Bucky growled, free hand unbuckling his belt and unzipping his fly.

“You’re gonna suck me real good, then I’ll think about getting you off, alright?” His left hand pushes her cheeks together, puckering her lips and shaking her face.

She nods, trying to murmur ‘yes’ despite the fingers digging into her soft face, but he gets the message. With a soft pat to her cheek, both of his hands moved away from her, hooking around his slacks and briefs and pushing them to the floor.

He pushes his shirt up, allowing his length to slap against his stomach; her audible gasp reverberates on the pale walls. He was thick; she couldn’t fit all that in her mouth.

Bucky would make her try.

He grips the base, holding it for her as she leans down, licking softly over his precum-smeared tip. Bucky shudders out a moan at the feeling. Her teasing mouth had his core tightening in restraint; he didn’t want to push her just yet, but the soft sucks on his head had his resolve wearing thin.

“You gonna keep teasing me, sweetheart?” Bucky groans, head lulling back as her cheeks hollow out. When her tied hands slinked down to his sack, rolling a thumb along his balls, he broke, his hips jerking up and sinking half his length into her slack mouth.

“Shit! That’s a good girl, hah your sweet fucking mouth - you’ve done this before haven’t you fucking slut…you ever had that fucking throat fucked?” he asked, metal fingers gripping her hair again and pulling her off his length when she didn’t reply.

“You forgot our rule already?” He snarls, emphasising his words with a spank on her raw ass cheek. She bounced up, a painful whimper falling from her slack mouth when he hit her again.

“Two spanks every time you forget to answer me, the next time you count them” he smiles when she replies with a bubbling ‘yes’ before he bundles her soft locks into a makeshift ponytail and gags her with his length.

Bucky thrust up to meet her awaiting mouth, which she eagerly accepted, not that she could do much else with the way he was all over her. He moaned unabashedly, jerking his length into her mouth until her nose hit his crotch, his head tickling her throat — he stayed there, biting back almost animalistic noises as her throat fluttered around him. He was close, head fuzzy, stomach bubbling and balls twitching.

She moaned breathlessly. Only when darkness spotted at the corners of her eyes did he let off, allowing her to pull back and slip his fat cock from her mouth. She coughed and sputtered, gasping for air, fingers gripping the sheets of the bed.

“Aww angel” his hand smoothed over her head “You’re doing a good job, such a good job…be a good little slut and help me finish”.

His tip rubbed along her parted lips as he jerked himself, his head rolling back again and his jaw dropping as he fucked his fist.

“Hah oh fuck!” He sighed, hand rubbing faster as the muscles in his thighs rippled, clenching and unclenching at the shocks of his impending orgasm. He grasped her hair again, uncaring of just how tight of a grip he had on her, and angled her face just right.

“You ready? You want my fucking cum, Princess? Yeah, you do…mmm…fucking sluts like you…always ready for cum” He rambled, hips arching off the bed as his first wave of cum shot straight up over her nose, dribbling down to her open lips, the rest following the same pattern and decorating her tear-soaked face.

His hand jerked until he was sure nothing was left. “Ohh princess look at you” he laughed heartily at how pathetic she looked; her entire body shaking with want, her chest heaving and her face covered in hot strings of his spunk, he was sure if he dipped a hand between her legs her panties would’ve been soaked through.

He groaned, leaning behind himself to grasp at his phone. When a bratty little slut like her looked like this; all pathetic, trembling and face soaked - he had to get a photo. The soft shutter noise brought Princess back to reality.

“Wha- no you can't!” she began to plead but he shut her up with a soft kiss, his lips smearing more of his thick cooling semen over her mouth.

“Relax, it's just for me…now” His fingers expertly undo the knot holding her wrists together, soothing over the hot flesh before pushing her slightly.

“Get out of here”

She stumbles, like a deer learning to walk for the first time, eyes wide and mouth agape as she watches Bucky tuck himself back into his briefs.

“But you said-”

“I know what I said but I don't think you deserve it, now go get cleaned up… and don't you dare fucking think about touching yourself” Bucky's strong voice silenced her protests.

Princess sniffed as she shuffled out of Bucky’s room; she was so needy it was almost painful. She thought for sure he'd help her, she’d done what he asked.

But Bucky’s sweet little slutty princess would learn that Bucky was not a man she could mess with. He didn't tire quite like the others and he would not stand for her shit.

I would 100% be down for writing more about Princess and Bucky, there’s definitely more to be learned and Bucky is willing to teach. Lemme know what you think :)

I hope you enjoyed x

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leonw4nter · 3 months

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Siren!RE4R!Leon drabbles

(Read while listening to this! Also, this is a re-upload because the first version of this drabble had some issues and I just had to fix those, particularly in similarities with other works.)

Siren!Leon who lures in sailors with his pretty face towards the rocks or stormy seas, ripping apart humans who fall for the superficial and relish in the fresh taste of their blood.

Siren!Leon who prefers being solitary, preying on ships alone. He doesn't need anyone by his side; it’s best to survive alone, with no liability hanging around him that could possibly complicate things. He likes it simple, and prefers it this way too.

Siren!Leon who spotted you from afar, walking on the shoreline with your skirt lifted. He observed you from behind a sunning rock, a storm-hued gaze intently studying your movements. He sees you waddle over to a rock near shore, sitting on it but letting your legs stay submerged. A pleased expression is on your face, your legs swinging in the warm seawater.

Siren!Leon who saw you frequent that rock, doing the same thing each time– same time, same rock, same duration on keeping your legs soaked in the water. He began bringing small fish and shellfish to the rocks with the hopes of grabbing your attention though every time, without fail, you always toss his bait back to the sea; you’re a lot more intelligent than he thought. It’s going to be a lot harder to make a meal out of you.

Siren!Leon who finds himself in the midst of a hunt in a bad storm, the waves tossing and turning him beneath angry waves. He managed to catch and eat his fill but the water violently thrashed him, the world turning upside-down and dark. He wakes up when he feels a tugging sensation on his tail, seeing you try to drag him back to the water by tail, grunting with effort. He looks at himself and spots how pale and green he’s gotten due to being exposed to the land for a long time.

Siren!Leon who is secretly thankful for your help because had you not tugged him back to the water, he’d be good as dry and dead. He must’ve hit his head or body while he was unconscious, his joints sore and a dull pain throbbing somewhere from behind his eye. He decides to stick to a diet of small fish and crustaceans for now, humans much too formidable for his injured state. When he’s back to full health, he begins bringing you more crabs and fish– his own way of saying thank you to you.

Siren!Leon who finally gets the courage to approach you, aware that his webbed fingers and long nails may look scary along with his sharpened teeth. He explains that he’s been the one bringing the fish and shells and that he’s seen you on that sunning rock many times. He puts off the idea of eating you, his conscience not letting him do that after you’ve just saved him. You explain to him that the reason you only douse your legs are because of a certain skin ailment, your doctors prescribing the medicinal properties of seawater for your condition.

Siren!Leon who suggests wrapping seaweed and kelp for your legs. Though the idea is funny, you let him do that though you have a bit of a distrust towards him. He wraps your legs delicately, making sure that the aquatic plant is on your skin comfortably. You let him do that each time you come to the rock, seeing significant improvements on the welts in your legs– it hurts and itches less now.

Siren!Leon who finds himself frowning when it’s time for you to go, hoping that the sun rises faster than the moon can sink so it’s another day for you to come back again. Soon, the thoughts of walking on land swim into his mind– how do humans live? What do you do there? What do you eat? A fuzzy feeling washes over his chest the more he thinks about you– it’s as if there’s a storm raging in his heart but he doesn’t feel very bad about it, just the opposite in fact. Now, he spends the night looking for pearls and pretty shells to give to you. You’ve also seemed to take a liking for shrimp, so he looks for those too. There was one time where you brought back a cooked version of the shrimps he gave you, letting him have a bite and it tastes totally different. It doesn’t suit his appetite but it suits yours and that is enough to satiate his cravings.

Siren!Leon whose feelings for you grow everyday, the urge to crawl on the shore and follow you to wherever you live clawing its way to the front of his mind. Being alone out in the great ocean without you is no longer the life Leon wants to have for himself; why had he deprived himself of company? Was it because fate made him wait for you to waltz into his life? Was this solitude him subconsciously reserving himself for you? He would do whatever it takes to be able to join you in land– learn how to write, count, eat food cooked, and keep his nails trimmed.

Siren!Leon who enjoys hearing you read aloud and describe how your day went in full detail. He discovered that he enjoys books, loving it the most when you read to him. He never really cared about words or readings, his past self would think that those were simply symbols plastered on a surface– nothing deeper than that. Here he is, begging you to read him one more chapter before you leave again because whenever you read the symbols plastered on refined tree bark, your voice has given them beauty and deeper meaning.

“I wish I could see the world you live in, even for just an evening,” You gently confess to him, curious about the world of turquoise beneath foamy waves.

“You have my eyes. I’ll tell you everything there is in here.” Leon reassures with a toothy smile, sharp teeth bared but it doesn’t scare you. Your soul is a constellation of the brightest stars, his eyes dedicated to be mesmerized for you and you only like he’s your astrologer.

Siren!Leon who spends the night gathering all the treasures, pearls, shells, stones, and kelp that he can. He crawls to the shore where land and water clash, praying that the tides don’t wash away the artwork he lays out for you. Of course, he doesn’t fail to adorn your rock with other pretty things. His mind works with two different things at the same time: the art he lays out and how to put his feelings into words.

Siren!Leon who waits for you eagerly, staying in shallow waters where anyone can see the glisten of his tail. All night he looked after every single rock and shell, making sure that not a single bit of his work was misplaced or moved by the tides, even in the daytime when the sun was branding the surface with its searing touch. After what seemed like forever, he finally sees you approaching the shoreline. He can’t hold back anymore: he crawls into the shore, hands clawing at the sand to drag himself to you.

“Leon, please get in the water.” You urge him with a shaky voice, placing your trembling hands on his shoulders.

“Why–”

“Please, just get in the water!”

He turns around and crawls back to the sea but he avoids the intricately laid out shells and stones as he makes his way back. He looks back at you but you stay behind on the shore, not even aware that the ground you’re in is a large mosaic of a sea turtle migration that Leon made.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” He worriedly asks.

You hear sounds from behind you: the loud grunts of men with their fishing lines, nets, and harpoons storming towards the coastline. You have no time, urging Leon farther from shallower waters.

“You need to hide,” you tell him. He stays there, staring at you with a puzzled expression. “Hurry! They’re coming this way!”

You urge him farther but he isn’t budging, coming nearer to you instead with pleading eyes.

“I’ll tell them that you swam off, okay?” Your voice grows increasingly shaky, an uncomfortable lump lodging in your throat. Leon swims closer, crawling nearer to the shore where people can easily see him.

“Don’t follow me,” you plead with him as tears begin to brim on your waterline, a delicate balance between holding on and setting him free. “Go away, you idiot! You’ll die if you come with me!”

Despite all your pleas with him, it falls on deaf ears as Leon still crawls closer to you, his heart shattering at how distressed you look; you didn't even notice what he worked on all night, you didn’t even raise your skirt above your ankles. With each advance Leon makes, you move back, moving further from the sea. Your tears are finally let loose, forming rivers of pain on your cheeks. Sobs wrack your body, your figure trembling from the emotions setting itself free from the confines of your aching heart. Leon can only watch and hope that his mere presence is enough to soothe you, unable to stand and wipe those tears from your face.

“Go!” He inches closer. “Piss off! I hate you!” He inches closer again, placing a comforting hand against your foot but you move further away, a jolt of disbelief settling unpleasantly in his system. “Get your dirty hands away from me! Just leave me, you goddamn fool!”

Now you’re screaming, hoping that the wind would drown out your pained cries. You’re sobbing loudly, tears spilling like endless rain. Leon is still inching closer towards shore, desperation gnawing at him despite his silence.

“Don’t you follow me!” You shriek. He stops moving forward and just gazes up at you with a pleading gaze, his eyes heavy with the weight of tears yet to fall.

“Don’t go.” He softly begs, tenderly wrapping webbed limbs around your ankle as casts his head down. You cry even harder now, your soul unravelling like embroidery with each wail. A tear of Leon’s cascades down his cheek, saltier than his turquoise home. You move further and retreat inland, freeing yourself from his gentle hand but he crawls after you.

“Go away! I’m going away now!” You scream, picking up a pebble and throwing it towards his direction. The pebble hits his cheek, the crimson a contrast against his pale skin.

“I’m sorry! Just… don’t follow me!”

He doesn’t follow you anymore, watching you run back towards the land without sparing a single look to the poor siren who you’ve enchanted with the song of your kind heart.

Siren!Leon who risks getting caught by hunters on the shore by waiting for you, fixing the rocks and shells on the coastline so it’ll be pretty when you come back.

NOTE - As I said earlier, this is a re-upload of the same drabble I posted last night but there's changes in terms of lines and content because one of the parts I added was a little too similar to another author's drabbles and I didn't mean to do that so ofc I took the post down to fix it and apologized to the author so there's that. The Siren!Leon concept was inspired by @bumblebeesfromvenus drabble so go check it out coz it's so good!!! Anyways, that's it and tysm for reading my drabble!!!!!! I <33333 UUUUUUU

#leon kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x y/n #fluff #leon kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy fluff #biohazard #resident evil 4 #resident evil x reader #resident evil 4 remake #re4make #re4 remake #re4r #angst #light angst #resident evil angst

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flowerandblood · 6 months

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The Man with the Empty Heart

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: angst, violence, mention of the murder and suicide attempt, trauma, mourning, manipulation ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his 'ghosts', a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

That night she slept for only an hour, but experienced no rest during that time, tormented by nightmares. In her dream, a group of men rushed into her chamber, two of them holding her tightly as the third cut her throat − she choked, unable to catch her breath, her red blood gushing onto her nightgown and bedding.

When she finally opened her eyes she rose quickly to sit up, panting and shivering, all welted up, catching herself quickly by the throat, letting the air out of her lungs, feeling that there was no wound on it.

She sat at the table barely conscious when her morning meal was brought in, not even noticing that Vhagar was suddenly at her side, towering over her with his hands folded behind him.

"I hope you slept well, Princess." He said low, and she looked at him resentfully, knowing full well that he was mocking her. She turned her head away, reaching for a bread, not saying a word to him.

She thought he was a man who derived satisfaction from dominating and watching someone else's suffering.

He was perfectly suited to the job his father had assigned him, and he was certainly bored in her company, but he couldn't express it any other way.

He left her chamber as she ordered her servants to help her get dressed, looking at her reflection in the mirror with indifferent eyes, knowing what day it was and what she should do.

She visited her once every three days − the medics believed that more frequent visits would take her out of balance and increase her hysterical attacks.

When she stepped out into the corridor, walking ahead, she didn't look at him, but she knew he had moved immediately behind her − she felt his presence with all her being, his aura hung over her like a black storm cloud.

They made their way to a part of the fortress where servants and other court residents were not allowed to venture − two guards stood in front of the entrance leading to the stairs to the tower, but they did not stop her when she started to climb up, intense sunlight shone through the little windows.

The door to the small chamber was opened for her − she heard Vhagar stand still, having no intention of going inside. She stopped in mid-step, looking at him with furrowed brows.

"I want you to accompany me." She said in a disapproving voice, recognising that if he was going to tease and torment her with his behaviour, she would do the same.

He walked in behind her reluctantly and closed the door; her mother looked at her as if she didn't recognise her for a moment, and then smiled broadly, sleepily, bruises under her eyes − she was pale, her face unhealthily thin.

She seemed to weigh as much as a feather.

"My beloved child." She said softly, weakly, embracing her, and she reciprocated her grip, closing her eyelids, feeling a tightness in her throat at the thought that her father had locked her in a tower like some kind of animal.

It seemed to her that for her mother, Vhagar was indeed a ghost, for she sat with her on her bed holding her hand and looked only at her, as if she did not notice his presence at all.

"Why didn't Loras come with you? I can't even remember my little son's face anymore." She muttered in pain, and she lowered her gaze, not knowing how to explain to her that her father had decided that the future heir to the throne might be harmed by being with a mother who, in his understanding, had lost her sanity.

She swallowed loudly and tried to smile.

"He has more and more responsibilities as the future king, but he still speaks of you and has ordered to give you his warmest greetings and wishes for a quick recovery." She mumbled out with difficulty − her mother looked at her uncertainly, wrinkling her brow in disbelief.

"I am perfectly well." She spoke quieter and quieter, as if fading away in front of her − she squeezed her hand tighter not knowing how to reassure her, feeling the burning under her eyelids.

"I know, mother. I know." She said and smiled warmly, with concern − her mother smiled back at her too and only after a moment did her gaze escape to the side, her lips parted slightly in disbelief.

She turned over her shoulder wanting to see who she was looking at and swallowed loudly, stroking her skin with her thumb.

"It's Vhagar, mother. My guardian. He protects me and accompanies me everywhere." She said heavily, pretending she felt no terror looking at him, but she heard no reply, her mother looking at him with wide eyes, as if she had indeed seen a ghost.

"The gods are gracious." She said in a trembling voice, and she shook her head, not understanding what she was talking about.

"What?" She asked quietly, wanting her to repeat herself, to expand on the thought, but she was still looking at him, her dry lower lip trembling.

"You came for me like a death? Have you come to relieve my suffering at last?" She asked starting to shudder all over − she put her hands on her shoulders, stroking her reassuringly, thinking with horror that seeing his clothes and mask she imagined that he was indeed the personification of death.

"Mother, he is a guardian, he will not hurt you. He will protect us." She said soothingly to her, and she nodded quickly, as if to reassure her that she did indeed believe her words.

"Don't take her away. Have mercy on her and my son, they didn't know." She mumbled and she embraced her, stroking her hair.

"Mother, stop, please. Please." She mumbled out clenching her eyelids, feeling tear after tear run down her skin − only holding her in her arms did she find to her horror that all that was left of her was skin and bone.

"You need to rest, mother. You need to eat and rest. I'll bring you couple new books next time, all right?" She choked out wearily, and her mother nodded, saying no more.

When they got out of there she walked ahead for a while, feeling everything swirling around her, thinking only of the fact that it had all happened gradually, that at first her despair at what her father had done, at the extent of this massacre, seemed to everyone a natural reaction to what had happened.

However, then her mother began to hear strange noises, to speak of a secret passage through which ghosts passed, of hearing a child crying inside her chamber.

She stopped, gripping a pillar with her hand, seeing darkness in front of her eyes for a moment, breathing loudly, feeling the weight of it all crush her more and more.

She felt his gaze on her, his presence, his silence.

"Kill me." She said quietly, but she was sure he heard it, not a living soul around them.

Silence.

"Please, kill me." She whispered again, pressing her forehead against the cold stone pillar, closing her eyes, waiting for the sound of his footsteps, for the dagger to cut her throat.

Nothing happened.

She opened her eyes, as if suddenly regaining consciousness, and let out a loud breath, moving ahead again, his footsteps behind her echoing around them.

She spent the rest of the day in the library, trying to read but unable to concentrate, looking out of the window at the people walking around the castle courtyard, guards, merchants and servants speaking amongst themselves.

That same evening, as she sat alone in her chamber, sitting by the fireplace, gazing into the flames, Vhagar came in and walked up to her, keeping an appropriate distance.

"The King wishes to dine with you, Princess. Alone."

She lifted her gaze to him, sensing that there was something definitive in his words, and furrowed her brow, feeling uneasy.

Alone?

Why?

She swallowed loudly and nodded, getting up to leave − she heard him move behind her but he did not enter with her into the chamber where the King was staying, allowing the door to close behind her with a loud clatter.

She walked closer to the table behind which her father was sitting − he was eating without waiting for her and nodded for her to sit opposite him. She obeyed his command but did not put anything on her plate, looking at him expectantly.

"What's the matter, Father?"

"I heard you visited your mother again." He said indifferently, sipping the piece of bread he had just chewed with wine from his golden, ruby-decorated chalice.

She pressed her lips together feeling an unpleasant discomfort in her stomach and a cold sweat on her back at the thought of Vhagar telling him what had happened.

"Yes." She replied coolly, lifting her gaze to him, trying to calm her breathing, her heart pounding like mad. Her father murmured under his breath, reaching for a grape, which he tossed into his mouth with a light movement and bite through it with a loud crunch.

"I have moved her to another chamber. She has a bad effect on you, reminding you constantly of these... unpleasant events." He said lowly reaching for another grape − she felt a twinge in her lower abdomen as if she was about to vomit, her lips parted in disbelief.

"What? Where?" She asked unable to hide the tremor in her voice in which lurked growing terror and panic, her father lifting his gaze to her.

"Her fate is no longer your concern." He said in a firm, impatient voice.

She got up quickly and ran out of his chamber with a loud slam of the door, moving swiftly ahead down the dark corridor, choking on her own tears, unable to catch her breath, seeing that there was no one in the passage where the guards still stood in the morning.

She ran quickly up the stairs hearing loud footsteps behind her, stumbling and almost falling, bursting into her mother's chamber, which was now completely empty.

She clutched her stomach, leaning against the cold wall with her hand, and she sobbed loudly, slipping slowly down. She approached her bed and laid her head on the sheets where she and her had been sitting just a few hours ago.

She heard him stop in front of the door, heard his accelerated breathing, knew he was staring at her. She looked at him with hatred, rising slowly and grabbed the candlestick that stood on the table in her hand, swinging, wanting to smite him.

"You fucking bastard!" She growled in fury as she wrestled with him, his black-gloved hands squeezed her firmly by her wrists, easily blocking any of her movements.

"− tell me where she is − please −" She muttered pleadingly, feeling her rage turn to desperation, the candlestick fell from her hand with a loud thud of steel against the stone floor, his bright eye staring at her mercilessly.

"− please − please, Vhagar, I don't want her to be alone −" She mumbled in pain, tightening her fingers on his long leather coat, staring into his cold, emotionless mask, hearing only his quiet breathing.

"It's too late."

She looked at him in disbelief, shaking her head, struggling to catch her breath.

"− what do you mean? −" She asked in a trembling voice, hearing only the loud pounding of her heart.

"She didn't suffer."

She clenched her fingers on his shoulders so tightly that she felt as if they would pierce through the material of his coat into his flesh, an unnaturally high-pitched whine of despair erupted from her throat, she pressed her forehead against his chest.

"− gods, what have you done? −" She mumbled in horror, looking up at him, breathing with difficulty, everything around her was spinning. "− Vhagar, what have you done to her? −"

"It was your father's order."

His grip on her wrist eased; he didn't move from his position or push her away − he simply stood like a statue, waiting for her to calm down. She felt her body begin to spill into his hands, numb and soft, that she was losing consciousness, his arms caught her tightly before she fell to the stone floor.

When she woke up all around her was complete darkness. She thought with relief that it was just a dream, like the nightmares she experienced in the morning. When she looked around she noticed that she was back in her chamber, in her bed.

She turned her head sideways and froze, noticing a seated figure in a black mask on one of the chairs beside her bed − he was sitting with his legs crossed, looking straight at her, his left hand resting on the table top, his finger tapping it gently without making a sound.

She felt a tear of helplessness run down her face onto the pillow under her head, her lips parted at the realisation that it was all true.

Why had he stayed?

Was her father afraid she would commit suicide?

"You were supposed to protect her." She said in a trembling, weak, quiet voice full of remorse. He was silent for a long moment.

"I did."

She furrowed her eyebrows at his words, feeling her lower lip begin to tremble. She swallowed hard with a shake of her head.

"I showed her mercy. Your father the King wanted me to make it look like she took her own life. I gave her poison, after which she just fell asleep, although he suggested hanging. He thought it would look more...natural."

She stared at him for a moment and then closed her eyes, pressing her lips together, twisting onto her side and curling up like a small child, huddling into the furs that lay beside her, feeling her whole body twitching.

Your father the King wanted me to make it look like she took her own life.

He suggested hanging.

He thought it would look more natural.

"When will it be made official?" She asked in a trembling voice, and he hummed under his breath, turning his face to the side.

"Tomorrow morning the King will convene a gathering and announce the sorrowful news." He said indifferently. She swallowed loudly and closed her eyes.

"Do you still have that poison?"

She heard him move restlessly in his seat, felt him hesitate for a second.

"…yes."

She opened her eyelids, extending her trembling hand towards him.

"Have mercy on me too." She said in a pleading, tender voice.

He stared at her for a long moment, and then stood up slowly with a loud creak of wood, walking over to her, pulling a small vial of clear liquid from his pocket.

He handed it to her and she rose to sit down, feeling her whole body quiver, her breath hitched, her heart pounding like mad.

She wanted silence to finally resound in her mind.

She wanted her heart to stop aching.

She wanted to stop being afraid.

She looked at him with huge eyes, swallowing loudly.

"Is it going to be painful?" She asked in a trembling voice − he stood looking at her, she could see his iris shining in the moonlight that fell outside the window.

"No. You'll just fall asleep." He explained softly, his voice surprisingly calm. She nodded, feeling relieved at the thought and unscrewed the cork, looking at the liquid contents inside and lifted it quickly to her lips, pouring its contents down her throat.

She looked up at him, horrified at what she had done, thinking about how a part of her wanted to take it back, how she didn't want to die, but that it was too late.

It was already decided and nothing could be done.

She laid her head on her pillow feeling the tears of helplessness run down her cheeks − she looked at him pleadingly, her lips trembling.

"Will you stay with me?" She asked quietly, placing her hands on her stomach, not wanting to be alone now, not wanting to walk away inside an empty, dark room.

"Yes."

She closed her eyes, feeling with pain that her head began to hum, her eyelids growing heavier and heavier, slowly beginning to lose consciousness until she fell into a deep, pleasant sleep.

She shuddered as she felt someone force her mouth open and pour something forcefully down her throat − she began to cough loudly, her body went into convulsions, her stomach clenched tightly. She felt someone lift her up to sit and hold her as she began to vomit, heard his voice near her ear.

"Come on, you have to get it out of your body. Yes, there we go." She heard his low whisper as she vomited again into the bowl he held in front of her. She was panting loudly drenched in tears, her whole body shivering as if in a fever, her stomach clenched so tightly she felt like screaming in pain.

"One more time. Very good. Just like that." He hummed and helped her lie on her side so that she didn't choke. She was breathing unevenly, trembling, felt his hand take her hair from her face and was only able to think that he pulled off his gloves.

She wasn't sure when she'd fallen asleep again, waking only to vomit again, each time he sat in the same place, his hand on her back.

She had the feeling that it was all just a figment of her imagination.

That it wasn't really happening.

In the morning she had the feeling that what she felt was the opposite of a painless death − her body welted from the fever, all sweaty, her heart had slowed down, everything around her seemed hazy to her.

She heard someone rise from a chair, heard someone's slow footsteps, his figure stood above her like a great, tall black smudge.

"Why?" She asked quietly, struggling to keep her eyelids from closing.

A long silence answered her before she heard his low, deep voice.

"I changed my mind."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

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rafesgoldrings · 1 year

Note

would love to see what exactly occurred when rafe slapped our ass black and blue for bitching too much 🤭 and whether he got any of the other kooks involved or he took this on as his responsibility…

(edit: adding a little more to this because I thought of more🫶🏻)

You were pissed, fully prepared to brat to your hearts content when Rafe, Topper, and Kelce came over. They hadn’t paid you nearly enough attention lately, hadn’t bought you any new gifts, too fucking busy golfing and partying to pay attention to you. You’d complained to each of them individually, and then to all of them at once in the group chat. Telling them that you were bored, that they weren’t answering fast enough, that they needed to answer you now or buy you something to make up for it. It’s all they heard for the last few days and they were getting fed up, part of it was their fault, they spoiled you too much, but you were bitching just a little too much for their liking. All of you were supposed to hang out at your place that weekend, ready to make it up to you then. So when they walked into your living room, they expected their usual greeting, a kiss to their lips and a hello, but when they walked in? You’d walked over and slapped Rafe in the face, hard, and walked back to your couch. Sitting with a loud huff, arms crossed and brows furrowed. Rafe touched his face, tracing the hot splotch your hand left, jaw clenched and tongue sucking his teeth. You knew you fucked up, you knew it was soon as your hand made contact, but it was already done. He’d stormed over to you, hand harshly gripping your upper arm and bending you over the arm of the couch. He ripped off the tiny skirt you had on, smirking when he saw you had no panties on and telling the boys to watch him , and slapped your ass. “Ow, that fucking hurts you dick. First you abandon me, no gifts or anything, and now you’re hurting me.” you whined, a harsher slap landed on your ass followed by a firm ‘shut the fuck up’. Then you’d heard that sound, the sound you both dreaded and desired, his belt buckle being undone. It wasn’t but a few seconds later the rather made contact with your right ass cheek, a loud crack filling the room and echoing off the walls as the welt began to show. He moved on to the left one, the same cracking noise filling the room as you tried to squirm away. He’d brought your hands behind your back and held them there, moving his legs to tangle with yours and hold you in place as he kept up with his relentless attack. You could feel your cunt dripping, the sticky arousal coating your inner thighs, leaking more and more with each whip of the belt. The boys watched in pure satisfaction, knowing if you couldn’t handle it you’d let them know, eyes moving to the glistening on your thighs and dripping hole. Your ass was on fire, sore and hot to the touch, but Rafe kept going. Tears cascaded down your face like a crystal river, small drops falling onto the couch. “3 more. Count them and fucking thank me you fucking brat”

He’d brought the belt down again “O-one. Thank y-you Rafe”

Again “Tw-o. T-thank you Rafe”

Again, but this time you forgot to answer, head too empty to remember.

“I said,” the hand not holding the belt letting go of your hands and moving to wrap around your throat to squeeze it, loving the way you gasped for air “Fucking count. You’re not that much of a dumb slut to do that right? You’re so smart yeah, our smart girl? So try that again” he’d coo, releasing your throat as you coughed and caught your breath.

One final crack of the harsh leather against your ass “Thr-ee. Thank you R-Rafe”

“Good girl baby, all done now okay? Did so so good for me sweet girl” his voice soft and gentle, his hands caressing the bruised and broken skin. He’d cleaned you up, having the others grab some ointment to rub on the broken areas of skin, before the three of them admired Rafe’s handy work, splotches of red, purple, black, and blue covering your ass. He let go of your body, moving to sit on the couch, before pulling you into his lap and smirking at the hiss you let out. Ass sore and sensitive.

“Let this serve as a reminder not to ever fucking do that shit again. Not to me, not to Kelce, not to Topper. If something is bothering you, you talk to us and tell us how to fix it like the big girl you are princess” you’d nodded your head, curling into Rafe’s chest as the other two began rolling a joint.

Safe to say, you never dared brat that way again. Especially not towards Rafe, it took several weeks for the bruises to go away and for you to be able to sit properly.

Tag List: @sweetestdesire @congratsloserr @xyzstar @madelynie

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #asks <3 #rafe cameron x kook!reader #topper thornton smut #kelce outer banks

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kentocidal · 7 months

Text

FILE NAME: BITCH IN HEAT.TXT

USERS FOUND: welt yang x bunny hybrid!fem!afab!reader

WARNING! THIS FILE HAS BEEN CORRUPTED! DO NOT OPEN! forced heat, drugging (f!receiving), bunny hybrid, heat cycle, age gap (implied), welt yang is a creep, use of “pet,” “bunny,” etc., ask to tag

NOTES ABOUT THE VIRUS: welt yang thought himself to be a reserved man. well, he had, at least, until you stepped onto the express with that quivering little puffball tail.

INTERNAL MESSAGE: i did it folks i survived kinktober. visit the masterlist here!

NEW NOTIFICATIONS! @kaedescara @yaekiss @pvbbyb0y @voidshoutsback @4izawas (want to be added? send me an ask off anon!)

tap. tap. tap. tap. tap.

his foot tapped anxiously on the floor of his room, elbows on his knees and fingers steepled under his nose. he was nervous, for the first time in a long time, watching the numbers on his clock flicker onto the next minute.

welt yang was not a nervous man. he was a good man, a man who always chose the ethical option, a man who consistently tried to guide and protect the others on the express.

at least, he liked to think of himself in that way, before you joined the crew. you, who made his knees weak and his head swim with a lust he hadn’t felt in many long years.

it was all your fault. you were corrupting his mind with your pouty cheeks, your thick thighs that always rubbed together whenever he was in the same room as you, your sweet lop ears and your twitchy puffball tail.

a hybrid, march had exclaimed when she introduced you to him on that first day, cool, right?! she’s so awesome! so cute too, right, mr. yang?

welt had swallowed the saliva that had pooled on his tongue before responding with a curt introduction, watching the way your nose seemed to scrunch and twitch with interest at him.

he had felt the beginnings of your corruption from that first day.

he had seen from the get go how you followed him around as if he was everything. you, a young, pretty pet, wandering the express carts in shorts that allowed for your tail to wiggle freely, your sweet eyes trailing him wherever he went. he saw how you had to shift and adjust to be comfortable around him, as if you were playing a game with him, trying to get his attention and encourage him to approach.

you always smiled with those glossy lips whenever he spoke to you, or told you how to do something. you seemed to like to ask him arbitrary questions every single day, ears twitching against your shoulders where they draped as you listened with rapt attention to how his voice melted down your spine.

welt was a good man. he was just trying to help you, honest. he had caught you with medicine from another planet, something having to do with suppressing an urge you had, according to the files he had secretly borrowed from dan heng’s room. it was only right that you felt comfortable enough to go through the motions your people went through back home, right? those pills were probably bad for you anyways.

it was only a matter of time. a carefully misplaced bottle of pills, followed by a carefully spiked bottle of your favorite soda. a perfect storm, a perfect conversation starter.

another minute passed, and he finally heard stirring from your room across the hall. thumping of feet on the floor, a distressed groan. the hair on the back of his neck stood as he sat up straight in his chair, grabbing a book off of his desk to try and feign ignorance to your situation.

your door slid open with a hiss, and two short steps was all it took for you to be in front of welt’s door. you knocked thrice in rapid succession, and then your saccharine voice floated through the heavy metal. “m-mr. yang? please open up, i don’t feel well, something’s wrong…”

“come in,” he called right back, eyes still trained on his book. he was a good man. he wouldn’t take advantage if you were scared.

the door slid open, and in you stepped. your hair was tousled, your clothing crumpled and messy. you were completely out of sorts, looking as though you were feverish and ill. welt put his book down, brows furrowing as you hurried to close the door and lock it behind yourself. your tail was rigid and twitching, flicking upwards, and as he caught a glimpse of your ass in your tiny shorts, he saw it.

a wet spot, nestled between your thighs. your sweet, supple thighs were glistening with a foreign substance that caught the light and made welt’s head spin.

you turned back to face him, and he easily put the mask of concern and worry. “what’s wrong? you look as though you’re running a fever.”

“mr. yang,” you breathed, your glossy bottom lip trembling before you caught it between your teeth as you walked up to him with quick strides. “i don’t feel well, something’s wrong with me, i couldn’t find my medicine, i- i’m… please…” you looked so desperate, so innocent, reaching for him in the way you always did, seeking his affection, always looking for a hug.

he allowed it, his hands brushing over your shoulders before wrapping around your middle as you practically fell into him. your skin was hot, almost burning to the touch, and you allowed yourself to crawl directly into his lap with a soft sniffle of discomfort. you wrapped your arms tight around his neck, legs straddling his waist, and hid your face in his neck. “help me, please, i’m- i think i- i need your help…”

“help with what? what’s the matter?” he pretended not to know, pretended not to feel the way your cunt throbbed as he spoke against the fur of your sensitive ear, pretended as if he wasn’t straining in his slacks.

he felt you take a deep, shuddering breath in against his neck, your nose sliding against the column of his throat as you rocked your hips with a sudden fervor. “mr. yang, please, i need you inside, i need you inside me, it’ll make it go away…”

your voice was dripping with need as welt slid his hands to your sides to push you from your embrace. he was holding back, he wanted you to want it truthfully. “what are you saying? i don’t understand.”

you whimpered as you were pushed away from him. your pupils were blown wide, the color of your scleras barely visible in the wide inky pools of lustful darkness that had overtaken you. you were sinking into him, into the heat you had never had before in your life. the sudden loss of suppressants made the symptoms grow tenfold.

you whined before grabbing one of welt’s wrists and pushing his hand under your waistband, making his fingers dance along your clit with a sudden moan dripping from your lips. “here, mr. yang, i need you here, i need you inside me. please, please, help me, fill me up, you’re the only one i want…”

your begging was making his head spin. finally, you were asking him to help you, to take care of you, to fuck you.

who was he to deny you of anything you asked? he never has, and he never will.

“oh, darling,” he murmured, making quick work of sliding two fingers into your slicked up cunt, the squelch from your juices making him grit his teeth to bite back a moan. he flexed and curled his middle two fingers inside your sloppy hole, making you cry out with oversensitive pleasure as all of your synapses fired at rapid speeds. your own fingers never felt this good, nothing had ever felt as good as welt’s fingers inside of you.

you started to practically ride his fingers, bouncing on his lap, your slick dripping into his hand and all over his lap. you whimpered and whined, your ears falling over your shoulders and draping behind your back as your eyes rolled into your skull. you already felt stupid just from his fingers.

“is this better? is this helping you, bunny?” he hummed at you, at the way your tits bounced with your movements. his free hand shoved your shirt up towards your throat, and he groaned as your tits were freed from their confines for him. he was quick to take one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth, dragging his teeth over the sensitive flesh and almost smiling from the way you practically screamed and shuddered.

your nails were sunk deep in welt’s shoulders as you rocked your hips into his hand, your head reeling as you were suddenly brought to your peak. you gushed into his hand and shook hard in his grip, his hand moving from your shirt to the small of your back to keep you steady in his lap. his fingers slowed in your hole but didn’t stop completely; your skin felt like you had been doused in cold water, but only for mere seconds before you started to feel that heat pool in your stomach again.

“no, i’m…” you whimpered, tears welling in your lashes, and welt lifted his mouth from your nipple to coo at you.

“poor bunny, still need my help?”

“please, need more, need your cock…” your breath became shallow as you shoved at his wrist, forcing his fingers from your hole. you got onto shaky legs, and welt was the one to shift forward in his char to peel your soaked shorts down your legs.

“what a pretty bunny. poor thing, have you ever been in heat before?”

“need your cock,” you responded, earning a chuckle from him as he stood. he loomed over you, smelling of smoke and dark liquor. you felt like you were going to lose your mind if he made you wait any longer, and he could read that on your face. he made quick work of his belt and his zipper before grabbing one of your wrists and pulling you to his bed on the other side of the room.

he pushed you down, and you went without hesitation, feeling your tears start to spill from your lashes as you throbbed and started to produce more slick that gathered around your hole and dripped down your ass.

welt stood at the edge of the bed, undressing quickly, his shirt first followed by his pants and boxers. his cock, drooly and red and heavy, caught your gaze immediately, and you whined and hooked your hands under your own knees to present your hole to him.

“please,” you whined loudly as he started to crawl over you, “put it in, put it in, put it in- oh-”

your voice was like honey as you moaned, your back arching and legs resting on welt’s shoulders as he wasted no time in sinking the fat head of his cock past your tight rim. you were so wet, clamping down on his cock and opening up perfectly for him to slide deeper, deeper, deeper until he was fully inside your warmth.

a look of bliss washed over you as you finally were filled with cock, your internal desires being gifted to you by a strong, perfect man.

welt groaned as your walls fluttered around him. “good girl, good pet, what a good fuckin” girl. you want me to fuck you? yeah?” your whimpers and nods encouraged him, egged him on, allowed his nice facade to falter. “good, let me breed this fuckin’ pussy that you flaunt around here. let me help you.”

you cried out in the affirmative when he pulled his hips back to start fucking into you at a ruthless pace. his lips slammed into yours, his tongue forcing its way past your lips, and you allowed him into your mouth, pliant and perfect, reduced to nothing but wet moans and cries of babbling nonsense that made welt feel insane.

he fucked you mercilessly, his heavy balls smacking against your ass as he kissed you harshly. your ears twitched against the bed, your tail flicking wildly against the sheets. your legs shook on his shoulders, and he felt as though he was the one on aphrodisiacs, not you.

you felt like you were floating, your body melting into the bed as you felt your high start to approach again. you babbled at him, but his tongue was in the way, but that didn’t stop you from trying. you felt pure euphoria under him. welt, the man who knew exactly how to work your body and make you feel so much better.

your high came crashing over you, washing over your body like a tidal wave as you squirted all over his pelvis, your eyes rolling back into your skull and your jaw dropping open into a silent scream that was preceded by cries of his name.

welt didn’t last much longer when he felt the way your walls were sucking him in, demanding his seed. he would never say no to you, to your body; he came with a low shout, his cock twitching in your gummy walls and filling you up with his cum.

you felt like you had just been dunked in cool water once again, relaxing and rolling your hips to meet welt’s shallow thrusts. you couldn’t catch your breath, your head still pounding with the feeling of adoration and need from him.

welt was a good man. he thought himself to be a good man even as he pulled out and used his fingers to push his spend back into your hole. even as your eyes fluttered and you whimpered as the heat started to crawl back under your skin.

he would always help his pretty bunny. you just needed a little encouragement.

#welt yang x reader #welt x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #tw drugging #tw dubcon #tw hybrid #ask to tag #KINKTOBER.EXE #VIRUS.EXE #welt.txt #dubcon.txt #drugging.txt #hybrid.txt #never doing kinktober again actually

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biscuit-babbles · 4 months

Text

HSR Men Omegaverse (A/B/O) Scents

To pair with the dynamics headcanons list, I'm going to do a short and sweet one about their scents! Also, this headcanon will be taking some inspiration from @daylightdabbles's Teyvat Omegaverse AU, but is not required to read beforehand!

Rating: SFW Warnings: None Characters: Caelus, Dan Heng, Welt, Gepard, Sampo, Luka, Jing Yuan, Luocha, Blade, Argenti, Dr Ratio, Aventurine + Gallagher Summary: What scents help to identify each of the HSR men?

Scent has always been a bit of an odd topic for CAELUS, considering the stellaron pulsing in his chest. While it doesn't seem to be hurting him, it does affect his scent, though fortunately to not such a degree that it's concerning. All it does, fortunately, is add a burnt note to it, making Caelus smell distinctly of a smore that had been left over the fire a bit too long. His scent isn't really sweet nor earthy, but a compromise between the two, with hints of metal heated by licking flames.

As opposed to being just odd, DAN HENG's relationship with his scent is a bit of a sore subject. Even though the scent is entirely his and not swayed by his environment, there's still notes to it that are reminiscent of the Xianzhou by association. Because of this, he tries to nullify it as much as possible, without completely canceling it out. His scent consists of weathered paper, sea spray, and peach trees.

One of the most comforting scents you can come across belongs to Joachim Nokianvirtanen, also known as WELT. By now, it's a staple of the Astral Express, soothing those that board the express and allowing them a comfortable passage. He smells of sandalwood, warm bread, and hot cocoa. It's not overpowering, but it lingers longer than most.

As a beta, GEPARD's scent carries traces of his beloved home, Belebog, as well as his own identifying scent. The cold sting of wintery air and the lingering of rusted metal is paired with rosemary and chamomile tea. Contrasting Welt, Gepard's scent is very strong, filling one's entire chest, but the bitter cold and winds tend to sweep it away almost the moment he leaves a room.

It's hard to say that SAMPO even has a real scent anymore. He has caked on so many perfumes, colognes, and even scent blockers that it's a weird hodgepodge of different scents, just as chaotic as the Aeon he follows. Depending on the day or placement, you can smell an assortment of spiced and floral scents, with the only constant being the lingering of raspberries and blackberries.

Everyone in The Moles knows that if you're in danger, to follow the scent of grilled steak, as it will inevitably lead to LUKA. Though, grilled steak isn't the only thing he smells like, with it being accompanied by the scents of black pepper and citrus. It's a thick, comforting scent, but has the tendency to make others hungry if they spend too much time around him.

It's fortunate for those working under JING YUAN that he smells not only remarkably pleasant, but that the scent itself isn't overbearing. One can only truly describe his scent as 'clean', often being likened to a windy meadow. Jing Yuan usually smells of a mild breeze, wildflowers, and oranges. Though, whenever he's angry or in the heat of battle, it tends to be darkened by the scent of oncoming rain and storm clouds, as if disturbing the previously still meadow.

Traveling place to place as an omega has meant that LUOCHA's scent has.. wavered, for lack of a better term. Omegas typically smell like home, the things they surround themselves with. That's hard to do when your surroundings change daily. It's caused plenty of alphas and betas alike to be confused and unnerved by him, but other omegas find him quite charming. If you take a deep breath, however, you can make out the airy scent of lilies, polish for his rapier, and the fruity scent of his shampoo.

A long, long time ago, there was a craftsman who was said to have smelled of passion and the forge itself. But that man is long gone, leaving BLADE behind in his wake. While Yingxing's original scent disappeared along with him, Blade finds that he is now identified by the scents of smoldering embers, dew-laden spider lilies, and cinnamon. Whenever he finds himself mara stricken or enraged, the embers flare up, leaving the distinct smell of smoke and hot metal. Though, when he's content, it's said to be a comforting scent.

One of the things ARGENTI prides himself on as a Knight of Beauty is his scent. It stood out from the scents of smoldering rubble and fear that clung to his hometown, but has since been embraced as proof he was meant to follow the Beauty. Not very many alphas have such tender, floral scents as him. He smells of freshly cut roses, an early morning fog, and the heart of a lush forest.

Frankly, DR RATIO doesn't concern himself much with his own scent. It's simply a biological fact to him, it doesn't need any further attention nor dressing up. Though he can't help the flattered feeling that swells in his chest whenever he catches someone swooning over his scent, which tends to linger heavily wherever he goes. Dr Veritas Ratio smells of pomegranate, sandalwood, and buttered toast.

Another person that hides their scent often is AVENTURINE, who never allows his true scent to show. Scents are like facial expressions, they can betray your true intentions, and Aventurine refuses to have anything but a perfect poker face. Hidden under layers of strong colognes and scent blockers, locked away from the public eye and only kept the secrecy of Aventurine's own room, is the scent of vanilla, shea butter, and blueberries.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, GALLAGHER is constantly surrounded by scents, and finds a sense of comfort in their expression. It's said that he even smells like a perfectly blended drink himself, with a sweet but savory blend that seems to take the edge off of most he comes into contact with. Gallagher smells of fresh grapes, strawberry schnapps, and rose.

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yourfavoritewitchbitch · 14 days

Text

King of Hearts

Chapter 1 - Long Live the King!

A Mafia!Steve Harrington AU (featuring Mafia!Eddie Munson)

Chapter Summary: The Mafia world is on edge when Steve Harrington comes back to town to take over for his father. His presence sets off a whirlwind of emotions that you'd thought you'd buried long ago.

18+ Only! Minors DNI! (Future smut and mature themes!)

CW: Slow burn. Exes to lovers. Minimal use of Y/N. Reader is referred to as "Dove." Angst. Pining. Reader is married to an abusive asshole (this will get worse as the story progresses). Reader is assaulted. Talk of death. Funeral. Drug use/abuse.

WC: 6.1K

You crept through the foyer, hoping the small sound of the door closing wouldn’t rouse anyone in the large house.

Removing your heels from your stocking clad feet, so that you could silently move through the room and quickly check your surroundings, pausing, listening. You were met with nothing but the sound of your heartbeat reverberating in your chest.

You thought you were in the clear, but your false sense of security was quickly shattered, rounding the corner only to be met with your husband’s steely glare. A cigarette and stiff drink in hand. He was home early.

Nikolai was a large, intimidating man with broad shoulders, sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that threatened to set anyone aflame that came near.

He was sitting in front of the large fireplace in the study. When you caught his gaze, he bid you to come forward as he set the drink down. Brining the cigarette to his lips, taking a long inhale before resting it alongside his drink.

Dressed in his usual suit, his jacket left on the chair behind him, leaving him in a white button up with the sleeves rolled up on his forearms revealing an expanse of black ink beneath.

You shuffled forward slowly, crossing your arms behind your back with your heels still dangling from your fingertips.

“Tough day, my love?” he cooed, in a sickly-sweet voice that would almost sound sincere to anyone else. His lips turned up into a cruel smirk as he turned to look at you.

You hated it when he called you that. There was only one man that said it and ever truly meant it.

“You know exactly how my day has been.” You hissed, already over his little games.

“Now kitten, a little birdie told me you were seen with him. Though, it doesn't come as a surprise.” Calm tone, but you knew that was about to change. The literal calm before the storm.

“Nik,” you started, his palm met your cheek with a sharp smack that echoed in the otherwise quiet space, along with the thud of your heels that fell from your grasp. Your eye instantly welled, unable to control the tears forming from the force of his blow. Pain instantly searing the skin.

You could taste the familiar metallic tang in your mouth, as you reached up trying to soothe the discomfort. Yet another bruise to hide in the morning.

Ever defiant, you raise your head slowly, to meet his cold, indifferent gaze.

He gripped your chin, forcing your face closer to his.

“Now, kitten,” no feeling whatsoever behind those words.

“This kind of behavior just won’t do for my reputation. I can't let you go whoring around with him out in public, making me look like a fool in the process.”

He removed his hand slightly, only to cup your cheek engulfing it with his large palm. It was tender, a stark contrast to the pain he had just inflicted. Raised welts beginning to form under his touch.

Playing this same game a dozen times over, you know how it ends. One moment an enraged monster, the next a doting husband.

He pushed your face a little harshly, putting some distance between you to take his leave.

“Clean yourself up and get ready for dinner. Your father will be joining us.” He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours, catching the back of your head pressing you closer to his larger frame. You made no attempt to push him away, knowing it would only spur his anger.

He released you, grabbing his jacket and turning back one last time before he spoke.

“And kitten, end it. Or I will.”

Your father, the head of the crime ring. Your husband, a marriage for alliance. You, an heiress to the proverbial throne.

You didn’t want any of it. Caught in the middle and destined to forever be separated from the man you loved.

You thought you were being careful. You both should have known better.

8 Weeks Earlier

The gallery you managed downtown was your escape from all things family or business related. Here you could be your own person, not feeling bound by duty or marriage. It was your grandmother that instilled a love of art within you at a very young age taking you to art exhibits or museums around the city. You fell in love with the beauty and feeling of it all.

A new piece had just been delivered that you were examining, thoroughly ignoring your surroundings as usual, much too focused on the matter at hand.

You hadn’t heard him enter, as he came to stand directly behind you, pressed in much too close.

Tiny glasses perched toward the end of your nose; he watched the way you were so intently focused on nothing else in the world carefully focusing, stopping only to write small notes on the clipboard in your grasp.

“Little Dove,” clearing his throat slightly, startling you a bit.

You whirled around, only to be met with golden caramel mossy framed eyes staring back at you. The nickname uttered from his lips like soft silk.

“Steve?” you asked, almost breathless. You thought it would be a cold day in hell before you saw him again.

“In the flesh.” He grinned softly, holding his arms out as if showing himself off. Dressed in a navy-blue pinstripe suit and gray turtleneck that you were sure came straight from Italy just as he had.

“What… What are you doing here?” your tone more whispered as you looked around to make sure no one was watching.

“It’s ok, I made sure to slip past them. Your tails… uh… aren’t that great.” He whispered back in a mocking tone, chuckling lightly.

“You look…” you studied the man before you. “You look different, good.”

The last time you had seen Steve he still had his boyish features, but a man stood before you now. Rugged, but clean cut, sporting shorter, more tamed hair with slight stubble lining his jaw. He was even more handsome than you remembered. Italy seemed to be treating him well.

There was an air about him that commanded attention. When he entered a crowded room, he knew everyone would fall in line. A far cry from that party boy years ago. A boy that only ever had eyes for one girl, the woman stood before him now.

“Tesoro, leave it to you to find a job surrounded by beauty but you are the most beautiful piece here.” He smiled that crooked grin that always made you melt, his words syrupy sweet, cheeks heating at the praise.

You clutched the clipboard in your hands closer to your chest, face casting downward as an attempt to hide the blush that crept across your face.

You'd been told you were beautiful by countless men your entire life but when it came from the one man that mattered you turned into a shy mess.

His attention suddenly made it feel like all those years ago, hiding away in a dark corner as he spoke sweet nothings into your ear. Trailing kisses down your neck. Telling you the endless things he'd do for you, or to you.

Two young lovers hidden away from the world with nothing but dreams in their heads and stars in their eyes. Still naive to how cruel and unfair the world could truly be.

Eight years since you've seen him and yet staring at him before you it's as if not a single day has passed. It would be so easy to pick up where you left off, if only…

You snapped out of it, suddenly realizing the only reason he'd be back, shifting your gaze back to him.

“I'm sorry to hear about your father.” His smile fading as he nodded. “I know you two never saw eye to eye, but…”

“It’s okay Dove.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers, eyes casting downward. “It was only a matter of time. He'd been hiding the cancer diagnosis for months now.”

So, it wasn't a rival family or hired hitman that took him out. It was cancer. Everyone had been wondering when the news had come.

“I was still sorry to hear it, Steve.” You hesitantly reached out and rested your hand on his arm, squeezing lightly. “How's Pip holding up?”

Steve's younger sister, never seeing the cruel side of Richard Harrington the way he had. Pip was his Princess and she never let anyone forget that. She went to live with her mother when she was very young, only seeing Richard on holidays and birthdays. It was only natural she was devastated from his death.

“About as well as you'd expect. She uh…” pausing to scratch at his brow. A habit he always had when he was trying to find his words. “She's not doing well. I'm not sure how she's going to get through it tomorrow. I’m sending her back to live with mamma. I think it'll do her some good to get out of the city for a while.”

You didn't pry, knowing Pip was a little reckless and wild. She always gave Steve a run for his money when they were younger. Seems things hadn't changed much for her.

“I'm surprised she's listening to you.” You laughed out.

“I'm not giving her a choice.” You nodded in understanding. Steve was already taking his new role as head of the family very seriously, but you'd expect nothing less.

He was born to one day take over for his father, trained and taught all the ins and outs of this life from a very young age. He would, no doubt in your mind, lead the entire city one day, especially hearing the rumors from across the sea about how ruthless he could be, but you couldn't quite imagine the Steve you once knew to be anything but the kind, caring gentleman before you.

In this world, those kinds of assumptions are what get you killed, and you knew full well Steve had changed. You were unsure of just how much.

As comfortable silence fell between you, he allowed himself to let his eyes linger over you once more. Your back stiffened as you looked from the entrance back to him, shattering this moment of peace as reality settled back in.

“Well, Mr. Harrington it's been nice seeing you, but I must get back to work before those two idiots do their walk through to check up on me.”

“Ms. Alexander.” He smiled, nodding his goodbye.

“It's Mrs. Alexander-Petrov, but you know that.” He did know, but his jaw tightened when he heard it spoken aloud. To imagine you and Nikolai Petrov together made his blood boil.

Little Niki had been a vile womanizer. He and Steve knew each other from boyhood and their father’s dealings. He just hoped he was good to you and worships you the way he himself wishes he could.

“Right. Apologies Mrs. Alexander-Petrov. I'll see myself out. Take care, Tesoro.”

“Tell Eddie I said hi.” You called after him.

“Of course, Dove.” Stopping to look at you one last time.

You watched him exit out the back, through the alleyway.

There was still something there. That spark you couldn't deny. Maybe it was just you looking for closure but deep down you knew it would never truly be over between you. He

was your first love, always hoping he would have been your last.

It was a somber affair with a huge turnout. The Church was packed full of mournful guests.

For a funeral, it was still lavish. Old world money mixed with new. Women flaunting their Gucci or Louis Vuitton came second nature. Men with their expensive suits and gold watches. Any excuse to flaunt the wealth they had accumulated.

Family and business associates mingled, sewing together their tales and fond memories of the late Richard Harrington.

If you looked closely at the crowd, you could spot a few enemies mixed within, come to see the bastard exactly where they'd wished him to be.

As is tradition, you didn't necessarily come to pay respect to the dead, but you still paid respect to the family.

Steve and Pip, at the head of the church, accepting well wishes from each person that passed by. Eddie stood a few feet away giving them space but if anyone truly knew him, he was just as much family as the Harrington siblings.

Steve was stoic. From the moment you spotted him, you could tell he was trying to be strong. You couldn't help thinking of how handsome he looks, even in this setting. Pip could never hide her emotions, every person she talked with sent a fresh wave of tears flowing.

You had accompanied your father, David Alexander. Nikolai had excused himself from coming at the last minute, saying he had an emergency to take care of at the club. You didn't buy his lie but didn't bother arguing.

You had dressed simply, all black like the rest of the crowd. Knee length, quarter sleeved dress. Tight, but not suffocating. Modest compared to Pip’s attire. That girl never knew how to do anything simple or modest, her flamboyant personality would never allow it.

You both stood in line to see them, your eyes darting back up to Steve every few minutes.

“You're too quiet. What's eating at you?” Your dad leaned over to whisper.

“Hmm?” Your eyes shot up to his. “Nothing, just a lot on my mind.”

He squinted down at you as your head drifted toward the front once again. He followed your gaze, softly smiling to himself.

“Steven’s looking well, no? That boy has really grown into his own.”

You placed your arm around his when he extended his elbow, comfortably settling your hand to his forearm as he led you down the aisle.

“Yes, he looks well.” You hummed and nodded.

Your father grinned to himself as your eyes traveled back toward the front. He patted your hand and sighed as the line in front of you began to dwindle.

The couple ahead of you peeled themselves away from the siblings. Revealing you and your father to them.

Steve's eyes lit up immediately, but he held his solemn expression trying not to give himself away.

Your father spoke up first.

“Steven, my boy,” holding out his hand to greet him. “It's good to see you. My condolences, to you and your sister.”

Steve shook his hand, “Thank you, Mr. Alexander.”

“Please, call me David, son.” It made your heart warm faintly at the thought of your father seeing Steve for not only the man he now was but as an equal, first name basis was usually left for business partners or family only. Your father commanded an air of respect, especially from other families.

Their small talk faded from you as you looked over at Pip. She was so different from the last time you'd seen her. Her frame appearing thin with a sickly pallor accompanying dark sunken eyes.

When she spotted you staring at her, she smiled sweetly, reaching out to hug you.

“Dove!” She almost shrieked.

Your arms hugged her tightly to your chest, confirming what your eyes had seen. She was thin, strikingly so, filling you with worry.

“Pip, I’m so sorry sweet girl.” You soothingly rubbed her back, as a sob racked her body. You let her shed a few tears as she sniffed and leaned back up wiping at her cheeks.

“I’ll be okay, it's just hard knowing he's truly gone. But it's so good to see you. Let's catch up soon.” You nodded, squeezing her hand gently. She didn't let go immediately, grasping a little harder.

“Dove, will you please sit with me during the service?” Her eyes softly pleading, reminding you of your days as children when she would beg you to play a game or watch a movie instead of hanging out with her brother. She was by all accounts your little sister too.

“If it's alright with Steve, I…”

“Steve doesn't care. Do you, Stevie?” Her hand flew up, batting his chest as he gritted his teeth releasing a harsh breath.

“Not at all, Dove. But only if you're comfortable with…”

“She's fine Steve. Thank you, Dove!” She hugged you once more as you heard Steve mumble, “anything for the Princess.”

She shot him a glare before releasing you as you turned your attention toward him.

“Steve, I'm so sorry.” You wound your arms around his neck. His stiff demeanor immediately deflated and melted with your soft touch as his arms found their way around your waist, pressing you further into him. His scent enveloped you, smelling of the warm, spicy cologne he wore.

You held each other for a moment too long, getting lost in the warmth of his embrace, finally coming to your senses and easing back.

“I guess I'll see you up there.” Taking a step further back, seeing him nod.

“I…” He was about to speak before someone cut him off with more condolences as you shied away searching for your father who had already taken a seat in the back, speaking with some men that ran in his circle.

You weaved your way in and out of the crowd. Chatting with familiar faces and being polite to those you didn't quite know.

As the music began to play, everyone found their respective seats for the service to begin. You made your way to the front, feeling eyes on you as you went.

Pip was seated right beside Steve, but once she spotted you, she scooted over. Patting the space between the two of them.

You sat closer to her, trying not to crowd Steve into the corner.

“Thank you, Dove.” She whispered, taking your hand in hers. Black gloves covering her dainty fingers.

“Of course.” You stared ahead, trying not to cut your eyes over to him. The small space between you didn't shield you from the heat that radiated from him.

He remained quiet, but you heard him sigh softly. You wished you could hold his hand and bring him some sense of comfort. In another time and place you could imagine taking your seat beside him without the judgmental looks and hushed whispers.

The service went swiftly, Pip leaning on your shoulder and clutching your hand the entire time as she sobbed and sniffled. Steve maintained the same level of stoicism throughout.

You lost your mother at a very young age. The loss of a parent is something you never truly get over. You could relate in some sense, though you never truly knew your mother.

“Dove, you can ride with us to the cemetery. There's more than enough room.” She leaned over to whisper while they were finishing up, garnering Steve's attention as well.

“Pip.” He hissed, throwing her a warning glare.

“What?” She whispered more loudly, looking past you then.

“I'm sure she doesn't have all day to babysit you.” He said it without looking back at her.

You could see the sadness slowly subside on her face, as it was replaced with anger.

“Fuck you, Steve.” She spat, getting up from her seat, loud in the relatively quiet space while the priest was finishing his last prayer, momentarily causing him to pause, as she stomped down the aisle.

You were taken aback by the outburst but not surprised. Pip was a loose cannon, especially when it came to Steve. Two such domineering personalities that always clashed.

He was about to get up, but you grabbed his forearm stopping him, as he looked at you with a furrowed brow.

“Hey, don't worry. I'll go after her. You stay.” You reassured him.

“You don't have to do that. She's just…” he whispered.

“No, it's okay. Let me go talk to her.”

He nodded, as you slid from the seat. Holding your head high as you followed her, avoiding sideways gazes thrown your way.

You found her sitting on the steps outside the church, smoking a cigarette. Her mascara had begun to run but she hasn't bothered trying to wipe it away this time.

“Hey, you.” You lowered yourself down, knocking your shoulder into hers as you sat.

She took a long drag, exhaling toward the sky as the smoke curled away from her lips, letting the ashes fall to the concrete beside her.

“He doesn't have to treat me like a child. I know I've got issues but I'm not a fucking child. Mr. I don't show my emotions so you shouldn't either. Our dad died. You think the least he could do is show me a little compassion or act like he gives a shit.” She released a tagged sigh, taking the cigarette to her lips once more.

“I don't think he necessarily means to make you feel like that. Steve has a lot on his shoulders and your dad, well… he and Steve never saw eye to eye. I know he's hurting too, but he has to be strong. You know how it is with these men.” You rubbed soothing circles to her back as you spoke.

She sniffed, pulling a tissue out to wipe her face.

“I can ride to the cemetery with you. I don't mind.”

“That'd be nice.” A faint smile crossed her face, as you wrapped your arm around her waist. “I'm going to get cleaned up. Wait for me?”

“Of course.” You helped her up, following her back into the lobby as the service ended, watching her disappear into the restroom.

You caught your father on his way out, letting him know you were going with them, and he could head home if he needed to.

“If you're sure.” He kissed your forehead, before leaving you to stand by the door waiting for her to exit, when Steve strode up beside you.

“Where's Pip?!” He asked, a little breathless.

“She's in the restroom.” As soon as you got the sentence out, he began to bang on the door, twisting the knob.

“Steve, what're you doing? For God's sake, give her a little privacy.” You pleaded.

“Pip, open the goddamn door.” He rushed out, pounding his fists harder than before, looking worried when he was met with silence.

“Steve?” You looked around, a crowd slowly gathering around at his outburst.

“Just step back, I'm knocking the door down.”

You did as you were told, with your heart beginning to pound in your chest at how worried he seemed.

“Pip, I'm coming in!” He shouted, before his shoulder slammed into it, knocking it open as he rushed in.

You turned the corner to see Pip, slumped over against the back wall passed out. Your mind didn't comprehend what you were seeing at first.

He knelt down beside her, pulling her face up and lightly slapping her cheek.

“Pip! Wake up! Goddamnit!” His fingers flew to her neck, checking for a pulse.

It all seemed to be happening in slow motion as you watched the scene unfold. Eddie rushed in beside you, as Steve yelled at him to bring the car around, lifting her up with him from the ground, moving aside as he passed you.

It was frantic, the sea or people parting to let them go by as you stood there in shock. Watching Steve run with her lifeless body in tow.

Only coming to your senses when you hear someone close by seemingly laughing at the scene. “Pip, always the life of the party.” They sneered.

You looked around the small bathroom, spotting her purse on the floor, quickly picking it up and taking it with you avoiding the gazes of onlookers but keeping your head held high all the way.

Richard Harrington was buried while colleagues and friends looked on. None of his children were there to see him interred.

You were ringing your hands in the back seat as your chauffeur took you across town the next morning. Nerves getting the better of you.

It has been years since you've seen the Harrington residence but as soon as it comes into view memories begin to flood your mind.

There were the sweet moments when you were young children. Playing in the garden or swimming in the pool. You, Steve and Pip. Much simpler times when a game of hide and seek could keep you all occupied for hours.

Isabella Harrington had finally had enough right after Steve turned 10, leaving Richard and taking Pip with her back to Italy. She didn't leave Steve to fend for himself intentionally but given the option of losing both her children or taking Pip, she has no other choice.

Suddenly, the play dates were dwindling, and you began to see less and less of Steve. Separate schools made it even harder but despite it all you remained close.

You'd been in love with Steve since you were 12 when he told you that one day he was going to marry you and gave you your first kiss behind the pool house.

So caught up in your thoughts you hadn't heard the driver or noticed the car had stopped.

“Miss? Are you alright?” He said a little louder, catching your attention and thoroughly pulling you from your daydream.

“Hmmmm? Yes, fine, thank you.” Replying quickly.

“We’ve arrived, Mrs. Petrov.” He said as he exited the car, coming around to get your door.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you removed yourself, neck craning upward. The house seemed bigger, more intimidating than you remembered.

Immediately clocking several security personnel stationed in various positions around the yard, no doubt already alerting him to your arrival as you stepped across the cobblestone drive, heels a little unsteady against the uneven stone.

Reaching the few steps to the large front door, it opened before you had the chance to knock.

“Hi stranger!” Eddie beamed down at you. Curls tied back into a low bun, still dressed to impress. Burgundy silk dress shirt thrown over his frame, tattooed forearms on display. He was handsome in his own right.

“Hi Eddie! How have you been?” You stepped closer to him, pulling him in for a quick hug. “Sorry we didn't get to chat yesterday.”

“Doing well, and don't sweat it. There was a lot going on.” He laughed, albeit a little nervously as he pulled back. “He's in the office, you can follow me.”

You remembered the layout fairly well, the office was at the back of the house on the first floor. A large space, with windows overlooking the expanse of the back garden.

Eddie walked quietly ahead of you, as you looked around the house. It was exactly as you remembered. Dark walls with marble flooring leading to the ornate door at the end of the hall.

He didn't bother knocking, as you followed him in. The curtains were drawn back from the windows letting the natural light illuminate the space.

Steve leaned against the far wall staring out the window. He was dressed down in a sky blue short sleeved shirt and cream-colored trousers. He turned, chestnut locks a little unkempt with a thin gold chain resting against his chest.

He turned in time to see you both enter, pushing off the wall to meet you halfway.

“Dove! What a pleasant surprise.” He flashed you a warm smile, turning to dismiss Eddie as he closed the door behind him.

“I brought Pip’s clutch.” Holding out for him to take.

“Thanks, I'll let her know. Though I'm not sure she even missed it.” He sighed, easing it from your hand, tossing it to the desk beside him.

You'd heard she'd barely made it to the hospital. Apparently, the coke she had ingested was laced with fentanyl. Pip was a party girl, she hadn't intentionally tried to overdose which was a relief, all things considered.

“How is she?” You asked.

“I honestly don't know. I thought she…” His face flashed with momentary worry, before shaking it off. “She's going to rehab before I send her back to Italy. I think this might have actually scared some sense into her even though she's pissed at me.”

“You're doing the right thing. She needs you to be there for her.” Reassuring him.

He nodded before you both fell into a comfortable silence as your eyes took in the room. He had already begun renovating it to his liking which made you smile.

“I thought it could use an update.” He said, as if reading your mind.

The wallpaper was being taken down, replaced with a fresh coat of paint. Steve has always hated his father's gaudy taste, as if he needed to remind himself of his wealth in his own office. Steve was humble, he didn't need to flaunt and inflate himself to others. You admired him for that, always staying true to himself.

“I'm sure it'll be perfect. Doing the whole house, I hope? The medieval dungeon theme is so last year.” He chuckled.

“You don't like it? I thought about adding some chains and cuffs in the hall to really set it off.” You both laughed.

“But, yes I'm planning an overhaul for the entire house.” For a moment he wondered what you would do with the place. He could imagine the way your eyes lit up knowing you could make it your own.

A place for you and him to raise a couple of kids, have family dinners every Sunday and eventually grow old together. Or would you want to move out of the city altogether? Sell this old house and start anew?

If only he knew the similar thoughts that swirled through your mind but you couldn't allow yourself to dwell.

You suddenly checked your watch, clearing your throat.

“I'm sorry to cut this short, I've got a client coming by in a few.” Sighing to yourself.

“No worries. I'll let Pip know you brought this by.” Holding her purse up for emphasis. “Let me walk you out.”

He followed closely behind you down the hall, just shy of reaching his palm out to your lower back, into the foyer as one of the security guards opened the front door.

You turned once more to bid him farewell but it was he who spoke first.

“Dove, you're welcome here anytime. Please, stop by. I'll even show you my fancy cooking skills sometime.” He grinned, the smile reaching his eyes, boyish and bright.

“Steve Harrington cooks? This I'll have to see.” Mirroring his smile, as your driver opened your door. “Bye Steve.”

He waved, as you got in and continued to watch your car exit the drive.

He couldn't explain it. The inexplicable need to be near you. Wishing for another life. A once upon a time he could have had with you.

Alone in his big house, with no one to share it with, he sighed heavily making his way back to his office.

Fairy tales, he thinks. Meant for much gentler souls than he. Someone deserving of it, brave and pure of heart, just like the stories his mother used to read to him and Pip when they were still children, still room to believe in such notions as soul mates and true loves first kiss.

Eddie was waiting there, sitting behind his desk.

“Call for you.” He stated, getting up from the chair extending the phone towards him.

“Take a message, I'm not in the mood right now. I'll call them back.” He crossed the room, pouring himself a drink.

“Steve, I think you're going to want to take this.”

You hated lying but you had to get out of there.

A whole lifetime's worth of memories seemed to overtake you when you stepped through the threshold of a home that you practically grew up in.

You dreaded going back to your own home. A home that you'd hoped one day would have been filled with love that never came to fruition.

Such high hopes in the beginning with Nikolai.

He was the perfect gentleman. A whirlwind romance that had you so swept away you didn't see his true colors until it was too late.

So caught up with what he was, but it was truly only what he showed you. What he wanted you to believe.

Soon after your marriage, it was late nights at his clubs coming home smelling of liquor and sweet smelling perfume that turned into not coming home at all some nights.

You'd wanted white picket fences and children laughing down the hall. He gave you heartache and crying alone in your empty king sized bed.

Almost five years later and you're left to question if he ever loved you or if it had all been a strategy to gain his power.

Later that night you were in the study reading on the large sofa, room lit softly by the fireplace. Cozy in silk pajamas and your favorite blanket, it was the perfect end to the day as you sipped some wine.

Nik slipped in, late as usual, loosening his tie as he stomped into the room.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” He hissed.

“Well, nice to see you too, dear.” You didn't look up, only rolling your eyes. “It looks like I'm reading, no?”

“Why the hell did you go to Harrington's today?” He stepped in front of you, crossing his arms.

“I was returning Pip’s clutch. She left it at the church.” Shrugging and returning to your book as if it should be the end of it.

“You expect me to believe that?” He leaned down, arm caging you in, as he swiftly pulled the book from your hand tossing it in the empty space of the couch beside you. Closing in, almost nose to nose, as his imposing frame hovered over you.

“It's the truth, Nik. I really don't care what you choose to believe.” You spat back at him. Not at all in the mood for his little games or vile attitude.

You knew the only reason he skipped the funeral was because he had a bone to pick with Richard. Now it seems he's trying to take it up with Steve.

You pushed his chest, getting up from the couch as you started to cross the room now done with the conversation but he grabbed your arm, wrenching you back around to face him.

“Let's get one thing straight, YOU, under no circumstances, are to see him again.” His grip tightening as he spoke. He'd never laid a hand on you, but the way he was squeezing you now was surely going to leave a mark.

“Nik, let me go. You can't forbid me to stay away from my childhood friends. You're being ridiculous. Steve is not Richard. You have nothing against him.” His grip only grew tighter, shaking you just a bit as you tried to pull yourself free. “Nik! Let go of me!”

“No Y/N! I mean it. You are not to see him again!” Screaming in your face, droplets of spital flying toward you. “Do you understand me?”

You finally nodded. Worrying if you tried to push the issue further it would only make things worse.

“Say it!” He shouted.

“I understand. Now, let me go!” He did so, pushing you slightly away from him.

“Good.” He sneered, smirk now donning his face as he brushed past you on his way to pour himself a drink from the small bar in the corner of the room as you quickly grabbed your things.

You passed one of Nik’s security details, whose gaze fell away from you as you rushed out of the room, he'd overheard the entire thing. You were mortified at his behavior. Nik was a grade A asshole but he had never been physical.

Your feet carried you swiftly to your room, heaving a sigh of relief as you locked the door behind you. Glad to have some kind of barrier between the two of you tonight.

Running into the bathroom, you slid your robe from your shoulder to examine your arm. It was already starting to form finger shaped bruises.

You could easily hide them, wearing long sleeves, which you did most days. It was horrifying to think you had no choice but to hide them. HE had done this to you.

You washed your face and slid into bed, crying softly to yourself as your mind began spiraling. This was a life you had never wanted.

A husband that never looks at you, unless it's with disdain and contempt. Now seemingly hell bent on keeping you in line the way he sees fit. When words don't work, he'll easily use brute force to bend you to his will.

Telling Steve would be completely out of the question for both of your sakes, but in the coming days you would soon find out how difficult it would be to avoid him completely.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #mafia!steve harrington #mafia!steve #steve harrington x y/n #eddie munson #mafia au #mafia!eddie #mafia!eddie munson #joe keery #joseph quinn #king of hearts #KOH

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harmshake · 7 months

Text

The Gentle Horror, Part 1

🖤 Summary: A quiet neighborhood. A vampire hiding in plain sight. A tragic murder. Nyma finds herself in the center of it all with Stephon as her only friend…but he is not who he seems. 🖤 Pairing: Nyma (black fem oc) x Vampire Swerve Strickland 🖤 Warnings: 18+ only, strong language, NSFW, mentions of domestic violence, death, blood, and smut. 🖤 Word count: ~6,400

Happy Halloween! 🎃

Read Part 2 or more of my spooky fics and other stuff here, if you'd like. ✨

Summer was such an angry season, Stephon thought to himself. The blaring sun, the blistering heat, and the sweat and angst that seemed to stick to people like a bad omen.

However, Stephon had no such reaction to the weather as his skin was as cool as ice on the hottest summer day. Today was one of those scorching afternoons as he could smell that sweat and feel that angst radiating off the humans nearby. He hid away from them and the sun, resting in his basement that he'd converted into his underground bedroom. Or at least he was trying to rest.

That angry, violent heat had gotten the best of his new neighbors as they lugged box after box into the two-story home next to his. Stephon's ears rang with the sound of a woman and man, clearly married and clearly at wits end with each other. They fussed and cussed at one another over who was carrying the heaviest burdens—at first, that meant the moving boxes yet it abruptly derailed into the plights of their relationship. And to make it worse, they had a dog that he heard yapping in between their argument.

"You act like I don't support you in everything you do! We moved all the way out here because of you!"

"Well, fuck me for wantin' to be a man and provide for you and your needs."

"I got my own money, I don't need you to provide for me, Tyree. What I need you is for you to stop actin' like a fuckin' crazy ass alpha male all the time."

"Fuck, man," Stephon let out a frustrated sigh as he lay in his bed, wishing he could tune them out and cursing his ultra-sensitive hearing. They were quite annoying and disturbed his peaceful routine: Sun up, sleep, sundown, feed. He'd lived in a hundred places over the years and he liked this stretch of suburban paradise in University Park. It was close to Dallas, his hometown, quaint, and calm...until today.

And when he heard the unmistakable clap of the husband's heavy hand on the wife's cheek and her horrified screech, Stephon's eyes popped open once again with hot-blooded rage coursing through his veins. No fault of the sun, all fault of someone's raggedy ass son who had the nerve to lay hands on a woman. He'd never been bitch-made like that, and never heard of it going on in his neighborhood until now.

His first instinct was to go knock on their door and gather dude up for the lady because, from the sounds of it, she wasn't going to call the police. Yet she cried as the afternoon hours bled into the night. It was all he could fixate on as she wept long after her husband stormed out of the house. He had seen the creation of enough chaos, been the artist behind it, and retired from it, that he wanted to help her.

He finally rolled out of bed, slipping into a black leather jacket and black jeans, and stepped onto his front porch to feel the humid evening air on his skin. When he looked to his left, there she was. His new neighbor, a black woman maybe in her mid-thirties with her afro hair tucked into an emerald green headwrap piled on her dainty head. All of her was dainty, yet rounded out with thick curves she hid behind her oversized black hoodie and matching sweatpants.

Stephon didn't have to gaze long to tell she was beautiful. Too beautiful to have that welt on her cheek and too beautiful to have that cigarette dangling from her plump, brown lips as she slumped onto the steps of her porch, her deep brown eyes flickering from it and her golden retriever that rolled around in her manicured grass.

"Hey, neighbor," Stephon greeted her with a warm smile and waved from the sidewalk as he went to stroll down the street. She glanced up at him with a slow, weary smile, her lips parting to speak back until her dog suddenly jumped to its feet at the sight of him and barked so loud that the sound echoed in the silent night.

"Oh, my god, I'm so sorry! Maddie, stop it, girl!" she called over the dog's incessant noise, leaping up from the steps to wrangle it by the collar and into her home when it tried to hurl itself in his direction. Once she closed the door and somewhat muffled Maddie's racket, the woman stood at the end of her steps, picking back up the cigarette that she placed on them to take another puff. "Sorry about that," she exhaled and shook her head. "She don't act up like that normally. Not sure what got into her."

"It's all good. I'm a new face. And so are you. Just moved in?" Stephon asked with a half-smile on his thick lips. He already knew more about her than he should, but he wouldn't frighten her and let her know that.

"Yeah. Just got settled in today from Atlanta," she said with another puff. "I'm Nyma, by the way. You?"

"Atlanta? Wow, that's a long way. I'm Stephon. Nice to meet you," he replied and took a step onto the paved walkway in her yard. He noticed she didn't meet him halfway and wondered if her dog's reaction to him spooked her at all. But she didn't seem wary of him, just wary in general, certainly from the events of her day. His deep voice was softer as he glanced at her cigarette and carefully added, "You know those are bad for you. If you stressed, I recommend a shot of Henny and some good music."

"I know...I don't really smoke, but I keep a pack when I need one. But I think a shot is probably just as dangerous 'cause the way I feel right now? I'd need a few." Nyma let out a joyless laugh yet the sound was still sweet in Stephon's ears. It made him smile again and she smiled back a little before wrapping her arms around herself.

"Hey, I feel you. I'm actually headed to a bar up the road from here now. 'Cause I could use a few, too," Stephon teased and she laughed for real this time, her cute smile growing wider. "You wanna join me? My treat."

"That's nice of you, but...I'm married." Nyma flicked away her cigarette butt and held up her left hand to flash the wedding band on her ring finger. The weight in her delicate, Southern-accented voice felt heavy at the mention of her husband, her eyes hanging low, too. Yet they whipped up to meet his when he took another cautious step towards her. His eyes could see from a mile away the slight bruise on her cheek, but as he stood only a few feet away from her, Nyma covered it with her hand as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Understood. Everything okay?" Stephon asked quietly. He knew he probably seemed out of pocket to inquire as they were strangers, but seeing the pain in her eyes as she gazed at him made his blood all over again.

"Yeah," Nyma lied and swallowed hard as she shivered from his eyes on her. She glimpsed away and he nodded slowly as he quickly decided to leave her be as he didn't want to be a bother.

"Alright neighbor," Stephon said and began to back away. "But if you ever need anything, sugar, eggs, or someone to talk to...I'm right next door." Nyma caught his eyes again as he shot her a warm grin, and when she grinned back with a nod, he knew then that she'd at least consider taking him up on his offer.

That was enough of a promise to put Stephon at ease as he retreated down the well-lit suburb street before he found the shadows that led to the small, downtown bar he liked to visit each night for his usuals, that shot of Hennessy and a pint of blood. They didn't serve his second beverage but he usually had no qualms about chatting up the nearest patron at the bar and sharing a drink before he suggested they go for a walk in the dark alley behind the building. They never said no because Stephon had more than a way with words but an influence with his eyes that buried that suggestion in their brain deep enough that they believed it was their own idea to leave the bar and let him sink his teeth into their neck.

And when it was all said and done, Stephon would suggest to them that they had never been with him, let alone seen him, before he headed back home, full, satisfied, and ready to enjoy his evening however he chose. It wasn't the life someone like him usually led, but he craved that slice of normalcy after the things that he'd seen and done. As he walked into the upscale bar with a Rihanna song booming through the speakers, he saddled up to the counter in his usual seat. The bartender, Alissa, waved a few fingers at him before placing two shots in front of him.

"Gotta two for one deal tonight?" Stephon asked as he grabbed one glass and downed it.

"On the house, baby," Alissa winked, her wavy, brunette hair spilling over her cleavage that she wanted him to notice as she leaned over to take his empty glass. Stephon simply smiled but it faded as soon as she turned her back because he wasn't interested. She was a nice girl but he learned after the first time he hit that she wanted a boyfriend, and he knew that wasn't him. He hadn't dated in decades, didn't see the need for it, but he wasn't above getting his dick wet from time to time.

And as she eyed him from down the bar while taking another customer's order, Stephon was grateful he glamoured her to forget the few times they had sex. While he could glamour her to be indifferent toward him altogether, he liked to use his power sparingly. He'd seen what too many glamours could do to the feeble human brain, could split right in half. He shook his head at the thought as he tossed back his second shot and scanned the room for his dinner, yet the hairs on his skin prickled when he heard a familiar voice. His eyes flitted to it and there he was, Nyma's husband, as his drunk ass stumbled out of the restroom and raised his voice at a man sitting in the barstool he abandoned when he went.

"This mutha fucka," Stephon growled under his breath. He could smell the alcohol in his blood from here, he stunk of it. It offended his heightened offenses and he made a face, both from the stench and the obvious fact that this idiot was here trying to drown his guilt with cheap vodka instead of going home to face his wife. Stephon could nearly taste the man's remorse but also his anger as he shoved the patron from the barstool to sit down.

"Gimme another one, sweetheart," Tyree hollered at Alissa when she approached him. Stephon made a fist and squeezed as he thought to calm himself down. He wanted to temper himself before going over to talk some sense into him.

"Ay, man, look here," Stephon said, biting back his own anger as he clapped a hand on the man's shoulder. Tyree was a sizeable man, more fat than muscle, but fit enough and intimidating to the average person. Yet Stephon wasn't scared when the man switched around to glare at him and his hand on him, his grip not nearly as harsh as it could be.

"The fuck you want?" Tyree spat before Stephon looked into his dark eyes swirling with irritation and looked beyond them. He couldn't read his mind but he could touch it, his gaze prodding through it until he found a suitable place to plant his suggestion, somewhere between his guilt and his indignation that overshadowed it.

"Listen here. When you get home tonight, you need to pack all yo' shit and leave," Stephon said sternly. "You don't wanna be here no more. You wanna go back to Atlanta but alone. You hear me?"

Stephon felt a tingle of his own guilt creep up his spine as he knew he had no business meddling in Nyma's marriage. He didn't know her or what she wanted, but he could tell from that argument he overheard and the look in her eyes that she didn't want this piece of shit in her life. And he didn't want him in his neighborhood, either. He held Tyree's gaze until the man nodded, the pupils of his eyes blowing out as he received his words.

"You hear me, man?" he asked him again.

"Yeah..." Tyree sounded out. Stephon nodded back and released him, going back to take his seat. He knew his glamour would work, it always did, but he still kept an eye on the man as he tumbled out of the bar and to his pickup truck. Yet before Tyree could open the door, Stephon had the wise thought of having him for dinner since he'd been so distracted by the man that he hadn't fed yet. He usually despised the way blood tasted with so much liquor laced in it, but he'd make it quick and make sure he got his shit and left town afterward.

"Ay, you really shouldn't drink and drive," he told Tyree as he approached him in the dimly lit parking lot. The big man nearly jumped out of his skin to see Stephon, his keys dropping to the asphalt.

"But I gotta get home. I g-g-gotta get out of here," he stuttered as Stephon came closer. He was pleased to hear his suggestion repeated back to him, yet when he bent over to grab his keys for him, he felt one of Tyree's big hands come clobbering down on the back of his head.

"What the fuck?!" Stephon grunted as he snapped up at lightning speed, just as surprised as he was frustrated by the assault. His suggestion didn't wipe away his fear of Stephon, and when Tyree lunged at him again with fists as he shouted for him to back up, one of them connected to his chin.

The drunk man had a heavy blow, eerily precise, but Stephon didn't feel any pain from it. He only felt rage for what he did to Nyma. Before he could think twice about it, his fangs revealed themselves with a glisten in the moonlight and his hand lashed out in front of him and around Tyree's neck, squeezing as he pinned him to his truck door. When he heard a couple of bones pop and saw the man's eyes bulge before the fear in them faded to black, Stephon let go and watched him sink to the ground.

"Goddammit," he whispered to himself with an annoyed sigh. He didn't have to look around to know there were no lingering eyes about, but he didn't waste any time scooping Tyree into his arms like he weighed nothing and sprinting with a blur behind the bar and into the darkness where he tossed his body behind the large, green dumpster.

He hadn't meant to kill him, only subdue and glamour him one more time for good measure to calmly go home and get the hell out of town. But as Stephon glanced at his lifeless pile of flesh, he didn't feel sorry for Tyree. He came from a time when men like him would treat people like their property, and that included his own mother. Stephon would never forget the shit he saw her go through as a little boy, and how helpless he felt to stop it. While he hadn't always done the right thing as an adult, he knew one thing was always right: Have no sympathy for these fuck niggas.

He smoothed out his jacket and headed back into the bar for something to eat, knowing he'd done his quiet neighborhood, and more importantly, Nyma, a favor that he could never speak of.

Stephon wasn't sure how Nyma would react, but he'd make sure to keep an eye on her. As a good neighbor should.

・・━━━━━━━━ ∞ ━━━━━━━━・・

Four weeks.

Four weeks without her husband. Four weeks alone in a new town she didn't want to be in anymore. Four weeks of losing her fucking mind.

The only thing holding Nyma together was the fact that she had to hold it together because there was nothing else she could do. She couldn't afford to go home to Atlanta, not when Tyree's funeral expenses drained her savings, as well as the bills of the home they purchased together suddenly all hers to manage.

And Nyma got her money's worth as she worked from home but even on her off days, all she did was stay inside, wallowing around the big, empty space that didn't even feel lively with her fur baby, Maddie, prancing around, oblivious to Tyree's absence. But Nyma felt it, felt it every day as she adjusted to waking up by herself, cooking for herself, and going to sleep by herself.

Maybe she could have reached out to her mother-in-law for assistance getting back to Atlanta, but they weren't on good terms before Tyree's death and they sure as hell weren't now as she indirectly blamed Nyma and the move for killing him. Another slap in the face, she thought, as Nyma called her the same night Tyree didn't come from the bar he went to earlier, and called her again a few hours later when his body had been discovered. A broken neck. The police deemed it a homicide but had no suspects as who in the fuck would want to hurt Tyree when no one here knew him?

Nyma ached inside when the thought of him gone made her feel the tiniest bit relieved as she knew him and the monster he could be. That was something she didn't tell his mother, or anyone for that matter. She was estranged from her own parents, she was an only child, and all of her friends back home only suspected Tyree's behavior but never confronted her on it because they probably knew Nyma wouldn't tell the truth, anyway.

But that was all over now. He was gone and Nyma was free. Yet she still felt like a prisoner in her home most days as she didn't have the energy to do much. And as she sat on her porch for the fifth consecutive Friday night, a cigarette between her fingers as she watched the smoke unfurl into the air, she heard a door to her right open.

Out walked Stephon, his black and gold locs pulled back off his face into a ponytail that fell down his back, clad in his leather jacket and black combat boots like he always was when she saw him. And like always, he came up to her and sat down on the steps beside her. Yet tonight, his hands were empty as she told him earlier in the week she was stocked up on care packages. For the last month on Fridays, he'd brought her groceries and even packs of cigarettes that he fussed at her for smoking.

He was the only part of her day that didn't suck, his good neighborly ways evolving into a little friendship. She was grateful for him and that he made good on his promise from the first day they met that he'd be there for her if she needed anything, including someone to talk to. She told him just enough to ease her spirit, like a little of what she went through with Tyree.

In turn, Stephon was thoughtful, patient, and compassionate. And it didn't hurt that he was very easy on the eyes, she thought, his deep brown skin perfect, same as his smile that he decorated with gold top grillz. But Nyma tried not to flirt with the man. She didn't think she was ready for it, didn't feel right so soon after, especially when Stephon had an aura to him that she couldn't quite place.

Nothing too unsettling as she enjoyed his company when they sat together like this on her porch, but each time she caught his gaze she could have sworn she saw an abyss of dark stories untold that looked back at her. As much as they talked, she knew she hadn't heard even half of those stories. Which was only fair as she had her own that he was ignorant of, as well. She just didn't want to scare him off, not when she appreciated him so much.

"Don't you get hot in that?" Nyma asked him teasingly, shooing away her thoughts and gently elbowing his sleeved forearm. He bristled at her touch yet laughed softly.

"Naw. I don't get hot like that. Don't you get tired of them things?" he asked back as she ashed her cigarette.

"This is the first one I've had today. I'm slowin' down. And maybe you shouldn't bring me any if that's how you feel." She stuck her tongue out at him and he scrunched up his nose to make her grin.

"You right, you right. As of tonight, I'm done enablin' you. But what else can I do to make you smile like that?" Stephon joked but then his tone softened as he licked his lips. Nyma wanted to pretend she didn't notice the coquettishness that slipped into his deep voice, but she couldn't ignore the way it made her heart pound. It was something that happened often, but he never pressed her for anything more than her comfort, something that endeared her to him more than she was willing to admit.

"Maybe we can finally go to that jazz club you told me about," Nyma heard herself say and shocked herself. Shocked him, too, as his eyes widened along with his smile. He'd offered a few times to get her out of the house and show her around Dallas, the nearest and biggest city to their little lavish neighborhood, but of course, she always turned him down. It was that familial fear of this slightly strange, yet kind and beautiful man, and fear of her own guilt for being intrigued by him.

Yet something in Nyma was drawn to him all the same, and perhaps her own body knew before she did that it was time to at least have one pleasant weekend.

"Really? You sure? 'Cause you know I don't mean to pressure you. I just think you'll enjoy yourself. The vibe fits you," Stephon said as he ran a hand over his beard and eyed her with his handsome smile.

"Yeah? What's my vibe?" She was genuinely curious given all he'd seen of her were these visits where she'd brood on her porch and he'd do his best to cheer her up before he went to work for his overnight shift. That was another reason she hadn't taken him up on his offer sooner—his unconventional schedule clashed with hers as while she was up and at it during the day, he was asleep. But the excitement that filled his pretty brown eyes let Nyma know the only plans he had tonight were for her.

"Vibrant. Sweet. And beautiful," Stephon replied, his eyes still on hers as he licked his lips again. Nyma felt her heart thrum in her chest again, but she tried to hide her smile as she playfully rolled her eyes and tossed her cigarette butt into the grass. But he saw her coy joy and smiled back before he added eagerly, "So you down to go, for real? Right now?"

"Let me freshen up first, but yeah. I'm down," Nyma said with her smile still stuck on her lips as she excused herself to head inside her home. She quickly changed out of the pink cotton sweatsuit and headwrap she'd lived in the past month to shower, race through moisturizing with shea butter all over her skin, and slip into a little black dress that stopped just shy of her knees before she fluffed out her dark afro to frame her slender face.

She hated to keep him waiting even though she rushed as she spritzed herself with vanilla perfume, threw on a pair of gold hoop earrings, and shoved her little feet into black slingbacks as she headed back downstairs. Yet as she felt out of breath reaching her front door, Nyma suddenly felt silly for making an effort to look nice for her friend and their night out on the town.

But the way Stephon's eyes devoured her as soon as she stepped foot onto her porch let her know he didn't mind the hold-up. She blushed when he offered his arm to her to help her down the steps, her cheeks growing warmer as he reminded her in a gentle tone, "You didn't have to change. But you look really beautiful, Nyma..."

And again as they sat across from each other at the small, candlelit lounge table, Hennessy and Coke in their glasses after they clinked them and Stephon toasted, "To a beautiful night out. Hopefully as beautiful as you."

It made Nyma roll her eyes again as he was a charming fool and he knew it, his own words making him laugh when she did. "You think I'm corny, don't you?" Stephon asked with a smirk before he sipped his drink. He had to speak up over the loud but incredible band on stage that played a smooth jazz rendition of SZA's "Love Galore."

Nyma nodded her head as she rested her elbows on the table. "Yeah, but I like it," she confessed slowly and let out a wistful sigh with it.

"But you don't like that you like it..." Stephon stated. Before she could come up with an excuse, he added, "Don't feel bad. You been through a lot and the last thing I wanna do is make shit more complicated for you."

"I know..." Nyma sighed again and took a big sip of her drink. She wasn't someone who sipped often and it was already getting to her head, making her feel warm, fuzzy, and perhaps too honest. But she heard herself admit to him anyway, "I wanna dance with you. I don't wanna feel bad right now. Let's dance."

She downed the last sip of her drink and stood up from the table before Stephon could answer, and thankfully he didn't protest. Yet as he led her to the dance floor amongst the throngs of other couples that swayed close together to the music, she noticed he held her at almost an arm's length, his cool hands barely on her waist. "You shy now?" Nyma teased and he grinned a tad sheepishly.

"Tryna be a gentleman," he said as he towered over her, but she could see the abrupt shyness in his eyes when he was usually so smooth. Maybe it was because they had never touched, not even for a hug, but where he was oddly hesitant, Nyma and her liquid courage made her close the space between them and slip her arms around his neck.

She felt him tremble and so did she as he felt chilly to the touch. The jazz club was definitely cool to fight off the summer heat outside and the hot bodies inside, but Stephon was cold like ice. "I see why you wear this jacket all the time. You must get cold easily," Nyma remarked as he moved with her to the rhythm of the lovely saxophone crooning from the stage.

"I do, but it keeps me warm," he replied as he gazed down at her. Now that their bodies were touching, he seemed to settle back into himself, his mysterious eyes locking with hers as she gazed up at him. The mystery of him still grasped at her, tempting her to ask questions, but the way his large hands slid a bit lower on her and grasped her hips pulled her attention away.

"Do I keep you warm, too? You holdin' me mighty close," Nyma blurted barely above a whisper.

"Too close?" Stephon asked and she was surprised he heard her over the music. It made her blush but she shook her head before she rested it on his chest. She let herself get swept away in how he and the music held her as they slow-danced, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to feel content...

Nyma had a difficult time pulling herself away from that closeness as she clung to Stephon who helped her up her porch steps. She was tipsier than she meant to get after a couple more drinks, but she felt good, albeit a little embarrassed as Stephon seemed to be able to hold his liquor impeccably. He had taken a few shots of Hennessy after she called it quits and was still able to stand up straight as they danced and laughed together until the last call.

Once he ordered them a Lyft to their neighborhood, she expected him to go pass out in his house, but he was a gentleman as he said, and got her home safely first. He stood behind her now as he waited for her to let herself inside, her fingers missing her keys each time they fished through her purse. "Got 'em," Nyma mumbled as she finally whipped them out and turned to Stephon who leaned against one of the porch's columns with his hands in his black jeans pockets. "Give me a good night hug," she demanded and nearly tripped in her heels trying to walk over him.

His hands shot out to steady her yet she crashed into him. He held her to his chest for a hug before his cool lips pressed to her forehead for a quick kiss. "Good night, beautiful," he murmured before he let her go but she held on, her hands on his muscular biceps behind his jacket. She hoped the look in her eyes reached him like how his reached her, feeling bold enough from the Henny to want his lips on hers, but feeling too shamed to ask for it.

And so Nyma let words fail her altogether and instead she grabbed his face into her hands and pressed her lips to his. It was quick, as quick as his peck on her, but the feel of his soft, cool lips made her heart thump so wildly in her chest that she felt sinful to like it.

"You ain't mean to do that," Stephon breathed as her thumbs caressed his beard and his hands caressed her waist. Yet he didn't let go as he declared quietly, "We're drunk. I don't want you doin' some shit you'll regret tomorrow."

"I won't regret a kiss...will you?" Nyma breathed, too, and when he shook his head, she pulled it back to hers as their lips met again. The unusual coolness of his skin made hers tingle, made a part of her brain tingle with a hushed warning that she neglected as the bigger sensation was warmth.

Warmth in her cheeks from his soft mouth that moved on hers so slowly, so deeply. Warmth from beneath her dress where his fingers gently dug into her skin. Warmth between her legs when his tongue tasted hers and then her neck, drawing little circles that she suddenly wanted to feel even lower on her body.

Nyma couldn't remember the last time such a succulent warmth threatened to consume her as she'd busied herself with every negative thought her mind had to offer. Yet there was something about Stephon, something that eased her mind and yearned to let him in...

"Come inside. Please," she whispered on his lips and she didn't have to beg as he followed her through the door once she unlocked it. Usually, Maddie would come running to greet her, but she mercifully stayed put wherever she was, probably too tired at this late hour to move. Nyma was grateful as even though her dog had somewhat warmed up to Stephon, she would still weirdly bark her head off if he moved too fast around her.

And the way he moved with her now, their bodies falling all over each other as they sloppily kissed would probably look frightening. But Nyma leaned into it, leaned into him and the scary good feeling he gave her as his mouth covered hers and then her neck yet again, his teeth grazing her skin as he cupped her ass in his hands. He lifted her up and sat her on the wooden end table in her foyer, the structure and the lamp on it wobbling a bit as he leaned into her, too, wrapping her thighs around his waist as his tongue found the spot on her neck that made her whimper in his ear.

"I like the sound of that," Stephon softly growled on her skin, his big hands squeezing her hips to make her do it again. His lips brushed along her collarbone before he kissed it and said, "Bet you taste as delicious as you sound..."

"Find out..." Nyma huffed as his tongue twirled along her exposed breasts in her dress that he held to his mouth. Stephon hummed as his hands fell back to her thighs, inching up them until he found the hem of her thong that he pulled down slowly, his eyes on hers as he did it like he wanted her approval every step of the way. But Nyma meant it when she said she wouldn't regret a kiss...even if it was between her thighs.

Stephon sank onto his knees, his hands never leaving her as his mouth found her skin again, found her bare warmth dripping for him as he met it with unhurried kisses that made Nyma sink onto the table. She tried to find her balance as she clutched at the ends of it, but the more he coated her with wet kisses that swiftly used his cool tongue to lap up the juices she was spilling into his mouth, the less she could hang on. Her thighs shook around Stephon's head as he gripped them, gazing up at her as he wagged his tongue on her sweetest spot before he kissed it and made her nearly knock over the lamp to her right.

"Right there...right there, unnhhh," Nyma cried, her flailing hands finally landing on his head to hold him right there as he flicked his tongue just so..."Stephon, unhhh, ffffuck..."

The fluttering warmth swallowed her up even with the curious coolness of his mouth, that very thing making her orgasm stronger as it clashed so enticingly with the heat pulsing through her body. Nyma couldn't stop moaning, couldn't stop the good feeling if she tried, as Stephon unlocked it and controlled it as he kept his mouth on her until her grip on his locs loosened while she came down slowly.

"Fuckin' delicious," he nearly moaned, too, as his tongue ran over her lower lips before it trailed outward to her thigh. She shivered from his teasing licks and shivered harder when his teeth nipped at her sensitive skin. She liked it, fondling his head as she whimpered and watched him kiss her before he bit her, a proper bite that made her shriek and shove his head away.

"What the hell?!" Nyma cried in a different way, tears dotting her eyes as her inner thigh glared with pain. She stared down to see her own red blood oozing from the small break in her brown skin. She couldn't believe her eyes for a moment, realizing she was drunk but not that drunk, and her eyes flashed to Stephon who now rose to his full height to loom over her. He looked just as startled as she was, his lips parted slightly in tipsy awe. She could see his gold grillz...as well as the elongated fangs on either side of them that gleamed with her blood.

"I'm sor—"

"W-what's goin' on? What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Nyma interrupted in a stammer, her brain stammering, too, as she knew exactly what she was looking at but she didn't want to accept it because no. No, they don't exist. They aren't real creatures.

Yet she could tell Stephon recognized the question shouting in her head from the horror on her face—and his own face smoothed over with an uncanny yet clumsily beautiful grin as he professed, "Yes. I'm a vampire."

"Are you goin' t-to eat me?" Nyma mouthed with a silent scream threatening to ring out, all at once believing him and every myth she ever heard about vampires. She wanted to run but she felt frozen, her eyes fixated on him and those long fangs that his tongue swiped over to clean her blood from them, the very same tongue that was dipped in her nectar. It made her heart thunder so hard in her chest she thought she might die, and yet in the same vein, she felt gravely aroused by him still.

Especially as Stephon uttered, "I already did, beautiful. But I wouldn't mind gettin' another taste."

Thanks for reading! 🖤

Whew! I didn't think I'd get it up on time (and technically I didn't LMAO), but it's finally here! Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoyed!

Part 2 coming later this week because, dammit, let's celebrate Halloween a lil longer. 😈

Tag squad 🫶🏾

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