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norman-fucking-reedus · 2 months

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I’ve had this idea in my head where both reader and Scud work in the shop as a couple, and Blade has been putting them to work so much that they can’t find time for anything else, leaving Scud super needy! Also I don’t know if you’d be down to write any male readers but it’s so hard to find any 😭

UMM I’D LOVE TO START WRITING FOR MALE READERS TOO?? I used to do a lot of FxF and MxM when I started writing but I’m still new to x readers so this is gonna be a nice challenge PLUSS I still need to get better grounded with Scud

I’ve rewatched like all his scenes and realized he’s just a stoned, sassy, nerdy mechanic who definitely jerks off in the back of his van

May I offer anyone a plate of bottom Scud!? 🎀 If I was boy I’d fuck the actual brains out of him

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If Blade gave you one more assignment to do, you were either going to kill him or yourself.

It felt like everytime you neared the end of another one of his grueling tasks, he came rounding the corner with another lingering on his tongue. You only stare daggers into his soul as he speaks it into the air.

Minutes turn into long hours in the shop, welding parts back together while having to mend and bend metals. You were nose deep in work, so much so that it left practically no time to stop and have a proper conversation, only ever going over to talk business and business only.

However, lord knows when you’ve got The Scudster hanging around, business talk is boring talk.

The first time you walked over to his station was in a hastily search of a torch gun, spotting it on Scud’s desk and swiping it off, not realizing he wss mid roll of a joint and swiftly knocking the herb onto the floor, hearing his cry of distress ring out behind you.

You had made a mental note to buy him another quarter the next time you got extra cash, but the thought was quickly burned away with a flick of the torches trigger.

Unfortunately, good work takes time and patience, which Scud does not have. He sits lounging in the chair with his joint, (real stoners smoke the weed off the floor) lazily clicking away on the computer. He thinks about you and how you’re just around the corner, loud clattering coming from your station.

Scud sighs to himself at first, he missed you. He missed you even though he could see a glimpse of your moving frame, which only made him miss you more. Scud sighs a lot louder this time, now growing antsy for some attention.

He wanted you to straddle his lap and tug his choker in the teasing way you do, taking big long drags from his joint before blowing them down into his throat. Scud rested his head in his hand, feeling his cock stir in his pants as he thought about you. He wanted you to ride him, or maybe he wanted to ride you.

Scud’s body started to tingle as he imagined all the things he wanted to do to you, running his hands up your shirt or even down your pants. He could feel his cheeks turning red as his cock twitched, feeling his pants start to tighten.

The door to the shop swung open, Blade striding in down the stairs obviously with another assignment for you. “Hey B!” Scud called out, hopping to his feet off the chair and stepping in front of the man.

“Josh.” Blade frowned at the male standing in his way.

“Look man can ya give Y/n a break? Whatever it is I’ll do it, just let him rest for an hour” Scud spoke in a low voice, knowing that if you overheard him you’d tell him that your fine and can handle it.

Blade analyzed him for a moment, glancing between Scud and you. “An hour. Both of you. Be ready for my return” When he swiftly turned and walked out, Scud silently pumped his fists in the air before practically skipping over to you.

Scud slams into you from behind, tossing his arms around you and plucking the joint from his mouth, exhaling the smoking into the space around you. “Hey there, handsome” He brought the herb up to your lips and snagged the torch gun out your hands, moving it off to the side and spinning your chair, straddling your lap.

You smiled up at him, feeling your pants start to tighten as you took a long, much needed drag from the joint. “Hey there, Sctud” He scoffed at the nickname, lightly shoving you with a playful smirk. “I get you a break and this is my thank you? How rude”

“I felt like I was gonna die! It never ended” You groaned, tossing your head back as you spoke around the smoke. Scud took the opportunity to dip his head down and mark up the bane skin of your neck, since you were flashing it all to him of course. He grinded against you, feeling your soft moan vibrate under his tongue.

Scud sucked and bit along the underside of your jaw, trailing up to your lips and watching as you took a deep drag, pulling Scud closer by the choker around his neck. Your lips crashed together, exhaling the smoke as Scud licked into your mouth. His hands cupped your face as he grounded his hips down, feeling you becoming increasingly harder underneath him. “I missed you” He mumbled against your lips, and adorned a dorky smile.

You brought the joint to his lips, moving your hands down to unbuckle both your pants. “I missed you too… how long do we have?” You freed your cocks and kept a steady hand on Scud’s hip as he shoved his pants further down, grunting when you wrapped your other hand around the two of you.

“An hour, been thinking about this all day” The stoner replied in a giddy tone, nibbling on his lip as you began to stroke your cocks from base to tip, purposely running your fingers more over Scud’s leaking head then your own. “Of course you have, boy liker” You huffed out against his lips, reaching back up to lock your lips together.

Scud stubbed the rest of the joint out and left it to be forgotten on the table, guiding your other hand up to his choker while rocking his hips against you. You drank up each others noises, feeling Scud’s vibrate under your fingers as you circled around the base of his neck, tugging the golden jewelry and swallowing his choked off whine. “C’mon baby, fuck me please”

You tightened your grip, focusing your strokes around the tips of your cocks. “I will, just not this second” Scud pouted and you kissed it away, moving to attack his throat. You sucked deep marks into the flesh, making sure to coat every inch of his pale skin in large red and purple love marks, some bites.

Scud moaned a little too loudly when you slipped a hand down to his entrance, teasing his puffy rim with your finger as you dragged your other hand back down to the base, increasing the pace this time as you ran back up to slick tips. You shushed him softly, pressing your forehead against his. “You wouldn’t want Blade to come see how much of a slut you are, would you?” Scud’s face bursted a tomato red, and his shook his head, cock twitching needily against yours.

“Please, please fuck me” He whispered, arms draped over your shoulders and the chair. “Just wait, I’m getting close” You teased, continuing to stroke both your cocks as Scud shifted in your lap. “Can’t you just finish inside me? Please?” At that, you slowed your movements, searching his eyes for a moment before spinning around in the chair, rising to your feet and turning Scud, formally bending him over the table.

His cheek smacked the table yet he landed with a groan, anticipation and need pulsating in his dick.

You spit a large puddle onto your finger, bringing the digits down to Scud’s hole and carefully pushing them in, listening for any sounds of discomfort. You gave him a moment to adjust, watching him squirm a bit before glancing at you over his shoulder. You leaned down to kiss him, giving him a small smile as you wiggled your fingers. “Good?”

Scud nodded, eyes lidded as he moved to lock his lips onto yours, moaning sweetly as you started to thrust your fingers. He stretched around you easily, greedily sucking you in when you made the move to slip a third finger in. You drank up every little whine and whimper that he made, scissoring the digits as you increased your pace.

“Mmh.. come on m’ready” Scud mumbled against your lips, slotting them back in place quickly. You pulled away from him once again, ignoring his whine of protest. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna hurt you” You whispered, concern evident on your face. Scud kissed your worries away, blue eyes fluttering up to look at you. “I need you, like now”

With that, you pulled your fingers out of him, spitting on your cock and spreading it around, teasing his twitching hole with your tip. Unfortunately you didn’t have a lot of time, so your teasing didn’t last long as you started to ease into Scud, the stretch sending chills up his spine as he exhaled a moan.

Scud fisted his cock in his hand, whimpering into the the table when you started to slowly thrust in and out of him, giving him the time to adapt.

It didn’t take long, with as needy as he was his hole stretched easily around you, his breathing picking up speed underneath you.

You gradually started to increase your pace, gripping his hip with one hand while the other moved up to his hair, yanking back a fistful of it. Scud groaned, each snap of your hips sending his cock forward into his hand. “Harder” He nibbled on his bottom lip, body starting to heat up as spark flew through it. You pulled him back onto your cock by his hair, shifting a little to angle yourself. Scud choked back a high gasp when you pulled back and nailed his prostrate, electricity zipping through his entire core as you did it again.

“Is this what you want?” You set a grueling pace this time as you slammed into Scud, who had become a lot louder and more vocal. “Yes. Oh my fuck- God, yes” He stuttered out, eyes rolling back as his fingers curled into the table, other hand now rolling and thumbing his sensitive tip. Scud was practically flying off the edge now, mind going completely blank as stars danced in his vision, each hard snap of your hips sending him further into the bliss.

Being high off weed and pleasure was a great combination, Scud’s cries and moans now echoing through the shop was a sign of that. “You want everyone to come down here and see us?” You tugged his hair, and moved your hand down the loop your fingers around his choker, pulling it back and smirking at his strangled gasp. “Yes! Want ‘em to see me taking your cock” He was so lost that he couldn’t even touch himself anymore, his other hand coming up to grab onto the table as well.

“God Scud, you really are just a slut” You sped up even more, and Scud almost wanted to cry. “M’your slut, all yours” He babbled, wheezing softly as you pulled his choker even tighter, black dots starting to cloud his vision. He was so close, so very fucking close and every single thrust only sent him closer.

His head was so hazy, eyes fluttering as his mouth hung open, lips slick with spit as he choked out whimpers and gasps, your grip around his jewelry only getting tighter as you also got close, increasing the pace of your hips impossibly more and pounding directly into Scud’s sweet spot, high and breathlessly cries bouncing off the walls as her felt like the ground beneath him had been pulled out.

You fucked him through his orgasm, hips stuttering as his whole body shook, Scud’s eyes rolling into the back of his skull as his nails dug into the wooden table, dots and stars swirling around his eyes as his cock twitched and spasmed, ropes of white landing on the floor. You spilled your own release deep inside him, rocking against his prostrate for a few seconds longer before pulling out, breathing heavily.

Scud remained over the table, grunting softly when you hitched his pants back up and bent down to kiss him. “Good?” He nodded, goofy smile plastering across his face. “Great. Lets finish that joint” Scud raised himself up on his forearms, moving to capture your lips in one last kiss before glancing down around the table, frowning slightly. “Fucking great” You peered down, noticing the crumpled, balled up remains of the stubbed out joint, crushed under Scud’s upper half. “That was all I had left” He pouted, and before you could reach down to kiss it away, the door swung open.

“Alright loverboys, hours up, get back to work. Also, clean whatever that might be up” Blades voice boomed from atop the stairs, and you both flickered your gaze down to Scud’s cum glistening on the floor, embarassment heating both your cheeks. He was gone was quickly as he came, leaving the two of you to giggle and whisper in each others faces, over who would clean the floor. (Scud)

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#scud fanfiction #scud blade 2 #scud x reader #norman fucking reedus #norman reedus #male reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl x reader #twd

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rattlerinthewheel · 3 years

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Any suggestions for something Russell and Stevie can get up to? Mac and Cain? Scud and Silas? Daryl and Reader? Any other of my guys?

It’s Kinktober, after all... (Though, uh, nothing too out there please!)

#triple 9 #red canyon mac fanfic #norman reedus fanfiction #blade 2 #the walking dead #taking suggestions #russell welch x oc #mac x oc #scud x oc #daryl dixon x reader #original male character #male reader

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monstersandmaw · 5 years

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Male merman x male reader (nsfw) - Mermay Story #2

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Well, plot happened amid my planned porn. Oh well! Here's 7692 words for you! It’s been up on Patreon on early release. My lovely patrons have just been told who’s up next, so if you want to know, and more importantly be involved in the next poll and get your sticker and reward when I hit 100 patrons, head on over to Patreon and sign up!

Anyway, here's Connor. Light warnings for alcohol and the after-effects of a painful breakup. And... uh... two tentacle cocks. *shrugs*

___

Boxes.

Dozens of badly packed, disorganised, straining-at-the-seams cardboard boxes filled your new small seaside cottage, some marked, others not, all hastily packed, and the thought of dealing with them at the tail end of a long day was just… overwhelming.

In a desperate attempt to delay the inevitable, you simply shut the front door behind you, with its cheery red paint peeling slightly under the influence of many a winter storm, and set off down the quayside with the only thing you’d not even packed away for the move: your camera.

It was your faithful workhorse, a chunky, veritable beast, and it earned you your living, so there was no way you’d risk packing it away in anything other than its soft, protective case for the move. It had sat beside you in the van as you’d driven it down the winding, cobbled streets of the old town of Starfall Springs, heading for your new home. And now as you set out into the spring evening, the pavements gleaming in the wake of a sudden shower, it hung around your neck, the familiar weight a comfort in the constant flux and chaos of moving house.

Seagulls whirled and wheeled overheard in crazy, lazy circles, and the constant lap and slap of the sea against the harbour wall and the hulls of the little pleasure and fishing crafts moored in the weedy harbour formed a constant backdrop to your evening walk.

Groups of locals gathered at the edge of the town to watch the sunset and stretch their legs after work or before dinner.

A minotaur’s hearty laugh made you look round, and you saw a blue roan centaur talking with the tiniest goblin you’d ever seen. She was barely three feet tall, and was standing on a bench to talk to the centaur, but she had him laughing and tossing his head with a very equine delight all the same.

A couple of gnoll cubs scrapped and snarled on the playground just set back from the harbour road, and a shy looking werewolf cub looked on in awe and longing.

You documented the light and the angles, but it was the stack of lobster pots, with their woven, birdcage appearance, that snagged your eye and drew you away from the more obvious spots towards the quieter shadows of the harbour.

Raising your camera to your eye, you tweaked the shutter speed as the light changed, and adjusted the focus with a subtle twist of your wrist.

Behind the network of the crisscrossing lines of the lobster and crab pots, the surface of the sea formed a calm, beaten bronze backdrop, gilded by the sinking sun, the tiny waves like hammer marks in a sheet of polished metal. You lost yourself for a moment, just staring out at it with boats bobbing and the waves nudging against the slimy stone of the harbour wall.

Breaking that magical surface, a figure appeared in the water for a moment, and you adjusted the focus instinctively, framing them as they breached the surface. The figure was one of the merfolk who lived in the area, and you almost regretted taking the photo without their knowledge. This was not a wildlife shoot after all, and despite the lithe, muscular tail, they were no mere fish. You’d worked with a rough and tumble tiger shark mer out on a shoot in the tropics the previous year, but aside from her, you’d had little contact with them. And every shoal and pod was different, especially in their attitudes towards humans. Some were chilled and helpful towards humans, while others were shy and reclusive, and there were those that were even predatory.

You assumed that here in Starfall Bay, the merfolk would be at least tolerant of humans. How tolerant of paparazzi humans they would be was a different matter, and you lowered your camera.

This mer was clearly enjoying the evening sun as much as the landfolk who strolled along the promenade. They rolled onto their back and you saw a long, lean, grey-blue tail rising up to balance them and hold them at the surface as they spread their arms and floated there like a snoozing sea otter; except this ‘sea otter’ had the lower half of a creature as lean and streamlined as a shark, or perhaps a marlin. This was a predator.

Your feet took you, almost without your realising it, towards the end of the harbour wall, and as you neared the final few yards of the curving stone cob, you felt a wild and bold urge sweep through you. You sat down on a rusty old cleat and dangled your feet off the edge, well clear of the waves, but it was obvious that you were watching the mer.

After no more than a minute, they saw you. Long black hair trailed in the water, and sharp, wet cheekbones glimmered in the sinking sun. A lopsided grin flashed, and they flipped over and swam a little closer. “Enjoying the show?” came the question in a husky, rich tenor voice.

“I didn’t mean to stare,” you said.

“Sure. Not been this close to a mer before?” he said playfully, and in a flash of his powerful tail, he was mere metres from your dangling feet. If he’d wanted to, he could have darted up and yanked you into the water. The thought gave you a strange thrill. Instead, he floated there and looked up at you with dark eyes glittering.

“Just once,” you said carefully.

He raised a sculpted eyebrow at you. Gods, but he was handsome. He had one of those faces that could have been painted by an Old Master and hung in a gallery somewhere; all sharp angles that caught the light perfectly, and framed by a curtain of shoulder-length black hair. You’d have loved to have taken his photo in that moment, with the light playing so beautifully on his features. He had a row of pointed teeth too, like a shark. He tilted his head. “Oh?”

“She was a tiger shark mer,” you said, without elaborating further. Let him infer what he chose from that.

The mer grinned broadly, showing off all those pretty white teeth. “You like us dangerous I see…”

You snickered at that and leaned back on your hands, your camera resting on your chest. “She was helping me with a job.”

The mer turned from playful to curious in a heartbeat. “What kind of job?”

You waggled your DSLR at him. “Photography. We were trying to film green sea turtles for a program on endangered species, and she was one of the mer who guarded the reserve where they’re being protected.”

“Sweet,” he said. “Nice to see our two species actually working together for a change.” A tinge of bitterness crept into his voice, but you let it slide.

“I know. We both had a blast doing it.”

He grinned and then the smile slipped from his face and he turned away, webbed hands waving slightly in the clear water of the harbour to keep himself above water.

“You… ok?” you asked hesitatingly.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Fuck.”

You waited, hoping he’d elaborate. All the fun seemed to have gone out of him, like the sparkle of a bubble suddenly pricked and burst. He sighed and his shoulders drooped. He dipped beneath the surface and raked his clawed fingers through his long hair, scraping it back off his handsome face.

“What are you doing here in Starfall Springs?” he asked after a moment. “No endangered species here. Unless you’re documenting humans, that is…” he added with a wry smile. “Not too many of those here…”

“I actually just moved here,” you said gently, hoping that whatever it was that had darkened his mood would pass as swiftly as a scudding cloud.

He turned and looked directly at you. “Really?” he said. “Why did you settle on this place?”

You shrugged. “The lady I’m renting from had really good rates, and I want to expand my personal portfolio,” you said, camera in hand. “The landscape round here is amazing, particularly the coast.”

He smiled. “It’s gorgeous,” he agreed. “If you head slightly north there’s this huge sandy bay with enormous rock arches, and sometimes you can find fossils in the cliffs.”

“Sounds great,” you said, eyes going wide.

He paused. “I could show you if you like?” he said after a moment.

Your brows knitted. “You serious?”

He grinned. “Sure, why not?”

“I mean… you don’t exactly know me…?”

Again, the mer shrugged, a twinkle coming back to his eyes that made you lick your lips subconsciously. “So?” he said. “You free tomorrow?”

“Hell yeah,” you said. “Anything to put off unpacking all the boxes from the move…”

He laughed, a sound like sunlight on still water, and you found yourself beaming back at him.

“Ok, meet me tomorrow at 10am on the old bridge into town.”

“Wait, what?”

He simply grinned and disappeared with a flick of his tail, leaving you with about a million questions and no one to ask.

The next morning you made your way through the winding old streets of Starfall Springs and hurried towards the old bridge. You were wearing your usual ‘photography-ramble’ clothing - namely a nondescript and slightly nerdy t-shirt, and scruffy jeans - and the day was fast warming up. The bridge was empty when you arrived, but you checked the time and realised you were fifteen minutes early anyway.

You leaned your body against the ancient stones of the wall and peered over the edge. The water rushed down, clear and quick, from the eponymous springs above the town, and swept away into the harbour and out to sea. The way the water weed danced in the current was mesmeric, and, yes, incorrigible as ever, you whipped your camera out for a closeup of the textures and play of light on the water. It rippled, and yet was smooth as blown glass, and it caught your attention so fully that you almost didn’t notice the person approaching you until he came to a halt right beside you and leaned his backside against the wall and laughed, folding his arms across his slender chest.

You jumped, almost dropping your camera in surprise, though luckily the neck-strap earned its keep and saved the camera from a plummet to a soggy doom below (and not for the first time). You turned and had been about to scowl disapprovingly at the young man, both for invading your personal space quite so closely, and for interrupting you mid-photo, but the words died on your tongue when you recognised the handsome figure a second later. You knew your jaw was hanging open in shock, but you couldn’t wipe the stupid expression from your face.

The mer - who now had legs and clothes - simply tipped his head back, his long, blue-black hair tied in a low, scruffy bun at the nape of his neck, and laughed. “Oh man,” he said, eyes watering. “You should see your face.”

“But… how?” you faltered.

“Brackish mer,” he said. “We can shift at will. Though I still find these fuckers… weird,” he said, slapping one lean, skinny, denim-clad thigh with the palm of his hand. He wore a plain grey t-shirt and nondescript, slightly baggy jeans which rode invitingly low on his narrow hips. Your mouth went dry and you looked away.

“Well, that’s… unexpected,” you finally said.

“I’m Connor, by the way,” he said, holding out his hand to you. His fingers bore traces of webbing between them, stretching between the first knuckles of his fingers. Another reminder that although he walked on human legs, he was not, in fact, the same species. Your eyes darted to his neck and, sure enough, you saw three faint, almost scar-like, lines where his gills should be. Or perhaps they were still there but had closed over for his time on land. Merfolk anatomy was still very much a mystery to you.

You shook his hand as you introduced yourself by name, and felt how cool his skin was against yours. His grip was strong, his hands hard and smoothly callused. You wondered fleetingly what they’d feel like on your body. Fuck. Not helping.

Even in this new human form, he still had his row of pointed, predatory teeth, of which you were granted a beautiful view when he hitched his lips up into a lopsided grin and said, “Ready?”

You nodded mutely and allowed him to lead you through the town towards the northern side. A wide road led out of Starfall Springs, and Connor talked a mile a minute about everything as you passed it. He pointed out the marketplace on your left, and added, “I sell my catches there on Fridays.”

“You mean… you’re…”

“A fisherman,” he said. “Yes. There’s literally nothing, save for maybe another marlin mer, that can out-swim me. Even the tuna. I work with a team of open-water fishermen. We catch tuna and other fish and bring ‘em to market once a week. Sometimes we’re out for longer though.”

“How long?”

He shrugged. “Maybe a month or even six weeks sometimes? Depends on what we want to catch.”

“Do many of your kind do that sort of work? Are the rest of your crew merfolk?”

Connor shook his head. “Nah. It’s just me with the fish-tail on the team. And… most of my folks just keep to themselves, you know? They don’t get why I like humans and landfolk so much, and even though they can shift, they don’t.”

You tilted your head and snatched a sidelong look at him as you walked. He was lean and clearly very fit, with no sign of being puffed or overly warm despite the growing heat of the summer day. You on the other hand were getting distinctly warm under the collar, though you weren’t sure if it was the sun or the presence of the gorgeous merman walking beside you that was causing the reaction. You had your suspicions, though you kept those firmly to yourself.

Connor caught the look you gave him and tossed you another carefree grin. “Not quite sure what you’re thinking, but I’ll take a wild guess. Not all merfolk can shift, you know? And not many can shift the way we do. The more we do it, the easier it gets. Though it still hurts like a bitch.”

“What’s so fascinating about us? I mean, why do you do it?” you asked. As you did so, you caught sight of a butterfly sunning itself on an old, stone mile-marker and paused to focus your camera on it. The two of you had come to the edge of the town now, and the rolling countryside slid away from you in a series of gentle, undulating slopes adorned with orchards and vineyards to the north west, and the coastal road slid away to the north east.

All the while you snuck closer to the butterfly, Connor stayed silent and still on the road behind you, and when you’d got so close you could see the feather-like mosaic of colours on the butterfly’s wings through the view-finder, you snapped some shots, checked them reflexively, and then pulled back and blushed slightly to find him staring at you.

“What?” you challenged gently.

Connor only grinned and said, “Nothing. I just… wouldn’t have noticed that. You’ve got a quick eye, you know?”

You answered his gesture with one of your own. “Comes with the career, I guess.”

He led you off down a rugged footpath, having left your question about the fascination of landfolk unanswered, and as you passed by a battered-looking hut on your right, nestled among tall, flowering grasses dotted here and there with poppies, he said, “A friend of mine lives there. He’s a mer too, but he actually spends most of his time on land. Fuck though, you should see him as a mer. He’s got this big orca tail and these gorgeous markings…” he sighed.

“Sounds like you’ve got a crush,” you blurted.

Connor barked a laugh. “I did,” he admitted. “As a teenager, I crushed so hard on him that I forgot how to swim once and crashed straight into a wreck. He never let me live it down. We actually dated for a while when we were a bit older. Didn’t work out, but we’re still close.”

“That’s nice,” you mused, staring at the ramshackle cottage covered in honeysuckle and creeping ivy. “My exes don’t tend to want anything to do with me.”

“Is that a human women thing, or…?”

“Men,” you said absently, raising your camera to your eye to snap a quick shot of a passing seagull soaring just off the high cliffs below you.

“Oh,” he said, and when you looked back at him, he was staring at his shoes.

You smiled a soft, wonky smile, and continued in silence for a little bit, until the cove below opened up fully before you, and you gasped. “That’s gorgeous,” you breathed.

“Isn’t it?” He raised his hand, his bare, slender arms muscular and so inviting, and pointed at the rock arch at the end of the sweeping, sandy bay. “There are often fossils in that bit. You want to go take a closer look? See what we can find?”

His playful attitude was infectious, and the two of you were soon scrambling down the sandy, scree-slope path to the beach. At one point your soles slipped on the gravelly surface and you sat down hard on your backside with a grunt. Connor, three paces ahead of you on the narrow path, turned abruptly and snorted at the sight of you. “You alright?” he asked. When you nodded, a bit winded, he held out his hand again, and you accepted it without question and let him yank you back onto your feet.

The tide was creeping slowly out, leaving a swathe of dark, hard, wet sand behind, and the beach was littered with little shells and other gifts that the retreating water had left behind. Connor drifted away towards the waves and began to toss bits of debris at passing gulls, never close enough to hit, but accurately enough to make them wheel away, shrieking indignantly, which only made the mer laugh and yell at them.

In the short few hours you’d been with him, you’d come to love that laugh. His voice was husky and rough, like the rasp of dune marram grass disturbed by the wind, and his dark hair glimmered with a hint of blue in the strong sunlight. But there was something else to him that spoke of hidden currents beneath the surface. In moments when he thought you were otherwise occupied, the laughter died in him and a hollow sadness crept in at the edges.

It felt as though he were trying to forget something, trying to put something behind him, and he was focusing on you as an excuse to do it.

You barely knew him, so you didn’t press, but as you neared the cliffs and he wandered over to them, running his fingertips over the jagged, crumbling surfaces of the sandstone, you watched him more closely. He walked recklessly close to the base of the cliffs, picking at flaky portions of the rock until a rain of bits and dust scattered to the sandy beach at his feet.

“Connor?” you asked after watching him for a while.

“Mm?” The mer did not look up.

“What are you doing?”

He paused but still didn’t turn round. “Looking for fossils. Sometimes you can find ammonites and belemnites and…” he trailed off when he turned and saw the look on your face.

You shook your head. “I mean… why are you doing this with me? You saw some human taking photos at the harbour yesterday, and the next thing you’re volunteering to take me fossil hunting along the coast.”

“Can’t I want to do something nice for a handsome stranger?” he asked, a slight bite to his playful tone.

You simply looked at him flatly. “Sure you can,” you said. “But…”

“Forget it,” he said, shaking his head. Sections of his dark hair had come loose in the stiff breeze, and they whipped across his pale face and into his dark eyes.

You nodded. “Sorry I pushed,” you muttered, turning away and walking along the cliffs for a bit, hoping that a moment of privacy would give him a chance to recover.

The mood was different after that. The wind seemed to have a chill to it that you’d not noticed earlier, the calls of the seabirds almost mocking now, and as Connor slouched along the wet sand, he scuffed his heels and kept his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“I’m hungry,” he said after perhaps half an hour of walking along the beach. “You want to head back to town?”

“Sure.”

The house martins’ high, trilling calls filled the air above as they darted in and out of their nests in the eaves of the old buildings with their terracotta roves and sandstone walls. You watched them and tried to snap some shots of them with your long lens. Connor watched you curiously and when you turned back to him he smiled softly, some of the warmth returning to his face. His skin was pale and smooth as porcelain, save for a few scars here and there, his cheekbones high and sharp, and his lips… there was something inviting about his soft lips. They curled slightly at the corners, making you think of stolen kisses and secret smiles.

He walked with you back to your house in near silence, but when you asked him inside, he shook his head. “Nah, I should to get back to the sea. Too much time on land isn’t good for me. Not just… physically…”

“Right. Well, thanks for today… for showing me around a bit. I had fun.”

Connor shrugged one shoulder, hands still in his pockets. “Figured it’d be a nice thing to do, you know? Since you don’t know anyone here yet.”

“I appreciate it. Let me know if you want to meet up again some time…”

A little light kindled in his dark eyes and he flashed you a sharp-toothed grin. “Alright,” he said. “I will. And I look forward to seeing your photographs in the gallery sometime soon…”

You answered him with a shy smile of your own and watched him walk away down the narrow, cobbled street, his hands in his pockets, his head bowed and his gaze fixed on the road directly in front of him.

After a day which had turned out in an entirely different way from the one you had imagined for yourself when you’d woken up, you settled down later that evening, having edited all your photos of the trip, and sank onto the old, squashy, comfy sofa, and sighed. There were still boxes everywhere, but now, with at least a fleeting connection made, you felt more tethered to the place. The task of unpacking didn’t seem so daunting, somehow. It seemed… worth it.

A bashing at your door just after ten o’clock frightened the living daylights out of you.

You stood and cautiously went to the front door, heart hammering in your chest, almost louder than the pounding on the wood. No one here knew you yet, and there was no call for anyone to be thudding away at the little red door at this time of night, surely?

Peeking through the tiny, warped glass window, you saw a pale face and frowned. It looked like Connor, but he’d said he was going back to the sea.

You opened it and found him listing heavily to one side, like a ship floundering on a reef, leaning all his weight against the thick wall of your cottage, his hair hanging loose into his face. “Shit,” he said when he saw your eyes wide with surprise. “Shit, I shouldn’t… Fuck.”

His words were thick and slurred, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Connor? What happened?”

“So… I didn’t go back after all,” he said, swaying again and staggering as his body tried to adjust and correct. “Fuck.”

“Here,” you said, stepping forward and scooping your arm under his to help him inside. “Sit down before you fall down.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you chuckled. You’d dealt with drunk friends before, and manoeuvred him easily enough onto the sofa you’d just vacated.

“Walking is fucking hard,” he commented when you were halfway there. “I mean… I can just about manage at the best of times, but fuck me… I mean, you don’t have to do that. That’s not why I came here. You are gorgeous though. But… ah… fuck.”

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you,” you smiled, easing him down onto the sofa and taking a look at the greenish tinge to his cheeks. “Hey, you gonna throw up?”

“Maybe?” he said. Then, the more he thought about it, the greener he got.

“You sit tight. I’ll find a bowl or something. And a glass of water.”

When you came back, he was leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, trying to steady his breathing. “I’m… I’m gonna…” he said, and you instinctively shoved the bowl into the space in front of him. Just in time.

His body heaved and you rested the bowl on his knees while you held his hair back out of the way. You’d done this for girls at college who’d had hair as long as his, but you’d never done it for a guy. Somehow it felt different. More intimate, despite the fact that he was still practically a stranger.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to say again between heaves.

It wasn’t long before he recovered enough for you to be able to leave him and deal with the bowl. When you returned, you found him, ashen-faced, sipping the water and looking frankly about as miserable as a wet raccoon. He even had the shadows under his eyes too, for sure.

“What happened?” you asked tentatively, sitting down beside him.

“Got thinking,” he said without opening his dark eyes.

“About?”

“Him.”

“Who’s ‘him’?” you asked, instantly knowing you were going to regret bringing this topic up.

He swallowed. “My ex.”

“Ah.”

“I had fun today, you know?” Connor said, casting you a careful, sideways look through squinted eyes. His dark gaze was still unfocused and glassy, but the pain in his eyes was clear as day. “It was nice. But it made me think…”

“Yeah, that can happen,” you said.

“He was a human too,” he said. “Is. He’s still around. Doing fine. Moved on to someone easier to be with, I guess. Someone who doesn’t need to sprout a fucking tail and go back to the sea. Hey, you know what he said? Right before he broke up with me?”

This was not a healthy line of conversation, but for now, you allowed it, sensing that he needed someone new with whom he could talk this through. He’d probably exhausted his friends with it already. “What did he say?”

“He said ‘you’ve got a nice ass, Connor, when you’re a human. It’s just a shame I can’t fuck a fish!’”

“Thats… wow, that’s callous.”

“Right? I’m not even a fish! Mer aren’t fish. We’re not mammals either. Fuck knows what we’re classed as. I don’t even care. But you can definitely fuck a mer. That’s for sure.”

“So, tell me then… how does alcohol affect mer?”

“Can’t you see?” he said sourly. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Yeah, but… you gonna be ok?”

“I’ve been drunk before.”

“Why didn't you go back to the sea earlier? Have you been drinking all this time?”

Connor shook his head and then rapidly looked like he regretted it. He groaned and sat back on the sofa, eyes fluttering closed once again. “I walked up to the springs for a bit. I’m not… I’m not normally like this,” he said, his voice gravelly. “I don’t normally get drunk.”

The sadness in his tone struck you deeply. “I get it,” you said. “Breakups suck.”

“He sucks,” Connor retorted petulantly. “Ah, fuck. I should go. I don’t want you to see me like this. Not when… not… not after…” he broke off, shaking his head. He tried to stand but his knees gave way a little and he veered sideways.

You shot up to catch him before he face-planted onto the floor and, laughing gently, you laid him back down on the sofa. “You stay right there,” you said, helping him to lie down. “Sleep it off. Let me grab a blanket.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his eyelids already drooping.

By the time you returned with a blanket from a box upstairs, he was sound asleep. He was going to have one wicked hangover in the morning though.

You took his shoes off for him, surprised by how cold his feet were despite the socks and the temperature of the room. Maybe merfolk just ran cold; you recalled the coolness of his palm from earlier and shrugged. Somehow, he was still gorgeous, even pass-out drunk on your sofa.

You left the, now clean, bowl within hurling distance and hoped he wouldn’t need it, and made sure he was lying comfortably on his side with a cushion beneath his head. He didn't wake as you lifted him gently and slid the small cushion under his cheek, but you were surprised when he let out a deep, sleepy moan at your touch.

“Sleep well,” you said as you headed upstairs, leaving him with a large glass of water.

Morning came and you stretched groggily. It was only as you thought about taking yourself in hand to ease out the tension of your morning wood that you remembered that you were not alone in the house. Lying there for a little while longer, thinking about Connor and the sharp, chiselled planes of his face, did not help matters, and eventually you relented and closed your fist around your cock. You gasped at the rush of pleasure, and it wasn’t long at all til you were spilling into your hand, thinking about what it might be like to be with the merman. Guilt rushed in to replace the elation of your release when you remembered that he was not long into the first stages of post-breakup hell, and thinking about him that way was probably not the most appropriate thing in the world.

After a perfunctory clean up, you dressed and headed downstairs. The moment you reached the bottom of the staircase, you froze. The sounds drifting from the living room were not the sounds of morning pleasure. In fact, at a faint little whimper, you shot forwards into the room and saw that Connor was lying on his back on the sofa, writhing weakly and gasping.

“Connor?”

“Help,” he rasped, clawing at the blanket. As it slid slowly off him, you realised with a jolt of shock that the pile of clothing on the floor was his discarded jeans and t-shirt from the night before. Your eyes shifted back to his legs and you gasped. His skin was in the process of fusing together, turning dark and shadowy, his legs pressed together and clearly trying to become a tail.

“What do I do?” you asked helplessly. “Connor…”

He wheezed and jutted his head back, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. His hands were clawed now, the webbing stretching right up to the tops of his fingers, and visible as he flexed and balled his fingers in obvious pain. He looked across the room at you with his large, dolorous eyes, and tried to smile. “I…” a long, rattling inhale followed, and when he was finally able to speak again, he added, “I should have gone back to the sea. I -” he broke off with a sharp cry as his legs fused into a tail and his skin darkened to the familiar grey-blue you’d glimpsed in the water. The fan of his tail spread across the far end of the sofa, looking strangely like crumpled tissue paper.

“You’re gonna be heavy,” you said, “But I could probably carry you to the harbour from here if you need to be in the water. It’s not far. Maybe only a hundred yards or so?”

“Would you?” he asked, gratitude surging in his expression. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you said. In fact, you were the one worrying. He looked dried out, and probably the alcohol from the previous night wasn’t helping in the dehydration stakes. “C’mon. Let’s give it a go.”

You opened the front door and grabbed your keys before turning back to the merman who had now completed his transformation and was lying limply on the couch, breathing rapidly and shallowly. There was still a tight wheezing to his breaths, and you noticed how the gills on his neck had opened in a futile attempt to draw in more air.

“You good?” you asked, and he nodded.

“I will be. Shit, I’m so sorry. I tried to hold it off but… I can’t stay ‘human’ on land for too long. I pushed it by staying last night.”

Connor’s pale cheeks flushed crimson as you stooped and slid your arms under his tail and around his torso. He immediately latched his arm around your neck, and you rose, staggering slightly.

“Fuck, you’re heavier than you look…” you grunted.

“Isn’t that romantic,” he quipped, turning his face away. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” you said. “It’s been an interesting time lately for you. And nothing says ‘getting to know a guy’ like carrying him ‘bridal style’ to the water and tossing him in… you know?”

Connor managed a weak laugh. “I knew you were a good’un when I first saw you.”

“No you didn’t,” you retorted, letting the front door slam shut behind you.

“You’re right. I just saw a good looking guy and thought I’d try and get into your pants to make me feel better. Happy now?”

“You’re not in my pants…” you pointed out, grunting again as you adjusted his weight.

“No, but I’m in your arms. That’s pretty close…” He turned serious and added, “But you deserve more than some rebound fuck… I’m… I’m sorry. For all of this.”

“I’m not,” you said. “My back might be tomorrow, but…”

Connor laughed again, and buried his face at your collarbone. “I’m so sorry. Let me make it up to you somehow.”

“Let’s get you to the harbour first, and then we can talk about making up. Or out…”

His grin was broad and toothy and genuine, and it went some way to reassuring you that he’d be ok.

It was a long, hard slog to the harbour, but you made it and just pitched him over the wall so that he fell, undignified and flailing, into the harbour mouth with a disgruntled squawk that made you laugh. The splash of his landing got you all the way up the front, but you sat down on the edge of the wall as he circled a little in the water, drawing water through his parched gills, and then bobbed up at the surface again, looking sheepish.

“Thanks,” he said, eyes fixed on his hands as he floated there in front of you.

“No problem,” you replied. “Seriously. I know what it’s like to go through a rough breakup. It’s shit. You seem like a good guy, and I’m happy to be here for you. I’d like to get to know you better anyway… regardless of what… you know… might happen down the line. Or not.”

Connor’s smile was as broad and white as it had ever been. “Thanks. I… I’m not sure I deserve that, but thanks anyway.”

“Look, I’ll let you get sorted out for now, but if you’re free tomorrow, meet me at the cove with the fossils again? You don’t have to come on legs this time either.”

He nodded, seeming surprised at your last comment. “Alright. I’ll see you there. What time?”

“Just before sunset?”

Connor nodded once more, and then disappeared in a flash of his tail as he sped away through the clear water of the harbour, out to the brackish waters of the estuary beyond the protective curve of the wall.

At sunset the following day, you had taken your shoes off and were enjoying the cool water with your jeans cuffed up when a splash further out to sea signalled the arrival of Connor. He looked brighter, healthier, and he powered up through the gentle, lapping surf and dragged his body up above the tide line to join you. “Hi,” he said, rolling onto his back and splaying his arms out at his sides like a starfish to recover his breath after the effort. “Fuck. I’m so sorry about yesterday. I’m not a complete drunken loser, I swear.”

“Like I said, I get it,” you said, standing beside him and staring out at the sun as it sank low above the horizon, heavy and as searing as a blacksmith’s coal over the water. You looked down at him then, and something began to thrum in you. You’d yet to see all of him like this, as he truly was, and he was even more beautiful than he’d been in his ‘human’ form. You hissed a soft curse to yourself, but he heard it and flashed a frown at you.

“What?”

“You’re… You’re stunning, Connor. I don’t know what your ex was thinking, but… you’re beautiful like this. Especially in this light.”

Connor blushed and looked away. Then, with a snort of laughter, he grabbed your ankle and knocked your knee out from behind you, sending you sprawling into the wet sand beside him. Your jeans soaked up the seawater instantly, and you gasped at the shock of the cold water.

He pulled you close and crushed a kiss against your lips before you had time to register it, and you found your body responding instantly. “Connor,” you panted, drawing back and finding his pupils fully dilated. “You sure you want this?”

“Yes,” he rasped. “I want you. Please…”

You ran your hands down his slender torso, to where his hips melted into the rough, pale skin of his shark-like lower half. The skin there was tough as fine sandpaper, and as you skimmed over his hips, he arched his spine and whimpered.

“Connor?”

“So good,” he mumbled. “Fuck, that’s so good.”

You lavished attention on the transition point at his hips, and he was soon a writhing, squirming wreck, left beached high above the retreating tide. His tail flopped uselessly, and his clawed fingers raked furrows in the hard, wet sand. He bucked upwards into you and you found a slit swelling and opening in his lower body. It was slick and as you guided your fingers to it, running your fingertips around the hot, silky walls of the inside, he yelped and moaned, biting his lip and swearing. “Fuck, yes, there… fuck. Fuck!”

And as you slid your fingertips further inside the slit, you found that the puffy, smooth walls hid a delightful surprise. Not one, but two cocks began to swell inside, and as you ran your finger along the slick interior, a large tentacle-like cock slid free and writhed idly in the cool, evening air. The second cock, a little smaller but equally hard and eager, slipped free a moment later, and writhed beside it.

“Well,” you said. “Isn’t that a surprise.”

Connor smirked softly and raised his hips weakly. “Please…” His cocks were leaking already, and a line of pre-come hung between them from tip to tip.

“How could you not have been enough for anyone?” you mused aloud, growing painfully hard yourself. Your cock was soon straining at your boxers, and you ached to run it between his twin cocks and feel the slickness of his heat against your body. “Can I?” you asked, and he nodded instantly.

You took both of his cocks in one hand and pumped them gently, the way you’d have taken a human’s cock in hand when just starting out, warming up and teasing. Connor tipped his head back and moaned deliciously, exposing his pale throat to you as he tried to grind his hips up into your hand, seeking more contact, more friction… more.

“Please…” he gasped a moment or two later. “Please…”

“Please what?”

“Anything, dammit,” he snarled, teeth on show. “Anything, just… it’s… it’s not enough… and… and I want to see you. Please, let me see you.”

“Just see?” you teased.

You were met with another growl and a row of white teeth.

“I’m not letting those pearly whites near my cock unless you grow some manners,” you snickered as you undressed, heedless that this was a public (if quiet) beach.

Once naked, you watched as Connor’s eyes drifted down your body to your hard cock and his pupils soared even wider. “Fuck, look at you,” he said. “You’re fucking perfect…”

“Connor, I want… I want to… but…”

“My slit…” he said. “Fuck my slit. Please. I’m slick enough…”

You needed no more encouragement.

You straddled the merman, feeling the hard, rough skin of his shark-like tail between your thighs, before you leaned over him, lowering your hard cock towards his own. His two cocks were both weeping, the tentacle-like shapes twisting in the cold air, desperately seeking out heat and contact. When they found your own, painfully hard cock, they instantly began to coil around your length, gripping you with incredible strength. They were leaking and wet, slippery and searingly hot, and you felt your balls tighten at the way they twined around you.

You swore and Connor groaned as you rocked your hips between them. His two cocks spiralled around your own gripping you so tightly it stole your breath completely. You swore, head tipping forwards over him as sparks ignited along your spine. His clawed hands found your back and he raked delicate, red lines across your skin as you rutted into him.

Your tip hit the entrance of the slit which contained his two cocks, and he cried out as you entered him.

“You want me… to stop?” you asked, breathless.

He shook his head. “Fuck no. Keep going. That’s amazing…”

You slid into him and as you did, his cocks gripped you tighter. “I’m not gonna last much longer if…” one of his cocks coiled around your balls and slid towards the cleft of your cheeks. “Oh fuck, Connor, I’m.. That’s…”

“You don’t want me to?” he managed to whisper.

“Please,” you said. “I need you…

And with your cock now buried fully in his slick sheath, and with one of his cocks wrapped tightly around your shaft, you felt his other cock slip inside you. The intrusion wasn’t as painful as you’d though it was going to be, having had no preparation, but perhaps that was because of the shape of him, and because it was the slightly smaller cock that was sinking into your ass. The tip of it nudged suddenly against your prostate and you saw white.

His other cock clenched around your own, and as he hit you again and again in that bundle of nerves, you cursed, grabbed his shoulders, bowed your head, and as that heat surged inside you, you spilled all over his chest. A second or two later, while you were still twitching and convulsing through your own release, Connor found his peak and emptied himself over his own stomach, and inside you with a wild, high yell of pleasure.

You felt his release hit you deep inside as well, and after a few seconds, it began to slide from you as his second cock softened a little.

His whole body twitched and shuddered, his eyes had rolled closed, and his chest gleamed with sweat.

Eventually he came back to you, and his tentacle-like cock unravelled from around your own and you rolled off him into the wet sand beside him. His chest rose and fell rapidly and his pale skin was flushed and heated with the exertion.

Connor reached clumsily across the space between you and ran his leathery palm over your stomach and up your chest to your neck where your heartbeat pounded. Limply, he rolled onto his side and kissed your throat, raking his teeth gently over your sensitive, flushed skin. “Gods, I came so hard…”

You snorted a smile back at him and he laughed, flopping back into the sand. “What are we doing?” he murmured.

You shrugged. “I don’t know. But… I’m willing to see where it goes, if you are?”

“You mean you’re happy to fuck a fish?” he asked bitterly.

You rolled your eyes. “I just did, didn’t I?”

Connor offered you a lopsided grin and met your eyes askance. “Yeah. You did. Did you like it?”

You eyed the mess you’d both made of his torso pointedly.

Connor gave a final smile and pushed himself upright. Your combined mess slid down his front and you watched as his cocks retreated back into the sheath with slow, deliberate pulses.

He caught you watching him and blushed crimson.

“What?” you asked.

“I… Nothing,” he said, still not meeting your eye.

“You really are beautiful,” you said.

“Even like this?” he said with a deliberate flick of his tail.

You scowled and sat up too, reaching out and taking the back of his head in your hand.

His hair was wet, and he tasted of the sea, but you didn’t care.

You kissed him hard, biting his lip and making him moan and his eyes roll shut again.

When you pulled back, you practically growled, “Especially like this, Connor.”

************************************

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d-noona · 4 years

Text

MAKE OVER

Chapter 6: Euphoria

Jung Hoseok x Reader

Reader as Kang Hyeonji

SUMMARY: When Kang Hyeonji transformed herself into a striking redhead, the entire male population of Seoul stood up and took notice. But her make over was for Jung Hoseok’s benefit alone. He began to show interest in the new look but not in the way she wanted. Suddenly he was over-protective, perhaps a little jealous. It seemed that the idea of having a relationship with her couldn’t be further from his mind. The girl however wants more. So it was time for an ultimatum. If Hoseok didn’t want Hyeonji to lose her virginity to another admirer, he had no option but to make love to her himself.

After seeking help from one of Taehyung and Jimin's recommendations for her make up tutorial Hyeonji took several lessons with Seokjin. He was a splendid man who had a face of an angel who taught her to differentiate a blusher from a bronzer.

Hyeonji was practicing her daytime make-up routine the following Sunday morning when the telephone rang. "Can you answer that, Mum?" she called out.

There was no reply and the phone kept on ringing. Hyeonji suddenly remembered that her mother had gone down to the corner store to buy the Sunday papers. Carefully, she put down her new mascara wand then hurried downstairs to sweep the receiver.

"Hi there," she said breezily.

"Hyeonji? Is that you?"

Her heart caught the sound of Hoseok's voice, reminding her forcibly how much she loved this man. The realization wrenched her momentarily out of her newly found optimism, bringing her down to earth with a thud. But then she regathered herself, her spirits lifting with the thought that Hoseok was actually calling her. That was a first!

"It certainly is me, Hobi. Don't I sound like me?"

"Actually, no...you sound different, somehow." He replies.

"Really...?" Well I look different too, she was tempted to add, but didn't want to spoil the surprise when he eventually saw her in the flesh. "Sorry. It's just the little old me," she went on, smiling to herself. Her height was one thing she simply could not change. Though the four-inch heels she'd tried on yesterday and which would buy shortly certainly gave her a taller view of the world. "So to what do I owe the dubious honor of you call?"

"Are you being sarcastic?"

Hyeonji chuckled at the shocked tone of his question. "Who, me? Never!"

"Have you been drinking?" he sounded almost crass. "This early on a Sunday morning?" it was five past ten. "Which brings me to a repeat of my question. Why are you calling me?"

"What? Oh, I um...I'm on my way to help Mother move some furniture around. She's decided she's bored with the layout in the living rooms. Actually, I think it was just an excuse to get me home and feed me up. Anyway, I thought of you saying the other night that you don't get fed properly at home, and I was wondering if you'd like to join us for lunch."

"Join you for lunch," she repeated, swallowing convulsively and immediately going blank. "You don't have to sound so thrilled," came his testy remark. "I realize I'm not your Mr. X but I've always thought you enjoyed my company."

"Oh, but I do!" she hastened to assure him. "I mean, I...I..."

"You have something else on? Is that it?"

Hyeonji tried to pull herself together. It was the shock, which was all it was. She glanced in the wall mirror above the telephone table and nerves immediately besieged her. Would Hoseok think she looked fantastic when he saw her? Might he be inspired to ask her out on a date, like Jungkook had? A real date?

"No, nothing else on," she said at last. "And I'd love to join you and your mother for lunch. Would you like me to help you move the furniture as well?"

"Would you?"

"Love to. Make-overs are my thing this week," she says.

"What?"

"Nothing," she muttered, and wished she were more confident of Hoseok's reaction to her own make-over. "I'll come see you in about fifteen minutes, then. Just come over when you see my car."

"But...but..."

"Look, I'm ringing you from my mobile and I'd better hang up before I get into trouble."

He hung up and Hyeonji groaned into the dead receiver.

Fifteen minutes. Oh God...

With a shriek, she dropped the receiver back into place and dashed upstairs, throwing open her wardrobe and searching for something Hoseok might like. No pants, she reminded herself, and past over the cheap tights and track suit pants she lived around the house. Her eyes went to the black crop top she'd bought the previous day, the only item of clothing she could afford.

But she had nothing to go with it. In despair, she pulled a pair of white shorts, though bought two years back when she'd been larger, she never actually got around to wearing the thing since it didn't fit her then. She tried on the shorts, looking at the mirror it hugged her bottom nice and tight. It looked good. Plus it was too hot for jeans, and she didn't have enough time to find anything else.

Ten minutes had flown since Hoseok had called. Shoving her feet into tan sandals, Hyeonji spun round to the dressing-table to finish her make-up, but her hands were shaking so badly she had to abandon applying mascara. Fortunately, she'd already done her eyeshadow and eyeliner, adding enough depth and definition to her eyes for casual daytime wear. She had a light powder on and cheek tint were in place. All that was left to do was her lip tint.

This last thought sent Hyeonji's pulse racing. There was only one man she'd want to wake up with in the morning with her make-up still intact. Somehow, the red lip tint found its proper place without wondering all over her face. It gave an impression of a plump luscious lips.

She did a quick brush of her hair, several deep, steadying breaths and she was ready. Just in time, too, for when she leant across her bed to glance through her bedroom window she was greeted by the sight of Hoseok's new red car coming up the hill.

Her stomach tightened another notch, her heart pounding. One last glance at her shorts and crop top brought a grimace of and another flicker of doubt. The last thing Hyeonji needed at that moment was to come downstairs and be met with her mother's open scorn.

Zil walked in the front door just as Hyeonji approached it. "And where do you think you're off to with your face all done up like a dog's dinner? No. You don't have to tell me. I can guess. I saw his car pass by as I walked up the hill, and you're running straight over to parade yourself in front of him. Dear heaven, but you're a fool, Kang Hyeonji! That girlfriend of his would still run rings around you for looks and style. You can tart yourself up all you like and it won't make a blind bit of difference. Not where Hoseok is concerned. Of course there are other men around here who aren't so particular. Not that they ever marry the girls they ask out."

For a few seconds, Hyeonji's confidence in her appearance wavered. But she'd come too far to allow anyone to undermine her newly found self-esteem. Not that her mother's nasty comments hadn't hurt.

"Maybe I'm not in Tinashe's league in the looks department Mum," she said, her voice shaking with emotion. "But I still think I look pretty good. And I'll have you know I'm not running over there to parade myself in front of Hobi. He rang me while you were out and asked me over for lunch. It seems that he and Tinashe have broken up. Maybe I don't stand a chance with him, Mum, but that's no excuse for your trying to put me down like that. It was mean."

To give her credit her mother looked shocked, then stricken with remorse. "Oh, Hyeonji... I... I... Oh, dear. Oh, I'm so sorry. I... I just don't want to see you hurt..."

"Then stop hurting me," she countered, sweeping out of the house before her mother could say another word, anger propelling her down the front path. As she stalked out onto the roadway and turned right, Hyeonji indulged in some none too ladylike mutterings.

"My, my," drawled a male voice. "Does that brand-new temper come with the brand-new hair?"

Hyeonji scudded to a ragged halt, her eyes whipping up to see Hoseok leaning against his open car door, watching her. His eyes immediately narrowed on her newly made-up face, then lifted to once again take in her new crowning glory. She couldn't tell if he approved of her transformation or not.

"You...you don't like it?" she almost groaned after a few seconds silence, one hand flying up to touch her hair in that age-old feminine gesture which invited reassurance. Hoseok straightened and slammed the cardoor before glaring back her way. "Don't be ridiculous. What's not to like? You look fantastic. But I think you already know that, don't you?"

Hyeonji glared back at him. So much for Hoseok being bowled over her sudden beauty. "I only did what you suggested the other night," she defended hotly. "True. But honestly I never expected you to do it. I guess I underestimated the power of your Mr. X. So...has he seen the new hair yet?"

Hyeonji bristled, then lifted her small chin too at Hoseok straight in the eye. "Yes, he has, as a matter of fact."

"I suppose he said you looked fantastic."

Once again, Hyeonji was spurred on to play an ironic game with the truth. Somehow, it soothed the pain of Hoseok's ongoing blindness. How could he not guess? She agonized inside. Couldn't he see her love for him?

"Actually they were his exact words," she tossed back coolly. His frown was instant "Where is it that you see this...Don Juan?" he demanded to know. Hyeonji smiled a darkly devious smile. It amused her that Mr. X didn't favor with Hoseok. If only he knew!

"Oh he lives nearby, and I run into him from time to time. But as I said before, my love life is really none of your business, is it? Now shouldn't we be going inside to help your mother with the furniture?" she went on with more forcefulness than was usually her nature. "Time is wasting, you know, and I have to get back to practicing my new make-up before the working week begins. I aim to knock their socks off tomorrow morning."

He threw her an incredulous glance, then shook his head "They say women change their personalities when they change their hair color. I'm beginning to believe it."

"Oh? Did you know Tinashe before she peroxided her hair? Was she a sweet little thing before she became a bottle-blonde?" raising an eyebrow at Hoseok. "We're not talking about Tinashe here, Miss Sarcasm. Which is exactly the sort of thing I'm referring to. You were never one to be bitchy before. Neither did you go around swearing under your breath."

Hyeonji places one hand on her waist then looks at Hoseok straight in the eyes "Maybe you just never heard me before. Maybe you don't know the real me at all, Hoseok. Maybe you've never stopped to smell the flowers."

"Stopped to smell the flowers? What in the hell has my stopping to smell the flowers got to do with you turning into a shrew?" says the infuriated man. Hyeonji laughed while Hoseok scowled. It was that moment when his mother opened her front door and came onto the porch to stare over them.

Mrs. Jung was a beautiful woman. Somewhere in her late forties, she was tall and slender, intelligent brown eyes and a shimmering black hair which fell to her shoulders in a stylish bob. Unlike her son she obviously liked women in trousers for she lived in them. Today she was wearing a loose pair of fawn cotton trousers with a bright floral floaty over blouse.

She lifted her hand to shade her eyes from the sunlight, squinting down at this strange young woman with her son. Heyonji smiled with satisfaction when she realized Hoseok's mothers didn't recognize her.

"Hi Mother," Hoseok waved. "Be right with you. Hyeonji here is going to help us."

"Hyeonji?" his mother repeated, frowning.

"Hyeonji? Oh my goodness, it's Hyeonji! From next door!" she smiled at her. "Yes, it's Hyeonji from next door," Hoseok said as he pecked his mother on the cheek, then threw Hyeonji a dry look over his shoulder. "In a fashion..."

"I'm so sorry Hyeonji dear," Hoseok's mother directed at Hyeonji with an apologetic smile. "I didn't recognize you with that stunning new hair color and style. My, but it suits her, doesn't it, Hoseok? She looks like a different girl entirely."

"She does indeed," Hoseok said in a tone which had his mother raising her eyebrows at him before turning to take Hyeonji's arm. "Who did it for you, dear?" she asked as she led her inside. "I'm always on the lookout for a good hairdresser."

They stopped together in the tiled foyer while Hyeonji raved about Taehyung's abilities and moderate prices, till Hoseok finally interrupted. "Have I come home to move furniture or not?"

"Don't be rude, dear," Mrs. Jung told him dismissively. "The furniture can wait. It's not going anywhere. I'll just go put on the jug and catch up with Hyeonji here for a bit. I haven't had a good talk to her in ages. Remember when she used to come over every Sunday, Hoseok, and you would make her sit in your room all afternoon while you showed her whatever game you were working on that week? I used to think she deserved a medal for how patient she was with you. And how kind. Not too many girls her age would have bothered being friends with an egocentric computer nut like you, dear."

"I didn't mind, Mrs. Jung," Hyeonji confessed. "Truth is I enjoyed it though I can't say I always understood everything. Hobi's nothing short of a creative genius. I dare say he gets that from you."

Mrs. Jung smiled her pleasure at the compliment. "What a nice girl you are," she said. "But my son is no genius. Not in the things which count, that is," she muttered as she turned to walk down several steps into the sunken living areas of the house.

Mrs. Jung's home was roomy, split-level and messy, Hyeonji saw as she traipsed after Hoseok's mother. And it smelt like a tavern. Housework was clearly not a priority with Mrs. Jung. Funny. Hyeonji couldn't remember it being so unkempt in the old days.

"Sorry about the mess," Mrs. Jung excused with an unconcerned but elegant wave of her right hand. "My cleaner had to quit through ill health a couple of weeks back and I'm on a deadline for a book. I've been meaning to advertise for a replacement but haven't got around to it."

An idea popped into Hyeonji's brain "How much does a cleaner earn

"What?" Mrs. Jung asked in confusion. She repeated her question. Hoseok's mother slanted her a sharp look. "Do you know someone who might be interested?" Hyeonji hesitated "I might..."

"Your mother?" Mrs. Jung guessed, turning to put the kettle to plug it in. "Well...yes. Dad left her with a lot of debts, you see, and her pension doesn't go far. I suggested that we take in a boarder to help make ends meet better, but I don't think Mum liked that idea much."

"Why don't I go ask her, then, right now?" Mrs. Jung offered. "And while I'm at it I'll ask her over to lunch with us. I've got plenty of food. Meanwhile, Hoseok, load up the dishwasher for me, like a good boy, will you? If Hyeonji's mother's house is anything like her garden then she'll be horrified at the state of this place. Hyeonji, love, would you mind collecting the dirty glasses from the living room?"

Hyeonji was happy to. What a nice lady Hoseok's mother was. As soon as Mrs. Jung left, she whizzed around the living room, straightening it up a bit while Hoseok made clattering noises in the kitchen. When she came out with the last four dirty glasses he had just closed the dishwasher door and started a cycle.

"I'll wash this up in the sink," she said, and set to work straight away. Hoseok leaned against a nearby counter, his arms crossed his eyes thoughtful upon her, "When you say your father left debts behind, just how much debt do you mean?"

She sighed "A lot," Hyeonji admitted. "The year before he died, he took out loans against the house to finance his latest business venture, which went bust like every other one of his great get-rich-quick schemes. Unfortunately there was no life insurance to cover these loans. The repayments take nearly all my salary each week."

Hoseok straightened, his expression appalled. "But that's terrible! Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?"

"Why should I have? It's not your problem Hobi."

"Some best friend you must think I am," he said sharply. Hyeonji was astonished by his annoyance. "But I... I..."

"I want you to tell me exactly who these loans are with and what interest you're paying" he said sharply. "Why?" Hyeonji confused with what Hoseok was trying to imply. "Because I want to help you that's why. That depends if you'll let me, it depends on how much stupid pride you've got."

Her chin shot up. "I have quite a bit. And I don't think pride is stupid!"

"That's what I thought, so I could do one of two things. I could have my accountant look at these loans and see what's the best way to refinance them at the lowest possible interest. Men like your father always have to borrow at exorbitant interest rates because they're a credit risk. On top of that, interest rates have dropped lately. Alternatively, I could organize to pay off debts myself by giving you an interest-free loan. Either way, your repayments would be substantially less than they are now."

Hyeonji's face lit up. "An interest-free loan! Oh, Hobi, that would be wonderful! Simply wonderful!" but her face fell. "But they're not my debts. In a legal sense, that is. They're Mother's. She would have to sign any documents. And I don't think she would agree to your last suggestion. I mean... she might think it was funny."

"What do you mean funny?" he asks. "She might think there were strings attached to such an arrangement." Hyeonji replies honestly. However this left Hoseok with a confused look. "Strings? What strings?"

"Hoseok, don't be thick, please. Between you and me." Hoseok's shock was not altogether flattering. "She think I would demand you sleep with me in exchange for money? Why in God's name would she think such a thing?"

"Don't take it personally. Mum doesn't have a great opinion of men in general when it comes to sex," she said "My father was a womanizer, you know."

"No," he said slowly, that frown still in place. "I didn't know. You never told me. You never told me anything about yourself or your family." Now he was sounding frustrated.

"You never asked..." Hyeonji shrugged. "Well, I'm asking you now!" says Hoseok who is now irate.

"Why?" as she tilts her head and looks at him. "Why?" he immediately responds. "Yes, why this sudden interest?" Hoseok was taken aback, thoroughly exasperated. "Why must women make mountains out of mole hills? There is no mystery to my interest. Neither is it sudden. I've always cared about you, Hyeonji, I guess, I've been so wrapped up in my business going that I haven't had much time to think of other's problems. I suggest you put this change of heart down to my maturing at long last, of you have to put it down to anything. I did just turn twenty five."

"Yes I know," she said dryly. "I bought and lit the candles on your cake"

"You still haven't forgiven me for forgetting your birthday, have you?" he asked.

"I'll forgive you anything if you have your accountant get me some more money each week. I'm dying to buy myself some lovely new clothes to go with my new look. Believe me, Hobi, you can organize that refinancing business. I'll be your willing slave forever." He gave her a decidedly disgruntled look. "So I'm to be responsible for even more changes in my Hyeonji. Your Mr. X won't be able to resist you soon. Frankly I'm not so sure I want to send you into the arms of some good-looking bastard who's had oodles of women and who didn't appreciate the lovely person you were before you became a fashion plate."

Hyeonji was startled, then flattered by the jealous edge in his words. It occurred to her that inventing the mythical Mr. X was the best she'd ever done. She'd never had so much attention from Hoseok in her life. Suddenly, she was a reasonably attractive female, complete with her secret sexual obsession. The fact that the secret sexual obsession was Hoseok himself might have escaped him, but the concept of her madly in love with some good-looking Casanova clearly bothered him. Surely that had to be a reason to keep going?

"I don't think you're in love with this man at all," Hoseok pronounced abruptly. "From what I've heard, it's a simple case of infatuation. When and if he ever takes you to bed, you'll realize that. Men like him rarely live up to the romantic and sexual fantasies women weave around them. They're much too selfish to be good lovers."

"That's a very interesting theory," Hyeonji said thoughtfully. "And do you think you're a good lover, Hobi?"

"Me? We're not talking about me!" he grumbled irritably. "We're talking about lover boy here."

"I was just wondering," she said with feigned innocence. "After all, you confessed the other day to being selfish. And you just said selfish men weren't good lovers."

"Yes, well, there's selfish and there's selfish. I like to think I excel in anything I put my mind to. So yes, I think I'm a good lover. Are you going to argue the point, Miss Picky, or accept my word for it?" Hoseok says extremely annoyed.

Actually, I'd like a demonstration...

Hyronji thought with a quickening of her heartbeat. She stared first into Hoseok's beautiful brown eyes, then down to his equally beautiful mouth before letting her hopefully unreadable gaze drift down his even more beautiful body. Her own ached with longing for that body. It was a bittersweet ache, filled with delicious sexual awareness, yet framed with in a frustration so acute, she wanted to scream and shout and stamp her feet.

"I guess I'll have to accept your word for it," she managed to say, though her words were clipped. "I certainly won't be ringing Tinashe and asking her, that's for sure. The best thing you ever did was to break up with her."

"Break up with Tinashe? I haven't broken up with Tinashe. Wherever did you get that idea?"

"But the other night...you said..."

"I said we were having a trial separation. Actually it was her idea. She had some bee in her bonnet about my taking her for granted, which was probably true. So she told me she wasn't going to see me for a month, during which we were to have no contact whatsoever, even by telephone."

"I see." Hyeonji felt her brave and exciting new world tip out of kilter. "So when is this month up?" she asked, voice flat and heavy. "Next Sunday." He raked his hand through his hair. "And it can't come soon enough, I can tell you. This has been the longest, most frustrating four weeks in my life!"

Chapter 07

Masterlist

#BTS #BANGTANSONYEONDAN #BTSJHOPE #JUNGHOSEOK #JHOPE #myhome #YOURANGEL #BTSJHOPEXREADER #MAKEOVER #BTSFANFIC #BTSROMANCEFANFIC

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dixonsemoboy · 19 days

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scud listens to dystopia n u can't tell me different

#scud x reader #scud blade 2 #scud fanfiction #scud #scud x male reader #joshua scud frohmeyer #dystopia #Spotify

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norman-fucking-reedus · 3 months

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NORMAN FUCKING REEDUS

welcome to my blog babes

MY INBOX IS FREAKING CLOSED RIGHT NOW GUYS IM SORRY I'VE GOT LIKE 60 TOTAL BETWEEN MY DRAFTS AND REQS SO I NEED TO START STANDING ON BUSINESS LIKE NOW

MY WORKS

sweet - ❤️ spicy - ❤️‍🔥 sad - ❤️‍🩹

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

ONESHOTS & BLURBS ↓

BREEDING KINK ❤️‍🔥

MOTORCYCLE SEX❤️‍🔥

PANTY SNIFFING KINK❤️‍🔥

CHILDISH DARYL ❤️

MORE CHILDISH DARYL❤️

CREAMPIES❤️‍🔥

POST-ORGASM CRIER❤️‍🔥

TIT FUCKING KINK❤️‍🔥

DARYL W A DICK PIERCING ❤️‍🔥

ORGASM KINK❤️‍🔥

PRAISE KINK❤️❤️‍🔥

DYING WITH DARYL ❤️‍🩹

SAD DARYL ❤️❤️‍🩹

SLEEPY DARYL❤️❤️‍🩹

MINI STORIES ↓

GROWN UPS ❤️‍🔥

ON YOUR KNEES ❤️‍🔥

THIGH RIDING❤️‍🔥

THIGH FUCKING❤️‍🔥

NEW CROSSBOW❤️

STAINED RED (VALENTINES DAY)❤️❤️‍🔥

ORAL FIXATION (REUPLOADED)❤️‍🔥

ACCIDENTAL STIMULATION ❤️❤️‍🔥

PLEASURE KINK❤️‍🔥

DARYL WORSHIPS YOU❤️❤️‍🔥

VIRGIN DARYL❤️‍🔥

MAMAS BOY❤️❤️‍🩹

SERIES ↓

GIRLDADDY DARYL❤️

MORE GIRLDADDY DARYL❤️

MORE MORE GIRLDADDY DARYL❤️

CHILDISH DARYL ❤️

MORE CHILDISH DARYL❤️

MOOD BOARDS ↓

FEM JUDAS (Moodboard)❤️

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

ONESHOTS & BLURBS ↓

SCUD HEADCANONS

MORE SCUD HEADCANONS

PEGGING SCUD

BOTTOM SCUD (Male Reader)

BOOB GUY SCUD

MINI STORIES ↓

SCUD ‘BORROWING’ YOUR STRAP

SCUD RIDING YOUR STRAP

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

STORIES ↓

THE NEW GIRL

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

☆- Beginner x reader writer, professional smut writer

☆- I’m a black writer, so I tend to keep my work’s appearance neutral, however I can write for everyone!

☆- Don’t you come on my blog with no bs at yo ole big ass age.. I do and will argue tf back cause this is my page, these are my thoughts, and if you don’t like it kindly take yours somewhere else cause im not the one🙃

☆- This is a Daryl/Norman centered page due to the serious brain rot I have.

☆- I will NOT write about the following:

Rape/SA

Domestic abuse/any type of abuse (unless its in the past)

Child porn as in the reader barely pushing 18 and Daryl’s like 56.

If i ever write about virgins it won’t be some innocent little girl act cause thats just really weird dawg

Piss kinks…

I want to do insanely whoreish things to that man, I’m willing to write about everything else.

☆- Daryl is definitely a switch, so my works vary from submissive to dominant.

☆- Very rarely will I use “Y/n” in my works. Not only because I literally read it as Yn, I feel like Daryl is a hardcore petname giver and would rarely call you by your name.

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rattlerinthewheel · 3 years

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Craftsman: Scud/Reader

Scud takes control.

For the Season of Kink bingo square: frottage/grinding.

Pandoratriestowritestuff mentioned Scud when I asked if anyone had any character ideas for the two other bingo squares I have till I complete a line. Kudos to them for inspiring this!

Aster: a type of daisy, typically purple or pink, that means "star"

Kidney Vetch: a small, yellow flower that means "wound healer"

- - -

Sometimes, you wish he’d fuck up on a job and get himself drained. Screw up one of his little projects and nick an artery, or just light himself on goddamn fire from his joints and some unfortunately-spilled gasoline. Vampires don’t even get headaches, you’re pretty sure, but he’s found a way to rewire your anatomy so that you do, when he annoys you enough. Damn craftsman’s hands, figuring that out.

But sometimes...

"Don’t worry, fruit bat. Let Papa take care of you."

Fucking... that topples the building lust, just like him, asshole. But you have to laugh.

"I was a hundred years old when you were still suckin’ on your ma’s tit, boy," you purr, but let him go on pushing you down against the nest of blankets he’s spread out on the floor of the van.

It isn’t the most comfortable place to get things done. You can still feel the grooves from the metal floor press through the layers. But it’s better than plenty of lays you’ve had, and at least better than the shit show that introduced Josh to Blade. Nobody’s getting ripped open, after all.

Josh tugs off the buttons of his shirt, deliberately slow. He starts from the bottom, the weird prick, but you figure out why as he gets to his stomach: he’s saving his neck for last.

"Yeah? Barely look older than me, baby. Got a birth certificate?"

No. Hell, you aren’t even sure how old you are, anymore. Too many lies, over the years, when you walked among the living. You’d forgotten how old you looked, when Blade came around, gave you a funny look when you threw out a number at random. It’s nice to hear thirty-three’s the ceiling, though.

Josh’s got his bandanna around his neck, too, you just realize. And that bothers you, that as much as you can hear and scent his blood, you can’t see the pulse under his jaw you like to count as it ticks. Slow, if he’s sleeping. Fast, if you’re fucking, or he’s working and lifting something heavy, or scared. There’s a zen to watching the first, a lust to the second, a giddiness to the third.

The last, when he’s scared, gives you a primal pleasure you’re always keeping to the back of your brain. When you jump down from a high perch or come out of shadows, when he isn’t expecting it. A monster you keep behind a heavy door you’re the lock and key of.

Shit, who are you kidding? You’re the monster. That part of you would crunch down onto his windpipe and vocal chords, being called fruit bat. Pick him out of your fangs without a second thought.

But it’s as Josh gets the third button popped, and that ugly striped fabric drops away to his sides to reveal the ugly pink webbing that scores further up under the still-buttoned half, that you’re reminded why you don’t let that happen.

Because you find a dark growl building, simmering, under your ribs at the marks those females left. Cunts, they were, Jenny and Christie. You were squabbling over territory and hunting grounds long before Josh stumbled, high on shrooms, into the turf war. Not his fault, of course, despite all his fuck ups. He’d put his tent stakes down at an official campsite, after all. Besides, nobody backpacking in those hills knew a damn thing about the bloody dispute going on. The aftermath, when they saw the gore, but not the cause.

Sure wasn’t in one of those brochures, but you can see it, drawing the thrill-seekers like cattle. Come see the Wandering Nomad take on the Vixens of the Steppes!

Some shit like that. You hadn’t really had a place, then, so it would fit. And Jenny and Christie (modern versions of whatever their human ones had been, too old to fit the twenty-something faces anymore) sure tricked like foxes.

"What’s so funny?"

You blink, out of remembering shredding into Jenny’s throat once Blade got the jump on them, and into the present. You suck in the warm, weed-musty air, because Josh has gotten three more buttons off. Revealed more of those shitty scars—you don’t tell him, but you can still get a whiff of those bitches’ scents, if the scar tissue’s giving him grief: aster and kidney vetch, ugh—and his gut, too.

"Nothin’," you murmur, eyeing up the rest of what he exposes.

Sprigs of dark hair, on the pale skin that isn’t torn up and flushed. He’s thirty-three, ought to have more of that by now, a man’s chest. You suppose he makes up for it with the mop of hair on his head, the scruff on his face.

You get a handful when Josh bends over, still straddling your hips, tugging at your fly. You rumble, low in your chest, as your half-hard cock’s fumbled out. Hot tucked snug in your jeans, frigid once it’s out, until it warms to the van.

You trade your fingers combing through his bangs for his hand, soft but skilled—a craftsman’s hand, you’ve learned not to doubt it—pumping you the rest of the way. His hands are cool, but warm to your cock, and the blood flushing to his palm is a damn song to your ears. Like water draining down a pipe, no, that’s his own cock getting hard. No, the blood going to his palms is a gentle wash, a tide, a wave that laps up a beach.

"Like that, baby," you churr, burrowing your fingers deeper in his hair. To the back, where it’s longer, and you hear Josh’s own hum shudder through your fingers.

It’s a signal to go on, so he does. You growl, not a threat, just irritated, pleasure unwrapping as he pulls his hand off your rock hard shaft to undo his own fly.

His hands slaps down to bracket your arms, where the blankets don’t reach. The clap of meaty flesh on metal echoes, crisp, and drowns your groan as he lurches forward and his own shaft run along yours. Just as hard, hips bucking so his balls jump to brush yours, your cock, and the slight difference in the skins, slick on coarse...

"Fuck." You twist his hair in your grip, admiring the grimace on the warped look he’s already pinched into. Lust, pain, and that fear of something sharp just inches from his throat. Wanted fear, you know, but still. Can’t be helped, the engrained want to live.

But those damn last buttons, that goddamn bandanna.

Your hips burn, keeping them thrusted up to meet his. Your lips ache, frozen, peeled back to bare your fangs. You rumble, low, and untangle your fingers to pluck the rest of the buttons free. Difficult work, with Josh still rutting you together, your fingers jittery from the pressure burning in your hips and every nerve ending in your shaft on fire.

You manage, and the shirt falls away to give you the rest of his chest, the scars, and you go for that bandanna next.

It’s like you come, seeing his pulse jump, leap under his jaw as you get your hands back in his hair and yank Josh down. He gasps, tenses, your cocks pinned between your bodies for a beat as you kiss his pulse, lick it, tease it with your fangs. It’s fit to bursting, when you just barely prick the eggshell-thin flesh. Not enough to pierce, just suggest it. Offer it.

Josh knows that, but it doesn’t stop his pulse from fluttering rabbit-crazy. You purr, pull your fangs off, and lap at it to coax it down. It doesn’t, by much, but it evens out at a gallop that’s just right when Josh nudges you. He chuckles, when his necklace piles, slackened, on the bridge of your nose and into your eyes, forcing you to squint.

He rocks his hips once, a roll that extends far enough that his balls start to slide over the underside of your shaft. "Can I do my thing?"

Fuck yes. Words catch in your throat, like flies in a web, so you just nod.

Josh crafts, he’s stupid, but he’s smart—so he does, and his hair and necklace swing with his rocks.

In the aftermath, shivering and panting, he lets his weight go boneless over you. You’re more comfortable than the floor, and anyway, it snuffs the aster and kidney vetch. Maybe he’ll let you claim him, one day. You’ve held off on bitching about that damn tattoo on his lip, lest Blade hear. Cattle for the others, fuck that, he’s yours.

And your Josh’s, you give in and realize, as those craftsman’s hands flutter up and drag careful fingertips down your fangs. Prodding the tip, just enough, to well little cherries of blood you lap greedily.

You’ll grieve it, once you turn him. So for now, you just drink.

#blade 2 #scud #scud x reader #male reader #vampire reader #prompt request #season of kink

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rattlerinthewheel · 3 years

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Anybody want more Scud/Reader? Kinda want to write more Scud/Reader. Requests? Prompts? Fantasies?

#scud #scud x reader #blade 2 #male reader #norman reedus

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rattlerinthewheel · 3 years

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Hypocrite: Scud/Reader

You’re going to kill him, willingly, if the thirst doesn’t make you do it first.

For the Season of Kink bingo square: blood play.

For the Kinky Things Happen bingo square: blood and punishment.

@pille1983 asked for some choking, so included a little thing here. Grabby vampire gets grabby, necklace was in reach...

- - -

It’s an odd feeling, the room being dark but loud. The TV’s off, but the radio’s thumping somewhere else in the warehouse, turned up enough that the bass rumbles all the way over to the smaller room. It works up the couch’s frame, thrums through you, itching in a way that’s distracting. And you want a distraction, with how he’s leaning back. With how he’s scooping his hair out of the way, leaving his throat exposed.

"All yours, baby."

"Josh."

You’re going to kill him.

It’s not even that you’re pissed at him, at the end of your rope, put there by teasing and prodding. You’re too wound up, too focused on keeping your crouch from turning into a spring at him, to be mad. There’s no joke on his lips to make you, no glint to his eyes when he slants them towards you. For once, he’s deadly serious.

But you’re deadly. Thirst burns your throat like acid, shakes you with fine tremors that stutter the growl low in your chest. It cloys to the sides of your throat, the back of it, your tonsils, on its way out. So dry, so fucking dry, and Josh is right here and offering himself up...

You shake your head. It’s all you can do, all you can thaw without giving over to instinct. If you risk anything else you’ll be lunging, and then you’ll be opening your mouth, and then you’ll be draining him. Blade’s out, he’ll never get back in time to stop you, and you won’t let Josh go until you’ve had every last drop. You’ll kill him, really kill him, and you don’t think you’ll stop Blade from icing you when it comes to it.

But the slack look on Josh’s face hardens, just a bit. Enough for you to notice the nerves twitch and string.

"Said come here, bat," he sighs, patting his lap.

Your growl throttles, enough that you know he can feel it across the couch. "You got a death wish or something—"

You’re faster, but you’re thirsty and too busy honing in—not on purpose, fuck—on the pulse he’s offering up to jump away. His craftsman hand, steel under the soft, clamps around your wrist. His palm’s warm, flushed, and you drag your eyes off his neck to watch the blood blush out around the meat of his palm where he grabs, leak back fish belly-white when he eases his grip. Then it flares back out, warmer, when he redoubles his hold and yanks.

You flail, hissing, but there’s another firm grip hooked under your thigh and the lumpy couch under you is traded for a solid lap, and doesn’t this dumb boy know—

"You’re starving and," and the grip on your wrist jumps up to your face, craning it towards his neck while he hikes your bare leg—you’re just in your boxers, and fuck, you can feel his blood-heat through your flesh—to fold you up, "and I wanna try something."

"Wanna try death," you groan between your teeth.

The words come out flat, strained, because you’re trying not to breathe, trying to keep your eyes latched onto that stupid chain necklace and not the pulse thumping beneath. Your jaw locks, loosens, and locks enough times in a span of seconds that your whole face throbs, and you’re so, so tempted to just break it so you can’t clamp down.

"This’ll sting," is all the warning you get before something acidic sears into your thigh.

You snarl, and Josh releases you just as fast.

"Trial run. Sorry, bat."

Josh clucks his tongue like he isn’t sorry at all, wiggling the fingers of the hand that touched your thigh. You glare at the innocent-looking, fingerless glove that covers his palm. Something about it reeks, like rotten eggs and sulfur.

"Like it? Slipped it on when you were doing your impression of a viper. Not my favorite, if I’m honest. Too..." he hums, thinking, before turning his hand upside down and giving you reversed rabbit ears, "bitey."

Your growl only comes out as a pained moan, because you’ve got the shakes all of a sudden. Not thirst tremors. Sick shakes, like you’ve got the flu, and your leg has a rash of foreign pins and needles prickling that you shouldn’t be feeling.

"What," you groan, trying to flex your leg and only half-succeeding, "did you do?"

"Been fiddling around. Not exactly a fan of lethal-only weapons, what with a vamp on my side that can get fried in daylight."

A bone-tired, waterlogged feeling seeps into you like lead. "Uh huh."

Josh isn’t oblivious to your state. In fact, he takes advantage of it. You’re pliant, not limp but malleable enough that you’re positioned in his lap comfortably—for you and him. He goes on as he adjusts, "You’d be surprised what you can get blended up in fabrics these days. Best way I can explain it is, uh, those glow in the dark stickers? That, but bat repellent."

Another wiggle of fingers you want to bite off, despite how tired you are. "What?"

Josh’s easy grin drops, serious. "UV, bat. Try to keep up."

"No wonder I feel like shit," you growl, even as you feel some of your strength come back. "You’re fucking insane—"

"Ah."

You clam up at the noise. Not the threatening wave you get, that damn glove dangerously close to your thigh.

"Good, we’re making progress."

That easy grin returns and you bristle, regretting not draining him when you had the chance to.

"Now, drink."

You try to keep your mouth shut anyway, hold your breath, close your throat even as his non-gloved hand clamps the back of your neck and drags you close. You hate the ragged, pained whine of thirst and not wanting to kill him; but you hate the thirst a little more, and his thumb digging into the hinge of your jaw pries your teeth apart with no trouble at all.

You couldn’t turn him if you tried. You don’t have the... you don’t know if it’s a power, or something you have to activate that you haven’t figured out yet, or what—but you can’t turn him, and that’s good, because he’s already bound to a family and you’re good as dead if you turn a claimed familiar. Killing one? That’s an accident.

Turning? You’ll get staked.

That’s your consolation as you sink into his throat, fangs springing out and burying deep. Josh tenses, his grip goes slack, and you growl and push up so you’re straddling him. You seize that damn chain and yank it, and the flutter of his pulse, the throb of his windpipe as he tries to fight for a breath against the choke, works up some dark glee that gets you yanking it again. You gulp down hot mouthfuls that’s so, so good and...

... and you gasp, choke on the mouthful you inhale, as that goddamn glove skims your thigh.

"Easy," Josh warns, breathy but strong. Then he clears his throat, grimacing as he works his vocal chords, unintentionally tugging at the puncture wounds. "Ah, how ‘bout you use that tongue o’ yours?"

You’re recovering from the second touch, not as severe thanks to the blood, and you have just enough will to obey. Your grip on the necklace jumps off, and you frown at the pink marks you’ve embedded in the flesh: a ring of odd circles that’ll bruise. You don’t like having to lap at the blood that trickles down, either, like a damn dog; you smear just as much of it as you swallow, slathering his throat in red and saliva. But your throat isn’t parched, you don’t feel sick, and gradually, you begin working on cleaning him up.

"Do not get hard," you hiss, even if that’s too late to warn against; between his jeans and your boxers, there’s hardly enough fabric to hide the half-attentive shaft you’re sitting on.

"Hypocrite," Josh purrs, not touching with the glove but tenting his hand, fingers keeping his palm hovering, so it’s close enough that you feel the UV radiate. You don’t feel sick over it, just prickling, like burrs on the other side of a thick layer of clothes, so you feel...

... well, you feel like a hypocrite.

"This," you tell him, continuing to lap up your dinner, "will not become a thing."

But you can’t bring yourself to bare your fangs at the lazy, high-looking (he isn’t, his blood’s refreshingly plain) grin Josh gives. Or argue when he hums, "It will," in a sing-song pitch that clashes poorly with the dark and the thumping music.

About as well as a familiar and the vampire that can’t claim him.

#blade 2 #scud #scud x reader #male reader #vampire reader #season of kink #prompt request

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rattlerinthewheel · 3 years

Text

Fruit Bat: Scud/Reader

He should know better than to irritate the vampire that’s already pissed, wounded, and starving—so you teach him.

For the Kinky Things Happen bingo square: vampires and discipline, at @pandoratriestowritestuff’s request for some Scud. Credit to them and @phoenixblack89, who talked about Scud getting spanked and choking on a donut, for the respective scenes.

- - -

You’re still pissed at him.

But it’s hard to give him the silent treatment when you need to get at the junk around the tables. Move, pass me that wrench, throw me that wire, is dry and distant, work-related; but turn that shit down, quit spewing crumbs, stop grabbing me, and other growls that aren’t related to the tech you’re fiddling with get read as some sign—to keep doing those things, but that’s sure not what your glares should be saying.

Well, it isn’t a surprise that he’s being a dumbass about it. A moron about a lot of shit, lately, the bandage on your arm can vouch for that. And it was an accident, sure, you wouldn’t usually blame him for aiming that UV flashlight at anything that swarmed at him on a job; but he’d been high and you’d called out a warning, dammit, and he still got you with it. Burned like a motherfucker, like acid.

His apology was huffed, high-sluggish, and rank like the shitty weed he’d been toking.

Maybe he’s realizing you’re really pissed, content with just your hand as company for a few days, because you haven’t taken a break even once from this group project—a net of UV panels you can drape over the van; they stay off for now, obviously—to get your hands down his pants, or his down yours.

But Josh—Scud’s dumb, and it pisses him off to be called Josh, so of course that’s what you call him—is definitely high, not as sharp as he’d otherwise be, and his logic is coming from his dick today. His brain would be screaming at him to not agitate the vampire that’s wounded and pissed.

He’s prodded at you the whole damn night so far, brushing your groin to grab a tool there’s fifteen more of scattered around that he can get to, angling his head in a way that makes the churning veins under too damn tempting, flat-out groping your ass when his first two tactics don’t get him anything more than warning hisses.

Except when he decides he doesn’t like a particular hiss you give, too much teeth for his liking, because when his hand drops from where it’s gotten in a squeeze it claps right back down across the ass cheek it grabbed. Fucking hard, too; "make peace, not war" your ass.

You whirl where he’s scrambling back to his side of the room, giggling, hands raised with his palms out like he can call a truce. Like he hasn’t been doing this shit all night and your hisses and menaced fangs are supposed to be equals, or something.

Well, they aren’t. And you feel like cashing in some payback.

"C’mon, baby, lighten up!" trails his getaway while you give chase. You don’t run after him, but Josh stumbles and darts around like you are. It’s one of the oldest hunting tactics, just following, while the prey tires itself out trying to get away. Vampires don’t need to use it, you could just as easily catch up, even with a bandaged arm.

But Josh wants to goddamn play, so you’ll follow suit. For now.

Smoker’s lungs, stoner’s, don’t let him keep it up as long as a guy his age could. Josh staggers, stumbles a last time like his clothes weigh fifty pounds, and drops on the steps up to another part of the workshop. By his couch and TV, the little nest he’s made for himself, and you don’t think that’s accidental; but you don’t plan to move things to that shitty couch, not anytime soon.

You walk right up to him, and Josh goddamn grins, leaning back on his hands and spreading his legs like he’s offering himself up like a damn meal. He’s still got one of those shitty donuts, and he takes a bite, still grinning, and flicks a crumb at your leg.

"You’re a child," you growl, getting a whiff of syrup lactic acids, probably burning his calves like battery; iron thumped in and out of his heart, jumping in his throat, flushing his face; that damn weed turning everything earthy, chalky like loam, but still good.

"I’m a delight," spews more crumbs with another giggle. "Besides, baby, you love it."

You do—when you aren’t pissed at him. "Love to kick your ass," you huff, toeing the step by his foot.

His hum makes you swallow. Fucking thirsty, you are, and that’s just the worst kind of trifecta for Josh to be near right now: starved, pissed, and wounded. Your nerves are shot, and his chase didn’t tire you, but it sure as shit reminded you of what hunts are supposed to take care of. And his hum, that sounds vaguely like a dying, helpless churr from a punctured throat...

Shit.

But the hum bubbles into a chuckle, as you’re stepping away to beat it and get back to work—so Blade doesn’t have you to stake and Josh to mend, or a drained corpse to bury—when you get a lazy kick to your calf and a teasing, "The little fruit bat running away? Afraid I’ll smack him again?"

You’re starving, agitated, and your arm throbs. It’s not a nickname you hate, but it sets off something.

You stop, turn back slowly, and flick your eyes to either side to make sure you won’t be skewered by stray junk out of place. All clear, so you skulk up, schooling your face into a careful, bland look that puts Josh on edge more than a scowl.

"Ain’t my ass about to get smacked, boy," is throttled with a snap of fangs and a low pounce, and Josh can only drop the fucking donut and yelp as you tackle him.

He gets a bit of ground, because his hand clamps right down on the bandages, making you bark at the bolt of pain. It’s been longer since your last drink than you admitted to Blade, before he left, and that doesn’t help. But Blade would’ve had you come with, otherwise, and you figured dealing with Josh was worth getting the panels for the van closer to field testing.

Because as much as you want to skitter up the wall and drop Josh from the rafters, most days, you don’t want to get back to the van and find a drained, stoner-sized juice box.

So it’s a little ironic that he’s sprawled over your legs, when the scuffle’s over. It’s not what you intended—to pin him to his stomach, straddle, and give a few smacks before letting him go—but you sort yourselves out. First Josh, and you wrap an arm over his waist to keep him down; then yourself, and you sit up properly so his ass is right where you want it.

These days, child rearing isn’t what you were accustomed to, and Josh doesn’t figure it out until he feels your hand settle across the seat of his cargo pants. "No fuckin’ way," is half telling, half laughing, and the weed probably has something to do with that second part.

Because the first part’s not amused, but just in case he doesn’t get it across that he’s not thrilled to be pinned this way, Josh starts trying to buck off your lap.

"Yes fucking way," you hiss, and your hand cracks down over his right cheek.

It’s loud, even for his human hearing, and goes off like a shotgun blast. Josh twists his head back, huffing. The scowl he tries to give doesn’t have the kind of impact he hopes for, when it twitches at the second swat you land, right over the same spot. Harder than the first, because you won’t have him scowling at you, goddamn brat.

"Hope you know how to sleep with one eye open," cracks when you get a handful of flesh, quieter when he hangs his head. The pants are thin, and you feel the warmth from the swats, hell, hear the blood fizz under the surface. "Get you back for this."

You frown, not at the threat, but another rush of blood you hear. Feel, even better, in your lap.

You growl and throw a withering look his way, because fucking seriously? "You gettin’ hardover this?"

You hear the bones grind, Josh gritting his teeth, when you give the spot you’ve hit twice now a slow rub. Christ, he is, and he’s halfway there by the time you’ve rubbed enough circles into the warmed skin that you have to strain to hear the fizzing blood. You should’ve guessed he was into this, not like he doesn’t rile you up to pin or chase him anyway, this even makes sense.

The swipe to his left thigh is sudden, vampire speed but not strength because you aren’t that cruel. Your ears perk at the sound it gets, when the crack settles again, but before you can ask if he’s fine you feel his thigh rise up into your hand. You can’t help but scoff, because Christ’s sake, you weren’t trying to get frisky with him—and that ship’s goddamn sailed, because you’re helping him get hard.

You’re getting hard, too, can’t be a hypocrite about that. Josh feels it, pushing up into his side, and when he twists his head back again he’s flushed and his mouth’s open. His eyes are glazed over, brow’s furrowed, you think, but it’s hard to tell with the mop of hair in the way. Dammit,and you get a handful of his shirt in your striking hand to keep him from toppling over, and unwrap the other to push the hair off his face.

You can hear his sigh just fine, but it thrums into your fingers where you keep them pushed into his scalp, warm, damp from work and running from you. "Done already, baby? Maybe we can switch," buzzes up your arm.

Shit. You aren’t excited for that, because if he’s going to get you back he’s damn well working for it. But you can feel him reacting to you, swamping your senses; a whine when your fingers curl in the bangs before combing out, his hips shimmying when your arm loops over again, the muscles of his hide clenching as you drag down his pants and boxers.

That last one gets a sharp breath that’s followed up with a sharper swat. You suck in a gasp yourself and tighten your arm, giving your hard-on friction to grind off of, as you run your fingertips over the barely-pink skin. Warm, hot, without the fabric, and it fizzles louder like damn fireworks, when you drop your palm over the left cheek.

"Baby? Not getting any, uh, urges? Know I look good ‘nough to eat normally, but—"

"Shut up," you snarl, and then you’re smacking him again.

It’s anger at this bullshit, your injury, your arm throbbing as Josh twitches against the hold you just double down on when you start laying down swats quick and hard. He could’ve killed you, and he was too damn high to realize it, to apologize, still hasn’t.

But it’s some twisted fascination, too, watching the barely-pink go hot pink, white in the beat after a blow before it blooms darker, then red. You hear the blood fizz, pop, and simmer with each shade the flesh darkens to. Ass goes slower than the thighs, more meat to them, and that reminds you that there’s something to grab so you do. Not after every swat, just to give you both a breather, and you groan when you peel your hand off each time and a five-fingered print flares white before reddening again.

"Hope you choke on those damn donuts," you groan, throaty, when you realize your aim goes off because Josh is rutting into your damn lap. "Quit moving, lemme."

He goes rigid when you grab a hot thigh and spread him open, shift him right so his cock isn’t snug against your leg, and start to stroke. Cruelly slow, but it’s not like he’s getting out of this without some discipline. But you wouldn’t exactly mind doing this again, either...

"No one’s dead, then?"

Josh yelps and finally does buck off your lap. You let him, falling in a heap with his pants still down to his knees, because you’re too busy cringing back from the circle of UV light pointed at the floor. On concrete, not too close to the steps, but you’ve had enough of that wicked light as it is.

Blade doesn’t look bothered by Josh’s undressed, red ass, or the wet spot he left on your jeans. Neither of you finished, just pre-cum, but you’re not keeping a nose or ear out to scent or hear if Josh does by accident in the scramble. You’ve got something else on your mind, that wicks away the lust and anger and drags hunger up your throat so fast you’re dizzy.

The IV bag’s tossed to you, torn into and drained in the time it takes Blade to fish out another from his bag. You hear the flashlight go off and pounce out onto concrete to burrow into the second one he gives over, then growl for the third you can smell when he doesn’t offer it.

"There a problem?"

Your growl sputters, and Josh must’ve gotten his pants back up because he draws attention to himself now. "All good, B. Just looking for some shit for the panels."

Blade doesn’t ask what shit required Josh’s nose being two inches from the lowest step, or being over your lap while he looked, but you go deaf to what they do talk about when the third bag’s thrown your way. By the time you finish, wiggling the puncture marks over your yawning mouth to get the last drop, Blade’s gone and Josh’s face wrinkles.

"Oh, now you don’t want to bother me?" you purr, all fangs, your arm hardly aching and your throat good and wet.

"Shit, dude, would table manners kill you?"

You purr louder, a chuckle, as Josh turns away and goes to hide on his couch with his TV. Close to dawn, anyway, and it’s better to have two pairs of hands for the panels. At least that’s what Josh will tell Blade, probably, if he asks why he isn’t working on it in the morning when you’re sleeping. You’re betting on Blade either calling him out, saying a sore ass doesn’t mean a day off, or just letting it slide. He’s not stranger to vampire strength, even if it’s never been applied to his ass.

Well, Josh can tell him all about it, and you wipe the blood off your face, purr throttling in a real laugh, as Josh decides to lay down on his stomach while he fumbles with the TV.

"Gonna get you back," he reminds you.

In the dim, barely-lit room, with just some cartoon to flick pale tones over the dark space, you lurk over and crawl up onto the back of the couch, balancing on your side, so you can lick your fingers clean and run them through his hair. You tune out the shitty TV to hone in on his blood, calming down, still sputtering around his warm ass. It’s white noise you lose yourself in, purring at his swears when he shifts and agitates the flesh.

#blade 2 #scud #scud x reader #male reader #vampire reader #prompt request #bingo fill

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monstersandmaw · 6 years

Note

How about a deaf monster ? Like, not one that has no ears or something, but one that he rest of his species can hear but he can’t ?

I hope I did ok - this one took on a life of its own! Part Two to be posted tomorrow. Thanks for asking.

Two male werewolves (poly relationship - Part Two) x reader (gender not mentioned). Part One is SFW, with a couple of brief mentions of blood.

___

There was something different about this village. You’d comethere on holiday as a retreat from the city, and there was something about theatmosphere that captivated you from the moment you parked up outside theholiday rental cottage.

Formerly a haven for artists, the modest collection ofwhite-washed houses sat nestled in a copse, part of a much larger forest,perhaps a mile or two from the sea. It was in a National Park, beautiful andwild, and exactly what you’d needed after a near-breakdown in the city.

Even the weather there was wild though. Thrashing rain pouredin torrents from the slate rooves as you scurried from the village store backtowards your car. The rain was pelting down into your eyes, whipped by avicious wind, and you could barely see a foot in front of you.

Out of nowhere, you slammed into something solid and fellback, hard, onto your ass with a curse, your paper shopping bag ripping andsending groceries scattering. You squinted up, hand shielding your eyes, tofind a young man standing over you, wearing a brown, waxed jacket, his jeanssoaked, big, tan work boots scuffed and muddy.

You scrambled to save your groceries – not much, but enoughfor a few days if the stormy weather kept up, and when it was all stuffed inpockets and the remnants of the bag, you straightened. “I’m sorry,” you said.“I didn’t see you.”

He shook his head, shaggy blond hair running with water, andyou saw he had the most incredible, ice-blue eyes. He tapped his right ear acouple of times with his finger and mouthed something you didn’t quite catch,but it was obvious what he meant. He was Deaf.

You nodded and then jostled your bag into the crook of onearm, pointed at yourself, covered your eyes, and then pointed at him.

He laughed then and nodded, clearly amused by your clumsyefforts. His eyes went to the sky and you agreed. It was fucking miserable. Youwaved and he surprised you by doffing an imaginary cap at you, which made youlaugh again.

The memory of those eyes haunted you all the way back toyour holiday cottage.

The bad weather only got worse over the next couple of days.You looked out of the window late one evening during a break in the hammeringrain to see a full moon hanging low in the sky. Frothy, angry-looking cloudsscudded over the surface, plunging the small, orchard garden behind the houseinto darkness before retreating to leave it bathed in an ethereal, silveryglow.

Between the twisted, gnarled trunks of the apple trees, bareat this time of the year, something was moving.

At first you thought it was perhaps a sheep or something,because of the white colouring, but it was fartoo big for that. It moved slowly, and it was about the size of a horse. Youfrowned. Why would a white horse be limping around the orchard at this time ofnight, and in all this weather.

Then the clouds peeled back once more and you saw it forwhat it truly was.

A monstrous wolf.

At least, that was the closest thing you had ever seen towhatever this was. Its fur was wet and matted, and it hobbled along on allfours, though its hind legs looked awkward, as though it was more used towalking upright. Blood spattered down the flank of one leg, thick and dark inthe moonlight.

Transfixed, you stood in the window, eyes staring as it cameto a trembling halt a short way from the house, panting hard, its great jawsopen to reveal a lolling tongue and huge teeth.

Every instinct screamed at you to go and help, but the size andstrangeness of the creature made your feet stall. It could tear you to piecesin seconds. But the moment its limbs collapsed and it fell to the ground,exhausted, you made up your mind. Grabbing your coat and boots, you flew to theback door.

Cautiously you opened the door and stepped out into the wildnight. Cold wind bit into your flesh, the occasional raindrop spatteringagainst your face as you drew the collar of the coat around your neck.

The creature had fallen with its back to you, and didn’treact at all as you called out to it. Its muscles were clearly visible beneaththe thick, pale fur, and there was something oddly… human about its proportions. An odd heat twisted deep inside you asyou stared. You called out once more, but received no reaction from thepanting, whimpering beast. Finally, mere inches from it, the wind blowing thescent of its blood into your face, you reached out and touched its shoulderwith a tentative hand.

It leapt at the contact as though electrocuted, snarling andsnapping its teeth in your face, backing away, blood oozing slowly through itsthick, creamy fur.

“Shh,” you crooned, stepping away, holding your hands outand lowering your gaze a little. As much as you dared anyway.

Eyes bluer than the sky on a clear winter morning staredback at you from that terrible, snarling face, all teeth and tongue and, toyour horror, foaming red saliva. Blood dripped from its fangs and coated itstongue. Had it been licking its own wound, or was that the blood of anothercreature?

“I won’t hurt you,” you said in a quavering voice, realisingyou’d absolutely bitten off more thanyou could chew with this, so to speak. God, what if it launched itself at you?You’d be dead in under a minute. What the hell had you been thinking?

Adrenaline pulsed through you as you backed away a littlemore through the slick mud underfoot, praying you didn’t slip. If you wentdown, that might be it.

The creature’s chest heaved, lungs working like bellows, itshot breath billowing in the cold air. Those eyes stared at you in a way thatsent shivers down your spine and made your skin rise into goosebumps that hadnothing to do with the weather. There was sapience, calculating intelligence behindthat gaze.

“Can you understand me?” you asked.

The creature shook its head rapidly, as though clearingwater from its fur or shaking something from its face, and worked its jaw alittle, tongue lolling. A loud whine escaped it.

“Will you let me look at your leg?” you asked, looking atthe bleeding wound.

With a half-howling, half-snarling growl, the wolf-like creatureturned and began to hobble away, but its hind legs crumpled with a sharp yelp,tail tucked between its legs.

“Wait there,” you panted. You turned and ran for the house,returning a while later with a damp cloth, a large lint pad, a roll of bandage,and a pair of scissors.

Those blue eyes saw what you held and the wolf’s whole bodywent still.

“I’m going to clean the wound a little, alright?” you said,holding up the cloth for it to see. You knew it understood you know. Somehow youjust knew it.

It watched your face intently with those blue eyes, and thendropped its gaze to the cloth. Whimpering like a sick dog, it turned its faceaway, but remained where it was. Taking that for permission, you steppedcautiously over and raised the cloth to the wound. It oozed blood, but it wasclotting fast, and appeared to have missed anything significant.

A series of high, loud whines left the wolf’s throat as youpressed the cloth to the wound, and then replaced it with the lint dressing.All the while you worked, you talked, hoping it would calm the wolf, but itseemed to have little effect, if any.

Attaching the dressing with the bandages proved tricky, butnot impossible. The cut was on the lower portion of the wolf’s thigh, andsecuring the bandages would require you to get very close and personal with it,leaning around its leg to wrap the strip of cloth around the wound.

“Sorry about this,” you said, your fear abating since thewolf had made no move to snap at you. He – you knew for certain the wolf was a‘he’ thanks to a brief glimpse during your new-found intimacy – was watchingyou all the while you worked now.

As you tied off the bandages it began to rain again. Hewhimpered as fat drops began to speckle his already damp fur.

“Come,” you said, jerking your head towards the house. “Youcan’t stay out in this. Come on.” It was a huge risk, but there was no way youwere letting him stay outside in the rain.

The clouds extinguished the pale light of the moon, and thewind ruffled his fur the wrong way. You reached out gingerly for his ears,pinned back against his head, and fussed them gently. He let out a long, low,rumbling moan and tilted his head into your touch.

“There,” you smiled. You patted his shoulder, and he openedhis eyes again. “Come,” you said more sternly this time. “Come with me.”

He watched your mouth, and his ears pricked up, perhaps insurprise you thought. His tail wagged just once.

The rain began to fall in sheets and you screwed your faceup as it began to trickle down your collar. He stood then, shakily andawkwardly, keeping the weight off his hind leg and shielding you from the worstof the rain with his huge body. He nosed at the small of your back, pushing yougently towards the cottage.

You walked ahead of him, hoping he’d be able to squeeze inthrough the doorway. He managed it without scuffing the wounded leg, and youpointed at the flagstones in front of the log burning stove. He picked up a wetpaw and winced, cringing when he saw the massive, muddy paw-print on thefloorboards. At least it wasn’t carpeted.

You waved your hand. “Not to worry. That can be wiped up. Goon,” you added, gesturing more emphatically at the fire. “Go and lie down, forheaven’s sake.”

There was an old tartan rug in the boot of your car, one youkept in there for emergencies. You snatched up the car keys and bolted,returning a while later to find him all but passed out in front of the logburner.

The bandages seemed to be doing the trick, with no redseeping through, so you covered him with the rug and set about cleaning up themud from the floor. You took a moment to admire him when you were done. His furwas the same colour as a polar bear’s, and looked as thick, but when you’dtouched it, it had been unfathomably soft. His arms were muscular, his legstoo, and his tail was beautiful and bushy, and currently fanned out on thefloor in an elegant arc. You longed to pet him, to run your fingers through hisfur and feel the rumbling whines of pleasure again. He had long ears, withlittle tufts of white fur on top.

But he was not a dog. You had some idea what kind ofcreature he was, but you didn’t want to think about that too carefully.

He didn’t stir for the rest of the evening, and, exhausted,you trudged up the wooden staircase to the cottage’s only bedroom. A hot showerwarmed you through, and, wearing pyjamas again, you crept down to check on yourstrange new companion.

He hadn’t moved an inch since you’d left him, and lay therebreathing steadily as the embers of the fire died away. The room was warm, andthe rug should help wick the dampness from his fur away. You hoped he wouldn’tgrow cold in the night. And that he wouldn’t come upstairs and eat you whileyou slept.

You woke the next morning, stiff and a little sore fromgetting so cold and soggy the previous night, and as you stretched and yawnedloudly, you suddenly remembered the giant wolf in the room below.

You shot out of bed and padded down the stairs, and screamedin surprise, reeling back into the cold wall behind you. Underneath the rug,lying exactly how the wolf had been lying, was the blond man you had crashedinto outside the village store.

He stirred then, sniffing the air as he blinked himselfawake. He winced as he shifted, his hand going to the leg that had beeninjured.

And then, as he glanced over his shoulder at hissurroundings, he saw you.

His blue eyes went wide and he pushed himself upright.

Your hands shot out to caution him not to move too much, andhe went still again. His hands made a series of gestures you didn’t understand.

“What are you?” you breathed.

He grimaced, looking down, gritting his teeth and gruntingsoftly.

You stepped into the room, approaching cautiously, trying tocatch his eye. When he finally looked up at you, those blue eyes you now knewso well full of anguish, you said, “Can you read my lips?” and moved yourfinger to your mouth.

He made a ‘so-so’ gesture with one hand, then mimed writingsomething down. You nodded and fetched him your notebook and a pen.

His handwriting was awful, but you could just about read italright with your reading glasses on.

I’m sorry if I scaredyou.

You smiled, shoulders relaxing. Taking the pen, you wroteback: is it easier if I write or speak?

He took the pen and wrote: I’ll probably get more if you write, but you can speak if you want.Thank you for helping me.

Again, you smiled. Somehow this all seemed perfectly normal.Shock, perhaps?

I suppose you’rewondering what I am?

You nodded, but made the same ‘so-so’ gesture with yourhand, smiling. You had your suspicions.

Werewolf…

The word looked odd on the blank page. Like it belonged in afairy tale. You wondered briefly if you’d actually gone and had that psychoticbreak you’d been so close to suffering in the city. Then you realised he wasstill writing, and flicked your gaze down to catch up.

I won’t hurt you. Iswear it. I owe you my life anyway.

“What’s your name?” you asked when he looked up next.

Rowan.

You wondered if he had any hearing. Instead of asking himsuch an impertinent question, you told him your name instead, but he couldn’t getit from lip-reading, so you wrote it down instead.

Hesitantly, his fingers traced the letters of your name andyou saw his mouth moving, as though trying to work out the shape of it. Then heshook his head. He wouldn’t look at you again until you touched his shoulder.He flinched, but steeled himself to look up.

“How’s your leg?” you asked, gesturing at his thigh where itlay beneath the blanket.

Again, he made that ‘so-so’ gesture with his hand.

“Do you want to sit up on the sofa? The floor must be cold…”

He nodded, and then blushed as he began to push himselfupright. You realised seconds later that he was naked beneath the blanket. Heheld the blanket around his hips with one hand and allowed you to steady himand pull him upright. The blanket tugged a little and you got a flash of amuscular, lean thigh.

He limped to the couch and sank onto it, pale, but otherwisealright. He still seemed embarrassed by his lack of clothing, but his body wasamazing. Lean, strong, tanned, not overly hairy, with a couple of scars andbite marks on his shoulders and one on his left pec. You burned with curiosityabout those, but reined your questions in.

“You live here in the village?” you asked him after he’d gothis breath back from relocating from floor to couch.

Writing it all down was laborious, but he took his time withyou, and you waited patiently. He told you that he was a gardener, that therewas a pack of werewolves in the area, though he was more of a satellite member,and that last night, someone had shot at him while he’d been running on thefull moon.

“Is there someone I can call to bring you some clothes?” youasked when you’d finished reading his story. There was no way any of yourswould fit him.

He nodded, his eyelids looking heavy, his eyes glazed andtired.

“Who?” you prompted gently.

He signed something first, but you had no idea what itmeant, and when he realised, he shook his head as though scolding himself, and reachedfor the pen again. Caleb. He’s my… thepen faltered. He’s like me.

His head nodded as he reached the end of his friend’s phonenumber, and the pen slipped across the page. He shook himself awake, but yousmiled and took the notebook and pen from him, setting it within reach on thecoffee table. You helped him to lie down along the length of the sofa, andwithin moments, he’d closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep again.

Fighting a rising fear, you dialled the number and waitedwhile it rang.

“Who is this?” a gruff voice answered. “Where’d you get mynumber?”

“Rowan gave it to me.”

“Where is he?” Caleb growled. “If he’s hurt, I swear to god–”

“He’s fine. I found him in the orchard last night. He’d beenshot at, but it’s just a cut on his leg. He needs you to bring him some clothesthough…”

Caleb growled something else, demanded your name andlocation, and then hung up without so much as a thank you.

When he showed up at your door, you reeled back in fear ashe barrelled in down the hallway, small bag swinging from one hand, without eventaking his boots off. He was huge.Curly black hair framed a face that could have graced any designer’s photocampaign, and amber eyes burned bright as he rounded on you and demandedthrough bared teeth, “Where is he?”

“Living room,” you squeaked, jerking your chin to indicatethe direction. You got the impression that he’d have ripped your house topieces if you’d waited a second longer.

You followed Caleb as he strode into the room, but you hungback in the doorway as he woke Rowan with surprising gentleness. They beganconversing in a series of lightning-fast gestures and signs you couldn’tunderstand. Rowan seemed to be trying to calm his friend down, eventuallyreaching up to his neck and pulling his head down so that their foreheadstouched. Caleb went still, breathing slowing, until he opened his eyes and satback a little.

Something seemed to have passed between them then, becausethey both looked up at you after that, and Caleb smiled a genuine, warm smilethat made you blink in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” he said, signing as he spoke, presumably sothat Rowan could follow the conversation more easily. “I shouldn’t have treatedyou like that. You saved his life.” He sighed. “Rowan means the world to me. Ifanything had happened to him…”

Rowan put a hand on his forearm, stilling the flow of signs,and smiled sweetly, before asking him a question, to which Caleb nodded.

“He wants me to translate for you,” Caleb explained.

You nodded, fascinated by the way Rowan’s expressive handsmoved, his whole body speaking, not just his hands.

I want to thank youproperly for saving me, he said, Caleb’s eyes on him as he voiced the wordsthat Rowan’s hands sculpted to life. Whatyou did was incredibly brave. Most people would have run if they’d seen whatyou saw, but you didn’t. You came out into that storm and helped me. Wolvesvalue bravery, and kindness, above almost everything else, and I want to knowif there’s anything I can do for you. Anything at all.

You sat there, eyes shining with unshed tears, as youwatched Rowan and listened to Caleb. You wondered if the two were involved witheach other: the way they worked so closely in sync; the way they seemed to beso intensely in tune with one another.

As if he’d followed the threads of your thoughts, Calebchuckled and signed something rapidly to Rowan. Rowan laughed then too, thefirst time you’d heard him make any real sound at all as a human. It wasbreathy, hoarse, and a rich, warm tenor. It made you smile to hear it.

“What?” you asked, catching their lingering glances.

“I think you guessed it already,” Caleb said.

You cocked an eyebrow and stuck out your hip.

“We’re mated,” Caleb said at the same time as Rowan signedsomething. Caleb retorted with a vocal exclamation, “No I’m fucking not!” heyelped, punching Rowan on the chest.

“Not fucking what?” you asked, grinning.

Rowan signed something more insistently this time, and Calebgrowled. It wasn’t a human sound at all. To your surprise, Rowan growled rightback, his voice deeper, harsher. This time when he signed at Caleb, he mouthedthe words too, and you caught the hoarse whisper of his words. “Own up.”

Caleb sighed. “He said I’m fucking whipped… And it’s true.”He turned to look at Rowan and took his face in both his hands, speakingclearly, but not slowly. “If anything everhappened to you…”

Rowan brought his finger to Caleb’s lip and smiled. Then heblushed attractively and looked at you briefly. He knocked Caleb’s hands awayand spoke to you, relying once again on Caleb to translate.

Any thoughts on how Ican thank you properly then?

You shook your head. “No, look, just… get better, ok?”

He looked disappointed at that.

“I won’t tell anyone that I know about you guys,” you added.“I don’t know how many people here know about what you are, but –”

“You can’t tell anyone!” Caleb barked, half rising fromwhere he knelt on the floor in front of Caleb. “That was a hunter that shotRowan last night. A hunter! You knowwhat that means…?”

You nodded. “You’ll all be in danger. I get it.” You sighed.“Look, just take care of him, ok?”

Caleb nodded and you left the room while he helped Calebdress.

A little while later, you stood in the kitchen, nursing amug of hot tea in your hands, staring into it and not paying attention. A tapon your shoulder made you jump and tea almost spilled over the lip of the mugas you twitched.

You turned to find Rowan standing behind you. Caleb was lingeringin the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, one ankle crossed, arms foldedover his chest, amber eyes watching protectively.

Rowan signed something and his lips formed the words inEnglish as he did so. “Thank you.” His eyes were incredible. You couldn’t tearyour own away from them. You’d seen him as a wolf, and you’d seen him as a man,but the eyes remained unchanged. He was now wearing a charcoal grey t-shirtthat not only accentuated the curve of his biceps beautifully, but which set his eyes off something stunning. But hewas with Caleb, so you tried to reel your thoughts back.

He tilted his head then, as though catching the scent ofsomething. He half turned his head to catch a glimpse of Caleb, and again,something wordless passed between them. Caleb snorted and pushed himself offthe door frame. He scooped his hand around Rowan’s slim waist both holding andsupporting him, and he let Rowan settle his arm around his shoulders. “Let’sget you home,” Caleb rumbled. “Thanks again, and Rowan says he’s sorry forcausing you… trouble.”

Rowan smiled bashfully.

You were still hung up on the weird way Caleb had enunciatedthe word ‘trouble’. Even as they hobbled towards Caleb’s truck, parked outsideon the watery lane, you found yourself fixated on it.

Rowan came by the next day, just to show you he was alright,and to bring you a beautiful bunch of flowers. He made the sign for ‘thankyou’, again mouthing the words for you so that you knew what he was saying withhis hands. He didn’t stay long that day, but the next day he and Caleb cametogether, and you invited them both in for a cup of tea. This time they broughtfresh cinnamon rolls and an apple cake with them.

The third day after the incident, you looked out of yourbedroom window just before you closed the curtains for the night, and glimpseda reddish wolf sniffing around the trees where Rowan had fallen. You froze,heart hammering. Unsure what to do, you pulled out your phone and called Caleb.

His gravelly voice was less intimidating now, and heexpressed instant concern at the tone of your voice. “There’s what?” he askedwhen you told him. “Describe the wolf.”

“It’s hard to see them in the darkness, but they’ve got areddish coat, and maybe one white paw?”

Caleb growled. “Lilian,” he snarled. “Stay there. Do not go outside. I’ll be there as soon asI can. Do not leave your house, youunderstand me? Lock the doors.”

Your heartbeat rocketed. “Ok,” you squeaked.

“Don’t worry. I’m coming. I’ll be there.”

Part Two

Masterlist

#werewolf #male werewolf #werewolf x reader #monster x reader #male monster x reader #male #male monster #my writing #ask ghosti to write something #deaf monster #deaf character #deaf oc

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