#x f reader

Barely any conversation had filled the journey for your family, you weren’t talking much to your father for what felt like a long list of reasons that he was only adding to, your brother was pretty displeased and your father had now decided you were a brat. That both of his children were. You’d been told earlier in the week that it was surprising you’d somehow caught Titus Danforth’s interest and Chester Danforth’s approval. That went onto the list. 

You're led to a room by a white, stocky middle aged brunette woman that you don’t know the name of. She didn’t introduce herself and she looks completely apathetic to any pleasantries or your existence. At least where you’ll be staying is close to your family, your brother is in the room next to yours and your father is staying further down the hall. You step into another larger room, unbeknownst to you, Titus had made sure you were placed in what he saw as the nicest of the nice guest rooms. There’s a large window, it brings in enough light and there’s a bay window to sit in. That was something Titus had considered for you, not that you’d have a lot of time for reading with the weekend’s events. But he knew from your spot in the study here that you frequented over the years that you liked windows, rooms with light and views of trees. Something he’d noticed in your home too. 

After everyone is in the sitting room, Titus looked at your family for a moment and without a word he placed his hand on the small of your back, you gasped a little and tilted your head, his touch was soft but firm and he quietly guided you away from your family and towards the far corner of the room. When his shoulders nearly brushed the deep green wallpaper, he faced you, his hand lingered on the soft fabric hugging your back and then moved to hold your hand in the both of his, swallowing them up and rubbing his thumb over your knuckles in a motion that soothed him more than he could ever express with words. 

“Hi,” he says quietly as he looks down at your hand. 

The Danforth’s estate feels more haunting than ever, something you don’t want to ponder on but it’s hard not to feel like its cloak of shadows and blood is entangling around you. Especially not with Titus’s rough hands holding yours, you can feel other eyes focused on you too. You hate attention, if this estate was going to try consuming you, it should at least have the grace to do so in a way to protect you from the eyes of the other High Council members. But of course, it won’t. 

“Hello,” you whisper back quietly, watching his face, spotting the slight dimple coming out of hiding when he gives a small smile at hearing your voice. 

“We haven’t had a chance to sit down since-”

“The contract?” You cut him off and he looks up from your hand to meet your eyes, being pulled out of his moment of peace at the bitterness that’s found its way into your tone. His eyes almost look hurt, his forehead furrows but he nods.

“Yes.” He says after a moment and clears his throat, wishing you wouldn’t refer to it as a contract. Sure, there’s a contract but he wants you to think of it as something real, not just that single word that makes it feel so clinical and detached. “I’d like us to talk about it all, just us.” 

Your eyes stay focused on him, he’s a man with intimidating eye contact yet right now he’s looking at you in every way he can without having to look into your irises, your pretty irises he’s too scared to gaze into.

“That’s… reasonable,” you mumble after a moment and look down. It was. And you didn’t want to be a bitch right now, but you were more than pissed off still over Chester Danforth scheduling a High Council hunt on the anniversary of your mother’s death, a woman who had been accidentally killed in the hunt, another piece of collateral for the High Council to chew, spit out and forget. You were cycling through anger, disgust, and sorrow at rates that shouldn’t be possible, but grief since you were a child had taught you that nothing was impossible or logical when it came to loss. 

“Really?” His voice was softer and almost sounded surprised. With how tense you were and how you’d been the last time he saw you, part of him was expecting you to snap in some way and his heart had been struggling with the anticipation of you rejecting him in anyway. 

“Just not today, tomorrow, or overmorrow,” you say a little firmly. 

He meets your eyes again and smirks a little. “Of course you know that word, it’s so fucking archaic.” 

“I’m serious. Extremely.” You look at his hazel eyes, they look a little darker today. 

“Extremely? But you’re here for the weekend already-”

“Yes, again, another problem your father created with ruining this weekend.” You sigh and roll your eyes, you’re not going to chew his ear off over this. 

“Oh?” His eyes narrow a little and his grasp on your hand becomes firmer. 

“Maybe next week or the following, lunch or something. I don’t want to think tonight.” You admit earnestly and his gaze softens, taking the crumb you’re offering. 

“Okay.” He nods and after a moment asks, “is it the hunt?” 

After a moment you give a slight nod, yes it is because of the hunt but he doesn’t know what aspect of the hunt it is that’s upsetting. Titus, the man you’re to marry, does understand maternal loss, you do know that, but they’re very different contexts. It also doesn’t mean that you want to stand here and try to have a heart to heart about it with him, it feels wrong, he’s the man that has loved the hunts since he could join in on them. 

Titus nods as he watches you, he gives your hand a light squeeze and rubs his thumb over each of your knuckles in a swirling motion that he hopes you’ll find soothing. “Nothing will happen to you, I’ll watch or you can hunt with me.” 

It’s an offer that comes from what he thinks is a tender place, he’s still rubbing your knuckles. You look down at his hand before back at him, your eyes are a little glassy from the urge to shed the tears you’ve been repressing. You don’t want to hunt by his side, you want to scream at Chester Danforth, then your father and not have to do this shit this weekend. 

“I… appreciate the thought but no, thank you. I can’t. I have to hunt with my brother.” You stumble a little over your words and he nods, knowing that this was what you were going to say all along. “I need a minute, sorry.” You whisper and your insides feel like breaking, something that makes its way into your voice unfortunately. 

Titus squeezes your hand one more time, lifting it to give a soft peck to the back of it and then releases your hand like it’s bones made of delicate porcelain. Your stomach twists at knowing that others have seen this, you’ve always hated the way your skin feels when there’s multiple eyes looking at you. Titus commands attention and despite this room being large, it’s still only four walls with a group of opportunists lacking spines and souls. 

You step away slightly and try to move like a shadow, out of sight and out of mind, as you make your way to be a fixture at your brother’s side. His eyes flick from your father’s face to yours for a moment and you nod. You look down at the dark carpet on the floor and bite your lip to stifle any sorrow from escaping out of you. 

Wan Chen Xing came over, she looked at you with a smile that always felt more earnest than the ones worn at these gatherings but it started to slip as she looked over you. The worry lines on her flawless skin became pronounced on her face as she looked at you, her silence doing nothing to hide the look of stilted sympathy in her eyes as she watched you. “What’s… happening there?” 

The words were carefully chosen, not too confrontational, perfectly vague and still painfully pointed with the look of pity she wore. “Hmm?” It was all you could come up with as you did your best to look at her but also avoided holding her brown eyes for a true moment. Your voice was quiet and carefully composed but you really didn’t want to invite questions or unwanted commentary. This fate of yours was already sealed and this all felt secondary to what your mind was fixated on. Your mother. 

“Titus.” She said after a moment, watching your posture carefully, you answered with a small shrug and moved your arm to discreetly hold yourself a little tightly. Hopefully to anyone else it would be like maybe you were just a bit cold, but if you kept yourself together maybe you’d be able to stop your guts and every other organ of yours from spilling out. Her eyes stayed on you and she said your name calmly but with a twinge of sympathy. “That’s… That’s a death sentence.” 

She’d made it clear that she thought the Danforths were particularly twisted than other families and you knew her opinion was lowest of Titus in particular. You weren’t ignorant to the fact that her conscience was probably a bit cleaner and her morals a bit sounder than other High Council members but this wasn’t what you needed right now. Because again, Mr Le Bail’s approval had already been given like the most valuable gift. There wasn’t a way out. Again, this wasn’t the top of your priorities either. 

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” you whisper with a sigh and then look away towards your brother. 

She looks at you, the sympathy coming out more and that just makes you feel nauseous, she gives a slight nod. Maybe the understanding is there of your reality, hands tied but at least the binding is pretty and there’s all one could want on the other side of marital vows. “Okay. But be careful, he won’t.” Is what she says as she watches you like you’re a lamb being led to the slaughter. A goat for another sacrifice. You step closer to your brother and try to further avoid any eyes that land on you. 

After a dinner you’d barely been able to touch, you’d at least been sat next to your brother and unsurprisingly not far from Titus, you felt a little more like yourself and that there were less eyes locked on your every move and microexpression. Of course there was still one pair of eyes that were burnt into your every step and gesture, that was something you knew you’d have to live with. 

In the sitting room, you see Daniel Le Domas leaning against a wall nursing a drink in his hand, Emilie isn’t too far from him but he’s treating the amber liquid like it’s more interesting than anything she could be rambling about.

“Should you even be drinking the night before the hunt?” Your voice comes out softer than it probably has in days as you step closer to him. 

His presence is always more tolerable than most in the High Council, something that you don’t see changing anytime soon. Daniel’s harboured a disenchantment with the system since his youth, it makes talking to him easier in all honesty. His dry humour and wit is easy to sit with, especially now when you’re in a bad mood and feel like crumbling into the aged and expensive floorboards and being sucked into a black hole sitting under them. His way of being and talking will either help lighten your mood or it’ll mean he’s not an explosive if you’re going to come out more dry or blunt. 

“Actually, that’s more than reason enough for me.” He says before taking a swig of the drink. 

Your nose scrunches a little as you watch him drink and hear the light slosh of liquid and a slight clink, once he’s swallowed you take the clear glass from his hand, careful not to spill any of the liquid and do something that might make a Danforth maid’s life a bit harder in the morning. “Thanks.” You say while holding the glass in one hand while looking at him.

“That’s just cold,” he looks at you as you hold the glass, his eyes are surprised at your move but he’s not going to question it, if anything he’d offer you a refill.  

“Shut up, I’m taking one for the team.” You lift his glass up and finish the drink, schooling your face to keep its mask of neutrality up as the amber liquid burns the back of your throat and almost scratches. You probably haven’t had enough fluids today with the journey, that and keeping the sobs down that want to crawl out and torture you, isn’t helping. Daniel snorts and shakes his head with a little chuckle as you place the glass down with a soft clink onto wood. You don’t search for a coaster, you normally would but screw Chester Danforth and every piece of his furniture. 

“Little Tight-Tight is staring.” He says with a little tired mock in his voice as his eyes look at Titus across the room for a second before looking back at you. You didn’t say anything or glance over, although you’re sure Titus would be very displeased with hearing someone call him that. He’d probably punch Daniel, you have little doubt of that in all honesty. “Oh yeah, that reminds me, did Chester reprimand you for the last meeting?” Daniel looks at you carefully now, there’s a playfulness there but a glimpse of earnestness. The closest he’ll let in. 

“No, not a word. But this whole hunt feels like a punishment.” You whisper shyly as you look down at your shoes. You silently hope that Chester Danforth will never perceive you again, that you could dance through life without ever seeing his particular set of pale blue eyes or hearing his voice, but you know that’s not going to happen.  

“Wow.” It’s more than a fair enough word here. Chester has had many dealt with for far less.

“Wow, indeed.” You lean against the wall more and look at him out of the corner of your eye, tilting your head. “I hate when they make us stand around and pretend to like each other.”

It’s an admission you probably shouldn’t make, but it slips out. Your nerves and irritation are growing louder. Daniel laughs. “I couldn’t agree more but… are you saying you don’t like me? I thought we were friends? That’s pretty fucking brutal, I just shared my drink with you” His voice takes on a playful tease and you roll your eyes.

“You’re much more pleasant to talk to than Bill Wilkinson, congratulations.” You whisper with a slight chuckle. It feels like it’s been awhile since you’ve had one of those.

“Low bar.” He says and looks at his sister for a moment, there’s white powder dusted over her face, he rolls her eyes and then looks back at you. 

“Is Charity hunting?” You ask after a moment, his wife with a heart of ice is elegantly nursing her own champagne flute, her blunt bob tipping as she nods while talking to Ignacio. 

“Yes,” Daniel says and looks down with a sorrowful expression, he goes to sip from his drink but then remembers his hands are empty. You scrunch your nose up and your eyes narrow slightly at his words, it wasn’t compulsory for her as in-law and that made it so much more fucked up. “I know,” he whispers with a sigh. 

This was how it worked, the eldest generation completely desensitised courtesy of the power and wealth Mr Le Bail bestowed upon them and then a next generation of various degrees of fucked up. A childhood with the High Council cult had led to Alex Le Domas cutting himself off from his family and practically going no contact, leaving Daniel Le Domas so traumatised he now self medicates. His wife Charity had happily walked into this life, her coldness made her a perfect fit, you didn’t think Daniel cared for her at all and that this made it easier, that if she’d pulled the wrong card it would’ve been okay to him. Then there was the fucked up degree of Chester Danforth raising killers with an education more violent and blood spilling than any other family’s education tenfold. Their curriculum hadn’t included guilt, you were sure of that as you’d seen Ursula’s smirk with a firearm and the ease of Titus swinging a pickaxe. 

Titus is watching across the room, his eyes rarely leaving you as he’s standing with Ursula and listening to Tony Le Domas rattle on about everything under the sun that he does not give a shit about. At least that’s how it feels to him as the conversation drags on and on. Something sharp twists in Titus as he sees you stand next to and talk to Daniel Le Domas, he almost wants to storm over when he sees you take Daniel’s glass and then drink from it. What the actual fuck? He sees red for a moment and as he keeps his hands in his pockets to stop himself from doing anything, he feels deeply uncomfortable. 

Titus swirls the facts and thoughts around in his head as Ursula does all the heavy lifting of listening and responding to Tony. You’re engaged to Titus and he considers you far too demure and elegant to be interested in a married man. Especially if the married man is Daniel Le Domas of all people. You’re not that type. His jaw clenches as these thoughts race around his head, he wishes Tony would shut up more than anything and that Ursula would stop asking him things and trying to drag him back into the conversation. 

Eventually he just walks off, he doesn’t bother excusing himself from the conversation, after all, Titus had already decided that his manners are reserved solely for you. Ursula rolls her eyes and looks at Tony who just pauses for a moment before he continues talking. Titus gets a drink for himself and then when he sees you leave the sitting room, probably for the restroom because you haven’t said anything to your brother, he follows. 

“Hiding?” He asks as he comes closer to your side, you gasp a little at the surprise of him popping up but you hide it away as your pounding heart recovers from the fright. 

“No, I wouldn’t want to get lost.” You whisper as you keep walking slowly, avoiding his hazel hawk gaze. 

“Soon that won’t even be a thought in your head, you’ll know the estate like the back of your hand. There’s a lot to know.” He answers as he tilts his head to watch you. 

No words come out as you still walk, your mind is chewing on his words. He’s right. You know there will be a wedding and then cohabitation will follow naturally afterwards but it’s the first time the thought really comes to you of living together with him. Of the bed you’ve slept in the last few words not being the one you’ll be in in a few months time, that your life will change so much to accommodate this arrangement. That you will be in his world, that it is expected of you to fully uproot yourself and hope you can be successfully replanted here into the Danforth’s slice of Rhode Island. No true care given to your homelife, what of work you wonder? But you can’t let yourself think about that right now, there is already way too much going on.

“Will you wear it?” He then asks after a moment seeing how you’re so in your head right now, his voice is so quiet and you barely hear the words, it takes a moment for them to pull you out of your daze and then to process them. 

Your head whips to look at him. “What?”

“The ring-”

Your eyes widen and you feel your cheeks heat up as soon as he says it. You want to delay this a little longer. “Titus, we said we’d talk about this all next week or- just not now, please.” 

Titus looks at you, he swallows, his eyes saddening like a heartbroken sparrow. Then after a moment he asks. “And Le Domas?” 

You look at him, tilting your head and you frown slightly. “Daniel? What of him?” There’s some irritation creeping back into your voice now. The gentleness that was crawling out slowly after seeing his sad expression already wants to retire over this conversation turn. 

“Yes, Daniel Le Domas.” His voice is firm, speaking like boulders pressing against your temples.

“I’ve met him, yes. What is this, Titus?” You look at him tiredly. He notices the slight scrunch in your nose, how your beautiful lips pout, he knows they’ll be soft when he kisses you. Just not now.

“What were you talking about? You drank from his glass.”

“I needed it more, and I might need another if you keep going,” You whisper. Titus frowns at you. 

“Are you anxious for the hunt?” It comes out quickly as he looks at you.

“It’s complicated-”

“You don’t have to worry, it’ll be fine, you’ll be safe, I promise,” Titus’s voice is uncharacteristically soft as he tries to reassure you on something he doesn’t understand. You just chew your lip and don’t say anything, what can you say? “I’m going to look after you and watch, you’re living and that’s final.” 

“It’s not… It’s not about that.” You sigh and rub your forehead. “Just, goodnight, Titus.” 

Before he can get another poor but well intentioned word in you walk off quickly and make it to the room you’ve been assigned. Sleep isn’t your friend this evening, you knew she wouldn’t be. So you curl up on the plush bed with a headboard that looks older than your family’s involvement with Mr Le Bail and cry. You cry for hours, you cry over every moment that your mother should’ve had, everything she should’ve been able to give you guidance over. You think about how every year you buy another bottle of the eau de parfum she’d spray on her wrists and neck, how you sometimes will just sniff it as it sits on your vanity or how you’ll spray it on a scarf of hers that now sits on your neck. How you’d panicked once and looked into fragrance manufacturers, met a perfumer in Europe so you knew you’d never have to worry if her signature scent was discontinued. How one year you gave a bottle to your brother and you both cried, never speaking of it except for when one day he asked if he’d be able to get another just in case. That some days when he was sad he’d use it like a room spray to try and keep a ghost of the feeling of her being around, how you’d said yes and told him you’d done the same on many days that felt colder than the thermostat said it was. 

Tears spill over how she didn’t get to hear you play music as you grew, how you’d never get to sit and listen to her play the harp again, over how you won’t be able to hear her input on your wedding gowns, that you never got to see her with a single grey hair. Let alone the chance she’ll never get to grow old. 

The next day starts off quickly and you go through the motions, grief weighing your heart down more than should feel medically possible, it’s a blur of a day that you feel yourself slipping in and out of. It’s hard to be present and you do your best to function on autopilot. 

Chester Danforth announces that the prey is a former associate of the Danforths, someone slimy, you barely catch his name, Seymour, and any of the details that Chester shares with you all before the hunt will commence. It’s better this way you think, the less you know the better, the easier it will be. Ignorance truly is bliss you think. You avoid your father like the plague, only occasionally looking over at your brother. 

Neither of you comment on the bags from poor sleep under the other’s eyes, or how there’s a slight puffiness in your eyes and unshed tears glistening in certain lights. It’s what the sunglasses are for, which you both wear despite the time of day. Evening approaches quicker than you’d like and your stomach does flips as you think of the long night ahead of you and how you’re far too far away to be able to visit your mother’s resting place. That on its own makes you feel like throwing up. 

In the middle of the lineup outside, stands the Danforth twins, waiting, Ursula smiles and Titus’s face is more stoic but he’s watching you in his periphery. Francesca stands on the other side of them with a ridiculous looking firearm, further back is Wan Cheng Fu, who you are sure Chen Xing tried to bargain him out of this hunt. The Rajans are on the opposite side of you and then the Le Domas trio of fucked; Emilie, Daniel, and Charity. Only one of them will enjoy this. 

As the janky music plays and a terrified Seymour who has barely had enough time to process what the Lawyer has said, runs to try and hide. You’re all waiting with weapons and in your ‘hunting attire’. Your brother and you wear non-rustling fabrics and water resistant steel toe cap boots, perfect for tracking in shallow water and if a boost for a kick is needed. There’s more than enough knives stored throughout your body and you hate this time of waiting, you stand next to your brother with the perfectly composed mask that you’ve mastered throughout your lifetime of restraint and hiding, the sunglasses on to hide anyone clueing on to any of the tears you’ve shed today. Each minute of the song playing is painful, but it only adds to the pit of dread in your stomach of the hunt approaching and nothing being safe. 

There was nothing predictable about the hunt and that haunted you on a day like today. These hunts like this, that were supposedly more informal and not from a wedding, were interesting in how they played out. Sometimes rules were bent and reinvented, today Chester had decided to ban the infamous Danforth golf carts, saying that they made things too easy and that the hunters needed to work for it. You had wondered if this was something done just to add more of a thrill to the more bloodthirsty members and to drag it out for the victim running around like a headless chicken. You didn’t know or care but what it meant was that this would be more of a trek, especially to get to the treeline which was undoubtedly where you were heading. 

When the music stops you see the Danforths quickly running, Charity trying to lead her in-laws who drift with disinterest in actually participating in the hunt. Your brother looks at you and blinks ‘trees’ in Morse code and you nod, the pair of you jogging and ignoring whatever it is the others are doing. You couldn’t care less. Hiding in the trees means you have a chance of a successful hunt but also that you’re further away from the shenanigans of other hunters, which is a pretty big selling point to the fresh air of the forest of trees waiting for you. No matter how smart the prey is, and most of them aren’t, they go for the trees far more times than not. It makes sense, it’s probably what you’d do if you were in their shoes, it’s just that they don’t know how much of a death trap they’re in. 

You don’t know how long it is that the two of you are jogging to the treeline and time feels distorted as you look around and try gaging the night sky that becomes more hidden the closer you get to the trees wanting to hide you away. 

When a small eternity has passed and your heart settles a little, and the trees start to hide you, you give your brother a small hug as a reminder that you both have the other, that this is insane and cruel but that your mother isn’t fully gone because the other exists. It’s something you’ll always hold onto, you’d do anything for that, for the only true piece of family you have still breathing. He gives you a small smile and nods, you nod back and you walk further into the trees slowly. 

Trailing a couple of steps behind your brother, you hold the hilt of one of your knives tightly in your hand and watch him. His eyes are focused on the surroundings looking for tracks, he’d always been good at tracking, it was a skill part of your unconventional education, a private tutor and thick books as you’d go on these hikes, practicing tracking animals, people, and how to obscure your own tracks from anyone in pursuit of you. It had seemed strange at the time but been useful for this part of your lives. You weren’t terrible, you were more than competent and good at it but he was better than you, it came so easily to him. He whispers the names of the trees and bushes you walk past and you nod, looking around for any other signs of human life but there’s not much to see, yet. 

After a couple of minutes he sees a fallen pine branch, he gives it to you without a word and you know what to do. You start to use the branch to brush out some of the tracks the two of you have made and to try and mimic the natural landscape the best you can. Occasionally sprinkling leaves and checking that you haven’t disturbed moss or twigs in an obvious way to a watchful eye. It’s a comfortable pattern that you two fall into silently although you know it’s unlikely that many of the other hunters are doing much tracking. You’re sure Viraj Rahan is clever enough to know how to track but it’s unlikely he’ll be coming out this way anytime soon, he seemed to stay close to the main Danforth buildings and you imagined that would be his plan unless he sprinted after the prey into the treeline. But you know for a fact that Titus and Ursula would have an eye for detail when it comes to this, they’d be capable at the very least, if not very gifted trackers. 

But you were still doing your best to avoid Titus Danforth’s eyes, so you had kept your eyes on your brother and done your best to avoid paying any attention to which direction the Danforth twins were heading. Your mind didn’t have space for them in your mind, you scrunched your face up at the thought of the family you’d be bound to soon enough.

Ursula frowns at her brother while holding her crossbow close to her body as if it’s a natural extension of herself. “Where are you going?”

“They’re headed to the trees.” Titus’s voice is too calm, no gruffness or amusement in his face, he’s not talking about the running lamb with desperate eyes.

“You want to be a guard dog today, Titus?” Her voice is mocking as she looks at him with an annoyed yet amused smirk.

“Sure.” Titus speaks casually as he walks towards the trees, he’s strong, always has been and has an inhuman level of stamina. 

He can easily participate in the hunt, win, and make sure that you’re perfectly safe. This is something he’d decided on long ago and it makes perfect sense to him.  

“Why are you so whipped? It’s… Weird. It’s weird, Ti.” Ursula says as she walks closer to him to try and look at his expression that feels so different to her brother.

“Well, Urs, she’s going to be a mother to Danforth children one day and maybe that’ll help our father leave you alone for a minute. So be a little grateful and help look after your sister-in-law or kindly, shut the fuck up.” Titus doesn’t watch her reaction, something he’d maybe usually try to delight in but he starts to walk away.

Ursula is horrified at this, she frowns at him, quickly steps closer with her short legs and slaps his face. Titus glares at her, his cheek reddening from her hand and then storms off. He has no interest in Ursula’s words, she watches his back for a moment.

“You’re not married yet, so she’s not my sister-in-law.” Ursula says bitterly which he ignores but she follows his path, holding her chin up high. Titus continues to ignore her, holding the pickaxe with ease. 

There’s a particularly large tree trunk towards the edge of the Danforth’s woods that you and your brother are leaning against. You’d allowed yourself to share a whispered conversation of your mother, trying to avoid bringing up that you were doing the exact thing she had been doing when she’d been killed. It was haunting every step you both took and each sob you muffled was adding up to a heartbreaking number. 

There was a small creek you’d both come across but you hadn’t bothered sticking with it, it was quite shallow and still relatively open in the density of the trees. Your brother and you had decided that hiding away was the best option. You’d been out here for a few hours and fortunately, you were yet to catch sight of another hunter, so you both gave yourself permission to sit with this reprieve and let it wash over you both as nothing, when grief was still sitting with you both, comfortable in the shadows of night. 

Then before you knew it, your brother whispered to you, mentioning the eerie silence and his hand gestured to the disturbed moss and then his hand lifted in the direction you’d both soon follow. You both walked carefully, pacing yourselves out a little and you held your knife closer as you walked behind your brother. After all, you’d follow him anywhere. 

Titus looks around, he’s trying to spot anything, blood smothered or speckled over tree trunks, remnants in the leaves of torn clothing, footprints trekked into the ground. There isn’t any from their victim and none from you or your brother. He furrows his brow, frowning and then looks at Ursula. “They’re covering their tracks.”

“Seymour? I thought he’d be too scared shitless to think of that, if he even knows how.” Ursula looks around, holding her crossbow comfortably as she steps to the side and does a sweep. She looks almost bored at how this has gone on for as long as it has. But Titus shakes his head and says your name. 

“No. The cameras showed them coming this way, there should’ve been footprints.” Titus says it seriously as he waves his hand dismissively, gesturing to the set of footprints they’ve left behind and the lack of prints in front of them, he then steps forward a few steps and joins his sister in doing a sweep of their surroundings. 

The frown is still sculpted into his face as he tries to look for any other clues or the sound of your soft voice. But there’s nothing. He knew you were clever and he should be filled with a sense of pride that the person he’ll be calling his wife in the future is this good, that you actually know how to track and have this degree of stealth on your side. It should and it does to a degree but he can’t fully appreciate it as he’s now annoyed about how he can’t be nosey and you’ve made his unofficial job harder now. He promises himself that he’ll tell you later how clever you are and how he honestly finds it hot, but first he has to find you and make sure you’re alright and then win the hunt. Priorities. 

Titus pulls his phone out again with one hand and looks at the cameras, there’s cameras hidden in some of the trees of course, something that had to be installed for purposes like this. It takes awhile before he finds footage of one camera capturing you and your brother making your way through, he sees you holding a branch and how you move it, move around to hide your footprints and his eyes widen at how clever his wife is. Yes, he knows it’s not official yet, that you’re not even wearing the engagement ring he always has on him, yet. But you’ll be married soon and he already thinks of you as his wife. 

He scoffs a little and then Ursula quickly steps over and looks at his phone screen, she watches you hide yourself in the forest so stealthily, her eyebrows raise and she keeps looking at the screen, avoiding Titus. “Huh, she’s more clever than I expected.” 

“Of course she is. She’s absolutely brilliant.” Titus nods, they’re the truest words he’s spoken today. He puts his phone back into his pocket and sighs, trying to orientate himself with the cameras and where you must’ve been and where you’re now heading.

It’s dark and there’s still a quietness that feels too unnatural, even in the dead of night in the middle of an isolated forest. Your brother and you keep walking as silently as your bodies and shoes will let you. There’s an ache in your body at how long this has been going on for and how your body is carrying so much sadness and pain. 

But you don’t say a word of this aloud, not as you walk. You don’t need to burden your brother while he’s dealing with the same pain you are, you can see he’s doing his best to pretend this all isn’t bothering him as much as it’s bothering you. Somebody needs to keep the front of strength up and he’s decided it’ll be him so you have some small internal reprieve, you’re grateful but you can’t help but be plagued with the last memories of your mother. The announcement of her death in the middle of a hunt that she was never meant to be touched in, she was a hunter not prey. Yet she’d been impaled so swiftly and there was no hope for her, no chance of a medical intervention good enough to piece your mother back together whole and have her come into your room in the morning and greet you with a hug. 

There’s a snap of twigs and your head whips to see a flash of a desperate man, pleading for his life and no longer seeing reason because why would somebody being hunted for sport by billionaires find any logic in their reality? You see him go for your brother, clearly not having seen you as you had been trailing a few metres behind your brother, the darkness and your clothes concealing you from his sight in the dark. 

Seymour, a name you can barely recall, tackles your brother to the ground, more twigs snap and leaves crunch to fill the air along with your brother’s pained and shocked gasp. At first, Seymour tries to claw at your brother’s face, almost an attempt at gouging his eyes out but realises that’s too difficult as your brother tries to push him off and bite at his hand. Seymour screams out and then puts his hands down to choke your brother. There’s some blood, obviously he bit the victim well enough, so blood now coats Seymour’s hand and his neck. 

For a brief second pain and fear explodes in you, you vividly remember that night of your mother kissing your forehead, tucking you in as a nanny stayed with you and your brother, she had then gone outside to compete in a hunt with your father. You and your brother were too young to compete or fully understand the true depth of loss that the hunts offered, even though your education was already consisting of weapons training and human anatomy to know the worst places to direct a blow. All supplementary to the intensive private education you spent hours in each day, in order to be as close to the best of the best as you could be. 

When she didn’t come back in the morning and the nanny was tasked with telling you and your brother of her tragic fate. Your father had decided that was what was best, something you’d never be able to truly comprehend or forgive. But you didn’t have the home where you could voice that, no matter how old you became. 

The loss of your mother left an aching hole in every part of your life, you felt it everywhere. No matter what you did or who you were with, her smile was missing in every photo and every memory was missing the sound of her voice. It was a large shadow over you, you couldn’t even imagine the shadow that would hang over you if your brother was gone too. And to lose him in a hunt so young and the same weekend as your mother, you’d never recover, you would no longer be human. You would be an empty husk of all that once was. 

There’s a world of pain that flashes between your eyes in the short second that you witness this but it feels like an eternity long horror film you’re trapped in. You hand immediately raises and the knife flies through the air and hits him, you aim for the neck of Seymour, the blade sinks right into the carotid artery, as you’d tried to remember and visualise the anatomy books and diagrams of your childhood. Your brother loudly gasps and sits up, clutching his throat for a moment as you watch Seymour start to fall back, his hands shaking, unsure of what to do with the blade protruding from him. 

You step closer like it’s second nature, you grab the hilt and push the blade in deeper, shimmy it to make sure there’s permanent damage he won’t be able to come back from and then pull the blade out so that the blood loss worsens at the loss of a plug. He’s too weak to fight you off, you don’t even bother kicking him or trying to make it worse beyond that. You place the knife away and in doing so, it gets more blood on your hands. 

There’s now blood on your face, jacket and hands. You watch as Seymour very quickly dies and then rush over to your brother, he’s shocked but looks at you, all the pain in his face is at what you have just had to do and not for his injury, which seems superficial but you help him up, not acknowledging the blood that feels sticky on your skin, you’re only concern is getting him checked. 

You would do anything for your brother. 

The Lawyer has announced that the hunt is over and that you were the victor of this match. You don’t care or listen as the other families return to the Danforth viewing room, some of them watch an odd angle of the kill from a Danforth tree camera. 

You’re in a sick bay with your brother as a Danforth doctor checks over your brother, you stand there nervously and watch, the walls are unusually pale and dull for a Danforth room and it makes it all so disorienting and just wrong. You’re still in a state of shock as you watch your brother and your mind is fixated on him being alive, he is alive, alive, alive, you keep repeating the thought to yourself as some soothing affirmation. But it does little to calm you. You don’t let the doctor come near you. Your sole focus is on your brother and so should the doctor’s be. 

This doctor, a middle aged man confirms that he’s fine, there will be some bruising but it is fortunately superficial. You nod and help your brother to the room next to yours, you help him take a sleeping pill he’s been given and you stand awkwardly in the room as you wait for him to fall asleep. In his drowsy state he cries quietly and doesn’t say a word about his bloodied little sister. Once he’s asleep you take a deep inhale and then leave the room, shutting the door as quietly as possible before storming down the stairs and into the viewing room. 

Your eyes land on your father and you give him the filthiest glare you can manage, his face is frozen like he’s glitching. He isn’t sure whether to be satisfied that you did well in the hunt or to be horrified that you did not clean yourself up before coming down and barging in. 

Titus’s eyes widened as he saw you, he’d had some fear when seeing the footage, at how close Seymour had gotten to you and your brother, of course he’d been worried something awful could’ve happened. But there was a strong sense of pride at knowing that you’d won, you’d been so quick. As soon as Seymour was a threat to your brother you barely hesitated, the knife immediately went flying with deadly precision and seeing you like this… Titus plans to tell you one day how much he enjoyed it. 

You don’t acknowledge your father beyond a glare, a silent scream brewing in you at how he’s disrespected your mother’s memory and how your brother was almost killed because of it. But your eyes land on Chester, you see him look at you, his bored expression becomes a smile and in that moment you finally, fully land on the decision that you most definitely do hate Chester Danforth with every bit of your soul, regardless of Mr Le Bail’s claim on it. 

“We-” he starts and you do the thing you’ve been told you should never do when the High Seat speaks to you, you cut him off. 

“It was so generous of you to commemorate a tragedy with another hunt today, to show my appreciation of your generosity and sympathies, I have a gift for you.” You pull the bloodied knife out of where it had been concealed and drop it onto the table he’s sitting at, right in front of him. 

Chester’s eyes widen slightly as he looks down at the knife, his mouth opens slightly and your father looks like he’s going to combust but you pay him no mind. You give Chester a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and then walk out before he can even have a chance to respond. 

Grief seems to take away all the shyness that usually prohibits you from existing in the world that you think you’re meant to. It’s perfect for how your father wants you to exist though. You practically sprint up the stairs and into your room, your muscles ache and you don’t think you have the strength to do so but you need to disappear. 

Slamming the door to the bedroom you’re staying in is the most tempting thing in the world but you don’t, only because you worry about the noise being so loud it would wake your brother. You can’t be seen like this right now and especially not by him. 

You close the door silently and then walk to ensuite, you tug the shoes with dirt and mud on them off as quickly as you can. Next you peel off each layer of clothing in a rush and throw them in the rubbish bin you find in there, you wouldn’t care if they were torn in the process, you don’t want to feel them on your skin ever again. It’s your best effort to avoid seeing your reflection in the mirror, something you can’t stomach right now as you turn the shower on and wait a few seconds for the water to heat up. 

Sobs start to choke you until you let them spill out more freely as you just stand under the warm water of the shower head and let the water drown out the noise of your cries. You keep thinking about your mother and then your brother, how you almost lost him and how that was the worst thing that could happen to you. How similar their fates almost were and yet how they ended so differently, you were able to stop your brother from becoming another chapter ending too soon like your mother’s story. It’s overwhelming and you barely think of Seymour. 

The thought that you just killed a man barely registers in your head as you then frantically scrub at your skin while sobbing. Then you’re slapped with the strange reminder that you did just kill someone to save your brother’s life and only feelings of grief have been consuming and nauseating you, not guilt. That inspires some guilt then but for the wrong reasons. Guilt feels wrong in your mouth, it sits like nausea in your stomach and before you know it, your hands are bracing yourself against the shower wall as you start to vomit up your guilt and sob. 

There’s not enough soap in the world to make you feel clean and human again. It’ll just have to sit in you next to the hole left from your mother. 

The Lawyer’s startling blue eyes are always filled with an impossible level of joy, it’s unnerving and always creates an eerie contradiction to the words he’ll say on behalf of Mr Le Bail. He starts to walk away from the viewing room, he’s done for the time being, he gives a slight nod to Titus who looks at him.

Titus’s eyes narrow, his voice comes out as firm and commanding as ever. “Wait.” 

“Yes?” The Lawyer responds in that ever chipper voice as his unnatural blue eyes look at Titus patiently.

“This hunt is the anniversary of something pertaining to the High Council?”

The Lawyer doesn’t need to think, his answer is immediate. “Yes.” 

“What is this the anniversary of?” He looks the Lawyer, his words measured.

His tone is calm, you wouldn’t think he was talking about anything particularly troubling, his expression and tone have the same cadence he’d use for talking about the weather of a particularly pleasant spring day. He says the name of your mother first. “It’s the anniversary of the hunt she accidentally passed in.” The Lawyer watches Titus for a moment and then nods with a small, polite smile. It would seem jarring to almost anyone in the world but Titus is not ordinary, so he watches the Lawyer leave and no protest comes from him. 

Once the sound of the Lawyer’s footsteps disappear, disgust and rage fills Titus and mixes with his blood, flowing through every vein in his body. It all makes so much more sense to him now, he didn’t witness it but he remembers when your mother had been killed. He wouldn’t say it to you for obvious reasons, but her death was one of many, an accident in one of countless hunts so the date had never branded itself into his mind but now it would. Titus remembers how the news spread, how you and your brother’s life had been shattered, just like how his mother’s cancer would shatter him and Ursula. 

He starts to walk away, there’s no way he can sit in his father’s presence right now, it’s clear that this was some kind of test that he and Ursula once again, didn’t realise was happening. It was only a test for you this time, not them. He’s sure you passed, passed with flying colours, you killed Seymour and he’s watched the footage more times than he’d admit, it was a close call and you did good.

You delivering the bloodied murder weapon as a gift to his father was perfect. Titus is proud of that defiance, spite, and wit. It’s the very least of what his father deserves and Titus is sure it’s said one thing very loudly to every single person in that room, you are more than worthy of the Danforth name. 

In the den near his room there had been a dozen bouquets of flowers already prepared just in case, he stands there to look at them. Titus’s gut told him you were the type of person who would like flowers, he thought maybe it might be something to get you to smile, that maybe he’d even try to be romantic, give you some flowers and then slide his mother’s ring onto your soft finger. He’d save the ring for another day, even to his frayed logic, it would be insensitive to try doing that with you today of all days. 

A floral rainbow of various hues and blooms sits in front of him, it was then that an unlikely candidate he hadn’t truly considered stood out to him, white lilies. Flowers of death, funeral flowers, that’s how Ursula would always refer to them whenever she saw them at events that she would point out as a poor thematic choice due to whatever mood their hosts were meant to inspire. He had thought they were elegant on their own, but on a weekend when you have been forced to go through another form of hell, having scars of grief prodded and picked at, maybe a recognition of that same loss would mean something to you. That as a gesture it would be more thoughtful and validating than orchids, peonies, roses, or hydrangeas ever could. 

It’s not long after coming out of the shower in the ensuite that you hear a knock on your door, you’ve barely dried yourself properly and brushed your teeth, you still feel sick. You rush to get rid of the towel and quickly put on the soft, silky pajamas you’d packed. They cover you up plenty so you don’t have to worry about being extra exposed to whoever it is, it’s probably only your father waiting to scold you. 

The blood has been scrubbed off of you, you’re clean, you keep trying to repeat that even though your brain keeps telling you you’re still dirty and you can still feel the stickiness of blood clinging to your skin, it isn’t there. And the metallic smell is still clinging to you. Before you can spook yourself with a look in the mirror or let out an audible sob, you take a shaky breath and your bare feet pad closer to the bedroom door. 

When you open the door, you’re surprised to see Titus standing there, even more so with him holding a large bouquet of white lilies. Funeral flowers. You look at him quietly with wide eyes and Titus has never seen you like this, your eyes are puffy and he can tell you’ve been crying, there’s still unshed tears sitting in your eyes and lashes. He can tell you’ve just showered, there’s some droplets of water visible on your skin and there’s a slight visible dampness near your hairline on your face too. It breaks his heart to see you like this. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Pardon?” It’s a soft whisper he barely hears, he instinctively leans in a little to try and catch your words better. 

“I’m sorry, for all of this,” Titus says with a sigh. “I didn’t know this was the anniversary of your mother’s death. I’m so sorry. This was beyond cruel of my father, I… I can only imagine how difficult this was.” He speaks earnestly as he looks at you, your eyes water more and you just give him a slight nod.

“I wanted to give you flowers… And I thought of the lilies…” 

“Mourning flowers…” You whisper and rub your eye. 

“Yes…” He nods and gives you a small smile. “Do you hate it? I understand if you do, I have others… But I thought this would be-”

“It’s nice,” you whisper. “It’s very nice, thank you.” You whisper. 

“Maybe one day we can talk about our mothers together.” Titus says softly and you nod, he nods back and then he delicately passes the flowers to you which you take with one hand, he squeezes your other hand lightly. “I know it’s not what you want to hear right now but tonight, you were exceptional. You looked after your family.” He squeezes the hand gently again and then goes to leave. 

You watch him, you think it’s the first time he’s taken your hand and not tried to make it linger, he didn’t raise your hand to his lips to kiss it like he always does. He doesn’t want to bombard you right now, especially knowing the turmoil of your grief and scare with your brother, so he does best to show his care but not crowd you. 

“Titus?” You whisper hesitantly and he stops and looks at you. 

“Yes?”He nods as his hazel eyes look at you.

 “Thank you, really.” You whisper and then lean over to give his pale cheek a soft kiss before stepping back, his cheeks have flushed a rosy pink and he gives you a smile. “Goodnight, Titus.” 

“Goodnight,” he smiles at the soft kiss and how shy that whisper was. You were utterly perfect. He then watches as you step back with the flowers and close the door.

Next Part

Four chapters and finally a cheek kiss 🤭 it was almost a forehead kiss! Am I doing the slow burn???

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(Or never let you live it down.)

But here you are, perched on a barstool, its cracked leather slightly sticky beneath your legs, the cocktail you'd ordered a while ago sitting mostly untouched on an even stickier bar top. Lamenting. Moping all over a guy who hasn't bothered to return a single phone call since you left him the voicemail. And it hadn't been his fault, really. He'd been upfront with you from the get-go; he's a busy man with a job you don't want to know about and are safer not knowing about.

You'd noticed the specific wording he'd used. Not better off but safer off, its implications perilous. The hardened look he'd given you when you'd pressed him on it, hoping for a slip of the truth, had been the first and only warning you'd needed.

Get off his case, understood.

You clench your teeth, irritation nipping at your nerves. You'd like to think that you've mourned this ex-relationship plenty and feeling an acute, smoldering ache again over a whisper of a memory (and not even a fond one at that)—

Time to douse these flames.

Waving the bartender down, you push away the watered-down drink and gesture for a shot. She eyes you warily, hesitating for a moment before sliding an empty glass over and reaching for some top-shelf bottle your bank account already feels the bite of. The fiery burn that courses down your throat resembles the one in your chest.

The alcohol swiftly does its job, offering a sense of relief, and you're grateful for it, even if fleeting. The room starts to blur a bit, the strobing lights overhead bleeding together like a watercolor painting left out in the rain, and you let yourself sink into the moment, the gentle ebb of intoxication pooling heat in your cheeks, warmth seeping into your limbs.

Things don't look so bad now; the world has taken a dreamlike quality to it, with softened edges and vibrant colors. With the liquid courage dulling the sharpness of your previous thoughts and easing the tension in your shoulders, you reckon that now you can start looking for your prey of the evening. It's why you even bothered to slink out of your comfort zone in the first place.

Mission directive: Get laid. Or plan B: go home with a new number saved in your contacts.

You rest your chin on your palm, eyes lazily scanning around the room, taking in the hazy but lively atmosphere. The dance floor is a whirl of energy, couples moving to the rhythm of the music, a group of friends huddling in a corner, hands gesturing animatedly as they chat each other up, and at the front—

If you swiveled away in your chair any faster, the courage you'd knocked back 10 minutes ago would come back up, spilling onto the bar top the barkeep gave up trying to keep clean. There have been numerous instances where your mind plays tricks on you, teasing you with glimpses of big and blonde in your peripheral while out running errands, the miserable lump in your throat only dislodging once you've made your grand escape.

(It's not running away; It's a tactical retreat. You'll face the music when it's less deafening.)

And in keeping with tradition, you settle your tab and scurry off to the bathroom, clutching your bag like a lifeline. A familiar shadow just walked in through the front door, once again haunting you. No matter how many times you whisper reassurances under your breath, dismissing it as a cruel joke your mind loves to play, the semblance of him never fails to arouse a bit of panic in you.

The trip to the bathroom feels like you're trekking across the country, weaving in and out and around crowds of people, dodging flailing limbs like an extreme sport. The inside is relatively small and cramped; three stalls for the entire bar. It's blessedly empty, so you beeline to the sink, hoping for a splash of cold water to settle your nerves.

The water is startlingly cold, or maybe it feels colder because you're flustered, and you're mid air-drying your hands when you hear it: that unforgettable gait, heavy and solid, like a tank rolling over rugged terrain. It's something that you can still hear echo in the small confines of your flat when the world is quiet. The mirror in front reflects your tense face, its edges cloudy with time and poor-quality cleaning solutions.

Get a grip, you're losing it.

Until the door swings wide, hinges screeching as it gives way with no resistance, and you realize that you're not losing it. But you just might.

"'Ello, poppet."

Incredulity forces a chuckle out of you because it's either you laugh or you cry.

"Nice," he eyes the cracked tile beneath your feet, "choice for a night out. Beer's more piss than ale, though." The door closes behind him.

The mockery in his voice is wildly unwarranted, especially for a man you haven't heard from for a better part of the year, and you finally gather your wits to bite back indignantly.

"What? It's not your cuppa? I always assumed you ratted out in seedy holes like this." The bruise-tight grip you've got around your bag makes your fingers ache. "I'll be sure to pick a more refined place for you next time."

He wastes no time closing the gap between you two, your three steps back negated by his single one with laughable ease, and the space around you seems to shrink, his presence swallowing it whole. You'd forgotten just how large a man he was— is.

A different beast altogether.

"No need. We won't be comin' back 'ere again." Your brows quirked at that. He's gone and learned French, apparently. Oui. You try to keep your personal bubble intact by taking another step back only to come in contact with a stall door, its chilly surface forcing your spine rigid. Cornered, caught in the crosshairs of the hunter's gaze, and the intensity of it makes you feel vulnerable, bare, as if you're staring up the barrel of a loaded gun.

"Easy, lovie, no need to look at me like tha', 'm jus' 'ere to talk," he says with a tone that's tinged with condescension, and his giant mitts are up and palms facing you like he's dealing with a skittish animal. There's a thought there, buried deep, that you refuse to acknowledge.

"Talk?" The question bursts out before you can stop it, followed by a sardonic laugh that feels unexpectedly cathartic as it leaves your mouth. Talk now, when you not only kept your line of communication open but also actively tried reaching out for weeks? Weeks spent waiting for a response, foolishly hoping he'd give a damn enough to at least put up a fight for you and what you had?

He tilts his head slightly, eyes unreadable. "Better late than never," he remarks, but that's the problem, isn't it? You were forced to come to terms with never, whether you liked it or not. And you had not liked it, but it had been necessary. To know there was a part of his life you weren't welcome to, regardless of reason, was something that shadowed your interactions. The realization that you were kept at arm's length due to the duality of his life was too bitter a pill to swallow.

It'd been a painful process making peace with the fact that maybe things just hadn't been meant to be. C'est la vie and all that tripe. But now, here he stands before you, having materialized out of thin air, a bloody intrusion upon the fragile peace you've built for yourself— it feels like a mockery of the emotional distress you've had to endure.

"Better late than—? You honestly fucking think you can just," you stumble over yourself in disbelief, "just corner me in a tiny bathroom of a dingy bar to talk?"

Simon raises one bulky shoulder, unconcerned. "You chose the place."

His piss poor attempt at a joke is like a slap in the face. "Right. Goodbye, Simon." You step around him briskly, your arm brushing against his. Just as your fingers graze the cold metal of the door handle, his encircle your wrist and gently pull you away. The span of his palm could easily engulf the entirety of your hand, and you can't help but wonder if you're as delicate and fragile as you feel in his grasp.

"Let me try that again," he murmurs tentatively, and you curse your good nature— the one that's always been too quick to soften even when you know better. You know just how clumsy he is with words, how his tongue ties itself in knots when emotions creep into the conversation. Simon gives your wrist a tender squeeze. "Ya can leave whenever you want."

Damn it. Damn it. Fine. This confrontation has been a long time coming anyway. "Then try again and make it fast," you snap, words short and clipped. "How we haven't been kicked out of here yet is a bloody wonder."

He steps away from you and leans his hips against the sink, arms crossed over his chest. Here Simon stands, no longer a hazy apparition in the corner of your eye but fully here. Real. Uncomfortable so. You shift your weight from one foot to the other.

"Didn't mean to disappear on ya," his tone carries a note of something resembling regret. "Work took me across the world, couldn't reach out t'you even if I wanted to." And there it is, the crux of the problem. His job. Always his job. The one part of his life you've never been allowed to see, what had been the ever-constant shadow hanging over your relationship. What tore him away from you for weeks at a time only for those same gaps to start getting longer and longer while his stays grew shorter.

That's not good enough.

"So that's it?" Simon cannot honestly expect you to take his paltry excuse and run with it. As if it's enough to stitch together the wound his silence left behind. "Work? That's what you're going with?" It's the audacity that stings the most, the hope that you'd simply accept it and move past all of this heartache.

For all you know, he could be lying through his teeth, spinning enough truth to make it seem believable. You must have your suspicions plastered on your forehead because Simon peels himself off the sink with a sharp breath and narrowed eyes.

"'M many things, love, but a liar ain't one of 'em." His hand disappears into the front pocket of his worn denims, and when he pulls it free, you instantly recognize the tattered, frayed edges of his wallet. Still clinging to life, it seems. As stubborn as the man holding it. He opens it and extends it to you because it's imperative you see...?

"Work." And right there is an ID, not your plain old driver's license, which you're unsurprised to see absent. The man has no business being behind the wheel of any vehicle; he's a threat to all life and limb while on the road— but a military ID, the insignia emblazoned on the card unmistakable. You'd pieced together as much but never fully assumed, never formed a picture, just a blurred outline that left more questions than answers.

Name: Simon Riley. Rank: Lieutenant. Special Forces is right above the square where a photo is supposed to be. "There's no picture." You flash your eyes up at his in question.

"Never," he states.

You swallow thickly. An admission, this is. A roughly hewn olive branch tucked away in the ratty wallet you'd told him to toss ages ago. He snaps it shut with a practiced flick and then rucks up the right sleeve of his jacket up to the crook of his elbows, exposing his forearm, stark and freckled, the skin pale but then closer to his wrist, his flesh taking on a more golden hue— honeyed, sun-kissed.

Simon Riley does not tan.

"Sat on my arse out in a barren stretch o' land f'r months on end, cookin' under the blazin' sun while waitin' for orders tha' never came," he grumbles, voice weary. He doesn't flinch when your wandering fingers feather across the darkened strip of skin. "The only form o' communication was local." You flip his hand, the underside of his wrist startlingly pale like the underbelly of a fish. "Couldn't 'ave reached out even if I wanted to. No signal."

It hangs heavy, what he was willing to share, and you're wondering if he's only asking for understanding or something else. Your treacherous heart flutters in your chest, breath squeezing from your lungs. A tiny part of you hopes for he's asking for that something else.

There's a new scar on his palm, close to the hardened calluses on his knuckles, the deep, puckered groove still red and raw— fresh enough to make you wince— and you can't help the frown that pulls at your lips. You can bet he took care of this himself, the oaf. Probably spit it clean and wrapped it up with whatever he had on hand. He's lucky it didn't infect.

"Only when I came back did I receive the missed calls, the texts, the bloody voicemail," he gnarls, and while the sharpness of his tone isn't aimed at you, you feel the biting sting of it anyway. Simon cradles your hand in his much larger one, and he doesn't squeeze, doesn't hold too tight; he simply holds it, the choice to refuse him if you wanted.

You don't.

"And this isn't something you could've told me before? I know I pressed when I shouldn't have," chagrin pools in your cheeks, "but I worried for you. You were sometimes so unreachable, standing between two worlds at once. I couldn't help ease the weight of your responsibilities because I didn't know what I was dealing with." As you thread your fingers with his, they feel impossibly small, brittle— like the bones of a bird swallowed in the expanse of his hand. How unsettling.

(Yet you wouldn't have it any other way.)

Simon shakes his head, slow and deliberate, but his grip on your hand tightens. "I've more enemies than friends," he mutters, raising your hand to his masked lips, the gesture oddly tender as he presses a kiss on it even though it forces you to rise onto your tiptoes. You blow a puff of air, mildly exasperated. Big geezer.

"Every time I rid myself o' one, two take their place. I only did it t' keep ya safe. There's nothin' they'd love more than to exploit any o' my weaknesses." He says it as though the admission itself is dangerous, and maybe it is, but the risk, you believe, is one worth taking even if he won't.

Where he sees danger, you see trust. And that's all you ever wanted. Trust, because either you'll have all of him or none of him, so you tell him that.

His grip tightens imperceptibly. "Only wha' I feel is safe f'r you to know. Nothin' more." You know he means it. You've seen how far he's willing to go, how much he's willing to sacrifice, to keep you out of harm's reach.

Simon will shoulder just about anything alone if it means you'll be kept safe.

How lovely. He's taken it upon himself to play Batman when no one cast him into the role. Ah, well. A win is a win, and you've long learned some battles aren't worth the effort today, so you tuck this conversation into the back of your mind, a note to revisit at a later date. As for now, though...

"Alright, Si," the old nickname slips from you so easily, as if it never left, "We can continue this tomorrow, if you're able, but as for me," your gaze flickers to the faint ring of grime around the drain and the scribbles covering the peeling walls, "I've just about had it with this place."

But he's got no interest in letting you go now, not when you've given him the second chance he'd been desperate for. Instead, he jerks you to him, your shoulder colliding into his chest, his arms cinching tight around you. There is no grace, no soft pretense to it— just a raw, unfiltered need of a man clinging to what he's been too afraid to lose; your arsecheeks apparently because that's what he's currently pawing at.

Pervert. Honestly, you'd applaud him for holding back from groping you for this long. No shame in giving credit where it's due. You thought about letting him have his fill, indulging his starved-dog behavior until his hands started to wander beneath your clothes. You ought to make him stop this before it spirals into something completely out of your control.

Ah, but then he latches onto the sensitive spot on your neck, right below the ear, so close to your drumming pulse and your words snag in your throat like fishhooks when he suckles.

It's tragic how quickly you cave.

Simon's breath fans hot over your spit-slick throat, slow and composed while yours is sharp and shallow as if you can't quite catch it. He jerks his head toward the stall, and you freeze, disbelief rooting you in place.

"You're joking." He's gone and lost whatever scraps of sanity he had left back wherever he was because there's no way you're getting down and dirty in— your lip curls in distaste as you look at the industry-grade bottle of disinfectant that sits in the corner— here. But then he's dragging you toward the nearest stall anyway, your bag tumbling to the ground, not my bag, Simon, shit, you owe me another. The door is a pitiful excuse for privacy, barely clinging to the hinges and sporting a gap wide enough to make you grimace. You've hardly any time to register anything else before Simon is already at your feet, smoothly dropping to one knee, the crown of his head dipping slightly below your navel.

Simon's hands cup the back of your thighs, palms spread wide as they trail upward, the tips of his fingers finding lace and not your everyday cotton. With a deliberate slowness, he lifts the hem of your skirt, his neck craning just enough to bring his line of sight under the drape of fabric, and his gaze lingers.

Oh right. You've got on that set— the one he'd carefully chosen for your birthday, that one that fits you so perfectly it almost feels unfair. A little indulgence that'd been meant for his eyes only. Even as you'd slipped it on earlier tonight, it'd felt like you'd been breaking the rules.

It makes you wonder...

You hook a leg over his shoulder, the heel of your shoe digging into the straight plane of his back. "Well?" Your question is wrapped in feigned nonchalance. "Does it make you upset?" Simon shrugs, dismissive, his eyes steady as they lock onto yours. The dim light above buzzes faintly, its unkind glow spilling over his rugged face. It does nothing to soften the sharpness of his features.

And you notice a new scar, tiny, close to his hare's lip.

"Doesn't threaten me, sweet'eart."

A sharp laugh escapes you. How infuriatingly arrogant. Simon leans in, his nose brushing against your sex roughly before he takes a crude sniff, unrestrained, unapologetic. Nasty as always.

The faintest smirk curls the corners of his lips. "Can't blame me, my girl and I 'ave been apart f'r too long." Humming, you place a hand on his head, palming over the short bristles of his hair before curling around the back of his neck, and you grind down on him.

"If you're hungry, then eat." The smile you give him after your gracious offer is nothing short of salacious.

Simon thumbs your gusset to the side and slips his tongue through your folds, and it's electric, raw. Frissons ripple through you, starting from your nape, and it cascades down your arm and your legs, and the sensation is sharp, almost overwhelming, and you bow forward, nails digging into the dense muscle of his traps.

It's been so fucking long.

Hot, wet pressure circles around your swollen clit, purposefully shy of what you covet, enough to stir something within you but not enough to satisfy— nowhere near enough. It makes you testy. Impatient. It pushes you to lose control, feeling it slip from his grasp, only to land squarely in his.

It's the exact reaction Simon craves. You can grind down on the tip of his nose all you want, push and pull at his head every which way, but you don't come without his say so, and to earn that, there's something you have to do.

By the way your teeth sink into your bottom lip, bite-swollen and glossy with spit, peering down at him with bleary eyes after having rutted against his face without restraint, frantically seeking the friction you yearn for, you also know what to do.

Good.

Now he waits. Your pussy is dripping slick, dewy honey trailing down his chin and joining the sticky mess pooling near his knee, but he doesn't care— his focus is entirely on you. Simon knows exactly how this will end. You're as mulish as ever, he muses, but you'll break. You always do. It's not a question of if but when, and he's content to wait as long as it takes for the inevitable. After all, he's a patient man when he chooses to be.

Your chest heaves with every ragged draw of air to your lungs, your pretty lips quivering with need, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. If he had the skill, he'd pencil this very moment onto paper, immortalizing it. The desperation that clings to your features, the frustrated grunts you give when he laps at your— his— cunt, tongue skimming just shy of your pearl.

It's intoxicating. A heady visceral rush that courses through his veins and pools white-hot in his groin, stiffening his cock almost painfully.

And then, when a finger dips into your sopping entrance, the composure you'd been desperately clinging to begins to come apart. Simon watches it unfold through heavy-lidded eyes, the gentle part of your lips, the tremor in your breath— he drinks up every single second.

"Please," your voice is barely more than a breadth of a whisper. Your surrender is almost as sweet as you.

The kiss he plants on the inside of your thigh is searing as he hums. "What's it?" The prickly stubble of his jaw scratches against your skin. "Don't lose ya courage now," he murmurs, "you've already fought 'alf the battle.

Heat licks up the sides of your jaw, but you truck on, dignity long lost, in tatters next to your bag on the floor. "Please let me come." Your words come out in a half whine, half plea, and Simon's response is immediate; he cants your hips as two thick fingers enter you fully, and at this angle, it's more than he knows you can take, but you asked for it. Begged for it.

Simon takes it slow, not easy, the suction on your clit maddening; strong, fluttering pulses that seemingly beat in tandem with your heart and the world begins to tilt on its axis, his strong hands keeping you anchored lest your knees give way beneath you.

The world narrows down to the sound of your hiccups, the tension coiled spring tight below your navel, the feel of his shirt knotting in your fist— if he had hair long enough to tug, you would've ripped it out.

You knock your head back against the door almost violently, the dull throb stamped out by the livewire crackling beneath your skin when you finally do come, a scorching heat radiating from within your core out, leaving a raw, tingling sensation in its wake. It stings, you dazedly muse. The orgasm that was wrenched from you was so thunderous your pussy stings. It's short-lived but potent, and you can't help but wince, your lips curling, teeth slightly bared in discomfort.

Ouch.

Simon, on the other hand, is just peachy, unbothered as ever, leaned back on his haunches, chin glistening with slick, his thumb sweeping what's about to drip off his nose.

"Don't think for a second I'm returning the favor here. I've standards, Simon." He huffs in response but says nothing, expecting nothing less of you, instead opting to shrug his jacket off and place it over your drooping shoulders. Your limbs feel leaden as you exit the stall, Simon nimbly reaching for your health hazard of a bag before leading you toward the door.

Your fingers curl around the knob, and twist and pull—

and nothing. Confusion knots your brows together as you retrace your steps. Had you pushed or pulled it open? You can't quite recall, so you give it a firm push it instead—

and nothing. Again. The door stays closed.

"Need help there?" Irritation sparks within you, wishing your glare would eviscerate the obstinate door. Does Simon think himself funny? All you want is to go home, scrub yourself sparkling clean, and sleep until the late afternoon, but the door is conspiring against you. Good. Great, even.

"Bloody door," you grumble, "It won't open." Simon steps forward, unhurried, and twists the handle once, twice—

"Open sesame," he says, tone utterly flat and casual, and you snap your slackened jaw shut. "Oh for fuck's sake, Simon, keep your shit jokes," but the door opens with a click.

You're joking.

You're fucking joking.

It swings wide with a creak, and you glance around instinctively. Nothing out of place— just the usual drunken bodies flowing in and out, their laughter and slurred conversations blending into the background.

Simon drapes a heavy arm around your shoulders, large hand squeezing firm as he walks you out, and you trudge alongside, your gait sluggish, until a massive bulk stumbles into your path, and Simon quickly places himself between you and the drunken mass, both a protector and a threat.

The bloke is a guy with a row of thick hair that runs from his forehead to the nape of his neck, the sides clean shaven. "Sorry, bonnie, didnae mean ta-" limpid blue flashes to Simon, his thin-lipped smile stretches wide— too wide— flashing too many teeth for comfort, "bump into ye." He doesn't linger though, clodhopping his way back to the bar. There's a bold-lined tattoo on his nape, of a... revolver? A choice.

"Walk. I'll take ya home. Won't come in for a nightcap," the lines by his eyes becoming more pronounced. "Scouts 'onor." Simon pulls you along, and you're fighting off the sleep in your eyes when a man in a cap, his profile partially hidden by the brim, bumps his knuckles against Simon's shoulder, and curiosity outweighs your fatigue.

"Who's that?"

Simon grunts. "Security."

You don't remember having been frisked by security when you came in.

The crisp air outside bites your cheeks when you step out, and you're grateful for Simon's forethought as you tug the sides of his jacket closer to you, burying your nose into the collar— it smells of cigarette smoke and him, musky and woodsy— a quiet comfort. Sleep tugs at your eyelids, each step feeling heavier than the last as you make your way towards his vehicle.

The metal door groans as it opens, and he extends a hand, aiding you up when you squeeze it as you slur out a confession.

I missed you.

He doesn't falter in his movements as he guides both your feet inside, and his hands are steady as he adjusts the belt, buckle quietly clicking into place until he straightens, gaze dark and fluid as it lingers on you.

He runs the rough pad of his thumb along your bottom lip tenderly.

"I know, sweet'heart. Get some sleep."

The door closes with a firm but gentle push.

I know, he says. Exhaustion pulls at you, dragging you further away from consciousness. Bastard.

aizawa sighs, tired as always. his long hair falling into his face. "patrol luckily ended early."

you nod and give him a small hum. your eyes still not meeting his. "well, thats good for you. food is ready and on the counter whenever you are."

he catches your subtle annoyed tone. "what's that supposed to mean exactly?"

you shrug, "nothing. i just didnt think you remembered what early even was..."

he runs a hand over his face, frustration and guilt blending together. “i told you, y/n. it’s been busy lately. you know..with all the threats and attacks happening in the city.”

"yeah i get that..but it feels like you its always busy. you are always busy.." you sigh a little bit. stopping yourself, debating whether you should continue or not.

"it is like there is always trouble, a villain or someone who needs saving and cannot wait. but i feel like its not fair...." your eyes finally meet his. "like you never catch a break..are there no other heros?"

"y/n..its not about how many heros there are, its about experience. while the older heros are out, they are simultaneously training the upcoming ones so nobody overworks theirselves." he said, sighing and making his way closer to you.

you nod to what he is saying. showing that you are understanding what he is trying to say. but the ache in your heart doesnt fade. "i know..and i respect what you do for the city. its just-" you pause, deciding not to continue.

"its fine, im sorry for overreacting." as you got up, he caught your wrist.

"just what?" he asks, with a serious tone.

"i-it just..just feels like you are giving the best parts of yourself to everyone else, and i get what is left after your tired day to put your pieces back together for the next."

he slowly lets go of your wrist. "thats not true."

"isn't it?" you whisper. "you come home exhausted and half-asleep which is again, understandable. you barley talk due to waves of tiredness washing over you. i know you are doing important stuff out there and saving the world. b-but.. its doesnt mean that i dont miss you much, shouta. i miss feeling like i also mattered to you."

he exhales, quiet but heavy. “you do matter, y/n.”

you shake your head, staring down at your hands. “sometimes it doesn’t feel like it. no matter what you say."

"shouta..you are a pro-hero. strong, calm and respected. everyone looks at you and admire you for who you are. you do deserve all of it and more, you really do." you sigh, looking away, eyes beginning to tear up.

"b-but then there is me..i dont save anyone. i dont have people relying on me or any of that sort. i just try to live on and about my day and do my best to make your life as easy as possible. trying not to add any more burdens on your already tough life."

he moves closer, embracing you in a hug. "you are not a burden to me, never."

“then why do i feel like i have to fight for your attention most of the time?” your voice cracks, eyes glistening. “maybe you’d be better off with someone who understands your world. someone who actually gets what it’s like to be a hero.”

aizawa’s brow furrows, his tone steady but filled with something raw. “don’t ever say that.”

you blink, startled.

he kneels slightly, making sure you’re looking at him. “i don’t want another hero. i don’t need someone who understands my job. i need someone who reminds me there’s more to life than patrols and villains. you’re the reason i come home at all.”

his words hang heavy between you, quiet but real.

you swallow hard, nodding, then whispering, “then why does it still hurt?”

he lets out a small breath, sitting you both on the couch, close enough that your knees touch. “because i’ve been failing you,” he admits, voice low. “i thought working harder would protect the people i care about, including you, but in reality, all i’ve done is push you away.”

you look at him, really look at him. his tired eyes, his messy hair, the guilt sitting behind his calm expression.

“i just want to feel like i still have you,” you say softly.

he reaches out, fingers brushing yours, a faint tremor in his hand. “you do,” he murmurs. “you always have.”

he exhales again, long and heavy. "i know i’ve been distant, and i hate that. but it’s not because of you. it’s because i keep thinking i have to be everything for everyone. somehow i forget that i already have everything i need when i walk through that door.”

"y/n."

"yes?"

"im sorry that i made you forget how important you are to me."

your breath trembles a little, "then remind me."

quickly his lips crash onto yours, embracing your lips in a kiss. at first it was slow, taking his sweet time. then it grew needier over time, mainly from you, needing to feel him more.

"shouta. if you are exhauste-"

"no, gotta remind my wife exactly who she is." he states confidently, leading you both to your bedroom.

"you havent eaten yet though..the food will get cold." you explained, concerned for his sake.

"ill do that later, i gotta much more of an important task to do right now." he says, laying on the mattress.

taking his shirt off alongside his belt and trousers. leaving himself in his boxers.

leaning down, to capture your lips once again. you moaned into the kiss. "shouta-" you whispered as his kissed began trailing from your lips, down to your jaw and all the way to your chest.

he lifted your shirt off, and pulled down your sweatpants. taking one of your bare breasts in his hand and massaging the mound as you moaned with every move.

"fuck..shouta. please..need you."

"relax. ill give you exactly what you need."

he said, taking his boxers off. he was already semi-hard. he also helps you out of your panties and throws both clothing articles somewhere.

bringing one of his hands down again to massage your other breast while his fingers on the other hand work on touching your clit.

"daddy-please..need you already."

"alright, sweetheart. just be patient a little, okay?"

his fingers on your clit were speeding up, rubbing the circles a little faster. making you closer with each move. he then slowly slipped in a finger, preparing you for the stretch of his dick.

"fuck..im gon- please.." you whimpered for him, needy to cum on his fingers.

"yeah, let go for me. come on my fingers, sweetheart." he said encouraging you, slipping a second finger in.

you moaned loudly with your high, your back slightly arching off the bed and toes curling.

your breathing was unstable at first. but as soon as your breathing went back to normal. aizawa was on your neck again, sucking and biting on the sensitive flesh. as soon as he was done, he soothed the spot with his tongue and saliva, continuing to trail kisses down your neck, while holding your hand tightly.

"fuck, you ready for me?" aizawa said, lining himself at your hole.

"im ready, daddy...please i need you so baa-" the end of your sentence was cut off by a moan. caused by aizawa inching his dick inside of you. slowly.

"ahh..fuck, how are you so damn tight all the fucking time?" he hissed as he grabbed your hips and began moving slowly once he bottomed out.

"you feel so good, shouta. so big.."

he chuckled. "fuck, i missed this feeling, baby..." aizawa said as he began speeding up his thrusts. making your toes curl harder, your eyes squeeze shut and your hands finding their way to his hair and tugging harshly.

you are spread out beneath aizawa. at this point, you needed him impossibly deeper inside of you that you locked your legs around him. both of your hands still harshly tugging on his locks.

he is fighting to let go of his own sounds as well. gritting his teeth to swallow the moans, his hips were slapping desperately against yours. your back is arching into him and your eyes are squeezed shut so hard you are sure you are going to see weird shapes when you open them.

"fuck, baby. you feel so fucking good." he whispers into your ears. his hips still rocking against you. his hands glued to your hips.

once he started hitting a special spot inside of you, you moaned his name so loudly.

"fuck- shouta..you feel so- ahh, ahh, so fucking good..fuck-"

"yeah? always a good girl for me, screaming loud to make sure you let everyone know who is fucking you this good."

your sounds makes him groan. making him speed up his thrusts, as he was chasing his high.

"fuck me, baby.." he says softly, his eyes meeting yours. "you have been all lonely waiting for me like this. hmm? soaked just from thinking about me coming home to you, hmm? fucking you this good after patrol."

you nod helplessly, chasing your high. your lip formed an "o" as he circles your clit again with slow, firm pressure. a choked sound spilling from your throat, and he smirks, kissing you, swallowing your noises as his fingers tease lower.

it was his turn to clench his eyes now as you were squeezing extremely hard on him, signalling that you were about to come.

"fuck shouta.. gotta cum. please let me cum.."

"yeah, cmon, come for daddy then. be a good girl and do it" he encourages further as you let out a choked moan while you tug harshly at his scalp and bite down on his shoulder.

"fuck- good girl, baby. im bouta come now, will you let me come inside, sweetheart?"

"yes, please come inside me, i need you so badly.."

"shit..im gonna come, take it, baby." he hissed as he spills his hot seed inside of you.

you both take some time to catch your breath before he lays down next you, brining your naked body closer to his own.

after a couple minutes, both of your breathing went back to normal and room was quiet. the faint light from the hallway spills across the sheets. painting you both a soft orange-y brown-ish colour.

aizawas arm is wrapped tightly around you. your head resting against his chest.

neither of you say a word for some time. its not awkward silence. just silence.

his fingers trace lazy circles on your shoulder. “you always think too much after sex,” he murmurs.

you huff a tiny laugh, voice still hoarse. “can’t help it.”

“what’s on your mind this time, hm?” he asks, his tone softer now, less tired than before.

you hesitate, then whisper, “i just don’t ever want to feel like i’m asking for too much.”

he exhales slowly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “you’re not. i’ve just been too far in my own head to see how much i was neglecting you, you matter to me the most, i want you to be aware of that. always.”

you nod, eyes fixed on the way your fingers play with the fabric of the blanket. “i don’t need constant attention. i just… need you. here. even if it’s quiet.”

he hums low in his throat, pulling you a little closer. “then that’s what i’ll give you. not promises i can’t keep just my best efforts"

you smile faintly, closing your eyes.

aizawa tilts his head to look at you, exhaustion softening into something tender. “you know, for someone who says she’s not a hero, you’ve saved me more than anyone else ever could. from loneliness, depression, demotivation, and much more.”

you glance up at him, eyes stinging a bit again. “you always say things like that right when i’m trying not to cry.”

he chuckles quietly, his thumb brushing along your cheek. “then don’t hold it in.”

you finally let the tears fall, quiet ones that don’t need explanation. he doesn’t say anything at all. he just holds you through it.

when you finally calm down, he whispers against your hair, “i love you."

you nod against his chest, your voice small but certain. “i love you too, shouta. even when you forget to come home early.”

he smiles a little at that, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “i’ll work on that.”

“good,” you whisper, already drifting off in his arms.

for the first time in weeks, the quiet of your apartment feels peaceful again.

you didn’t know what you were doing out here—the reality of your choices settling in the longer you stood. the weight of discomfort creeping into your body as you shifted from one leg to the other. the cabin itself was not problematic, it was you, who had suddenly developed cold feet at the absolute last minute.

a moment of no return, you digested.

the cabin stood tall, its brown exterior being obviously well-kept. just as advertised on the rental website. so once again as you stood before it, it wasn’t the cabins fault you were nervous and feeling ill-equipped to actually enjoy your week long stay here. after all, it was your idea. you’d spent hours and days scouring the internet for a cabin like this one—secluded and located in a forest.

at the time, you thought you wouldn’t be afraid. convincing yourself that you had grown beyond those childish fears of hearing a creak outside the bedroom door or mistaking a coat rack for a man.

but as your hand anxiously curled around your luggage, you recognize now that you weren’t that far removed from them after all. it was the eerie morning fog surrounding the cabin that unnerved you. along with the reality that there were no neighboring homes for miles. the only exception being a two-story house that looks to be in similar condition being a half mile walk away from where you’ll be staying.

a black pickup truck parked outside of it, letting you know that it’s occupied currently.

it didn’t help that you had spent a considerable amount of your savings on this rental, telling yourself at the time, that life was just too short to not enjoy it. you’d never traveled anywhere completely by yourself prior to this as well. so you were looking forward to experiencing this as a first.

but something, just kept your feet planted firmly in place before the cabins wooden steps.

unable to work up the nerve to ascend them and open the door you previously were ecstatic to approach. it was a feeling maybe, just a heavy cloud of tension and impending doom that sat on your shoulders like weights. you couldn’t see what the cause of it was, but god could you feel it.

taking a deep breath, you placed one foot infront of the other and climbed the short assembly of stairs to the front porch.

everything about the exterior of the property was squeaky clean. no creakiness to the floorboard or stairs, illuminating to you that they’ve been reinforced. a shine to the wood beneath you reflecting how meticulously it is cleaned after each guest. using the same key you found underneath the mat—as instructed via text from the owner—you pushed the key in the lock and turned open the door.

letting the door fall wide open, your eyes shifted from left to right cautiously. lips slightly agape as you surveilled the walkway before you, from what you could see, the interior was well done also.

you released a breath you didn’t acknowledge you were still holding as you raised one foot and moved it forward to enter the cabin.

stepping inside, you quickly pulled your luggage in behind you and swung the heavy front door shut. double locking it with all of what’s available, and pausing a moment before moving away to ensure that you really did lock it. ‘phew’ you huffed lowly as you went ahead to look around the cabin, peaking into every room and closet as you moved.

you kept this search up until you were satisfied with what you’d seen—nothing. everything was in place, there was no monsters in the closet or any other incriminating material hidden within the walls. all entrance doors were locked and so were the first floor windows. placing your hands on your hips, you twirled around in a circle to take a final gaze at the kitchen and living room. it had the rustic style you were looking for. the yellow beaming lights giving the place a homey and comfortable energy to it.

your blood pressure and adrenaline levels began to lower once you recognized that there was no threat. finally allowing your parasympathetic system to kick in.

now, you could finally relax and enjoy the vacation you paid for. you walked towards the bedroom of the cabin, heading towards the shower to turn on the warm water—just in case it needed to heat up. heading back out to the foyer to open your luggage and take some clean clothes out to relax in.

assembling all your items into your arms, you carried them back to the bathroom and began to undress. going ahead to take a long steamy shower after the tumultuous drive here. the roads were so hilly as you drove, the engine of your car squealing in annoyance numerous times along the drive uphill and sharp descent downhill.

but it was all worth it now as you got to wash your skin in the beautifully crafted bathroom. the only qualm being with the large frosted window that was centered on the wall.

despite it being covered with frosted glass to ensure privacy, you just couldn’t imagine taking a shower in here at night. your mind already imagining all of the possible scenarios that could be facilitated by the windows placement. you didn’t want to do anything that could possibly draw the wrong attention, especially whilst you were out in the forest for the next week alone.

once finished with your shower and dressed, you padded towards the kitchen. deciding to search for something to eat. opening the fridge doors, your eyes noticed the sealed and fresh ingredients that the owner must’ve left for guests. these ingredients and the groceries you brought along were showing signs of a great vacation ahead. for now you settled for a snack, taking it with you to the living room couch as you went to scroll on your phone.

some hours past, the day shifting into the evening hours as night seemed to come earlier in the forest. you sat in the same place with a throw blanket over yourself.

the only sound being the soft hum of the fridge and the light whirling of the ceilings fans. you were enjoying the peace, it was a significant difference from what you were used to at home. in your little apartment you could hear sounds of cars driving by at all hours of the night. the laughter of your neighbors and the sound of your morning alarm letting you know it was time to get up—you weren’t missing any of that at the moment.

your body was lax on the couch as you continued scrolling mindlessly. suddenly, you tensed at the sound of heavy knocking on the front door.

paralysis consumed you as your mind traveled to many different places in milliseconds. you couldn’t decipher if you should stay in place and pretend you hadn’t heard anything or attempt to tiptoe towards the door and look out the peephole. opting for the less courage-requiring option, you choose the prior.

turning off your phone, you stay in complete stillness as you even breathed softer and took shallow breaths until the moment passed.

“know yer’ in there”, you heard a heavy and gravely sounding voice shout through the door. even with that, you still did not feel inclined to get up at that less than inviting statement. you remained still and waited once more. hoping that the stranger would just go away.

you could hear another heavy knock on the door and then the sound of the doorknob moving. at this point, your heart began racing as you leapt up from the couch. standing still in place as you waited to hear if he would open the door next and accost you.

“m’ the owner of the cabin, simon riley” you heard the man say behind the front door. pausing his movement of the doorknob.

‘simon riley’, you thought. the name sounded familiar as you recalled the name of the cabins host on the rental website. but either way, it was still unnerving as you thought of why he would be attempting to talk to you at all.

“just want t’ talk to ya, give ya some tips”, he added in a bored tone as if he just wanted to get it over with as he likely grew tired of you pretending not to hear him.

slowly, you crept towards the front door and looked through the peephole at the man on the other side of it. he looked rough—for all intents and purposes. a large nose with a crooked nose bridge that suggested it being broke before. bland pale eyes and long blond eyelashes that extended out from above them. pale pink lips and buzzed blond hair included. the most aching part of his features being the scars, he had so many strewn across his face that revealed some type of fighting that he must do often,

his eyes dropped to the peephole, staring into it blankly as if he knew you were there looking at him through it. you felt embarrassed a bit as you pulled away from it, deciding to just open the door and face him head on.

“sorry, i was busy”, you lie immediately before you raise your head up to look him in the eye. the peephole hadn’t revealed to you that he was this tall and bulky.

his body being covered in heavy layers of muscle mass and fat that it made him fill every crevice of his clothes wholly.

his eyes drink you in gluttonously, his eyebrows raising a bit as if he wasn’t expecting someone like you. you felt his weighty gaze flow from your toes to the top of your head as you stood before him. “mm”, he hums unenthusiastically at your lie, obviously not believing it. one of his eyes twitched, just a small glitch in his expression as he looked at you. staring back at him, you couldn’t get a good guess of what he was thinking. just that he had taken a very thorough look at you and said nothing at all about it.

“right, well m’ just gonna warn ya about the bears”, he grunts out while taking another slow glance at you. clearly not trying to restrain his curiosity.

“bears?” you repeated before shifting your weight.

“yea, they come roun’ the property daily. try t’ get in and go through the trash” he relayed blankly as your face wretched into an expression of worry. you didn’t like the sound of that, bears trying to get in at night sounded like a horror film.

“don’ worry bout em, just keep the doors n’ windows locked” he looks you in the eyes before waiting for your nod of agreement.

“one more thing, don’ want y’ out by yer self at night out here. woods are dangerous” he warns you before folding his arms over his chest. your eyebrows tense at that information. what was making the woods so dangerous?

“why, is it dangerous?” you inquire, your head tilting to the side softly.

simon’s eyes follow your head’s soft tilt, looking at you with a slight smirk. “don’ worry about it”, he replied cryptically. you’re eyes squinted unappreciatively at simon’s response. his lips deepened further into an amused smirk at your obvious dismay. clearly taking pleasure in placating your inquisitive nature.

“stayin’ ere’ by yer self?”, he asked although it was phrased more as a statement. an observation even. you didn’t want to approve his assessment, but at the same time it would be hard for you to lie considering you were alone.

only you and your belongings being present. “yea, just a little getaway” you affirm almost shyly. you could imagine how common it would be for a young woman to just go ahead and book a getaway in a cabin in the woods all alone. it was kind of a vulnerable position.

“don’ feel bad, doin’ the right thing. learning how t’ take care of yer self ain’t ever bad” he says encouragingly which boosted your confidence a bit in a way you didn’t know you needed. taking a vote of confidence from a stranger to heart wasn’t something you should do, but the way that he sounded almost proud of your bravery was motivating. you don’t really have many people that try to encourage you like this, much less at all.

“thank you” you reply while leaning against the doorframe a bit.

simon’s eyes lowered to appreciate the curve of your frame a bit with a heavy gaze at your hips and thighs. “hm, no boyfriend then?” he states gruffly, not allowing you time to even answer before answering his own question.

“couldn’t ave’, wouldn’t let ya out on yer own if ya did” he muttered with a smug expression. taking his time to turn and descend from the porch steps. you stood in awkwardness as you watched him walk off. noticing that he hadn’t driven the pickup truck you are now assuming is his at the other property half a mile to the left. watching him silently, you watched as his large frame disappeared into the surrounding woods toward whatever place he was heading to.

when he was finally gone, you stepped backward into the cabin and moved to lock the front door. you padded through every room to close all of the curtains and ensure the windows were still locked.

as you did so, you found yourself thinking about simon and how phlegmatic he appeared to be—presenting as a dispassionate yet intriguing figure concurrently. the scars that riddled his face and his hands, from what you could see, signaled a life of fighting. you couldn’t figure out what career he could have that allows him to live so far removed from society yet includes fighting of the magnitude evidenced.

once you were done, you decided to pad towards the bedroom and go to sleep. once lying in the soft bed, your mind still routed back to the owner.

the way he simply waltzed into the woods like he’s done it a million times after assuring himself that you couldn’t have a boyfriend. he was right, and given that you’re staying in a cabin alone, it was obvious. sighing heavily, you lied on your side, pulling the warm comforter up to your neck as you tried to calm your mind and assume a state of sleep.

as the pink and purple hues of sunrise pierce the tall surrounding trees of the area, simon had been long awake. never being one to sleep deeply or to the usual extent of normal people, he was up and moving. moving exactly outside of the bedroom window where you slept peacefully.

it was wrong, he knew that. in a way it could be seen as taking advantage of an unsuspecting woman.

he just couldn’t bring himself to care. after speaking with you yesterday, simon could not shake the thought and image of you out of his consciousness—not that he wanted to anyways. the curves of your stature and tone of voice that he found incredibly nectarean in nature. for a living, simon completed jobs of a similar nature, stalking and carefully curating scenarios that benefit his team. benefit himself as well in this case.

as he stood behind the window, he simply watched the way your chest fell and rose. the generally barren part of his heart coming alive to only exacerbate the effects of this longing.

and it’s been—too long since he’s had a woman, a partner, an anything.

being on deployment constantly was never an attractive factor when it came to securing relationships through the many years he’s been alive. beyond his job, simon knew that it was just him. he was the problem, never being attractive enough to the opposite gender to go beyond a drunken fuck.

no one being interested enough in him to even entertain the thought of dating him, loving him, or cherishing him. he assumed it was the off-putting features of his face that often disqualified him. the scars, the brooding gaze, and overall discomfort he noticed that he causes in women. it’s been a lonely existence, one that he’s become adapted to.

opting to just purchase this large plot of land in the woods as a kind of ‘f you’ to the universe.

showing that he’s accepted his lot in life, no matter how empty and miserable it was. when he bought the land, it had come with both cabins half a mile apart. the land being expansive with wonderful scenery but just unkempt. dilapidated cabins, broken concrete, overgrown shrubbery, and interiors that needed gutting. so, simon took on the job.

took him less than a year to finish both cabins, choosing to live in the one to the right and leave the one you are now sleeping in, empty.

putting the cabin on a rental website was not his idea at all. at first when he told the boys about how he fixed up the cabins and gaz suggested renting it—simon’s ears went hot with irritation. why would he want to rent his property to a stranger? especially when all he wants in life is to be left alone to die in peace.

soap hurriedly interjected before the rise of an argument to say that it would be a short-term rental, not long term. just a few couples who would want to stay for a weekend here and there. and it would be a good way to bring in some extra money, not that simon needed it, but it would keep the place occupied sometimes. simon considered the idea for months before finally coming back around to the duo to ask about posting it.

that was the history of how this came to be, but as he stood and watched you sleep comfortably in the guest bed, his bed. the one he made with his bare hands, blood, sweat, and tears from chopping wood. nailing it together and hand-carving it to show his craftsmanship.

he wanted you.

he had decided it now, not needing much time to decipher. plans wracking his brain almost painfully during the previous night. so many options to attain you; kidnapping, accosting, manipulation, dating. simon had decided that he wanted you to desire him as well, knowing that he would have to take control of the matter to curate the circumstances necessary.

he’d been alone for so long, and now that you stumbled into his life. he wanted nothing short of to keep you. make you his, no matter how wrong that instinct was.

it just was.

and simon was never good at resisting his urges.

you shift in the bed, your arms raising above your head in a movement of stretching. it was the second morning of your stay, and you had hope to make the most of it. ideas already whirling around in your mind as you came to true consciousness. you could go for a walk through the woods and head towards the lake pictured on the website, and even order take out for breakfast.

your hand slid up to your chest as you felt a weighty discomfort, similar to the one you felt previously when you first arrived to the cabin yesterday.

it was as if someone’s watching you, or something was about to happen. you couldn’t decipher which one it was, but you couldn’t shake that feeling of doom. the feeling of being preyed upon if you make a misstep. your eyes surveilled the bedroom around you hurriedly as you hyperventilated. once again not seeing anything incriminating or any proof of what your psyche kept pestering you about.

you even got out of bed, slipped two fingers behind the curtains to peek through them, and you saw absolutely nothing. just the gorgeous sunrise on the horizon.

god, you were going insane out here.

maybe you just needed to go ahead with the idea you had in mind for your morning. walking away from the window, you grab your phone on the nightstand and go ahead to order some breakfast from a diner nearby, basically only a couple miles away. you called them and placed your order, asking for delivery and giving them the address of your cabin.

the elderly lady on the phone paused momentarily once she heard the delivery address, her previously chirpy voice going wobbly, “honey, you’re staying at the riley cabin?” she inquired.

“yes, i am—why?” you asked in confusion.

“oh—well just be vigilant out there hun, i’ve heard bad things about that Riley” she warns in a grim tone. not allowing you anytime to ask just what things she had heard because she suddenly started rushing you, saying something about it being busy at the diner at this time of day. and that you can expect the delivery to arrive between an hour to two hours, then she hung up.

you placed your phone back on the bedside table slowly, digesting the minuscule information you managed to receive inadvertently. the lady didn’t give you much to go on at all. shaking it off, you knew that you just didn’t want your savings to go to waste by leaving here early.

it was only day two, and you had a handful of days left. so you just chose to make the most of it.

heading into the hallway, you went towards your luggage that was still left near the front door since yesterday. opening it up, you chose some comfortable clothes to go for a walk in, deciding to take a walk in the woods until you find that small waterfall and river you saw online. you went back for your phone, changed, and afterwards slipped on some sneakers before heading out the front door and ensuring to lock it behind you.

there was a mixture of warmth and cool breezes swirling in the air at this time. the warm sun rays cascading down your back as you felt the simultaneous cool breezes swaying past you as you traversed the woods.

you didn’t get that bad feeling when you were out here atleast as you stepped over some fallen log. continuing your journey to the waterfall as you headed forward. leaves crunching beneath your feet as rabbits hopped by and birds sang on tree branches. it was a utopia in these woods as you glanced around you.

further into the walk, you finally began to hear the sound of water splashing and falling as you looked through the treeline. the waterfall was absolutely stunning, the sparkling blue water reflected the sun rays as it fell continuously into the river below it. the river water was see through as well as you noticed some smaller fish swimming about in blissfulness. you were enraptured by the view until you saw a glint of sunlight being reflected at your eye from an angle.

your head spun to the right in surprise when you noticed the owner, simon, emerging from behind the waterfall. you hadn’t noticed he was underneath the water fall at all until now.

but there he stood, all 6 ft something inches of him, naked. his hands traveled over his face quickly as he worked to move the water from his eyes. but your eyes weren’t focused on his face for long, you felt yourself pause mentally when your eyes drifted lower to his cock. it hung heavy and thick between his legs with his large balls behind them.

your mind quickly assuming the number eight when you wondered how long it was. the girth of it was impressive as well as his untrimmed blond hairs clung wet to the base of it. the tip an angry shade of red as it faced downward between his legs. and you simply could not shift your eyes, the way the waterfall was still cascading water down his back as he stood as naked as the day he was born. one of his muscular arms being absolutely covered in tattoos depicting images of war, guns, fire, and knives. you would’ve never guessed prior that simon was that heavily tattooed because yesterday all you saw were his face and hands.

“enjoyin’ the show, eh?” he grumbled as a thick arm slid down to grip the base of his cock. the weighty muscle of it twitching at his touch. your mouth fell open in embarrassment,

“i-i’m sorry, didn’t mean to—i just wanted to see the waterfall” you stumble out as you noticed the way simon softly works his cock. the flesh growing hard as you couldn’t move your eyes from his ministrations. you watched it grow thicker as his blood rushed to it in excitement, his cock moving to stand upwards towards his belly button.

“s’alright, know you didn’t mean to” he grunts out as he watches you stand in a state of complete paralysis.

a small smirk traveling to his lips which exposes his dimples. simon felt satisfied that phase one of his plan was in motion. you had gotten a good view of what you were working with, and that was the true reason why simon rushed from your window to the waterfall here. undressing in record time as if his life was on the line and hurrying into the waterfall. he wanted you to see this, needed you too, in fact.

and you, you felt hints of humiliation but not enough to move your gaze. you had never seen any one like this in person before, the swollen tip of him just tapping on his lower stomach as he moved—

moved toward you, which you weren’t registering because you simply couldn’t raise your eyes. “better stop yer starin’, don’t wanna start something’ ya can’t andle” simon warned you playfully. a warm wet hand gripping your chin to tilt your head upwards to make eye contact.

“sorry, i’m sorry” you repeated in a frenzy.

you didn’t mean to stare, it’s just—mesmerizing. “mm” simon grunts like he had done once before the previous day. you realize that he seems to like communicating that way specifically for some reason. like the noise communicates just enough. you held his smothering gaze with softer eyes. not really knowing what to say or do, this was all just… different.

“c’mon, ll’ take ya back t’ the cabin” simon speaks after long moments of silence. moments of just holding eachother gaze, not knowing what to say or do next. you nod in response, not really wanting to stay any longer after you dirtily stared at the owners private area for minutes unrelentingly.

simon turns around, your eyes move to rack over his back. you noticed a plethora of scars at his back as well. many of them raised, bruised over, and stitches included. but your eyes also devoured the gorgeous movement of his back muscles, the way they became more pronounced as he walks forward. your eyes drifting just alittle lower to appreciate his bottom, it looked good too—

“oi, need t’ change my clothes” simon remarks with a soft huff of amusement.

you paused in your steps immediately, you hadn’t noticed that you’d begun following him either. your mind just moving on autopilot once he said he would lead you back to the cabin. “sorry” you repeat for the nth time. something about being around simon just made you anxious and uncoordinated. not even thinking through your actions, just doing. and it was making you weary.

he didn’t answer, just walking off into the treeline to where you assume his clothes are. your eyes appreciated his form as he walked away as well. you never knew yourself to act like this, but then again you’d never been in such a situation before either.

you waited patiently for simon to redress, your mind still showing the mental image of his cock just tapping his lower stomach, he was so excited. just from you staring, you acknowledged. and you didn’t know what to do with that information, you still had a few more days left in the cabin, and you have now seen the land owner erected and naked by the second morning. you stood as you stared blankly in the direction simon had gone in. after a few minutes, he came back fully clothed in loose sweatpants and a hoodie.

and you regret to admit to yourself that your eyes fell to his private area instinctively, finding that he was no longer hard but you could see the outline of his cock slapping against his thigh as he walked closer to you.

“let’s go” he grumbled as he walked ahead of you, heading in some direction in the woods naturally.

you could tell that you hadn’t come this way when you went to the waterfall but you had some trust in simon for some unnatural reason. he led you through the woods, often reaching back to hold your hand and help you slowly step over large branches. mumbling about how next time he’ll have the logs moved. you didn’t bother to answer or question him further, but you were stuck on the part of ‘next time’. simon spoke as if you would be here for a next time, and he said it with such nonchalance that even you for a second had forgotten that it shouldn’t be possible. there was no next time, why did simon seem to believe there would be one?

simon reached ahead and moved a branch for you so you step under it and continue to follow him. “enjoyin’ the cabin?”, he rumbled out as he led you forward.

“mhm, yes i am. it’s really nice” you admit in earnest.

because truly there was nothing wrong with the cabin, it was in beautiful shape and donned updated appliances. you couldn’t find one aspect to complain about the cabin as an property—but the energy that weighs over you when you’re inside of it is simply unmistakeable. that feeling of being watched, being prey, and having a consistent weight on your shoulders made it uncomfortable there. you knew you’d couldn’t relay this mythical issue to simon, so you decided to keep it to yourself as you followed him closer to the edge of the woods.

you were beginning to see the cabin in sight, “glad t’ ear” he grunted out before pulling a thick branch aside so you could walk ahead of him and back to the cabin.

looking over your shoulder at him, you mumbled a thanks which he just grunted in reply to. when you went to walk ahead to the cabin, you noticed a man standing there with your bag of takeout in hand. “who’s he?” you heard simon say but you were too giddy for your food to answer. speed walking ahead of him you got to the front door in record time, ascending the steps to the porch behind the delivery man.

“hey, that’s for me right?” you asked sweetly while the man turned around—he was cute, in the way that college boys are. but not hot in the way simon was.

“you’re y/n right?” the driver smiled at you, his demeanor suggesting that he has taken an instant attraction to you as he moved to stand closer. you nod in happiness as you take the hefty bag of food from his hands. standing in place, you waited a few seconds for the guy to walk back to his car, but he didn’t yet.

“are you renting the cabin here?” he asked with another smile, clearly trying to make conversation with you.

“mhm, and it’s really peaceful here” you said calmly before looking to the side of the treeline where you left simon, noting that he wasn’t there anymore.

“well, i think you’re really pretty and—“ the guy admitted bashful while rubbing the back of his neck. his sentence getting cut off abruptly by the sound of simon’s deep grunt revealing anger.

“y’think she’s pretty eh?” simon huffs out in a gravelly tone. the eyes of the driver widening a bit when he notices simon ascending the steps and standing behind you. his whole form engulfing yours and then some. the driver cranes his neck up to even make eye contact with simon.

“i-“ the driver went to answer.

“don’ wanna ear’ it, leave before i do something we’ll both regret” simon threatens coldly while holding the drivers gaze in a challenge. the driver hurriedly got moving, opting to spring down the porch steps and rush into his car. he reversed on the driveway so fast that rocks kicked up behind his car.

turning you’re head to face simon, you didn’t know what to do. you’re fingers just clutching the food you had bought. “lil mutt thinks he has t’ righ’ to flirt wit ya” simon shakes his head in clear agitation at what just occurred.

“don’ want ya orderin’ any more food while yer here. ya want something, call me ill make it or buy it myself. y’ ear me?” he looks to you with a serious stare. not allowing any room for debate as you felt too intimidated to question him.

“ok” you submit

“good girl”, he nods before turning away and heading back to the treeline. taking his time to step into it, but not before turning to look over his shoulder, noticing that you were still in the same place watching him leave. simon pauses for a moment, and then enters the woods. all proof of his presence being eradicated.

you let out a hefty breath of you didn’t know what, it didn’t feel like relief. it felt more like, being wound up. as you held the food in your hands, you thought back to simon’s hard cock you saw earlier. then thinking about how he scared the delivery driver away and forbade you from ordering takeout yourself again. your stay at this cabin was strange, and you didn’t know what to do with that information. heading inside the cabin, you went straight to the kitchen with intentions to devour the food you bought.

‘he’s so… strange’ you thought as you undid the tie of the plastic bag. your hand reaching inside of it to retrieve one of the take out plates you ordered.

and you just didn’t know what to do with that information per usual. things were occurring so unpredictably as you stayed here and you couldn’t help but conflate the strange events happening with the cabin’s energy as a property. viewing the occurrences as interconnected somehow. but so far, you didn’t have any real evidence of the cabin facilitating any strange activity.

and simon, well he’s just being a good property owner. just looking out for his land, you couldn’t fault him for that.

you dug into the food you bought, thoughtlessly chewing at the food. it tasted really good, you were going to miss this restaurants cooking when you leave this rental. you decided to attempt to relax for the rest of the day, choosing to lounge in the living room as you did a variety of small activities. just anything to pass the time as you didn’t really have an itinerary when you booked this trip. at the time you were just focused on proving to yourself that you could do it—that you weren’t afraid.

but as afternoon, turned into night and the sun descended towards the other side of the globe. you started feeling restless, that uneasy feeling of anxiety pressing into your stomach as you begun to feel, watched.

you’re head turning to surveil the living room area, where you didn’t see anything. everything was in place, there was no strange noises emitting from any area but the cabin was bestowing you with that hefty feeling you’ve grown privy to during your stay here. and it was discomforting.

shifting your body on the couch, you started to pull your legs to your chest. it was a haunting feeling and you couldn’t stand it. couldn’t put words to it, or an explanation. standing slowly from the couch, you moved towards the hallway, just wanting to try and stay occupied. hoping that stretching your legs a bit would dispel the discomfort that plagued you.

it wasn’t working, if anything you begun to feel more vulnerable. as if whatever it was would move to accost you at any moment—a moving target.

your heart started beating faster, palms growing sweaty as you placed your hand on the doorknob of the front door. it was late, and dark out. you didn’t really want to go out there, but you couldn’t bare the suffocating feelings that plague you in the house currently. you just wanted some fresh air, maybe a few moments on the porch would help you cool off.

give your body a chance to lessen its adrenaline rush. although you just felt that you wouldn’t get any considerable rest tonight.

standing outside, it was a cool night in the woods, the soft sound of cicadas chirping away in the trees surrounding the property was a bit calming. it was a waxing gibbous moon tonight as well, its large luminous glow shining bright onto the porch before you.

you let out a shaky breath, looking up at the night sky that shined brightly. the stars and constellations being so clear from here.

“thought i told ya, not t’ be out ere’ after hours, girl?” the sound of a familiar gravelly voice spoke out to you from the tree-line. but it was night now, and you couldn’t see anything beyond the porch, just shadows. but still you tilted your head in that direction anyway, as if you would be able to make out his features.

“simon, what’re you doing out here?” you asked wearily. keeping your back against the outer wall of the cabin.

you felt intimidated, what was he doing by your cabin at this time of night? your mind considered so many different options but the most realistic being that he was watching you. you stood tensely as you heard the slow crunch of grass when simon took steps towards the porch. allowing himself to be revealed by the light.

“my property”, he answered flatly, raising one heavy shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. placing his large hand on the side rail of the porch steps.

not yet ascending them, but just keeping himself there. “now, didn’t i tell ya not to come out after dark” simon asked in a reproachful tone. turning the situation around as if you were the one in the wrong. not him, who appeared to be watching you inside of the cabin. but you, who had not followed one of his orders.

“yes, but-“, you begun before simon patted his heavy palm against the wooden stairs rail. creating a sound that paused your sentence in its tracks.

“yer being a bad girl, y’know tha’ right?” simon huffs with an audible exasperation. he looked down at his boots, shaking his head a bit before ascending the few steps to the porch. at his approach, you scurried off to the side of the porch like a little mouse about to be caught by a ravenous cat.

“m’not bad” you blurt, feeling nervous when he stops in his tracks. looking over at you with a stoic expression.

“mm” he hums, the disagreement being interlaced with the sound.

“think you’ve been good then?” he asks plainly with a twist of sarcasm drenching his tone. you nod your head, not being sure of where this is going.

“think ya were bein’ good when you were staring at my cock earlier?” simon asks with a flat droll, his pale eyes observing your body as you leaned against the wooden balcony of the porch. trying to keep as much distance between yourself and him as possible. your breath caught in your throat. the question reigniting the embarrassment from earlier.

“it was a mistake” you rushed out in your defense.

simon just blinked slowly at you, not feeling moved by your words at all. “s’ not good enough, girl” he replied manipulatively as his gaze never wavered from where you stood.

“i’m sorry simon” you whimper out with a mix of fear and growing sense of arousal. the situation you’re in currently, causing you to grow a bit wet between your thighs. you’re body was reacting crazily.

“jus’ words, need actions” he waved his hand, showing his disregard for your apology.

the gesture revealing how he found your apology to be ineffective in assuaging his feelings. but genuinely, he knew that he didn’t care about any of that. if anything he was satisfied by this outcome.

“i want to rectify this, simon. i’m sorry” you said desperately as you wanted this situation to end. you just wanted to go back inside the cabin now, and forget about this. maybe pack up your things and just leave all together tomorrow morning. but allowing that was the farthest thing from simon’s mind. he wanted you here, for good.

“get on the floor” he demanded, stepping a bit closer to you. your face turned into one of confusion.

“why?” you asked as your poor heart kept racing away in your chest.

“wanna fix this? get on your back n’ spread those legs f’me—know ya want it” he replied in his heavy and thick voice. you were frozen for a second, taking time to register what this situation had led to. but on the same token, you were still interested and wanted to see where this led.

taking your time, you got down onto the floor of the porch. the wood being cool from the night winds as you laid flat on your back. spreading your thighs as your sleep shorts kept you covered. simon simply stood over you, feeling more than satisfied with your compliance. “good girl, now take those lil’ shorts off. n’ show me what i wanna see” he stated as he looked at you with heavily lidded eyes.

your cool fingers moved to the waist of your shorts, slipping against your hot skin to slip them off. you pulled them down slowly, shimming a bit on the ground before tossing them farther on the porch.

“christ—didn’t think ya were this type of girl. look at tha’, so many surprises” he smirks as he stares down at your puffy pussy.

the crotch of your panties being soaking wet and engulfed between your pussy lips. simon gets down to his knees with a crooked smile on his face, displaying his absolute pleasure with the situation you were in. he moves down more, laying on his stomach before wrapping his large arms underneath your knees. gripping at them and then using them as leverage to tug your body closer, and your pussy closer to his mouth.

you whimper at the movement, your head leaning back to stare up at the night sky above you. simon savors the opportunity gladly, using his front teeth to tug at the crotch of your panties.

pulling them forward with his teeth, before releasing them and letting them slap against your clit. “a-ah” you squeak at the movement.

simon watches how your hips wiggle from the sting of the panty slapping your sensitive area with engrossed eyes. “fuck girl—y’ ave’ any idea what i’m gonna do t’ ya?” his voice steady with promise as he lifted his gaze from your wet clit to your eyes. you leaning back on your elbows as you looked down at simon between your legs.

“n-no” you mumbled, alittle nervously.

“gonna wish y’ stayed in the ouse’” he grunted out in a low tone.

he flattens your bended knees to your chest, pressing them down flat until your hips feel an ounce of pain. opening his mouth, simon sticks his long and fat tongue out, pressing it onto your clit. you could feel the heat radiating from his tongue as he rubbed it ardently making your toes curl in sensitivity. he hooks one of his sharp teeth underneath the sodden crotch of your panties and tugs on it hard this time.

his tooth catching it, and tearing into it. popping a hole into your panties, and yanking back on it until the fabric gives way. you were now seeing the fabric of your panties in simon’s maw.

releasing a hum of delight, simon engulfs the fabric in his mouth. savoring the taste before tossing it aside and looking back to your twitching clit. the night air hitting your hot skin. hurriedly, he drops his mouth to your clit like it was going to run away. engulfing your pussy lips in a steamy french kiss. his lips wrapping around your small nub so he could suckle on it.

your stomach erupted in butterflies at his motions. your hand slipping down to press onto simon’s scalp, trying to make him lighten up.

simon sucks your nub deeper into his mouth, his pale eyes looking upward at you so he could hold eye contact. he huffed in pleasure as he licked at your pussy again, paying the hand on his head no mind at all. moving downward, he uses the tip of his tongue to rub against your hole. circling it softly before prodding his tongue at it, edging toward slipping it in.

your stomach tightened at his ministrations, tiny squeals spurting from your lips as you let simon work on you.

“s-sir, please” you squeak as you beg for a bit of mercy. the overwhelming behavior of his mouth making your body lock up in sensitivity. simon ignores you, sticking his tongue deeper into your pussy as his hands gripped the back of your legs tighter. giving you no opportunity to move.

he acts as if he hadn’t heard you at all, moving to push and pull his tongue in and out of your hole with his eyes focused upwards on yours.

you quiver in his hold, your body trying to get used to the motions. simon eventually pauses, withdrawing his hot tongue from your pussy like he’s gotten a better idea. he removes his hold on your legs, letting them flop to the wood floor beneath you two.

he uses his arms to prop himself up, getting into push up position before getting up to sit on his haunches. reaching behind his neck, he pulls his hoodie over his head. placing it beside himself on the floor.

“c’mere girl” he grunts as he waits for you to slide your body closer to his.

you oblige, using a slow motion to slide closer to him on your back. simon sat between your legs, making you need to spread your legs and bare your pussy to him. he looked down at your pussy with greed, his hand moving down to undo the button of his jeans.

“pussy looks so good, wanna ruin it” he grumbles as he tugs down the waist of his jeans. pulling his boxers down as well to release his cock. you grew wetter at the anticipation—you had already seen it before mistakenly—but this time it was different. this time you were going to feel it. he grips himself from the base, revealing his hard cock. it juts out from his groin with fervor, pre dripping from the tip and landing on the porch floor.

“mm, look ow’ wet ya are. yer excited?” he said smugly while placing two hands on your hips, pulling you snugly against him.

laying on your back, you did feel excited.

“mhmm” you hum nastily. letting your desire get the best of you.

he huffs a laugh out, “look at you, eh?” he teases as if taken aback by your lustfulness. he holds his cock in his rough hand, leaning forward to tap it against your clit. rubbing the thick head of it in circles on your clit repeatedly. his tip getting wet from doing so. continuing his movements, he slipped his cock up and down between your pussy lips.

you couldn’t help but spread your legs wider, welcoming his behavior. the cool wind of the night making your nipples pebble. “legs up,girl” he orders as he stares down at you.

your stomach twisting in a knot at the order, he was going to put you through the porch. “b-but—“ you began before he simply shushed you whilst pressing the wide tip of his cock against your sensitive hole. your body going tense at the feeling and making him grin.

“gonna’ show ya why you’ll listen next time” he mumbles but you hear him loud and clear. it was the same two words he had used earlier, the tips of your ears becoming perked from familiarity. but as simon gripped his rough palms around your ankles, your brain was practically melting out of your ears. taking your right leg first, he places your ankle over his shoulder. repeating the same motion with the left as you eyes widened a bit in concern. the fear in your eyes only spurring simon on.

“be a good girl f’me, show me how ya take it” he cooed as he leaned forward, going belly to belly with you and making your legs bend farther back than you even knew they could.

feeling the stretch in your calves and thighs, you squealed out loudly. the corner of your eye getting teary as you looked at the moon over simon’s shoulder. the light of it shining down at you with its unfaltering luminescence. “yea—didn’t even put it in yet n’ yer cryin’ already” he huffs before dropping his head low, pulling you into a warm and steamy kiss to help you relax. the slip of tongue into your mouth serving as a bit of reprieve as he started nibbling on your lip, making you crack a small smile.

he couldn’t hold his smile either, trying to disguise it by diving deeper into the kiss. you felt him placing the tip of his cock at your hole again, this time seriously meaning to insert it.

“a-ah, simon!” you moaned out so loudly the animals in the forest likely heard it.

“goodddd fuckin’ pussy” simon groaned as he slipped in past his tip, sliding his cock in slowly by pushing it in and pulling it out repetitively until he got to the base. you were breathing heavily, your back going slick with sweat even in the cool weather due to the strain of your pussy widening for him. you couldn’t hold in your whines, your eyebrows furrowing and crown of your head falling back against the porch floor as you waited for him to bottom out.

“christ” he moaned out. the sound being so salacious and surprising to you as you looked over at him.

“oh god” simon huffed out as he steadied his palms on the ground beside your bent legs. starting off with a steady pace immediately as he pounded your tight pussy aggressively. the sound of skin slapping and wet squelches piercing the once silent woods surrounding you both. simon was going a bit light headed as he fucked you, not having done this for so many years. he didn’t expect to ever meet someone like you, figuring that this was just the lot the gods had bestowed upon him—one of loneliness.

and god, did he not anticipate meeting someone with a pussy like this—like yours. “gonna pound ya through the damn floorboards-fuck- and then i’m gonna fix em. just to do it again” he grunted with the air of a promise.

you were moaning unabashedly, knowing that no one for miles could hear you or see you. it was so different out here then where you live, you liked it. “oouu simon, feels so good” you cried out as his leaking mushroom tip rubbed against something in your stomach, your mouth falling open in shock. simon leans down, his crooked teeth going to tug at your lips again in admiration. this time you initiated the kiss, reaching your hand up to pull on the back of his neck, making him kiss you back.

“awh, gonna make me cum in ya” he grunted, feeling your walls twitch welcomingly at the idea.

your ears were ringing from the intrusion, the overwhelming amount of sensations your body was undergoing being almost shocking. pressing his body forward even more, he moves his hands even higher, gripping the floorboards above your head. allowing you to see how his veins and biceps flex, as simon slides his face in between your shoulder and neck—starting to give you the most punishingly pleasurable strokes. it felt like even the porch was shaking a bit from the rough motions occurring between you two.

simon didn’t care, simply going to nibble on your neck.

your vocal cords were growing strained from all the screaming you were doing. simon licking at your neck as you felt his thick cock rub against some tender and mushy part of your anatomy. it was a like a switch had clicked in your brain, letting you know that you wouldn’t last much longer. and with the pace he was fucking you at, your stomach felt like it would explode if you came on him. pressing your hands against his stomach, you tried to slow him down and escape the absolutely devastating orgasm that was hurdling towards you.

“ah-ah, no running, girl” he said before moving one of his arms to push yours away from his stomach. continuing his merciless pace. “take tha’ dick, there ya go” he encouraged as you started closing your eyes, trying to relax your body for what was inevitable.

“s-s-simon”, you practically screamed as he kept pounding into you like an animal. “m’ never letting ya go, ya ear’ me?” he growled out while practically taking your soul. you could hear the promise in his tone. your body went rigid, going paralyzed in his hold as your pussy started squirting all over his cock and lower belly. messing up the porch floorboards beneath the two of you in the process.

“oh yeaaaa, c’mon girl—own this cock. make it yours” he said with a blissful expression. his cheeks getting flushed with redness as his eyes fell closed. relishing in the feeling of your pussy around him.

using every bit of self restraint he had to avoid cumming inside. his stomach erupted in butterflies as his nerve endings alerted him that he couldn’t hold it anymore. pulling out, your pussy makes the nastiest squelching noise, as simon starts jerking himself over your belly. you reach upward, moving simon’s hand away and starting to rub his cock instead. holding eye contact with him as he looked down at you with his pupils blown.

“want it” you whispered,

your voice alone being enough to make his body stiffen, his mouth falling open as he let out a heavy and gruff moan. his warm cum falling on your stomach as you kept jerking him. simon’s head falling back as he breathed heavily above you. his palms turning into fists on his sides as he felt you jerk him to sensitivity.

“alrigh’ alrigh’ gonna kill me” he breaths out as he pulls your wrist off of him.

you lied back in the floorboards in a loose state of shock, your gaze being focused over his shoulder at the sky as you simply tried to catch your breath. you couldn’t believe that this had just happened between you and the landowner. simon was in a similar condition, breathing raggedly as he tried to relax his body from the rush of cumming.

“next time, i’m gonna cum in ya” he sighs as if it was inevitable now. his prediction being just a matter of time.

you were feeling a bit hazy, but you were able to understand what he said just fine. what was it with him and talking about ‘next time’?

“next time?” you repeat; intending to finally get a satisfactory answer on why simon keeps suggesting that you won’t be leaving. that these nights are just the first of many to come.

You lived your best life.

As a princess of a small, rather unknown kingdom, you were your most happiest being surrounded by those you loved.

Your father was king, your mother, although dead, had high hopes for you. Your brother was young and cheeky. Everyone respected you, calling you kind.

You woke up everyday in your bedroom, getting ready, and enjoying your days in the royal greenhouse and garden, when one day, you met a boy, around your age. You were 12 at the time you met him. "Hello, my name is (y/n). What's yours?"

He didn't talk. He looked at you like you were going to harm him, and by his body language of him scooting away from you. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you."

You gently got him to stand up, while you dusted the dirt off of his hair and clothes. "I'm (y/n). What's your name?"

The young boy mumbled. "...Roth..."

"Roth?"

The boy nodded as you smiled. "Roth. Would you play with me?"

You felt all alone when it came to the topic of playing. All your close friends were servants, who got tired once you played too hard with them. But Roth was around your age, right? So of course he would play with you!

For 5 years, you 2 were inseparable. Roth became a prodigy of a sorcerer. He was very talented. He could make bubbles into flowers, turn a toad into a beautiful swan, and was perfect in his defensive and offensive magic. So much so that if you didn't have guards around, he would assign Roth to guard you.

You spent your days, laughing and playing around with Roth, until one day, he had gotten more quiet than usual.

"Roth."

"Hm?"

"Do you think I'm pretty to you?" A question you would obviously ask your best friend in the whole wide world to.

"No, you are ugly."

You laughed. "Stop playing around. Am I really pretty?"

Roth closed his book. "Why are you asking?"

You laid your back against the blanket as you stared up at the sky. "Because father told me I am to be wed in a couple of months. After I turn 18."

Roth was a bit quieter than usual, but you didn't mind his quiet nature. You knew he at least listened. "Father said that the prince of another kingdom said I looked pretty in the portraits they sent of me. Apparently, the kingdom is run by one of father's bestet of friends..."

Roth opened his book back up. "Well then, he must have bad taste because you are ugly..."

You pouted in his face. "Goodness, don't be mean. He does not have bad taste. In fact, he's very handsome, and obviously, good-looking people must have good taste!" You laughed.

You didn't know that the comment you made would cause Roth to tightly grip his book.

On the early hours on the day of your eighteenth birthday, Your kingdom had burned to the ground. Running away throughout the chaos of the castle, you made it to the throne room, hiding behind the curtains behind your father's throne. Your father, there as well, donned in his armor. All you could smell was burnt, human ash everywhere. All you could hear was the curdling screams of people being burned alive from the many fires that donned the kingdom. All you could see was almost pitch black. Your father covered your ears as your eyes erupted in tears.

Mary, your maid who had cared for you like an older sister.

Aldus, the head butler, who was a kind old man, soon rearing the age where he would retire from his position.

Elric, the stableman who helped you ride your horse, Matilda for the first time.

Jocosa, the maid who seemed rather rude at first, but really cared for others, not wanting them to get hurt.

Emma, your tutor who was strict but kind and always loved you like a motherly figure.

And your little brother, Theo, who was so cheeky and mischievous.

All of them dead from burning from the fire. You could hear Theo's screams, calling out for you and your father, before it was too late.

Today, was meant to be a day of celebration. A day of joy. A day full of fun and splendid memories. But soon you snapped out of your daydream when both your and your father heard footsteps approaching the throne room. Stopping your tears, you held your breath. Not wanting the man who burned your kingdom to notice you or your father. "I know both of you are here."

You squeaked as lightly as possible, as your father got up. You shook your head, tears flowing out your eyes while doing so. Your father kissed your forehead as he hugged you tight. "(y/n), don't worry about me. I will be back before you know it..."

Your father walked out from behind the curtain as you could only peak through an opening. "Your Majesty."

You recognized the voice and the silhouette of the man. 'Roth?!' you thought. "Rothbart! Stop this at once!" your father had commanded.

There was only a silence between them as your father yelled once more. "STOP THIS AT ONCE ROTHBART!"

You could tell that your father was scared. His fingers looked like they were twitching, trying to unsheathed his sword from his scabbard. "I, King Fredhelm the II, will stop you from burning my kingdom down to ash!"

Your father ran with his sword, as he was burned. Before you could see it, you held your mouth shut, and closed your eyes, feeling your tear rushing out. You heard your father's screams as you shut your eyes even harder and covered your ears. The heat of the fire felt close to you, until you opened your eyes, to see ash all over the place, turning your head to see Roth take you in his hand and dragging you out of the kingdom.

You struggled at his grip, as he took you on horse and rode, far away from your home, as you watch it fall into a sea of flames, with the sounds of screaming waves, fading the further away you were.

You cried on the horse as Roth tried to soothe you. He wanted you to know why he did this.

It's because of you

Afraid of you running away he turned you into a swan against your will. "Your beautiful like a swan (y/n)...too beautiful."

The process was painful. As the sun slowly rose from the east, your skin felt like it was being forcefully shedding, like it burned and soon you turned into a swan by morning.

Roth smiled bittersweetly. "I had to do this (y/n). Your too beautiful, and as such, nobody can see you."

A swan by day, and a princess by night. Those tales only come out of legends, and soon you were a legend when men noticed you alone on the lake at night in the moonlight. They died that same night.

Roth killing them, and then hugging you, tightly.

And thus for the next 10 years, you were nothing more than a legend, and were being used by Rothbart, to fulfill his desires to be complete.