The Rose & The Hat [Rose The Hat/Female Reader Oc] [Doctor Sleep]

Not Letting Go

Rose tingled all over; her body felt like embers cracking—threatening to come alive with devouring fire at any given moment

The child was no child anymore.

No. Logan was a woman.

And the little steam-cub was getting closer to her. Closer and closer.

Rose hadn't been as excited in far too long a while. Because of it, her demeanor changed, becoming tangled with excitement, anger, and what could only be described as disquiet. Rose didn't like the idea of being anxious about it—anxious about her. Holding the leash was her job, and that job required no quivering.

Her fingers stung with anticipation, imagining the things she wanted to do—the things they wanted to touch. Rose had always been keen to touch anything that her belly, o' so desired—adoring to chew on whatever was tender, or even raw.

The Hat loved the idea of giving herself a treat, but first, she needed to secure said treat—to make sure no one else placed their undeserving hands on it.

She could still savor the cub's silver from when they first met. The pup's steam tasted like taro transforming to cinnamon-infused coffee and warm lemon tea, then it shifted into soft, yet overflowing, minty clove, with a caress of jasmine and droplets of cunning violet, and then, abruptly, it tasted like seasoned, tender, medium-rare, steak.

The vampire had never found such delicious steam before. Her mouth watered just remembering its quality.

The vampiric woman smiled, feeling her silver call to her as clearly as ever. The white noise that usually swarmed all around their connection was finally gone. That probably meant that Logan had moved to a less muddy area, or that she was in the middle of getting closer to her—Rose hoped for the latter.

And, boy, was she right.

It had been the first time The Hat had entered a mind so gently, carefully easing her way inside. Mixing her own lust with everything else; because what a better way to enter someone than by getting them all hot and ready, first?

It was all so new, because, usually, what she wanted, she took. There was no true opposition when you were always the most powerful in the room.

She commanded and she devoured.

So, having to work for a mind to let her in was something new.

And yeah, she had been rivaled before. And yeah, she had been left tired because of it, but, going to war was far different to winning over something—winning over someone.

Even if contended against, Rose had always stood on top.

Back then, the enemy barely scratched her, while she ripped entire limbs off and sliced flesh deep enough to puncture organs.

Every time she won a confrontation she revelled on it. Enjoying the way her rivals—if still alive—cowarded before her; beaten, weakened, and humiliated.

She rarely showed any mercy, exceptions usually being females who hadn't been so disrespectful all in all—females who had learned their place due to trial an error.

Rose believed that an enemy is an enemy, and—even if weak—they will seek ways to bury you under them. Always.

Rose loved winning; but she knew she couldn't get drunk with the idea of being unbeatable. Otherwise, her head would falter whenever someone stronger dared to face her. Rose wasn't an ego-drunkard—all that much—she was just smart enough to know that if someone as powerful as her had been born, others could follow.

The Irish Rose knew that she was going to stand on top once more—she always did. Nevertheless, her approach had to be different—hence the whole work for it thing.