my-horniness-is-okay

[my-horniness-is-okay]

katsuki thinks it's fucking crazy whenever you get cuteness aggression from him-- a large, brawny, 6'2 boulder who isn't "cute" in any sense!

he may not openly admit it, but he adores when you excitedly rush into the shared bedroom where he's reading on his kindle, glasses perched on his nose. your face radiates with lovey dovey affection as you enter his space. and he loves it even more when you set aside his kindle and climb into his lap, covering his face in sweet smoochies. you wrap your arms around his thick neck and squeeze his body close. you adorably squeal, "missed you so much baby..!", filling up the room (and his swelling heart). you pull back to glance at his face where you're met with an uncharacteristic expression of fluster from your boyfriend.

"...my cutieee!!" you giggle, snuggling into him once more.

and the blond can't even say anything beyond a bashful, "love ya, sweets" cuz he just can't fathom the amount of joy he feels when you express your love for him.

[my-horniness-is-okay]

"You follow her around like a dog, man," Sero says finally, and even if the surrounding ballroom chatter doesn't cease for a moment as the table set for ten starts to receive their first course salads, the parallel conversations among the group of old friends halt abruptly to a stop. Eijiro gives Sero a raise of the eyebrow, then turns to Katsuki, expecting to have to mitigate his hot temper.

The latter clearly has heard the jeer, but he's not the same as perhaps a decade ago, where any one of Sero's teasing comments could have set him off. Glancing back for a second in the direction where you left just moments ago to go to the bathroom, followed by most of the other women at the table, he then turns to look directly at Sero.

"Yeah, that's love, right?" he says, calmly.

Kirishima blinks for a moment, incredulous, then exchanges a look with Kaminari beside him.

Katsuki, as if he hasn't said something highly uncharacteristic of himself, reaches for a bread roll in the middle of the table and then a butter knife.

"You didn't see me follow her into the bathroom, did you?" he adds. Sero snorts, but leans back into his chair.

"I mean no, but-"

Katsuki smears butter on the roll, and sets it on your empty plate, then takes another piece of bread to and butters it the same before taking a bite.

"But what?" he asks. The edge to his voice is back, something that paradoxically puts Sero back at ease.

"It looks strange on you," Denki finally points out.

Katsuki chews for a moment, then swallows, his eyes making a quick scan across the room. At another table, Midoriya's partner is focused on adjusting the lapel of his suit, and at yet another table, Iida is trying to convince Mei to keep her gadgets off the table before the MC starts another toast.

The bride and groom continue to cruise around the venue, and Katsuki cannot stop thinking about how beautiful you would look in that exact dress.

Or something of your own.

"I just can't imagine what the fuck she did-" Sero starts again before Eijiro cuts him off.

"Just knock it off for a second," he says, gently but assertively. Katsuki doesn't pay any mind to him as he observes the table favors.

These flowers are beautiful, but they aren't your favorite. They're gorgeous, but made of plastic while you'd prefer hundreds of real ones.

You've told him small weddings feel more intimate. This wedding isn't in the right season for you, but it's your second choice. You don't yet know how many people will be in the bridal party but you've floated some ideas.

You don't yet have a ring on your finger.

The many thoughts dissipate when your hand rests gently on his shoulder as you slip back into the seat next to him.

"Oh, they didn't bring out the food yet," you say, and Katsuki points to the bread on your plate, reminding you to eat.

His friends are captive audiences as you smile and take a bite, and perhaps horrified as he smiles back warmly, genuinely.

Love does look strange on him, perhaps.

But they'll have to get used to it because it will not go away.

[my-horniness-is-okay]

Prince Hawks info dumping

Warning: Possessive and abusive behaviors. Hawks threatens to murder your dad, blackmail. -Hawks was everything one could want in a betrothed. Strong, handsome and utterly loving -You and Hawks had met during a ball and it was love at first sight for him -Being the confident and Casanova figure he was, Hawks made quick work of making his move on your heart. -He waltzed with you, showed you how he worked with the raptors since he was a falconer. But you weren’t that placated. -Instead you bid him goodnight and walked away to your family. -But Hawks doesn’t give up easily -So, he tried everything to court you. Gifts, glamorous dates and everything your heart could want -But for some reason, it didn’t placate you. You looked at everything he gave you with an awkward grin or even exasperation -Of course Hawks didn’t understand why his pretty canary wasn’t satisfied with everything he did. -He took notes about all the things you adored and admired! He didn’t employ informants to spy on you just so you could reject his efforts! -His heart shattered into a million pieces when you gently rejected him, stating that you didn’t have any attraction to him. -“I-I’m quite sorry Lord Keigo but I’m just not interested in that sort of thing right now.” -Keigo never liked playing dirty but you just had to force his hand! -Your family was in debt to Keigo’s kingdom, your father was a poor lord who was at a loss. -He often dreaded seeing Keigo’s men come to his crumbling estate and bug him about the debts he owed. -But Keigo came to him with a solution, a stupidly simple solution. “I could give you way more than this and all your debts will be forgiven if you give me Y/N’s hand in marriage. If not I’d hate to get my hands dirty. It’d be a shame if Y/N didn’t have her father to walk her down the isle” -Everyone heard your heartbroken cries as Hawks’ men dragged you away from your room. -Your father stood by weakly as Keigo shoved a wedding invitation into his pocket as he went to go join his fiancé. -The joyful wedding planning and happy gossip of the castle and Keigo’s kingdom made you sick -He kept you locked up in a beautiful tower, catered to your tastes. All gifts reminiscent of your hobbies reminded untouched. -The only time he let you out was for wedding planning and for dinner. -You hated how he held you, kissed you tenderly and nuzzled your neck. You hated how Hawks acted like you were nothing more than a bratty child. -You let out a cry of anguish that was mistaken for joy when you saw servants prepping a nursery one night. -One night, a bird black as night had accidentally ended up in your tower. -It appeared dazed and confused and you couldn’t help but offer your gentleness and care to it. -You stroked its downy feathers from the rain, fed it some of the fruits that Hawks had generously sent up. Then the next day, it was gone.

-It wasn’t till the night before your wedding that you finally saw the bird again. Except downy feathers and gentle eyes were replaced with deep black hair, gnarly burns and enchanting blue eyes

“So you’re that pompous prince’s canary in a cage, eh?”

@gh0stgirl333

[my-horniness-is-okay]

𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐝

coriolanus snow x test subject!reader

cw// little heavier in themes than usual with human experimentation - mention of blood, drugs, slight mention of Stockholm syndrome, and injury - dedicated to my favorite @milliesfishes who has listened to me talk about this concept incessantly in her inbox and inspired so many amazing thoughts for an au like this and HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO TBOSBAS <3

Subject 004717 - November 17 7:41pm

Injected ten milliliters of test drug into the left arm. CS.  Irritability noted after ten minutes. VG.  Sensitive to touch after an additional five minutes. VG. Hallucinations and emotional instability began twenty minutes after injection. VG.  Physical touch causes bruising. CS.  Blood drawn to confirm bruising due to lack of iron. VG.  Test reversal drug administered one hour post-injection. CS. 

Coriolanus had rarely felt truly disturbed by Gaul’s experiments. Her mind was dark and twisted; he knew his own mind wasn’t too far from that. However, he had learned far too quickly that you were becoming a limit to what he could handle in her mad scientist lab. You had volunteered to be poked and prodded and injected and tested. You had volunteered to be Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s personal project, and Coriolanus was far too attached to it. He knew the university’s tuition wasn’t inexpensive even while his education was funded by the scientist herself, but to see his classmate, someone intelligent and capable, have to stoop to the levels of letting Gaul use you was something entirely different.

He wanted to save you. He wanted to take you so far from Gaul that she couldn’t even think about touching you again. The sound of your screams kept him up at night, and the sight of your blood distracted him in the middle of the day. He didn’t know how to survive your torture any longer. Standing idly by and watching your suffer didn’t feel right. But he owed Gaul his life, didn’t he? He needed to thank her for what he’d done for her, and yet he cursed her name for slowly killing you every day. The effects of her experiments started to show. The bags under your eyes darkened, and you were slower in answering questions in class. He could see how you tried to hide your wince when raising your arm or stretching out your legs. He wasn’t sure how much more you could take. 

The two of you had developed a routine of sorts. He’d always spend a moment with you before an experiment, trying to keep your mind off whatever horrors Gaul had prepared for you, and afterward, he would clean you up and make sure you ate and drank some water before taking you home. If your insistence on volunteering your body to Gaul’s science hadn’t made your financial trouble clear to Coriolanus, the state of the apartment he dropped you off at made it more than evident. 

You lived on the outskirts of the city, neighborhoods overrun by those who were on their way to being kicked to the districts. Every time Coriolanus brought you there, he couldn’t help but think you didn’t belong. He wanted to adorn you in every luxury possible, have you experience what it felt like not to suffer. But in a way, it made him understand you more. He felt a kinship to you, an understanding beyond what others would have in passing. He knew what it felt like to be in your situation. So when you first let him take you home after an experiment, he knew it was a sign of your trust in him. The same trust you bestowed on him every night since.

Whatever Gaul had injected you with tonight left you shaking even hours after the reversal. You couldn’t forget the feeling of losing control. The hallucinations clouded your brain before Coriolanus was forced to lay his hands on you. Gaul had made him hurt you, and even in your drugged state, you knew it caused him just as much pain as it did you. Neither of you spoke as he cleaned you up and applied a salve over the bruises. You two did not speak a word when Gaul excused herself for the night, reminding Coriolanus to initial his parts of the experiment log. You flinched when the door shut behind her before tears muddled your vision, and you bit down on your bottom lip to try and prevent their descent down your face. 

“Come home with me tonight,” his voice startled you, an interruption in the racing thoughts of your head, “Come home with me, and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” This hadn’t been the first time he mentioned it to you. The last few times he dropped you off at your apartment, he tried to convince you to stay in the car, to follow him back to his penthouse, and to spend the night. However, you were always halfway out the door, thanking Coriolanus for his help before stumbling up the stairs to your apartment when he didn’t need to help you walk. Tonight, he hadn’t bothered to wait before asking, moving a hand up to cup your cheek and wipe the tear that fell against your will.

“Today was… We could both use the company tonight,” he explained quietly. You could feel the slightest tremor in his hands and could only imagine that he remembered tonight’s experiment just as sourly as you now did. Your feelings for Coriolanus were something you quickly discarded out of fear of Stockholm syndrome, unsure if they were real or not. But as his thumb rubbed over your cheekbone, you weren’t sure if you entirely cared about that fear for the night. 

“Just tonight,” your voice was shakier than you thought it would have been, but he made no comment on it, leaning forward to ghost his lips over your forehead before helping you stand. Your knees buckled, but he was quick enough to predict that and keep you upright.

“I’ll call for the car after we get you dressed.” His voice wasn’t much smoother than yours, but the kindness behind it made you wonder if it was reserved just for you, a distinct change in him that only you had the pleasure of seeing. You cringed when he helped you over to a new chair, one whose cushions weren’t soaked in spots with your own blood. Everything hurt. It usually did after experiments. But whatever Gaul had concocted this time was making you tired in the most uncomfortable way. Coriolanus’ hands were always gentle with you when he had the chance to be, as if alone with you, he could be something he never allowed himself to be otherwise. 

Those same gentle hands were the ones lifting your blood-soaked hospital gown off as his eyes trailed over your skin. Every scar became a reminder of past experiments, and he could recall most of them just by the placement and length of the scar alone. One along your collarbone had been the test of a new poison Gaul had created and soaked a blade in. The raised tissue on your side was a bite from one of Gaul’s newest mutants with the hope of saliva that would drive the tributes to the brink of insanity. Perhaps the scar that haunted him the most lay down the center of your chest, long and still red. She had performed surgery on you while you had to lie there awake, giving you a sedative that turned your body numb but kept your brain racing. Coriolanus held you for hours that night, fingers tracing along your arms to remind you that you could feel again. 

He washed your skin so lightly with a wet cloth that you weren’t sure if you were imagining it. Each scrub took away the remnants of the experiments that were left, the dried blood, the tears that left salty streaks. The only thing he couldn’t wash away were the bruises, the bruises he’d inflicted on you. When you caught sight of him staring at one on your shoulder, you grabbed his hand to stop him from wiping at it anymore.

“You didn’t want to. I know that. I knew it even when it was happening,” you whispered, voice tender and comforting as he took a deeper breath.

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“No. But it makes you better than her.” Those few words sent a warmth to his chest he hadn’t known he needed. When he didn’t respond, you leaned forward to rest your head on his chest with a small sigh, unsure if it was with pain or relief. He tensed at the touch at first, like you found he almost always did before he brought a hand to the back of your shoulders and carded his other hand through your hair. He didn’t need to say anything, and neither did you. You both knew that being close was the only thing that would fix the anguish in your chest tonight. 

You two stayed like that for a few minutes, letting your chests move in sync with each breath until you took. Everything between you and Coriolanus felt foreign but in the most comforting way. He wasn’t the same as the rest of your life, and you weren’t the same as his. You became each other’s comfort even in the most uncommon of circumstances. Scientist and test subject were no longer an apt fit to describe the connection you carried. It had become something more profound than you knew how to define, which needed protection. 

He took his time dressing you, fingers trailing gently along your skin like he could heal you and everything Gaul did to you just by a soft touch. When his lips lingered by your forehead, he pressed them flush into a kiss this time. It felt like your insides had turned to pure liquid, a feeling stronger than anything Gaul’s drugs had given you before. You watched as he called for a car to be brought around before he helped you into your pants that had been discarded earlier for a gown. Your hand moved on its own accord to push his hair back from his eyes as the gel he usually kept in it loosened; the late hours and his incessant need to run his hands through his hair anxiously showed the slight curls you wished you could see more often. 

“Car’s here,” he spoke as he looked up at you, doing up the last button of your pants like a routine he knew all too well. Your lips tugged up in a soft smile as you nodded and let him help you back up, ignoring his offer to carry you. Your legs were weak, but you could still walk with his arm around your waist. His driver knew better than to ask questions about your state, but you felt their eyes on you as you slid into the back seat before Coriolanus moved in next to you. He stated that the only stop would be his penthouse tonight, and another small smile graced your features. 

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before his fingers interlaced with yours. Another minute before you moved closer to him. Two minutes before your head rested on his shoulder, the weight of everything dissipating with every second further from the lab. You were halfway to the penthouse when your eyes finally closed, and he felt your breaths deepen against his side as you fell asleep. He was slow in moving you to rest your head in his lap, positioning your legs up into the seat and covering you with his jacket. He would find a way to get you out of this, out of Gaul’s hold. But until then, he’d let you rest and give you peace. Until he could find the words you so desperately needed him to defend you with. 

[my-horniness-is-okay]

360-Degree Vision.

Yan Silas x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, non-con, oral (male receiving), forced infantilization, Silas calls himself Mommy because he's a weirdo, and "force feeding".

Word Count: 700.

OC and art pictured above belongs to amazingly talented @meo-eiru!! i really love her art, so be sure to check her out!! <333

*~*~*~*

Silas only allows autumn leaves and snow to fall where your feet don’t touch but your eyes can still see.

It’s an odd sort of shape, the barrier he has around his tree. It reminds him of those little sketches you do he puts by his bedside table. He read from a book that human mothers do that whenever their children give them drawings, though you never gave yours to him per se. More likely than not you were waiting for a more special occasion, but he found them in your toy box whilst he was tidying up from another long day of taking care of you. 

What a unique art style you have – he read in the same book that human children’s little doodles can be nearly unrecognizable from what they are supposed to be most of the time, so he doesn’t question how the circles you drew kept going around and around and leading to nowhere.

A snail’s shell, perhaps? 

The spirals seemed too large and too filled… 

He’ll give you points for creativity. 

Positive reinforcement was key with these kinds of things, or so he’s been told – if you ever ask for a pet snail, he’ll get one for you in little to no time at all.

*~*~*~*

“Baby,” Silas’ smile is smaller because of the concern he has for you right now. “You have to finish your dinner. It’s good for you. When you finish we can go see little mushrooms and squirrels, okay? Only for a little bit though,” His right hand is still above your head, squishing you down when your body seems to want to get up too soon. “Mommy doesn’t want you to get sick again…”

Despite Silas sitting down, he was still more than half your height – your knees sink further into the mattress both of you are on.

They are shivering so much but he doesn’t notice.

No, it’s not that he doesn’t care – he’s too busy flaunting his length and chest to you to pay attention to how you actually feel, wanting you to pick your poison once again; seeing this as necessary to your development.

Last time for yesterday’s meals you chose his cock – the day before that you chose his breasts.

The more you suck from him, the more you’re given treats after. Something resembling those colorful markers you used to get at the local dollar store, containers of blueberry yogurt you hope came from his village’s cows or some similar type of animal, a new dress he had sewn himself or had customized and bought from a nearby elf tailor.

“I’ll even bring some paper and those pencils you like drawing with, hm?” Silas continues as he scoots closer to you – he holds your hair so gently now, but whenever he cries tears of pure happiness the grip will tighten quickly. “Maybe you can see a snail up close for those little spirals you like doing.”

…

No matter how much you rebel and kick and scream, the elf wouldn’t move back from you – if anything it gives him more of a reason to come closer, so you can have more of his ‘love’. After only a little bit of time, you learned how to let the frustration out in a way that didn’t have Silas doting over you so suffocatingly – drawing spirals. You were told once by a friend they can be therapeutic in times of stress. You most likely will never see her again but you would want to hug her because it works. 

You hid them amongst the dolls and building blocks you were given in times you were alone – staring at them made you feel less lonely, made you feel like you had more of a choice in how you spent your waking hours.

You didn’t expect Silas to find them. He never checks your toy box because you tidy it up so often.

You don’t know how to explain your drawings in a way Silas will understand. Not that he understands a lot of things that come out of your mouth.

You just nod. Maybe drawing a snail’s body below those spirals can help you too.

“Good girl! Listening so well!” His smile widens and you can see his eyes getting watery already.

[my-horniness-is-okay]

The Cost of Protection [Yandere elf guard x Fem Reader] 18+ Chapter #2

Hoi! Hasn't it been forever? I got the bug again for this boy, and I think maybe Korm :> a little part #2, and I have #3 in the making for later this week! Thank you for all the asks. You are the people I wanted to make this for! approx 1,570 words Warnings: Non-con/kissing/ some violence, obsessive treatment, death threats. As always, I do not endorse relationships like this. It is just for fun! Please do not read in a rough state of mind.

A bitter chill clung to Barovia as you stepped out from your tavern, coin pouch clasped tightly in hand. Hope was scarce in these lands, but you held onto the thought of escaping Maverick’s grasp, even if it was just for a few hours of peace. The market streets were eerie in the early morning light, deserted but for a few drifting souls, hollow-eyed and battered by the bleakness of life under Strahd’s rule. You made your way to the stalls, intending to pick up a few supplies, something fresh and maybe something to brighten up the tavern. Your hand was already reaching for the vendor’s apples when you felt a rough tug at your waist, and before you could react, your coin pouch was gone. You spun around, catching sight of the thief’s shadow darting around a corner. “Stop! Come back here!” you yelled, but your voice barely echoed in the empty streets, swallowed by the mist and despair that never lifted in Barovia. Swallowing your pride, you made your way to the nearest guard post. Two Barovian guards lounged by the door, their eyes cold and bored as they watched your approach. You took a breath, trying to calm your nerves before speaking.

“Please, I need help,” you began, voice barely above a whisper, as though saying it louder would make the shame sting more. One guard sneered, his gaze sliding over you with disdain and dark interest. He stepped closer, grabbing the fabric of your shirt between his rough fingers and pulling you nearer, his breath hot against your cheek. “I can think of a way you might earn some help, sweetheart,” he murmured, his grin twisting with something sinister. Before you could protest, the second guard nudged him with a sigh. “Nah, she’s Maverick’s girl,” he muttered, giving you an appraising look. “He’ll be pissed if we touch her. Go crawl back to him if you want help so bad.” They shoved you off, sending you stumbling back a step as they laughed, their voices fading into the mist. Gritting your teeth, you stomped your foot in frustration. “Bastards,” you spat under your breath. Straightening your shirt, you tried to collect yourself, brushing off their words as you turned back toward your tavern. Back inside, you searched through your small collection of trinkets, fingers grazing over rings and pendants, hoping you’d stashed away enough to sell and make up for the lost coins. But just as you reached into the drawer, you felt a cold sensation on your thigh—the hilt of a sword lifting the edge of your skirt. “Hmm… black today,” a familiar, chilling voice purred from behind. “Trying to shut someone out?” You jumped, spinning around, pressing yourself against the wall as your heart hammered in your chest. There he was, Maverick, still in his guard uniform, looking every bit the devil with that smirk across his face. “I heard you had some trouble today, little bunny.” His voice was low, dripping with mock sympathy, as he set down a small pouch on the table beside you. Your pouch—the one that had been stolen. But now, it was splattered with minor, fresh stains of blood. “A gift,” he purred, drawing closer, his golden eyes gleaming with sadistic satisfaction. Before you could respond, his arms closed around you, trapping you in an iron embrace. You tried to twist away, hands pushing at his chest, but his grip was unyielding. “Please… let go,” you whimpered, your voice trembling as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your neck. “No,” he replied, voice heavy with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. His teeth sank into your shoulder, the sharp pain blossoming as you felt his teeth break the skin. You screamed, the sound filling the small room as blood seeped from the wound, trailing down your chest in warm rivulets. He groaned, his breath hitching with sick satisfaction as he licked the blood from your skin, his hold tightening, crushing you against him. You struggled, pushing, desperate to escape, but his grip grew firmer, his amusement rumbling against your skin. He pulled back, his face inches from yours, a twisted smile playing on his bloodstained lips. “Remember this, little bunny,” he murmured, his voice soft, almost affectionate. “You’re mine. No one else is allowed to touch you, help you, or save you. You belong to me.”

Maverick’s fingers grazed over your collarbone, the roughness of his touch stark against the soft skin he’d just marred. His gaze bore into yours, a wicked satisfaction glinting in those golden eyes, watching for every hint of your reaction. You held your breath, your pulse racing as he drew closer, his lips brushing your jawline, his voice a low whisper. “Do you understand, little bunny?” he murmured, his tone carrying an unsettling gentleness that only heightened your discomfort. You clenched your fists, refusing to give in to the sway of his words. Your body tensed as you pushed against him, struggling to twist out of his grasp. But he didn’t budge, his hand pressing against the small of your back, holding you in place with an ease that both frustrated and frightened you. “Stop fighting me,” he purred, his voice soft but commanding, his hand slipping from your back to trace the curve of your hip. You squirmed under his grip, a fierce glare on your face as you met his eyes. “Let go of me,” you hissed, anger masking the flickers of betrayal that your body was beginning to reveal. Heat rose to your skin as his touch lingered, his fingers pressing into you with a possessive intensity that sent unwanted shivers down your spine. You fought the reaction, the betrayal of your body, the way your skin seemed to tingle under his touch despite every protest in your mind. “Why must you resist?” he murmured, pressing his lips to the hollow of your throat, slow and deliberate, savoring every inch of hesitation and rebellion in your stance. His hands traced down, capturing your wrists, pinning them against the wall beside your head, his face mere inches from yours. “Don’t pretend you don’t feel it,” he whispered, his breath hot against your cheek. His grip tightened, pulling you closer until there was no space between you. Every inch of your body seemed to betray you, the warmth of his touch igniting sensations you’d instead have denied, your pulse quickening even as you struggled to pull away. He leaned in, his mouth ghosting over your ear, the warmth of his breath sending shivers along your skin. “You’re mine,” he said again, his voice soft but unyielding. His hand moved, tracing the lines of your body with a dark reverence, savoring the tension, the resistance, the way your breath caught with every touch. You fought the sensations, the rebellion in your mind conflicting with the stir of warmth spreading through you, your body’s involuntary response only fueling the twisted satisfaction in his gaze. He leaned closer, his hands trailing down your sides, his touch both rough and reverent, as if claiming each part of you with a dark insistence. “See, even your body understands,” he murmured, his fingers pressing into you with deliberate slowness, his gaze never leaving yours. Despite every struggle and protest, you couldn’t deny how your pulse raced under his touch, the heat rising against your will. He grinned, having enough, and pushed you down, falling to your ass when he had you mesmerized. “Now. Show me how thankful you are, bunny, for me helping you.” the fabric on his pants was rough and slightly dirty from the mud as your cheek was rubbed with this clothed cock. He lets out a shivering moan. “so soft…but I want to feel something softer.”

You start shaking and crying as you feel his veins and skin sliding in and out of your mouth, young and then lips in a popping noise. He is not as gentle as when he first started clear. A need inside him was burning, screaming to get out, and your mouth would take the punishment of it. Every thrust of your head bounced painfully at the wall, you let out a cry, and he gets rougher now, grabbing your hair and dragging you back and forth. The worst part is. Not that you can’t breathe. Not the pain in your head. But the warm, dizzy feeling in your head and the…warmth dripping on your legs. The room spun, fear blurring your vision as his words sank in, the weight of your captivity closing in, suffocating and inescapable as you felt his cum down your throat. "Mine"

[my-horniness-is-okay]

HOT

*bites ur scruff*

[full on twitter]

[my-horniness-is-okay]

shinsou’s definitely into dumbification.

in the day to day, he loves how smart you are. he constantly finds himself in awe of your thoughtfulness, of how you reason through things, of the clever remarks that come naturally. it’s one of the main things that draws him to you.

and honestly, it makes it all the more satisfying to fuck you dumb later.

he loves seeing your eyes get cloudy and your mouth go slack with pleasure as he pounds you into the bed. watching you get less and less self-conscious every second as the buzzing in your body travels to your brain. you’re not even aware of the sounds you’re making anymore, just groaning in time with his hips, the rhythmic “uh-uh-unh” interrupted only by his own shaky gasps.

“so pretty” he pants, and means it. he prefers to have you on your back, facing him so he can see everything- your eyes glassy and half-lidded, your cheeks flushed. on display just for him. “doing so good for me darling.” 

he’ll ask you questions just to see you not be able to form words into an answer. gently clearing your hair out of the way so he can see your pretty face, “you okay baby? you feeling good? should i change anything?” no response- you can’t think straight, totally blissed out. 

it’s okay. he can think for you.

[my-horniness-is-okay]

Love love LOVE this! Would absolutely love a part 2!!!

Paring: Armand x reader

Synopsis: you're sitting in a pub, you start drawing the mysterious stranger sitting not far away from you. When he discovers you, you don’t realize you’ve picked the attention of a dangerous creature.

Warnings: reference to past injury, self doubt, allusion to past trauma.

A/N: reader is AFAB. They/them pronouns used.

The wind is howling outside the thick windows of the pub, dark clouds promising heavy rain and violent waves against the jagged coast not too far from the narrow road where the pub is built. The fire is roaring in the huge hearth, shadowed by too many people huddling there to nurse their drinks; the lights are dim against the old wooden panels, giving the overcrowded room a homely air.

You beer sits next to the small case full of your pencils as you draw in the dim lights of the overcrowded room.

Your head sits lightly on your free hand as the other rushes to finish the quick sketch you’re working on, before your, unintentional, muse decides to leave; you’re hoping the promise of heavy rain will convince the man to stay a little longer. Who knows if he will or he will try his luck, now that the wind has picked up even more violently.

You focus again on the black lines on the sheet of paper, finishing the outline to start working on the elegant sweater he’s wearing; you’re no expert but it looks expensive, and warm, and soft. A real nightmare to draw using only a charcoal pencil, since you are planning to add colors and you don’t want to put too many shadows that aren’t there.

“It has been a long time since anyone ever painted me. I was given the chance to pose back then, for hours, I have to admit.”

The soft voice makes you lift your head in surprise; dimly you think that there is an accent you can’t truly pinpoint, his words almost neutral in their intonation.

“It’s actually a drawing, not a painting.”

You want to drown in your own sweater at how stupid your response sounds.

“May I sit?”

You can’t see his eyes, hidden behind his wraparounds sunglasses and his expression is hard to read: you’d hate to cause a scene, not everyone appreciates being portrayed in secret.

“Please, do.”

Carefully you move your beer more on the side of the small round table, the too long sleeve of your sweater uncovering partially the black burn glove on your left hand, despite you racing to hide it again.

The man sits down, gracefully and only now you notice he has no drink with him: he must have entered the pub to escape the oncoming storm. He only lays an elegant cigarette case on the battered table, the ornate, intricate designs catch your attention from the rowdy crowd of the pub.

He is stunningly beautiful, but this you realized when you eyes had landed on him, whilst you were sipping your beer and wondering what, or who, you could sketch to pass the time; what truly draw your attention was his aura, so calm, yet it gave you the sense of someone who keeps a tight lid on their emotions, like a summer evening when you know it’s going to rain soon.

“Are you an artist?”

Again, his soft voice drags you back from your thoughts, the musicality of it makes you want to listen to him reading his grocery shop list, if that meant just hearing it.

“No, not really, it’s just a hobby.”

“You have a great deal of sketches in your book, and in your little case.”

Almost on instinct you want to grab your work and curl around it in protection; it’s the gut reaction of a second, you aren’t in that position anymore, this man will not tear your works into shreds for no reason.

“It’s something I haven’t done for a while and then I had decided to pick it up again. We can’t only work all the time, can’t we? We need to treat ourselves.” You say with a smile.

“I am acquainted with that meme.”

It surprises you that he feels the need to convey his knowledge: what a strange man.

“This is my way to treat myself.”

“By drawing unsuspecting strangers?”

There’s no heath in his words, no rage, perhaps a bit of curiosity.

“By drawing what, or who, catches my eyes.” You answer, parroting his words. “I love to hang somewhere and just let my eyes wander. I can stop sketching you, if you want, I know it’s disconcerting for some people.”

You can truly feel the weight of his gaze, still hidden by the sunglasses, even now that the pub is bathed in the dark light from outside. This stranger is not simply looking at you, you feel as if he’s taking you apart to catalog every single piece of yourself he can find, like an entomologist does with a pinned butterfly.

You know you shouldn't feel so calm under his scrutiny, that you should bid your farewell and go home, but you can’t help yourself: you want this stranger to keep looking at you like he would the pieces of a puzzle he desperately needs to put together. No matter how dangerous the consequences.

A shiver runs down the damaged nerves on your left arm, and you decide to ignore the warning.

“Why should you? You’re very talented.”

All of his nervousness now shows itself in the way his index fingers fiddles with the cigarette case, his hidden gaze fixed upon you.

“It’s a shame it’s not possible to smoke in public places such as this one anymore.”

How strange! You think. The law passed here in 2004 and he talks about it as if he had experienced how it was before. He can’t be that old!

He seems to have made his mind as his hand gently grasps the sunglasses, as if ready to remove them.

“Please, don’t!” In your haste you lift your hand, almost to stop him. “The most interesting part is to guess and imagine. Do keep wearing them.”

There’s a slew of small expressions playing on his face, all to hide his surprise and, perhaps, curiosity?

You grab the charcoal pencil in a tighter grip and go back to your work, losing yourself in the quick, almost nervous motions of your hand on the paper: you don’t know why you feel like you have to rush, to capture the fleeting essence of this nameless man, but you do.

With every ticking second you believe you’re going to lose the feeble hold you have on the ideas crowding your mind, with every stroke you fear you’re drifting far away from the first image of sadness and loneliness that lighted up in your mind, as soon as you saw him, sitting alone in the pub, under lights that enhanced his otherworldly beauty, the very thing that set him apart from all the other men present.

You only need to glance at him sparsely, to make sure to capture the texture of his hair and the folds of his sweater, the long lines of his fingers against the battered wood of the table.

Only when you’re finished, you realize you have been holding your breathe for most of the sketching and you have to force yourself to take a big gulp of air, before turning your sketchbook to him, while grabbing your beer again.

You’re learning not to be shy, when it comes to your creations, to share them with the world, to accept the criticism and the compliments; not now. Now you’re crawling out of your shell again, trying to draw while being filled with self doubts and hating every single piece you created, those past months disappearing in your mind, along with the strength you built for yourself.

His piercing gaze is now turned on your drawing, that analytical stare that cut you into layers and layers, now is doing the same to your work, and to himself: you’d do anything to know his thoughts, now that his face shows nothing.

Under the stillness a maelstrom rages. The man looking back at him from the page is a knot of everything he’s always felt and never told. Through the fast strokes of his eyes, he can see all his hardships, all he’s done and lost for centuries, pain and desperation, in a way a simple mirror would never show him: how a simple mortal like you could read him so deeply after staring at him, comes as a surprise. You’re nothing but a child, compared to him, yet you have the understanding of a much older person, as if you’ve experienced the depths of hell, only to expose it in your art, and to him.

It takes a lot of restrain for Armand to show nothing of his internal turmoil: it has been so long since someone managed to pin him down so precisely, so perfectly, he has to fight the instinct to stand up and storm out, away from you and your keen eyes; he wonders if you have done the same to other people, read them so perfectly and bluntly putting them in front of their own soul, like his fledgling had done to him. Do you know how dangerous you are? Do you have any inkling of how easily you could destroy a person’s life? Would you do that in the name of the truth?

“It’s awful, isn’t it? It’s not worth keeping.”

You reach with your good hand to slip the sketchbook away from his grasp and he stops you with elegant fingers on your wrist. His grasp is not strong, it doesn’t hurt, but holds a secret strength you can feel traveling up your arm and makes you shiver with the need for more.

“It’s beautiful.” He says, after a heartbeat, still holding you in place. “The one who painted me wasn’t as good an artist as you are, he lacked the depth you hold.”

His face is now turned back to you, his hidden, piercing stare focused on your features, analyzing you again, as if wanting to explore the hidden crevices of your soul.

“Thank you.” You stammer. “I’m glad you like it.”

Still, he says nothing, making you feel self-conscious of your own existence in this small pub on the coast.

“Would it be too forward of me to ask you to gift me this sketch?”

You’re too dazzled yourself to notice the small quiver in his soft voice.

“Oh! That’s the first time anyone has asked me that.”

Right now the people around you two don’t exist, nor is the wind beating down the old windows and stones of the building. There are no passing cars outside, nor are the waves crashing against the high cliffs, just a handful of miles from here.

“I thought I wanted to color it.”

“I think it’s perfect this way.”

He knows a finished work will incinerate him on the spot, because he will never be able not to stare at it, at himself, like Dorian Gray, to face all his centuries on this Earth.

“You’re too good to me. It’s really just a small sketch.”

“You’re selling yourself short. You have something many professional artists lack.”

When his big hand releases yours, the spell you were under breaks and all the sounds around you attack you again, adding to the fog you’re still feeling clouding your brain.

Almost through a dream, you take the sketchbook from his hand and cut the page off with the small pocket knife you keep in your pouch to sharpen some of your thicker pencils.

“It’s yours, my personal thank you for appreciating my work.”

His fingers touch yours again on the thin piece of paper and only now you notice how cold they are, despite the heath in the pub.

“Thank you.” There’s no calculation in his words, he feels real gratitude, the feeling burning brightly in the scorched desert of his soul. “I don’t even know your name.”

When you answer his question, you feel like he’s got a hold on your soul, like in the stories about the fairies.

“My name is Armand.”

A french name to someone who hasn’t a french accent, but nowadays people call their children anything, you think.

“Are you here on holiday?”

You can see the cheeky way his mouth turns when he smiles at your question.

“I thought I was simply passing through, but I am fascinated with how this area has changed, I think I am going to stay, for a while.”

You almost don’t notice the way he refers to this place as if he’s visited it years and years ago. Almost.

“Do you have somewhere to carry it? My sketch I mean. It has just started to rain.”

“Unfortunately I don’t. And I don’t wish to ruin it.”

“Here, use this!”

With much too haste, you empty the case where you carry your bigger pieces and hand it over to him.

“I can’t possibly accept it. Your other works will be destroyed by the rain.”

“I can roll them up and keep them in my bag, it’s big enough. Besides, that one is fresh, if you do the same to it, it will get ruined.”

“I still need to refund you yours.”

“There’s no need. If you’re staying, you’ll give it back whenever you can. There aren’t many meeting places here.”

The old trick always works: you are all so easy to manipulate.

“Then I shall give it back as soon is possible.”

His hands don’t tremble when they take the case from you, touching the sketch again doesn’t burn him the same way the first time did, but he knows he’s still affected, and needs to understand why.

“Regrettably, I need to go now.”

He lies, a part of him wants to stay to take your brain apart until he knows all the ways the mechanisms work there, but it’s too early for that.

“It’s raining pretty hard.”

“My car is parked nearby and your lovely sketch is safe.”

He doesn’t have a car, but he has faster means of transportation that defy such a small thing as rain.

Before you can stand up, he gracefully takes your hand to kiss the palm, ignoring the smudges of charcoal. He does it the classy way: his lips don’t touch your skin.

“Thank you again for your gift.”

“No, thank you for humoring me. I hope I’ll see you soon!”

Oh, he thinks, you have no idea how ‘soon’ can become ‘now’.

[my-horniness-is-okay]

Paring: Armand x reader

Synopsis: you're sitting in a pub, you start drawing the mysterious stranger sitting not far away from you. When he discovers you, you don’t realize you’ve picked the attention of a dangerous creature.

Warnings: reference to past injury, self doubt, allusion to past trauma.

A/N: reader is AFAB. They/them pronouns used.

The wind is howling outside the thick windows of the pub, dark clouds promising heavy rain and violent waves against the jagged coast not too far from the narrow road where the pub is built. The fire is roaring in the huge hearth, shadowed by too many people huddling there to nurse their drinks; the lights are dim against the old wooden panels, giving the overcrowded room a homely air.

You beer sits next to the small case full of your pencils as you draw in the dim lights of the overcrowded room.

Your head sits lightly on your free hand as the other rushes to finish the quick sketch you’re working on, before your, unintentional, muse decides to leave; you’re hoping the promise of heavy rain will convince the man to stay a little longer. Who knows if he will or he will try his luck, now that the wind has picked up even more violently.

You focus again on the black lines on the sheet of paper, finishing the outline to start working on the elegant sweater he’s wearing; you’re no expert but it looks expensive, and warm, and soft. A real nightmare to draw using only a charcoal pencil, since you are planning to add colors and you don’t want to put too many shadows that aren’t there.

“It has been a long time since anyone ever painted me. I was given the chance to pose back then, for hours, I have to admit.”

The soft voice makes you lift your head in surprise; dimly you think that there is an accent you can’t truly pinpoint, his words almost neutral in their intonation.

“It’s actually a drawing, not a painting.”

You want to drown in your own sweater at how stupid your response sounds.

“May I sit?”

You can’t see his eyes, hidden behind his wraparounds sunglasses and his expression is hard to read: you’d hate to cause a scene, not everyone appreciates being portrayed in secret.

“Please, do.”

Carefully you move your beer more on the side of the small round table, the too long sleeve of your sweater uncovering partially the black burn glove on your left hand, despite you racing to hide it again.

The man sits down, gracefully and only now you notice he has no drink with him: he must have entered the pub to escape the oncoming storm. He only lays an elegant cigarette case on the battered table, the ornate, intricate designs catch your attention from the rowdy crowd of the pub.

He is stunningly beautiful, but this you realized when you eyes had landed on him, whilst you were sipping your beer and wondering what, or who, you could sketch to pass the time; what truly draw your attention was his aura, so calm, yet it gave you the sense of someone who keeps a tight lid on their emotions, like a summer evening when you know it’s going to rain soon.

“Are you an artist?”

Again, his soft voice drags you back from your thoughts, the musicality of it makes you want to listen to him reading his grocery shop list, if that meant just hearing it.

“No, not really, it’s just a hobby.”

“You have a great deal of sketches in your book, and in your little case.”

Almost on instinct you want to grab your work and curl around it in protection; it’s the gut reaction of a second, you aren’t in that position anymore, this man will not tear your works into shreds for no reason.

“It’s something I haven’t done for a while and then I had decided to pick it up again. We can’t only work all the time, can’t we? We need to treat ourselves.” You say with a smile.

“I am acquainted with that meme.”

It surprises you that he feels the need to convey his knowledge: what a strange man.

“This is my way to treat myself.”

“By drawing unsuspecting strangers?”

There’s no heath in his words, no rage, perhaps a bit of curiosity.

“By drawing what, or who, catches my eyes.” You answer, parroting his words. “I love to hang somewhere and just let my eyes wander. I can stop sketching you, if you want, I know it’s disconcerting for some people.”

You can truly feel the weight of his gaze, still hidden by the sunglasses, even now that the pub is bathed in the dark light from outside. This stranger is not simply looking at you, you feel as if he’s taking you apart to catalog every single piece of yourself he can find, like an entomologist does with a pinned butterfly.

You know you shouldn't feel so calm under his scrutiny, that you should bid your farewell and go home, but you can’t help yourself: you want this stranger to keep looking at you like he would the pieces of a puzzle he desperately needs to put together. No matter how dangerous the consequences.

A shiver runs down the damaged nerves on your left arm, and you decide to ignore the warning.

“Why should you? You’re very talented.”

All of his nervousness now shows itself in the way his index fingers fiddles with the cigarette case, his hidden gaze fixed upon you.

“It’s a shame it’s not possible to smoke in public places such as this one anymore.”

How strange! You think. The law passed here in 2004 and he talks about it as if he had experienced how it was before. He can’t be that old!

He seems to have made his mind as his hand gently grasps the sunglasses, as if ready to remove them.

“Please, don’t!” In your haste you lift your hand, almost to stop him. “The most interesting part is to guess and imagine. Do keep wearing them.”

There’s a slew of small expressions playing on his face, all to hide his surprise and, perhaps, curiosity?

You grab the charcoal pencil in a tighter grip and go back to your work, losing yourself in the quick, almost nervous motions of your hand on the paper: you don’t know why you feel like you have to rush, to capture the fleeting essence of this nameless man, but you do.

With every ticking second you believe you’re going to lose the feeble hold you have on the ideas crowding your mind, with every stroke you fear you’re drifting far away from the first image of sadness and loneliness that lighted up in your mind, as soon as you saw him, sitting alone in the pub, under lights that enhanced his otherworldly beauty, the very thing that set him apart from all the other men present.

You only need to glance at him sparsely, to make sure to capture the texture of his hair and the folds of his sweater, the long lines of his fingers against the battered wood of the table.

Only when you’re finished, you realize you have been holding your breathe for most of the sketching and you have to force yourself to take a big gulp of air, before turning your sketchbook to him, while grabbing your beer again.

You’re learning not to be shy, when it comes to your creations, to share them with the world, to accept the criticism and the compliments; not now. Now you’re crawling out of your shell again, trying to draw while being filled with self doubts and hating every single piece you created, those past months disappearing in your mind, along with the strength you built for yourself.

His piercing gaze is now turned on your drawing, that analytical stare that cut you into layers and layers, now is doing the same to your work, and to himself: you’d do anything to know his thoughts, now that his face shows nothing.

Under the stillness a maelstrom rages. The man looking back at him from the page is a knot of everything he’s always felt and never told. Through the fast strokes of his eyes, he can see all his hardships, all he’s done and lost for centuries, pain and desperation, in a way a simple mirror would never show him: how a simple mortal like you could read him so deeply after staring at him, comes as a surprise. You’re nothing but a child, compared to him, yet you have the understanding of a much older person, as if you’ve experienced the depths of hell, only to expose it in your art, and to him.

It takes a lot of restrain for Armand to show nothing of his internal turmoil: it has been so long since someone managed to pin him down so precisely, so perfectly, he has to fight the instinct to stand up and storm out, away from you and your keen eyes; he wonders if you have done the same to other people, read them so perfectly and bluntly putting them in front of their own soul, like his fledgling had done to him. Do you know how dangerous you are? Do you have any inkling of how easily you could destroy a person’s life? Would you do that in the name of the truth?

“It’s awful, isn’t it? It’s not worth keeping.”

You reach with your good hand to slip the sketchbook away from his grasp and he stops you with elegant fingers on your wrist. His grasp is not strong, it doesn’t hurt, but holds a secret strength you can feel traveling up your arm and makes you shiver with the need for more.

“It’s beautiful.” He says, after a heartbeat, still holding you in place. “The one who painted me wasn’t as good an artist as you are, he lacked the depth you hold.”

His face is now turned back to you, his hidden, piercing stare focused on your features, analyzing you again, as if wanting to explore the hidden crevices of your soul.

“Thank you.” You stammer. “I’m glad you like it.”

Still, he says nothing, making you feel self-conscious of your own existence in this small pub on the coast.

“Would it be too forward of me to ask you to gift me this sketch?”

You’re too dazzled yourself to notice the small quiver in his soft voice.

“Oh! That’s the first time anyone has asked me that.”

Right now the people around you two don’t exist, nor is the wind beating down the old windows and stones of the building. There are no passing cars outside, nor are the waves crashing against the high cliffs, just a handful of miles from here.

“I thought I wanted to color it.”

“I think it’s perfect this way.”

He knows a finished work will incinerate him on the spot, because he will never be able not to stare at it, at himself, like Dorian Gray, to face all his centuries on this Earth.

“You’re too good to me. It’s really just a small sketch.”

“You’re selling yourself short. You have something many professional artists lack.”

When his big hand releases yours, the spell you were under breaks and all the sounds around you attack you again, adding to the fog you’re still feeling clouding your brain.

Almost through a dream, you take the sketchbook from his hand and cut the page off with the small pocket knife you keep in your pouch to sharpen some of your thicker pencils.

“It’s yours, my personal thank you for appreciating my work.”

His fingers touch yours again on the thin piece of paper and only now you notice how cold they are, despite the heath in the pub.

“Thank you.” There’s no calculation in his words, he feels real gratitude, the feeling burning brightly in the scorched desert of his soul. “I don’t even know your name.”

When you answer his question, you feel like he’s got a hold on your soul, like in the stories about the fairies.

“My name is Armand.”

A french name to someone who hasn’t a french accent, but nowadays people call their children anything, you think.

“Are you here on holiday?”

You can see the cheeky way his mouth turns when he smiles at your question.

“I thought I was simply passing through, but I am fascinated with how this area has changed, I think I am going to stay, for a while.”

You almost don’t notice the way he refers to this place as if he’s visited it years and years ago. Almost.

“Do you have somewhere to carry it? My sketch I mean. It has just started to rain.”

“Unfortunately I don’t. And I don’t wish to ruin it.”

“Here, use this!”

With much too haste, you empty the case where you carry your bigger pieces and hand it over to him.

“I can’t possibly accept it. Your other works will be destroyed by the rain.”

“I can roll them up and keep them in my bag, it’s big enough. Besides, that one is fresh, if you do the same to it, it will get ruined.”

“I still need to refund you yours.”

“There’s no need. If you’re staying, you’ll give it back whenever you can. There aren’t many meeting places here.”

The old trick always works: you are all so easy to manipulate.

“Then I shall give it back as soon is possible.”

His hands don’t tremble when they take the case from you, touching the sketch again doesn’t burn him the same way the first time did, but he knows he’s still affected, and needs to understand why.

“Regrettably, I need to go now.”

He lies, a part of him wants to stay to take your brain apart until he knows all the ways the mechanisms work there, but it’s too early for that.

“It’s raining pretty hard.”

“My car is parked nearby and your lovely sketch is safe.”

He doesn’t have a car, but he has faster means of transportation that defy such a small thing as rain.

Before you can stand up, he gracefully takes your hand to kiss the palm, ignoring the smudges of charcoal. He does it the classy way: his lips don’t touch your skin.

“Thank you again for your gift.”

“No, thank you for humoring me. I hope I’ll see you soon!”

Oh, he thinks, you have no idea how ‘soon’ can become ‘now’.

[my-horniness-is-okay]

Introducing ... prince!matt x maid!reader

• Prince!Matt …

sweet. charming. gentle. protective. approachable. big lover boy. loyal. always looking after his people. will be stern when he needs to be (and he’s MEAN when he is). but overall a big teddy bear. doesn’t let the title ‘prince’ make him more valuable than everyone else. he will go out of his way to make sure everyone has what they need. requested for maid!reader to be his personal maid after laying eyes on her for the first time. lets her wear what she wants. knows he shouldn’t have feelings for a maid but can’t help it. "So darling, what made you decide to become a maid anyways?”

• Maid!Reader …

loyal. gentle. sweetheart. hardworking. observant. polite. humble but strong-willed. romantic but realistic. shy. works for the royal family for her family. she’s not afraid to speak her mind when need be. intimidated by matt’s family, and sometimes by him. gives younger maids tips. soft hearted. LOVES horses. likes to read when she can. is afraid of failure, so she’ll always make sure to do her job extra good. knows she shouldn’t have feeling for the prince but can’t help it. “Well, Your Highness, it’s not the most glamorous life, but it’s honest. and i do it for my family, because we need the money.”

© strnilolover

a/n : so like…ask me questions about them PLEASE.

[my-horniness-is-okay]

S. lands on top: chapter 2

summary: Coriolanus returns home to the Capital with two women from district 12 plaguing his mind. One a (presumed) dead mystery but another well within his reach.

warnings: unco, dark!Coriolanus, possessive!Corirlanus, Dark themes, mentions of death, she/her pronouns, kidnapping, violence, somnophilia.

Previous chapter

Next chapter

Mabel continues her banging while Tigress sits outside the door. Her small hand pressed against her painted lips.

"Let me out!" Mabel screams, "Please let me out. I haven't done anything".

Tigress presses her hand against the door in sympathy,

"He'll be back soon to let you out" Tigress consoles.

Mabel stops her banging.

"Who' are you?" Mabel asks.

'I am Tigress, Coriolanus' cousin" .

"i am Mabel. Coriolanus' hostage".

Tigress perks up at the opportunity to explain.

"no. No. It's not like that at all. Coyro said he saved you. That people were planning to kill you".

"Who was trying to kill me?''

'He didn't say. But Coriolanus is a good man. He wouldn't do this with a reason"

There is a silence as Mabel considers the situation. Tigress is undoubtably loyal to her cousin. Would she hear reason, Mabel wondered or would all efforts result in loss of her only ally.

"I have a family, Tigress. I have to get back to them"

'You will. I promise". She had no right to be promising such a thing but it gave Mabel a small comfort.

"Is there anything I can do?". Tigress so desperately wanted to help.

"Do you know if he keeps any food in here?.

The room was large. It wouldn't surprise Mabel if he had a whole pantry in here.

"Food? You're hungry. Wait right there".

Mabel threw her hands up, as if she had any other choice.

She heard feet returning and pressed her ear against the door.

"Look below" the soft voice spoke.

Mabel did to see a small white cracker by her feet. It was all that was going to fit so she said her thank you's and made idle chat with Tigress behind the door.

They tried to keep the conversation away from dark themes. Mabel told her about her family. Her father worked the mines. Her and her mother washed clothes. Her sister was at school, and smart as whip.

They talked for a while as Tigress pushes the crackers under the door.

"Do you want anymore biscuits?". She had stopped enthralled in conversation.

"No. Thank you". The taste of dust lingered on her tongue, "Do you think it would be alright though if i took a shower?".

"of course. If you need me just bang on the door three times. I'll hear it"

"Thank you, Tigress. Don't let him in until i bang three times".

Tigress affirms she wouldn't and Mabel retracted from the door.

She felt dirty and gross. Wanting nothing more then to unstick her hair.

The bathroom was nicer then any house she had ever seen. Beautiful green titles surrounded the wall. White marble was carved for the sink. Big round mirrors hung above it. The space was unnecessarily large. having both a bath and a shower in different corners.

Turning on the water, she jumped back feeling the hot water. Back home hot water was only used for cleaning, and cooking.

It took her a while to figure out the dials before finding an acceptable temperature.

She scrubs herself clean with his products. They were all in expensive bottles, and she applied them with a heavy hand.

When she finished she was thirsty and pruney form the hot water. She wraps herself in a plush towel and rinses her underpants, dress and shoes. Her shoes came up with a rag but without a wash board and soap she would not get the stain out. Ugly brown marks stain her grey dress in dark plops and thin lines from the branches.

It was the best she could do in the time she was willing to spare. HE could come back any second, and he didn't seem the type to be delayed long.

She rolled the dressed and pants in the towel pressing the water out. When she put it back on it was still wet, but she felt better for being clean.

She bangs three times on the door to let Tigress know she was done.

--

Coriolanus holds a handkerchief to his sore shoulder as he enters his building.

A few notice but most of high society are too self-involved to even see the red on his shirt.

He walks up to the servant in the foyer who greets people as they arrive.

She looks shocked to see his state.

He spoke before she could.

"i need new bedsheets for the Snow penthouse"

"Master Snow, your shoulder! do you need medical attention sir?"

"i need new bed sheets" he pushes.

The young girl nods, knowing her place.

"I'll bring them up right away, Sir"

"I need them now".

She bows before she turns her back to him in order to fulfil his request. She disappears into the servant quarters, but comes rushing back with the fresh sheets.

She bows again as she hold them out to her and he swaps the sheets in her hand for a few coins.

He wouldn't say thank you to a lower member of society. But she wasn't a Avox like the majority of her co-workers so she could have his pocket change.

He was grateful to get a empty elevator. He rests against the back and sighs deeply. He was so tired, he could have gone to sleep right there.

Hearing the elevator ding at the top, Coriolanus put his game face back on.

He digs into his pocket for his keys but Tigress hears him approaching and yanks the door open before he finds them.

"Coriolanus", she breathes, "She's settled now. Will you let her out?".

She backs away from the door to let him enter, closing the door as he crosses the living room.

'We'll see, Tigress". letting her out was the last thing he wanted to do. He had only just got her and like a child with a new toy he wanted her all to himself.

Tigress follows him to his room and he spins around to stop her.

"I'll bring her out when she is ready" when he was ready, "We don't want to overwhelm her on her first day".

"Maybe I should go in" Tigress persisted.

Coriolanus shoves his shoulder forward as a reminder of this mornings events. Tigress eyes it with sympathy but she remained determined.

"We've seen how violent she can get when she feels threatened. She's district, Tigress. She's dangerous."

Tigress goes to make her argument but decision had already been made and Coriolanus unlocks the door before she could make much of a sound.

He was glad to see Mabel had taken a shower. She stood by the window, looking out, with clean skin and better smelling radiance. Her dress was still stained with mud, and damp from the shower but her boots were clean upon her feet again.

Having no hair tie her braid was loose and slowly coming apart. She looked liked the district girl he longed to see in his peacekeeper days.

But his aching shoulder overbore his weakened knees.

He throws the bed sheets on the end of the bed, taking the liberty to take his coat off as well. Giving no attention to Mabel, he walks into the bathroom to care for his injured shoulder.

Running hot water he take a wash cloth and daps away the blood. His shirt was ruined. There would be no way even the best dry cleaners would be able to lift the dried blood that ran from the shoulder to the arm of the shirt.

He had wanted to keep the shirt as a momentum. The day he got his girl and turned his back on district 12 forever. But now it was best to throw it away. It was better not to relight the anger he felt.

Mabel hung by the open door to see what he was doing. She looked proud of her work.

"How's your shoulder?" she bites.

"How's your cheek?" he snaps back.

He shuts off the water, reaching into the cupboard he pulls out adhesive bandage.

"You asked me before what you were here for. Well you're here for me", He throws the bandage package down and turn to face her, "You're here to please me".

A step forward had her leaning back into the bathroom door.

"And so far I am not pleased".

"Then take me back home".

Coriolanus shoves past her to the bedroom.

"You think there's home after this?".

He rumbles through his draws until he finds his favorite nightwear, in the mean time pulling out a pair of his white draws and a silk long sleeve pj shirt. It belonged to the first pair of quality nightwear he brought with the new money.

He used to sleep only in his draws, and he always felt as if it was a reminder that he went asleep poor. Now he had draws full of expensive nightwear. Slippers and robes to match.

He throws the old nightwear on the top of his dresser, finding his favorite pajama set for himself.

"There's no home after this". He yanks his dress shirt off, his shoulder throbbing from the movement, ''When you left district 12, you left it for good. So you need to reconsider your current behavior".

He throws his old pajama shirt and underpants at her. She catches them on reflex and holds them to her chest like a teddy bear.

"Put that on".

He cock twitched at the mere thought of her in his clothes.

"You can't do this. This isn't right". She fought him, he knew she would.

"we're in the Capital now. And if you don't want to end up in the Capital jail. I suggest you don't concern yourself with what's right and only with what you've been told. Put the clothes on".

"No, Thank you". She drops the clothes to the floor.

He felt his temper flare up. He was tired and sore. If a district girl thought she was going to disobey him, she had another thing coming.

"Let's make something very clear. Every second from here on out, your life is in danger. You're families lives are in danger"

He slams his draws shut agressivley and pins Mabel under his stare,

"You're lucky I didn't string that sister of yours up today. If you want to gamble with their lives to see how far you can push me fine. But my patience is shorter then a the efforts of phone call and a length of a rope".

He eyes the clothes on the floor and Mabel follows before they catch each others eyes once more.

"Take a roll"

Mabel does not. Instantly picking up the clothes and bundling them in her hands.

"Get dressed and change the bed sheets. You got them all dirty".

He dresses in the shared space, flinging his soft shirt on body and unbelting his pants.

Mabel scurries to the bathroom and dresses behind the closed door.

he had done by the time she reenters the room.

His breath gets caught in his throat. The shirt was two sizes too big for her, buttoned all the way to the top and stopping just below her hips. His pants hung lopsided. Buttoned on him, they fit snugly to his waist but the fabric bunched and folded at her hips. They were longer on her too, hitting her mid thigh.

At night in his bunk he used to take his pillow from under his head and press it to his side. It wasn't Lucy-grey he was imagining but Mabel dressed in nothing but his peacekeepers uniform shirt and her panties.

He paused to wonder if he still had his old uniform or if he could get his hands on one of the shirts without raising too many eyebrows.

She still held her old clothes and boots in her hands and he crossed over to her to take them.

He hold out his hands unable to form the words in his mouth. She understands what he wants and passes the clothes to him.

He bends down to pick up his own clothes and takes them to the bathroom where he send them flying down the laundry shoot. He would have to let the Avoxes know not to bother cleaning the dress or the shoes, to just chuck them away.

But he was too tired to send a memo down now. He didn't sleep at all on the train. He wondered if Mabel would sleep now after the news of her predicament.

Should he give her something quiet to do. She had only woke up a few hours ago.

He was too tired to even worry about that. She could sleep or she could lie awake.

He comes back out to see her changing the best sheets. He kicks the old sheets to the side, unable to go back to the laundry shoot as fresh sheets invited him in.

She was shaking the pillow hard to get it into its case. Slamming it down on the bed once its in. She were mad about something, he couldn't image what.

He takes the fresh pillow and falls into bed. Laying on his stomach, he shoves the pillow under his arms and rests his head.

"Lie down" he demands.

"I am not tired". She looked awkward in the far corner.

"I didn't ask if you were tired. I said lie down".

She makes her way over to the side of the bed, laying down on the edge.

He could have made a fuss about her distance but after nearly a year of pining she was as close as she's ever been.

"If I wake and find you've moved-"

Unexpectedly she cuts him off,

"I get it. Do what you want or my family hangs. I've lied down".

Coriolanus shuts his eyes and falls asleep almost immediately.

He feels like he had only shut his eyes for twenty minutes before banging on the door woke him. It was Tigress announcing dinner.

The twenty minutes must have been a few hours.

Still he could feel the weight of her on the bed next to him. When he flexed his hand he could feel the soft material of her shirt. He must have reached out to her in his sleep and she kept it there.

He keeps his eyes shut ignoring the sound but bunching up her shirt in his fist.

Now knowing that he was awake, she shook his sore shoulder and his eyes shot open in pain.

"sorry" He could tell she wasn't, "Did you hear about the food?."

She look hopeful at him. Apart from the crackers she had nothing to eat for the past 24 hours.

He sighed and rose reluctantly from the bed. It was time to swap needs. He had no sleep on the train, she had no food.

He couldn't let Tigress and Grandam'am see her in his clothes like this. Not yet at least, and at the very most not at the dinner table. maybe as she went from his bedroom to the kitchen for water one time. But dinner was a formal affair. It had been that way even when they were poor.

He goes to his closet and takes out a dressing gown. Black with elaborate detailing and tells her to wrap it around herself.

He undresses in front of her casually. Trying to get her used to the sight. After all this time, he wasn't waiting.

He pulls on simple black pants and a white shirt. It would do for dinner. Going then to his shoe closet, he pulls out the first black pair he sees and a pair of brown socks.

Sitting on the edge of the bed he struggles to put them on with one hand. His shoulder pounded and he felt it was too stiff to move that far.

He kicks his feet in frustration.

"Help me" he commanded.

Mabel goes to the floor in front of him with a smug look. Pulling his socks on his feet.

He takes the time to lecture her.

"You embarrassed me this morning. You're not to do it again".

She starts with the shoes, yanking them on and tying them up.

"When we go out there you are to behave if you are to be fed."

She rises as he does. His hands go out to her robes ties and he pulls it tighter in case it shows what's underneath.

''Keep what we discussed between us. No one but me and you need to know why you're here".

"Tigress tells me that you said you saved me. Is every one here that stupid or do we need to think of a better lie?".

He smacks her on the same cheek as the captain did.

"i wouldn't be insulting anyone else's intelligence if you thought I was going to let that pass".

He takes her shoulders into his arms and presses her against him. His sore shoulder shook slightly in pain from the effort.

"What was it that you said? You get it. Do as I say or your family hangs?".

Mabel nods her head, "You saved me from district 12".

He knew his girl was smart.

He lets go of her and she follows him to the door.

Coriolanus hadn't realized he was in fact hungry. But as he smelt what the chef was cooking in his kitchen, he felt his stomach twist in hunger.

He enters the dinning room with Mable following to see Tigress and Grandam'am there already.

"Mabel!" Tigress greets, her hands finding their way to Mabel's face.

Coriolanus looks between the two, standing close.

"Tigress" she returns with affection.

Tigress eyes the robe but doesn't make a comment instead they land back to the reddened cheek.

"Oh dear. Your cheek looks sore. I Have some cream that will help".

Coriolanus felt himself getting irritated at Tigress. He wanted to be the one she greeted affectionally. He wanted to be the one to place the cream upon her face. Tigress was only suppose to care for her when Coriolanus wasn't around.

"After dinner, Tigress". He removes her hands from Mabel's face.

They all agree and Mabel follows Tigress to the dinner table. Where a four delicious bowl of soup sat around a steaming loaf of bread. A knife for carving sat along side of the board and Mabel imaged grabbing it. But to what effort she thought. He had already taken a knife from her once before.

She choose the seat next to Tigress, leaving Coriolanus to sit across from her and next to Grandma'am.

'She's not eating here" Grandma'am was already at the dinner table, waiting.

Mabel shoots up from her seat unsure of what was expected of her. Tigress scolds her Grandma'ams name.

"maids eat in the kitchen". Grandma'am finishes, looking around the room as if she was the only sane one.

"She's not a maid, Grandma'am. She's a guest" Coriolanus places a hand on his grandmothers arm in comfort.

"I'll eat in the kitchen" Mabel offers. It would be more comfortable for her anyway.

Coriolanus, tired, hungry and sore slammed his hand down upon the table. He was head of the Snow house. He decided where people ate, what they ate and even if they could eat it.

It wasn't lost on Grandma'am who quieted imminently. She remembered the wrath of his fathers temper. The apple didn't fall far from the tree.

"Sit" he seethed, and Mabel retook her seat.

He got up and started to cut the bread in a silent room. He dishes first to Grandam'am, then to tigress and then finally to Mabel and himself.

Retaking his seat, he begins to eat and Mabel takes it as a sign that she could too. She dishes it into her mouth in big bites. She had never had anything so grand. Most of the soups back home were mostly water.

She sees butter on the table and spreads it thickly on her bread. At this point she notices the stares of her dinner partners.

"Sorry" she felt oddly embarrassed, "there's not a lot of food in the districts".

"Well there is plenty here. Slow down" Coriolanus insisted.

Grandma'am scoffs but the dinner resumes after that.

Mabel finishes before the rest but Coriolanus wasn't far behind. She takes another piece of bread while waiting for the others and hides it in a napkin and sticks it in her robe pocket.

Once they were done, Coriolanus rang a bell and two maids and a chef with a tray come out. They take the empty plates while the Chef dishes out new ones. This course had meat and potato's. Mabel couldn't believe while people back home had to ration scraps, people here had a warm up meal.

One of the maids reaches to take the bread and Mabel launch's her hands on top of it.

"It's ok". Mabel could feel Tigress hand on her back.

"Leave it" Coriolanus demanded and the maid did. Mabel was pretty sure he was talking to her.

He eyes her from across the table, silently telling her to behave.

"thank you" Mabel looks up to the chef putting the food in front of her but he says nothing in return. But his jaw twitches as he looks for his tongue.

They leave as quickly as they come and the family digs into the second course. Mabel makes effort to take smaller bites but the meat melts in her mouth.

"So Tigress" Coriolanus tries to ease the atmosphere, "I spoke to the constructor, he said he could have the fitting done by Tuesday and the painting done by Friday. You could move in after that".

"Friday!" Tigress spat her potato out, "I haven't even got half the designs done".

Coriolanus shrugs his shoulders.

"You could always outsource".

Tigress frows her eyebrows at him, "my shop will have my designs" she brings her hands to her face, "Friday", she smiles, "i can have it done by Friday".

"You make clothes?" Mabel asks biting into her potato. It makes Coriolanus wince.

Tigress nods her head enthusiastically. "I've wanted my own shop before i could even remember. Coriolanus brought me one for my birthday".

Coriolanus straightens his back. It was one of his proudest achievements.

"i could sew for you" Mabel offered. Coriolanus made it clear that she wasn't going anywhere any time soon. Perhaps if she made friends with Tigress, she could use her to escape back home.

"You can? do you make your own things back home?" Tigress asks.

Mabel shakes her head no.

"i sew peacekeepers uniforms. I could help hem and stich at least. You can show me what you want done otherwise. I am a fast learner".

Coriolanus agreed she was a fast learner. She settled nicely into her new life here.

Mabel pauses as she brings another forkful to her mouth.

"You were a peacekeeper" her fork dropped to the plate, 'back in 12. I remember seeing you with Lucy-grey the night of Mayfair's murder".

So she did see him. he wasn't a ghost to her. Still he wondered if it was better if he had been.

He gets up from his chair, moving over to pour himself a drink from the liquor tray.

She shoots Tigress a worried look.

"i wasn't accusing anything, I was just saying" She told Tigress.

'No. You would have to be insane to accuse me of anything" Coriolanus spat.

"she wasn't" Tigress came to Mabel's defense, "yes. He was a peacekeeper in 12 for a short period of time. That must be were he heard you were in danger".

Mabel bites her lips to stop the words from tumbling out.

Coriolanus could see her fight to keep the secret they shared in. He dashes back to the table and rings the bell again.

The maids come in and Coriolanus reaches for Mabel in her chair, pulling her up.

"We won't bother with desert or tea. We've both had a long journey from district 12 and should rest".

Mabel takes the bread off the table, and Coriolanus snatches it back.

''leave it" he barked. Its thrown on the table and the maid takes it.

'Oh and why not. She's made herself quite at home in your dressing gown. Eating our food off our dinner table". grandma'am was more livid then he had ever seen her, yet he still ignored her, dragging Mabel back to the safety of a locked door.

She tears herself from him, sitting back on the bed. He wanted to join her. Still tired.

But he had class tomorrow which means he had homework for that class tonight. Much like the Academy he was top of his class. He wasn't going to let that change for a few more hours of sleep.

"Can you read?" he asks her going to his study desk.

"a little".

"What's a little?" he reaches for a book in the draw.

"Signs and things. Mine and my families names."

He closes the draw without the book. It would be too advanced for her. Instead he tears off a piece of paper and grab a pen before walking over to her.

"Can you spell Coriolanus?".

She shuffles over as he sits on the bed next to her.

'Co-r-i-o-l-an-us" He demonstrates the letters to her. Prior to handing her the pen and paper. His neat cursive hand writing splayed across the top.

'Do that". He instructs, going back over to his desk to complete his homework.

She uses the bed side table as she traces over his name. Feeling confident she could do it, she then practices on her own.

CO she looks back to what's next, RIL.

Her hand writing was scribble compared to his. She looked over to him hunched over a book writing. It came naturally to him. He had filled out two whole pages before she had gotten half way through her first.

CORIOAANUS

COIRO

CORIOLANUS.

He slumps back into his chair just as she had gotten it right without looking. He tidies his desk, placing his homework in his satchel so he wouldn't forget it.

The book thumps closed, and he walks back over to Mabel. He grabs the paper overlooking her work.

"Co-r-i-o-lanus" he repeats, "well done".

He gives the paper back to her.

"Let's get ready for bed".

He unbuttons his shirt as he walks back to where his pajamas were left. He undresses in front of her once more, finding taking off his shoes easier then putting them on.

Back in his Pajamas he turns to see her looking at the wall, still in her dressing gown.

'Come on" he calls and leads the way to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth. Spitting in the sink he can see her behind him in the mirror, watching him.

He reapplies the toothpaste to his brush and offers it to Mabel. Who refuses to take it.

If his shoulder hadn't been sore he would have forced the brush into her mouth, but she was sure to break free from his injured hold.

he pushes the brush again. His eyebrows raised in expectation.

She does take it this time, looking at it hesitantly before plopping it in her mouth. It seemed intimate to be sharing your captives toothbrush.

She brushes quickly and places the toothbrush back to were she saw him get it from. He reaches back into the cabinet he pulls out a small white bottle. She flinches as he applies the ointment to her cheek. He does it quickly and places the bottle back to the cupboard.

With a hold on her shoulders, he pushes her back out into the bedroom directing her to the foot of the bed.

He takes off the dressing gown from around her and puts it on himself, feeling the weight in his pocket. He puts his hand in, pulling out the bread wrapped in napkin.

He sighs but supposed he would have done the same if he wasn't sure of the circumstances.

"Get into bed" he tells her.

With the wrapped napkin, he goes back outside. he felt giddy to be feeling her warmth around him. She would warm his shirts for him before work now, warm his bed at night and his lap on occasion.

It was late and the house was quiet.

He walks into the clean kitchen and puts the kettle on, throwing out the scrap of bread. There was a time were the thought would have repulsed him. But now as he throws out bread, he reaches for Tea.

Bending down he take out a small container of pill from the bottom cabinet. From his peacekeeping days. They used to give them to the soldiers to help them sleep in a storage room filled with a hundred other men.

Coriolanus still took them when he couldn't get his mind to stop. He knew they worked well.

He uses the back of a spoon and crushes the pill into dust. The kettle whistles at him, and he takes it off the heat, pouring it over the tea leaves.

He scoops the dust into a fine white tea cup and dissolves it with the hot tea. He pour another cup for himself. She would never drink it if she didn't see him drinking it to.

"Coriolanus is that you?" He hears Tigress call out and he shoves the pills back into the bottom draw.

'What is it Tigress?". She appears in the door way behind him.

"what are you doing?" She asks. She was dressed in her mothers old dressing gown. She wore it for comfort.

"making tea".

She nods, "i've made up the spare room for Mabel. She must be tired. I've also put some clothes in there for her."

"Mabel won't be sleeping in the spare room. We can share my room. She's too dangerous to be left alone".

The cousins share a tense silence.

"Coriolanus, do you plan to harm that girl?". Her words were slow, unsure of herself as she accused him.

"No more then I plan to harm you or Grandma'am".

Play your role, stay under his protection.

"This isn't you, Coryo". She places a hand on his arm but it gave him no comfort.

It was more him then he ever felt.

"Tigress, your shop opens in a week. Focus on that and leave my business to me".

"Not if you're going to hurt that poor girl". Her hand is retracted from him. He had moments were he was no longer her Coryo but a enemy she didn't know.

"Do you like your life here Tigress? no longer battling for food, no longer working under someone else, struggling to pay rent. I gave you that. I told you, I am not going to hurt her. But you won't tell me what I am to do with her, If you can't accept that perhaps you and Grandam'am are better of elsewhere".

He takes the teas and returns back to his bedroom, leaving Tigress reeling in the bedroom. She had not gotten into bed as directed but taken a pillow and throw off his bed and settled on the floor.

It didn't matter. She was going to be asleep within two minutes.

'here" he says passing her the white cup.

"What is it?" she asks but takes it from his hands.

"Peppermint tea. It's a capital dessert".

He sits on the end of the bed with his and takes a sip. She follow suit and must have really liked it as she gulps it down in seconds.

He supposed she would have been dehydrated. He didn't offer any water with dinner.

She lays back against the night stand with the cup pressed to her chest. She was beginning to feel funny. Her breathing slowed and her eyes stung from being kept open.

Her eye lids drooped and she relaxes back on the floor. He leans forward to take her cup before it smashed to the floor, seeing it come loose in her grasp. She looks at him through her eye lashes suspecting before they close all together.

Placing the cup on the night stand, he picks Mabel up from her nest and places her on the bed.

She looked unreal after all this time. Her freshly washed hair sprawled around her. Framing her pretty face. He took time to examine her all. Her long dark eyelashes and pretty pink lips just waiting to be kissed.

He used to love watching her hang the uniforms out in the sun. The sun bouncing off her figure as she bent and rose. He always thought she had the longest legs he had ever seen but realized she was quite short up close.

All the other peacekeepers would talk about her too. "Is the pretty one working today".

Coriolanus was forced to swallow the jealousy he felt when they referred to her as the 'pretty one'. He hated them referring to her at all.

Coriolanus never thought he would ever get this close. Not this soon at least. He remembered a night while he was mopping the hallways and two drunk peacekeepers had returned from their night off, re-dirtying his hard labor.

"Did you see the pretty washer there tonight! HEW-E. She's prettier when she's flushed from dancing".

Coriolanus stopped his mopping to see if they had anymore to say about her.

"Next time I am going to dance with her!". The peacekeeper swayed in the hallway, dancing with himself.

"Dressing in the uniform she's washed is the closest you ever going to get to her!" the other Peacekeeper roared back in laughter.

The words had stung him as if they were directed at him, and a joked shared between two friends.

"You're wrong" He spat out.

"What?" the drunken mate turned back.

Coriolanus cleared his throat. "I said it's warm".

Now here she was. Beneath him. Laying so beautiful in her deep sleep.

She was so pretty and now within his reach.

Coriolanus shifts her more to the middle and climbs on top of her. He could have a taste, surely. Just a small sample for his hard work and patience getting her here. He wait until she was awake to deleverage in the main course.

He unbuttons his pants on her, pulling them and her panties down to her ankles. His shirt is the next to go. He unbuttons it from bottom to top, leaving it cast off her chest. She only had a small breasts so only bothered with a bra when occasion called for it. If she had known she was going to be taken she would have bothered with a bra that day but Coriolanus luck would have it that she didn't.

She was bare beneath him and he wanted to feel her skin against his so he took off his pajamas, leaving them in a neat pile next to him.

His shoulder ached from keeping his weight off Mabel. But mixed with his arousal it felt almost good.

He lowers himself so he could feel her skin against his. He was larger by a mile, his whole body overtook her.

He starts with a kiss against dead lips before grabbing his member and stoking himself over her. His sore shoulder bore the weight.

He starts slow, moving his hand running it over his head and down to his balls a couple of time. He circles his shaft with his thumb, taking one of her breasts in his mouth at the same time.

He circles the nipple with his tongue as circles his shaft. He bites gently down into her skin once he has had enough and returns to his pumping motion.

Coming undone to the thought of her is nothing new. But seeing her beneath him willing to take whatever he had to give, brought out a more vocal side of himself.

He huffed and puffed, groaned and sputtered as he moved.

He rested his head upon her shoulder. She smelt like him but remained with certain amount of sweetness of herself.

It was her smell that threw him off his resolve to contain himself for a longer period. She smelt perfect to him.

He moans as he spills out over her and he aim himself at her stomach. The white sticky cum leaks over her stomach.

He would wash her again, redress her and tuck her in. Tomorrow she would no know different.

He lets out a small laugh, kissing above her collarbone. His pretty girl. All his, his, his.

[my-horniness-is-okay]

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞

╰┈➤ 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐎𝐟𝐟 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲

__________________ ��ׂૢ་༘࿐

𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 || 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐨 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐉𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚 𝐑𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

⟩ Part One | » Part Two « ⟨

cw : MDNI - s1 Lestat, top male reader, sub Lestat, jealous Lestat, i bagged a baddie by being autistic aesthetic, nsfw, mentions of alcohol, mentions of blood and gore, mentions of death, mentions of homophobia, inappropriate use of lipstick, lestat crashes out bad, y'all are on your own with the french translations, goodluck, anon request. wc : 12.8k

Lestat adored you as much as you worshiped him on bended knee. In your mind, you knew you threaded a line that could lead to a prosperous life, or one that would end in an instance. You were more than knowledge about the mans’ power and true nature, but your heart—your heart was his completely.

The vampire was more than familiar with those who'd been enthralled with him. Wanting to occupy his space, his life, his bed, his lips even, but you? He had such a sick fascination to keep you around and in his current immortal life, and then some. He did not proclaim love, even though it was obvious with the affection he smothered you in and vice versa.

What he couldn't stand, was the eyes of others roaming your body, thoughts wild and with hunger for you. Strangers ready to take you away from him, to indulge in sweet whispers and rough touches throughout the night. No one deserved your praise, your love, your adoration. To take his sun away, the shining star in his seemingly everlasting life?

Any man or woman who so much as gazed upon your divine form would meet with the cold hands of death much sooner than fate designed.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

“Ma bien-aimée, could you carry me to my coffin?”

You could barely register the words Lestat spoke as his lips pressed against the top of your head. Sitting up from your current position, you tilted your head up to meet the others' gaze. His eyes seduced you entirely without even trying, your half lidded eyes holding nothing but love and adoration for the man below you. “Ain't ya’ got legs? I've been much rougher than this before Les.” Your voice rumbled in a slightly deeper pitch seeing as you'd just woken up.

Your nude bodies seemed to shift and brush over each other as you moved. The couches weren't the best places to have such intimate moments, but you knew Lestat didn't have a bed, even for show. You knew of a guest room not too far off from his own, and that maybe he could have one there, but you never got the chance to mention it to him.

Lestat made a choked sound as you pulled away from his body, a ripple of warmth shooting up his spine. You'd gently chewed against your bottom lip as you pulled out and away from Lestat, feeling him cling onto what he could before the connection was broken. “Bien-aimé, tu es grand même quand tu dors,” he muttered to himself.

“Want me to run ya’ a bath Les?”

“It is too close to sunrise, I will take one later.”

“You sure? Wouldn't want to get your coffin all dirty.” You managed to find undergarments which had nearly been ripped to shreds with how eager Lestat had been. He'd vented out his frustrations, how Louis seemed to be avoiding him for some time now after — what he described as — having a blissful night of exotic wonders in each other's embrace. Not that you minded Lestat laying with others, just as he didn't judge you for being as queer as you were.

Ever since Lestat pulled you in, Louis had grown uneasy around you, almost as if he disliked you. You'd spoken to him before, but he dismissed you or ignored you most times — caring not for how you looked, how you acted, nor where you were from. It was truly as if he didn't want anything to do with you.

“I can always buy a new one, but if it is your mess, I don't mind it reeking of you for a while.”

You couldn't tell if that was an insult or a compliment, but you didn't take it to heart. “Well Les, was wonder’n if you wanted to see a show tomorrow, or maybe perform tonight. Haven't heard you play on stage in a while now!” Your arms maneuvered themselves under Lestats' legs and back before he proceeded to hook his arms around your neck.

“I would love to, really, but I have pressing matters to get to tomorrow.”

“Oh.” You almost seemed sad at that moment as you carried Lestat up the stairs, and apparently it was shown on your face as well.

“Stop that, you look like a kicked puppy when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“That…that face. You pout, you give me those eyes, almost begging for something. I will spare time to perform, I promise, but...I have plans at the moment.”

That was the last conversation you could remember having with the vampire before he seemed to disappear like smoke. He stopped visiting, stopped showing around, and suddenly you were alone. It almost seemed wrong, to go out into town by yourself, running your business without seeing him flaunt around you or sit on his lap. It was odd. But you knew what he was, what he truly was. A creature of the night. A God compared to the mortal you were.

And all you could do is wish longingly for his return.

For his touch.

For his voice.

For his love.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

You looked down at yourself, feeling a little overdressed for the occasion – even though it was a wedding – suits and ties never truly felt like you. Lestat was the fashionista, so to speak. One who loved to dress you up like a doll, having dragged you from tailor to tailor after one glance at your wardrobe. Though he never really complained with the way your suspenders seemed to shape your ass perfectly – perfectly enough that he felt the need to cop a feel whenever you dawned them.

In your hand you fiddled the RSVP that had been recently slipped through your mailslot, thumb running over the engraving on the card and your heart throbbing within your ears. Yes, Louis had a very caring sister that adored you, but you felt odd appearing at the wedding after Louis made every attempt to cut you out of his life. “Grace invited you,” you muttered to yourself, hearing the yard flood with noise, now realizing just how many people occupied said space. “If they didn’t want you here, they wouldn't have invited you…” You tried to coach yourself as nervousness wracked the entirety of your body, but it only seemed to worsen with every passing minute.

Your normal social butterfly self seemed to turn into more of a wallflower. Most of the people there knew the family and the couple – whether they be relatives or childhood friends – but you felt like a stranger within it all. Just the oddball bumpkin who’d started running the club down the lane. Nothing special. The sun was still out, and at that moment you had doubts that Lestat would be around. It almost felt like you needed him to hold your hand, at least to settle your buzzing nerves. Unfortunately, last you heard was that Lestat left a rather unsavory impression on the family, or so they say.

Sitting in the farthest seat you could, you sat and waited, watching the couple say their vows and declare their love for eachother. You could almost hear the nagging of your Ma and Memaw now, asking when you were going to bring some pretty girl around one day rather than a sack of potatoes over your shoulder. Wondering when they’ll get grandchildren from you. Your eyes left the couple as they jumped the broom, clapping your hands in a celebratory fashion with a sad smile appearing on your lips. Would marriage even be a chance in your future? Children even?

As you reminisced on your somber past, the evening seemed to turn into night and with the night came blaring music, laughter, and talk. Everyone seemed so happy, yet you'd kept your eye out for the blonde man who'd yet to crash said wedding. You could only assume that the two men didn’t end up on a good note, at least on Louis' side, seeing as Lestat spoke of him often to you. He always spoke of what was troubling him, his woes and worries as you two would share the couch and sometimes even your own bed.

“There you are! Been lookin’ all over for you!” Your shoulders jumped in surprise, the wine you were sipping on hitting the back of your throat as you tried your best to clear it. Grace made her way over with her now newly wedded husband in tow, holding the hem of her dress so as to not drag it on the ground. “Oh don’t try to hide yourself now country boy, where have you been?” She gave a playful pinch against your arm, none too painful, but she seemed much stronger than she looked.

Rubbing against the area on you arm after placing down the glass, you offered a shy smile in return. “Well, I assumed I wasn’t…welcome here. Family is a joy to be around, but I wasn’t sure all of you enjoyed being around me, is all.” You made a small pained noise as the smaller woman called you out by your name and you were pinched once again – in the same spot no less. You glanced down and then to the female, head tilted to the side in a questionable fashion, as if wondering why she was beating you up so badly.

“Boy, don’t let Mamaw hear that! She loved having your company, much better than that French White Louis is doin…business with, something about him just don’t sit right with me. But you? You’re sweeter than a pot of honey, and Paul seems to have taken a liking to you!”

“More than what most could say.” Levi gestured to himself, knowing that Paul cared not for him or the fact that Levi seemed to have married with his sister.

“Paul’ll warm up…one day, though I think he is just be’n protective is all. His darling sister being carried away with someone he barely knows, I could understand his worries,” you chided. You knew all too well how that felt, the protectiveness and all. A fleeting memory if anything. “Not to mention he certainly doesn’t like the fact that you are not wholly faithful to the name of the Lord and Christ. You know how he is Levi, just be happy he didn’t do anything rash during the vows…” As you spoke to the married couple you could feel eyes practically piercing through the side of your head. Your gaze slowly drifted, flickering past guests and family friends that seemed to mingle between each other.

You blinked almost feverishly as you came to see Louis staring directly at you, bewildered and almost unsure if you were really there. He didn’t come to confront you – no – but instead saw your gaze match his before going back to the slice of cake he was indulging himself in while with his brother. Though that didn’t stop him from glancing over every now and then. “And please, Ma du lac doesn’t need to know what I thought. I was just worried is all. Louis doesn’t seem to like me all too much at the moment. I can’t find what needle got stuck in his ass, but the moment I do, I’ll yank that grumpy mug completely. That way he won’t be runnin around frown’n all the damn time.”

Grace practically cackled as such a thought, wiping away a stray tear before gently touching against the spot she pinched, though now you were on high alert in case she decided to bruise you anymore than she’s already done. “Well, know that you’re welcome here and that I’m very happy you came. Enjoy yourself country boy. Looks like you may have needed a day out anyways. You look like a lost puppy over here at the table! For someone who runs a club, I didn’t take you as the shy type of man. I can introduce you to some people if you’d like.”

“No need!” You quickly held your hands up and laughed it off. “I’m just not used to gatherings like this I guess. I’ve only been here for a few months, so being invited to your wedding – it wasn’t what I was expect’n. Anyhow, I can mingle by myself, I assure you. You two enjoy your night, Grace,” giving a short nod as a farewell to the female, you did the same to her partner. “– Levi.”

It wasn’t long before you found yourself far from most of the commotion, picking at the plate of chocolate cake that you happened to pick up.

“Didn’t expect you to be here…”

What was it with the Du lacs’ and their ability to scare you, while compromised with food or a drink no less? You cleared your throat before turning to Louis who didn’t look none too pleased to see your face. “Well, I said this before, I’ll say it again. I didn’t expect to be here neither. Your…Your sister invited me last minute. I was hesitant to even come, I didn’t want to…upset you more than I already have bein’ around here and all.”

Louis had always been a wildcard to you. He was a smart man, you knew that, but he was always shot down and put under the boot of the white man because of the color of his skin. You found it insulting that the world today would treat those with different colors and tints to their skin like stray dogs – tossing them scraps when they feel sorry, a sliver of a bone when they do something that pleases them, a collar…when they want someone loyal to work for them. But if they grew tired of them, found even the slightest bit of fight or defiance? They’d dispose of them or throw them in a hole they wouldn’t be able to dig themselves out of.

You knew discrimination when you saw it, heard it even. And you knew first hand how it felt, even with your own family looking down on you, not because of the way you looked, but because of what you presented yourself as. Louis had a name for himself, but respect was rarely a two way street when someone of a higher status spoke to him. But you saw yourself as equals, human beings. There was no ill will you bore towards him, but you couldn’t understand the ill will he held towards you.

Seeing as Louis hadn’t responded, you found yourself a bit awkward and out of place. “Seems I’ve…overstayed my welcome. Tell Paul I said hello, I'll get out of your hair.”

“Wait–” Suddenly you felt a hand grip against your arm, tugging you gently before a sigh came from the other. “Look, I…I don’t hate you man. Grace chewed me out good when I told her I didn’t care to see your face around. I guess I just – I don’t know, I haven’t been myself lately is all. I’ve been a little unfair to you. Hell, even Paul says you're a walking angel…or something like that? What I’m saying is, I judged you too harshly before gettin’ to know you.” In that moment, Louis spoke with sincerity in his voice, though all you could hope is that it came from the heart as well.

“If that’s your way of apologizing, I ain’t complaining.” There was a cheeky smile that appeared on your face before you gave the other a knowing look. “If you wanted to really say you’re sorry, I’d love to see an encore of – what did you call it? The ‘ABCDEFGs’, was it?”

“Oh god, now don’t you go start’n nothin man!” Louis playfully punched your shoulder and flashed his brilliant white teeth as a smile appeared against his face. A much better look than him always running around with a frown, is what you thought.

“Well, I ain’t never seen nobody tap their feet like that, ain’t had a clue that the Louis du lac knew how to put on a show!” You joked on.

“Yeah, and it’s a first – and the last time you see’n any of that. You lucky it’s Graces wedding, I’d have been halfway down the quarter the moment those shoes came out if it wasn’t.” Louis let out a bit of laughter as you two seemed to go back and forth. He assumed that maybe he just had a little too much wine or maybe one too many slices of cake, that the sugar and the alcohol was getting to him. How did he not notice how much of a joy it was to be around you?

You didn’t bring anything dreary or depressing to the table, nor did you try to flex wealth or name to him, even upon meeting him. Maybe he’d invite you around more, for dinners, maybe an outing if he had time between handling his own work. It was a moment between you two before both your laughters died down and the voices of others clambering about reached your ears. The space between the two of you was impregnated by a comfortable silence shared, though it seemed as if something was being held back.

“So how has–”

“So how have you–”

You both stopped and chuckled before you nodded your head towards Louis. “Go ahead, and don’t fight me on it. If you do, I’ll forget what I was tryin to tell ya in the first place. It happens a lot, believe me. I got it in my head, so–” You then gestured for him to continue as you had started a quick ramble, trying to keep your question at bay and at the forefront of your mind before it disappeared.

“Right…?” He spoke, squinting at you for a moment before shaking his head. “Was just wondering, how you and Lestat was doin’ is all. Curious.” It seemed as if he was just as uncomfortable as he was eager for an answer when saying his name. You couldn’t blame him. Lestat was on Louis like a tick on a dog before you appeared, and after? It seemed like you were his new attraction, though after whatever disagreement or argument they last had, Louis seemed to have given him the cold shoulder.

“Honestly?...I’m not much sure myself. Figure he done got tired of lil old me is all. Haven’t seen him in some time now, a few weeks or so. Nothing to get all down about really. Flaunted about how I made him laugh and..a little more, but nothin special Louis. Last I heard, Les was looking for you. Kept wondering why it seemed like you were hidin’ from him.” You spoke truthfully as Louis’ brows furrowed together in thought before he swatted his hand.

“I stopped doing business with him. I figured I’m good on my own as is. It just wasn’t a right fit is all. Better that he’s not around no more. I can actually focus for once.” Picking up the wine glass he once abandoned while speaking to you, he took a sip before continuing, pointing a finger at you with the same hand that held said drink.. “So, what was it that you wanted to ask me?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but clearly the thought had already gone like the wind. Louis took that silence into consideration before sighing.

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you forgot?”

“Slipped my mind a bit, yeah,” you say sheepishly, rubbing the back of your head as you watched Louis smile behind his cup, shaking his head at your antics. “If I can’t remember, it couldn’t have been that important!” Though truth be told, you had another question now rolling about in your mind. Did he know about what Lestat truly was under the guise of being this charming foreigner who stumbled across such a place?

“Anyways, besides still handling the club right now, I’ve been enjoying the daylight hours much more. Sometimes…club gets boring. Same band playing twice that week? Pass. Place won’t burn down or go under if I leave for a night or two to sleep. Been visiting, though everyone said you’d been busy or asleep for the most part. Guess stopin to smell the roses every once in a while ain’t too bad.”

Louis returned a small smile to you. “You seem like you’re doing alright for yourself,” he praised, patting you on the shoulder. “If you ever need any help, I’m around. And from what I know so far, Grace ain’t gon’ leave you alone no way. If she had it her way, you’d be another brother I’d have to take care of.”

“Take care of? Me? I think that would be my job if anything. And look, Levi is already lookin at me like I’mma steal his wife away. It ain’t my fault she likes my company so much! Well that and she’s been craving those sugar cookies I brought some months ago. Promised I’d share the recipe at one point or another.” Suddenly you made a pained face as Louis slapped your arm in the exact spot that Grace pinched you, twice.

“Those were yours?!”

Rubbing against your poor sore arm, you nodded.“Yeah? Look, I can’t cook actual meals without damn near burning down half the block. I’m more useless than a pair of tits on a horse in the kitchen! Baking, that’s when you can be messy on purpose and try all sorts of stuff in the kitchen.”

Louis sighed with a grin on his lips before looking at you, this time having claimed the knowing look. “Well, now you’ll have me pounding at your door whenever I have a sweet tooth. Could have sworn they were some sort of imported sweets or somethin like that. Grace nearly took my hand for the last one.”

“I don’t doubt that, but she’ll take more than just your hand iffen she hears you getting the recipe before her.”

“Oh you know she wouldn’t do anything that crazy…”

The two of you paused and then glanced at each other for a split second before bursting out into laughter. Louis was half kneeled over while holding an arm against his stomach all while you tried to keep your balance with one hand on the table directly behind you. It took about a minute or two for the both of you to calm down, Louis wiping a stray tear from his eye. “Didn’t mean to have you all tickled t..tonight,” you stated as you proceeded to calm yourself down.

“I think they put something in the wine, I’m telling you.” Louis held up his nearly finished glass before turning and hearing you yawn. It was getting late, but for him, this was most likely going to be an all night event.

“I should be headin back to my place. Been up all day as nervous as a bull in a nursery. Not a wink of sleep either. Was worried I’d be out of place or that I was overdressed, or that the invite slipped through the wrong mailslot.” You never normally had anxiety play such a big part in your life, but it had you running rampant all morning.

Unable to think properly, your room was still a mess after throwing clothes out of the closet and stressing about what looks best with your favorite pair of boots. Lestat would have known how to dress you accordingly – now that was something that you truly missed. He refused to let you go out looking like a hot mess, though he didn’t mind dragging that hot mess around a corner and doing whatever came to mind when he felt like it.

“I take the blame for that. Shouldn’t have made you feel like I hated you so much. You’re pretty alright…’country boy’.” There was once again a grin on Louis face at the teasing name, noticing the eye roll as you soon said your goodbyes. As Grace called for her brother and you snuck another swig of wine on your way out, your exit was cut short by someone stepping right in front of you. And to your surprise, it was Paul.

Paul.

A sweet boy, his mother calling him fragile while others outside the family called in delusional. You weren’t one to ever judge, and you weren’t starting either. You were one of the few people who listened to Paul truly, not from being a patron of the church, not being paid in anyway. You knew his mind was different from others, but he was still flesh and blood, still human.

He never hurt anyone, and to call him crazy was more of an insult to him, and would do no good. You never thought he was crazy, not once. Just blessed in a different way, though you couldn’t help but to have your concerns. When he spoke to himself, knowing he’s been in and out of the institution, and how everyone seemed to worry – it would keep anyone on edge. But everytime he spoke to you, he never gave you any trouble. He was loved, and you could only hope that he kept a good head on his shoulders.

“Paul! It’s nice to see you again! I was just askin–” Suddenly he grabbed both your arms, a worried look appearing on your face as you looked back at his own concerned form.

“Are you still talking to him? That..”

“Les? No..I ain’t spoke to him in sometime. Is everything…okay Paul?”

“Keep away from him.” He spoke in urgency. “Louis is being dragged by that man – no – that devil. He ain’t got his claws in you yet, he’s tryin. Don’t let him take your wings, your light, please.” Paul warned, though his grip was as if you were going to disappear if he even thought to let you go. “Are you faring well? The birds asked about you, about your mind.”

“I’ve been alright, I assure you Paul. I want to put your uneasiness to rest, I’m takin’ good care of myself and can only hope that you are too.” You placed your hands against his own arms, giving him a reassuring squeeze before seeing him nod slightly, letting his grip slide and hands fall to his sides. “Been thinkin about what I’mma do with myself. Only job I have is running the club currently, I’ve started taking breaks though. Feels good, clearing my mind a much as my body. Sometimes you need a break from the loud music and attention, it gets to be too much for some people – for me. Being in the company of a good book at the end of the day can sometimes cleanse the soul.”

It wasn’t until then that a thought came to mind and you dug in your pocket, pulling out a silver chain necklace with a dove and a cross charm dangling from it. “Meant to give you this a while ago. Was from my own. I thought that maybe you’d find better use in it than me.”

Paul blinked for a moment, looking at the necklace in slight awe and confusion as it puddled into his hand, the chiliness of the metal bringing slight goosebumps. He looked at the piece of jewelry before rapidly shaking his head, balling his hand around it before trying to stuff it back in your hands, “I can’t – I couldn’t, you need them. Close to your heart.”

“Paul, please...I don’t mind. They would probably want it this way anyhow, not like any of my family’s gon ask about it anyhow.” As Paul opened his hand to drop the necklace in your palms, he could no longer feel it as your hands wrapped around his one. When you pulled away, none of you had it in your hands. Instead, it was somewhat wrapped around his wrist, a little trick you learned some time ago.

“I have to go, Paul, but I’ll see you soon, alright? Tell Ma du Lac I said hello, and make sure that brother of yours behaves!” You called out as you started making your way out of the yard, having eaten and drank your fill, and knowing Paul had yet to realize the necklace was on his wrist. When he did, he’d do his best to give it back to you, but you’d be too far gone for that to happen.

As you finally made your escape, you listened to the band play and as the music got further and further as you walked your way home. It was some distance away, but you couldn’t trust yourself to drive – not like many people trusted you behind the wheel anyways. You assumed that you would simply resume the life you lived before Lestat – thinking that he may have left the city, found some other enjoyment elsewhere, but he didn’t seem like the type to do so. That didn’t sound like your Lestat.

Your thoughts paused for a moment and a frown appeared on your lips. He wasn’t truly yours. You didn’t know what relationship the two of you shared, though his sweet words always seemed to seduce you back into his arms.

But you could say the same, how whenever you swooned over him, he seemed to melt right into your arms, begging you to tell him what he may have missed from being busy the days prior, or to simply know what thoughts were running through your head. And you knew his tricks – that he was more than fully capable of reading your mind, yet he would ask you. He would sprawl across your body like a common house cat while you’d yammer on, combing your fingers through his blonde locks while he cooed in his french tongue.

Shaking your head and trying to rid of the bittersweet memory that left an odd taste in your mouth, instead savoring the night you spent speaking with Louis and his family, not knowing what sort of darkness would soon befall them once the sun rose.

The rest of your night was spent in the comforts of your room, spending a few hours cleaning, biding time, too exhausted to manage a club and too caught in your own thoughts to go chasing after Lestat like a dog. You knew where he stayed, but he was free spirited. Did what he want when he wanted. Did as he pleased. Who were you, a small country boy who stumbled upon a vampire – who would you be to try and stop him? You could have prowled in the nighttime to try and look for him, but at the end of the day, he was the vampire, and you?

Human.

Your days and nights turned normal, more than you really wanted. There was no thrill, no real spark other than the new people that appeared every now and then at the club, new faces, new performances. And as the name of your club spread throughout the south, your name grew in popularity. There was a time where you’d presented yourself on stage after weeks of new encounters, introducing yourself before the main performance came on. Apparently your pre-show talk had the audience in tears, laughing, clapping, and asking for more.

You had a way about yourself to somehow make the room that much brighter. Comedy was now your limelight, though it didn’t take a genius to know that things came to you naturally. It wasn’t normal for cubs at the time, but it was your business after all.

Outside the club, a few weeks after the wedding, you learned of Pauls’ passing. You stopped by to state your condolences to the family, and even happened to ask where Louis went. When you finally got in touch with Grace – seeing as his Mama had nothing good to say about him – she said he’d done ran off. Whether it be the guilt of not being able to protect his brother from themself or because of all the sudden burdens he felt collapse onto him all at once. You knew Louis was probably devastated, but his sudden disappearance? It had Lestat written all over it, though you had once again heard nothing from one or the other, so what was the point in chasing after a ghost?

The next few months, Lestat seemed to fade into the back of your mind, nearly forgotten. Your days grew busier and the months grew bitter. Life went on as if the vampire never existed. Grace and yourself wrote weekly when you didn’t have time to visit and vice versa. She’d attended one of your shows when she had the time, with Levi in tow and the two even agreed that you were quite the comedian, though they weren’t much club goers.

Of course it wasn’t an every night thing and you had most definitely started to enjoy the mornings where you could occupy yourself and destress from the night before. Having to be around people, entertain, greet, drink, talk with others everyday got tiring real fast. If you didn’t catch a break or have a little ‘you’ time, people would start seeing a not-so friendly side of you that only showed up if you were woken up rudely. Overstimulated, if you will.

There were nights where you grew lonely, where the words on a page couldn’t serve much as companions. Not that Shakespere was the best partner in crime, but it did some to escape the dry and plain days that left you bored itching for something new. You weren’t one to walk the strip, not with the people that normally ran past those parts. You had no problem with the girls, but at the moment, none seemed to fit your taste, and none too many men were as open as you were.

You got the occasional gossip from one Jane to the other John – how people questioned the way you dressed, the way you spoke, how you acted between man and woman and who’s attention you’d seek out the most. You didn’t let such a thing get to your head, whether it was discrimination for which way your pendulum swung or otherwise.

But it didn’t seem to stop trouble from coming your way.

Occasional threats in the mail, rocks thrown at your windows in the dead of night, your car tires being slashed and car scratched to hell, yet no one ever knew how it happened or who did it. None of your neighbors knew, turning a blind eye and moving on. Typical. Getting replacements weren’t much of a problem, not when the club paid most of the bills, but it was a constant reminder of how people saw you, and how they would treat you like any other they found to be different.

The worst of it happened when you were stuck walking home one night, all by your lonesome and of course you just happened to stumble upon a group of soldiers, sailors – whoever they were – who’d either heard about you or seen one of your shows. A quiet walk turned into a limp home, bruises adorning your body and a soreness coming from your ribs. You knew better, knew how to defend yourself and de-escalate things when the heat rose.

Unfortunately you’d been dealt the shit hand. Having been up against two, you may have had better chances, but five men that were drunk off their asses? There was no chance for you, and at that rate, it was better to cover your head and tuck while they dealt whatever repressed rage onto your body. Nearly gave you a shiner — instead delivering you a rather nasty gash through your left brow. Thankfully your body took more blows, but the soreness would just be another thing to sleep off.

After all, it was just another Friday night for you – and another one-liner for your comedy act.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

“Another champagne for you Mr…”

“Nah, not right now, but thank you Miss Rosey, though I think the boys in booth four might need another round. And if they are giving you any trouble–”

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll know if they’ll cause trouble for me!” The server gave you a mischievous smile and a wink before she made her way over to the designated booth while you were left to your lonesome in your own private booth. You��d been listening to the band play for about half an hour before you started to tune it out, the noise fading into the background as you inked paper on folded knee. You’d started writing after some time, whether it was your thoughts or not, you weren’t quite sure. The words flowed like music, maybe more, but it was hard to decipher yourself. They were just words after all, blurbs, word vomit that you needed to get out before the thoughts left you. As you were feverishly writing, line after line, you heard your name in an almost questionable fashion. The first time it seemed to be a blur in between the music, maybe just a buzzing in the back of your head.

The second time seemed to focus you back to reality, the music coming back as loud and as blaring as it was before. Your head turned up, brows furrowing as a man stood in front of the circular table that separated the half circle booth and themselves. “Sorry, I…I was a little too focused on myself, need something?” The paper on which you wrote on was slipped and closed into a small booklet that you now settled on the table. The man that called out your name was not someone you’d seen before or even met – and you were damn good with names and faces, a little quirk that always kept people on their toes.

“I was just wondering if you were the owner of said establishment, heard a bunch of people yapping about it so I came over to chat was all!” He held a hand out to you before finally introducing himself. “Name’s Viktor Sawyer, new around here.”

“I can tell,” you replied, gripping his hand before shaking it. “You don’t sound like you’re from here no way. Where’d you hightail it from kiddo?”

“Kiddo?” He laughed, “You look just as young as me, maybe younger. But me? I’m from upstate. Took a heap load of train rides, boat down the Mississippi, ended up here after an all day ride in the back of a box car after my last ticket was stolen.” The man seemed to joke at the end of his sentence, but it was all too real for how easy it was for some people to get pickpocketed. “Mind if I?...” Viktor then gestured to the booth in which you rolled your head and patted against the booth.

“Oh, I don’t mind, but the ghost might find it pretty rude if you give them an unwanted lapdance.” As you shrugged and looked at the young man, they stared back at you with confusion before a small chuckle left their lips, understanding that you were simply poking fun at the moment.

“I’m sure the ‘ghost’ wouldn’t mind it at all. Probably the most action than they’ve had in some years, yeah?” He joked right back, sending a quirky smile of your own onto your face. It'd been sometime since someone tended to match your energy, not that you were complaining.

“Champagne?” You offered up, tilting your glass towards the side. “And you can't just say you’re from upstate and expect me not to be curious. Down here, we ain't much for keeping secrets, and I ain't got no ill will towards strangers, so don't be shy.” Gesturing for one of the server girls, you two would be sharing words for the majority of the night.

Now, your club was as thriving as all get up, but there was always a drawback as it was back in the days. Only certain people could get in, people with money, people with a name. No old Sam on the street could just waltz their way in, it was almost prestigious in a way. Not like you cared much for the highlights, seeing as you came to New Orleans a simple man with ideas of starting new. Of making your name for yourself. It almost happened overnight – it did happen overnight.

It wasn’t to be expected, but it was a pleasant surprise. The thought of the blonde vampire, creature of darkness, the man who seduced you with not only words, but his entirety…he’d done so much for you. And all you did was make him laugh. A joyful, boyish, carefree laugh as if he hadn’t laughed in centuries. True laughter, pure, not from a cruel dead or joke – not to spite someone – it was simply the joy he amounted by being with you.

Beyond the past thoughts of Lestat, you indulge yourself in Viktor Sawyer, a businessman from New York. After getting a few drinks in him, he spoke about his travels and the unsavory events that came with it. He was a workaholic as much as he was an alcoholic. He was looking for work, a partnership more like but he didn’t specify what. He had been twice divorced, let slip out that he seemed to dance to a different tune – not that you minded – but three hours passed and he was drunk on booze and wine.

He was a good six foot tall man, granted, he was a handsome fellow. Piercing green eyes, slick, short blonde hair, the suit he wore looked too tight on him. At one point the two of you were laughing at nonsense yet you were still somewhat sober, having only sipped through a glass or two while Viktor had ordered something a little stronger – had enough money to pay past the bill and even laid out a grand tip for the waitress.

Which led you to where you were now, roaming the streets of the quarter with a drunk businessman on your shoulder. It wasn't a great look for you as allegations and rumors were soon to spread, but at such a late time in the night others would probably be as drunk as Viktor was. His words were slurred but it seemed he was trying to flirt with you, hand running down the side of your neck and down your chest, doing his best to fiddle with the buttons on your white dress shirt.

And with him unable to tell you where he was staying, your only other option was to either leave him to some mugger or – to be a gentleman and let him sleep off the drinks for the night under a roof.

You just wished that it didn’t have to be yours.

By the time you’d gotten through the front door, Viktor draped over your own body like he was trying to be worn, you sighed heavily. “Alright Vik, gonna get you some water, let ya rest till the morn.” You were somewhat tired, seeing as your nights and days blurred and your body always needed a good 12 hours before it could get used to your odd schedule. You watched as the businessman seemed to flop himself on the couch with a bit of your guidance as well, reaching up to try and tug you down with him, “Vik–”

“Ain’t gotta be like that sweetheart, just returning the favor!” Viktor had already stripped off whatever overcoat was on his body, his breath reeking of alcohol as it wafted against your face. It caused you to inwardly cringe at the smell, but you knew the man was drunk off his ass. You weren’t much in the mood either, not like you’d seen much action in some time. But the man was intoxicated as hell and you weren’t interested. He leaned in close, trying to hold your face before you snatched yourself away.

“Viktor, come on buddy. I can’t do this, believe me. You’re a…nice guy and all but uh…”

“Oh baby please, you were lookin’ at me like I was a damn meal back at the club. Don’t tell me ya’ kept me laughing just for kicks?” He slurred, leaning in once more and almost placing his entire body weight onto you. Is that what he thought? That you wanted to get him into bed, even though it simply seemed like you two were just having a good time as newly acquainted friends. “Come on babes, you know how to have a fun time, right?”

Your eyes rolled as you helped Viktor onto his feet once more, watching as he stumbled to try and finger your shirt off. Even as you led him into your room and pushed him onto the bed, he sat back with a cocky grin upon his face. “Nuff with the nicknames ‘Slick’. Imma get you some water, now lay ya’ ass down. I brought you here because you could barely tell me where you were stay’n. Now, cool down before I do what my ma would do and beat the sense out and back into ya’.”

It was only then that when you turned around to walk away, your arm was grabbed and suddenly you were pulled into his lap. Yes, you could handle yourself against the man, not afraid of him at the least. You’d dealt with much scarier than a horny, boozed up businessman.

Scoffing, you felt his sloppy movements of his arm wrapping around your waist and a hand at the front of your throat. No wonder he was twice divorced with such a limp wrist on him. You didn’t care about how he seemed to whisper in your ear or try to kiss against your neck. It only made you retract, snatching yourself away again before hearing Viktor almost whine out. “Baby–”

“I ain’t ya’ baby, Viktor,” you stated plainly, back towards the man before continuing. “And don’t make me regret doing the right thing.”

“Taking me home?”

“Taking you in rather than leave’n you out of the street!” It was then that you felt Viktor cop a feel, in which case something in you turned. You whipped around, quick movements before your hands pinned Viktors against the bed, staring him down as you hovered over his body, straddling his waist as you kept him from moving or trying to make another move on you. Staring him down, you did your best to show some sort of intimidation, but the sudden actions seemed to spur the drunkard on, biting his bottom lip in amusement.

“Got no problem with you being on top either, I can play that game with you!”

You groaned out in annoyance, feeling the mans’ growing arousal as he tried to roll his hips up into yours. “Tired of your shit Viktor, get it together.” Pushing him back onto the bed with no sympathy for his drunken stupor you made your way out of the room, leaving the man to call your name as he sprawled upon the bed. You could hear him calling as you slipped into the kitchen and instead of fixing him anything to help him sober up, you splashed your own face. When did you get so strict, so antsy? You hadn’t had a night to yourself in some time. And for someone to be in your bed, to want to indulge in filthy pleasure, who were you to deny him? He was good looking, but drunk off his ass. And from the sounds of it, he wanted to be the one to lay you out for the night. You definitely weren’t interested.

Couldn’t seem to figure out if something was wrong with you at the time. Not to say you weren’t flattered by the other advances, before and after he was sloshed, but you felt nothing in retaliation. You simply had a good laugh, a few drinks, you hadn’t meant to charm him or give off that you wanted to sleep with him. Or did you? Lonely nights in an empty bed, an empty home no less. You weren’t the least bit interested in the whorehouse, not as if you didn’t care for the ladies themselves – calling you sweetheart and whatnot – but it wasn’t your current taste.

Splashing water onto your face, you calmed your racing thoughts down. Maybe one night wouldn’t hurt. Maybe something like this would help your mood from the normal drag. You were afraid you’d end up all mugfaced and mopey like Louis if you didn’t have time to truly enjoy yourself without it being a job or forcing yourself to do so. As water dripped down your face, your thoughts were split between “what would change in one night,” and “I don’t even like him like that! I’ll just sleep it off on the couch”.

Your mind seemed to go quiet just as Viktors calls for you went silent. Only then did you thank the higher powers that he finally passed out or gave up on his attempts to get you back there. Stripping off your own overcoat and walking back into the main room of your home, you dropped said cloth on the floor only to stand there frozen, stiff as a board once your head moved to look up rather than at your feet.

“Lestat?”

Your lungs seemed to lose air as you stared at him, confused as much as you were shocked. You questioned yourself, not knowing if you made him up in your fit of loneliness or if he was actually there, in the dim lighting of the room. He stood there, at the bottom of the steps that lead to your room but also against the wall that was directly across from the doorway of the kitchen.

That flawless face, chiseled jaw, god given face, wavy blonde hair you ran your fingers through more times than you could remember, his broad yet sculpturesque physic, those blue pools you’d get lost in no matter the time of day – it was him. In all his glory. It was only then that you finally came to your senses and realized that there was red dripping from his hands, not only coating his fingers, but it was dragged over his mouth – smeared – and slung across his shirt like a work of art. There was an almost unreadable look in his grey-blue hues, ones that could and did challenge the most beautiful of days, shaming the sky in comparison.

He didn’t move, almost like a statue, but with – what you could only assume was blood – slowly dripping down his fingers and onto the floor, it reminded you that you were not frozen in time. That he was there in all his glory, missing his normal presten overcoat that would go beautifully with whatever suit or undershirt he chose to wear, his blonde wavy hair let down, a bit unkempt compared to how neat and groomed he normally kept himself, but his body was still as water, as unmoving as a statue.

Almost.

You could barely tell if he was breathing, the stillness of his body startling you as you trekked carefully but moved in closer to him. It was only then when you inched towards the vampire did you notice the small trembles, the minute quivering of his hands that slowly clenched into bloody fist, nails digging into his palms. His chest rose and expanded as he took a breath in through his nose, jaw tightening as he stared you down. A sliver of fear seemed to jump up your spine at the subtle movement, but it didn’t stop you from slowly closing in. You were a mere stride away from standing directly in front of him, but before you could call out his name again, like a ticking time bomb – he exploded.

“You fool!” He roared out, causing you to nearly stumble back onto your ass. There was a look of anger written all over his face that was once completely unreadable. “You! You are pathetic! Ungrateful! Rien qu'une plaisanterie vivante, affamée d'amour et d'attention!” A loud crash could be heard as he used his strength to knock over a display, the power behind his hand flinging the rather sturdy and wooden case into the wall across the room as it caught air. Wood chips splintered every which way, glass shattering and sprinkling onto the floor. Your eyes flicked from the damage to the man who stood before you, chest now heaving as he started spewing curses in his french tongue and pointing at you.

You could barely understand him, though a few curses here and there from what he taught you, but you were more confused than scared at the moment. Fear was in the back of your mind, not as present as the sudden concern. “Les! What are you on about?”

“Espèce d'idiot! Espèce d'idiot de campagne, de petit ver de terre! Do not play dumb with me!” Lestat proceeded to call you out by your name as he spewed what you could only depict as insults.

Suddenly he started laughing.

His seemingly harmless chuckles escalated into full blood cackles, the man laughing harder and harder till it seemed almost hysterical. His pupils were dilated, fangs bared with blood dripping slowly down his chin, and his hand shaking as he continued to spew fire in your direction. “You think that you can replace me? De copier quelque chose qui ne peut pas être remplacé! Do you know who I am chéri?” Lestat questioned, almost softly before his tone roared out once again. “Do you know what I am!?”

“Lestat, what happened? You come in here all covered in blood after being away for this long, yelling at me?”

The vampire could not hear you, not over his constant ranting and yelling and french tongue that seemed to go on, venom seeming to be laced in every consonant and syllable. “After everything that I have given you! Comme mon cœur bat pour toi! Et pourtant tu essaies de faire en sorte qu'un salaud blond essaie d'être moi?! HA! Your funniest attempt at a joke yet! To stoop so low!”

“Les…” You were now more concerned than ever, watching as he stared pacing as if to restrain himself at the moment, his nails having swiped at the wall, ripping up the wallpaper and digging into the bricks that were settled underneath, carving into the harsh material while his hand remained unscathed.

“You are just like any other! Pitoyable! L'excuse la plus triste pour un homme! Rien qu'un chien qui a soif et aboie pour en savoir plus! Tellement impatient que vous ayez essayé de trouver quelque chose dont il n'y en a qu'un!” Lestat cackled as he seemed to move back and forth, looking towards you with a predatory gaze before looking at the floor, shaking his head and almost growling. Restraining himself.

“Les!” You tried again to call out for him, but he did not waver.

“Humans, you are all the same…! You are all ungrateful, insatiable pests! Meat for the slaughter and lambs for wolves! Je devrais vous vider et regarder la vie pitoyable que je vous ai fournie clignoter brièvement dans votre cerveau idiot..what was I thinking! You! You?!” He pointed at you once again, the manic grin never leaving his face. “J'ai eu pitié d'un chien qui n'a aucune loyauté!”

“Lestat! Calm–”

“Good for nothing! A dull piece of entertainment! A clown above all clowns! Une pitoyable excuse de fils! No wonder your kin left you high and dry!”

“Lestat!–”

“Une pitoyable excuse pour un humain! Who would ever want you anyways! Laper goulûment ce qui reste d'une bonne chose! An ungrateful mutt!” His voice came out raw, almost hurt as he overwhelmed your own voice, giving you no space to speak.

“Les–”

“N'étais-je pas assez bien pour toi?! Je ne te suffisais pas! Too boring for the great comedian you came to be?! Est-ce pour cela que vous avez choisi de vous coucher avec une excuse pathétique pour un remplacement!?”

“Le–”

“Je ne suis pas assez bien pour toi!? Assez bon pour garder seul votre amour seul?! Is that too much to ask for!?”

“LESTAT!”

Your voice seemed to boom with sudden authority, your hands finding his wrist before pushing his body back into the wall, practically sandwiching him between that and your own body. The room that was once filled with the rampant yelling and swears of French from Lestat and your desperate attempts to call out for him were now silenced. It was now only the pants between the both of you as his was from his outburst, you, from the sudden burst of adrenaline that seemed to flow through your veins. The two of you stared each other down, getting lost in one another's gaze.

Lestat had never heard you so demanding, never having raised your voice in such a way, not even in a playful manner towards him. You’d never been rough with him, and even in bed he would have to coax you to handle him with something other than tenderness in the mix. Your grip on his wrist was enough to bruise any other human, but the strength you’d projected was enough to stun the vampire out of pure shock.

The once tense and chaotic air calmed as the two of you stood in silence, you waiting for him to calm down and get he was waiting on you to yell at him, attempt to hit him, hurt him for the destruction and his outburst. His temper was unruly, unpredictable like the weather sometimes, but he'd never flared up in front of you in such a way.

But instead of harsh words or screams back in his face after all he said and done – most you could barely understand – you'd slowly shifted your hands. Moving from holding his wrist, up his arms and shoulders and to his face, cupping it gently, while the same concerned look lingered in your loving gaze. “Les…speak to me. Here I was, worried sick about you for weeks on end, and now you come here? Covered in blood and yellin who knows what?”

You did not scold him or respond with hatred. You spoke in a soft tone he almost didn’t recognize, as if trying to coax a scared and wounded animal.

He didn't respond, instead staring at you with mild confusion. Why were you treating him so kindly, even as he looked and acted as if he was two seconds away from ripping your throat out and tearing apart your innards.

Lestats' form looked disheveled, his blood coated dress shirt now somewhat torn, the collar ripped and stretched down, exposing the skin on his right shoulder and arm as the cloth dangled pitifully. A mess he was and yet you held him so gently, spoke to him so kindly, so sickeningly sweet in his eyes.

Your foreheads touched as you leaned in, noses brushing as you claimed his attention yet again, seeing the dazed expression, almost as if he couldn't believe what was happening. You knew the blood on him was from upstairs, that your guest was most likely dead from the bloody footsteps that lead down the main room.

Suddenly his lips lifted in a snarl. “You smell of him, that drunkard—”

“I helped him for the night. Was bein’ kind and all. We had a drink, but I didn't feel anything for him Les.” It was your turn to interrupt him, thumb brushing against his cheekbone as blood stuck to your own palms. You could tell that he was angry, possessive even, but you'd never seen it to this existent. Only then, after holding him for so long did you realize his face was ice cold, blood on his mouth but his body void of warmth.

“Did you not feed on him Les? You're colder than a bare ass in winter.”

Even that seemed to keep him shocked, how you noticed the little things, that the warmth of fresh blood did not flow through him. Only you would pick up such minute details at that moment, only you paid him that much attention. “I cared not for his putrid blood.” He muttered, your gaze holding his own as he wished to look away. He wasn't embarrassed, but it seemed as if he was almost flustered, confused even as his brows pinched.

“You haven't changed much. Still the magnificent…unpredictable Lestat.” You knew now why his anger flared up, the sudden appearance and unprecedented feelings. He didn't like the idea of someone else in your bed, someone who seemed to resemble him – even though you didn't see the two looking any more similar than a black and a white horse. “Lovely, I wasn't gonna lay with him if that's what ya’ think. He wasn't my type anyways,” you attempted to laugh, though it came out as more of a sad half winded chuckle.

“I apparently only have space in my heart for the man who always laughs at my jokes…no matter how bad they are.” Your own gaze lingered towards his stained lips before glancing back up. “For the French man who came to me at the bar, listening to me yap up a storm. Who lied with me in the field and gave me hope for a future…one I thought I would never be worthy of, just as I feel unworthy of the love that man gives me and shows…" As corny as you normally were, this was something you wanted the vampire to understand. That as a human, fragile being that could be killed by his hands, you still loved him. Even now. Even as you tried to forget about him, to think of him as nothing but a dream for as long as he was gone, your heart yearned for him dearly.

As those last words tumbled from your mouth, your lips crashed into each other. It would be humorous to say that sparks flew, but there was a sudden fire that seemed to flare inside of you. It was bound to the both of you, the further in you two got, the hotter and brighter that flame got until it was a raging inferno. The kiss went from being one of longing to a much sloppier, needy entanglement. The metallic taste didn’t bother you, barely phasing you. Your hands went from cradling his face to holding him, threading through his hair and one lowering to his waist to keep his body close. In retaliation, Lestat held your own face, the sticky blood smearing onto the side of his face. You didn’t dare pull away as you felt the nips at your bottom lip, his tongue wrestling with your as your lungs were slowly deprived of oxygen. You mumbled his name against his lips, subtly pulling away to find air, but Lestat refused to let you. He almost let out a possessive growl that rumbled in his chest, almost unnoticeably as he didn’t need air and wanted to soak you up in every way, shape, and form.

By the time you’d been let go, he barely let you move away, foreheads touching yet again as your lungs did their best to regain what was lost. You were panting and lightheaded, a thin string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his, swept away with his tongue. There were no words shared at that moment, lost in each other's loving gazes as your hearts were racing, thundering like wild horses and unruly storms. There was a twister of emotions swirling within the both of you, and yet you simply couldn’t put them into words.

Your lips pressed against his briefly, only to start peppering kisses onto his skin. Against the side of his lips and down his jaw, against his bloody throat, down to his collar and shoulder. You left a trail, admiring him, pampering him, spoiling him with your love and adoration like you normally did. Something you never strayed from. Your kisses kept, from his shoulder down his exposed arm, all the way down to his blooded knuckles in which you pressed your lips to as if he was royalty. “Les,” you muttered against his hand, watching as he seemed to shudder.

The look in your eyes had shifted to something more, a desire, a hunger. He could feel your sudden desire, blazing like the fire that roared within you.

You both wanted each other, needed each other.

Bad.

“Lestat–” The vampire in question hushed you with his finger, tilting you chin before pressing a kiss against your lips yet again. When he pulled away, he practically purred out.

“One moment mon chéri..” His voice was barely above a whisper as you chased after his lips, whining as he slipped away from your hold and moved up the stairs. When he was suddenly out of sight, you were left standing alone and wishing for him to come back in your arms, but you would be patient, just one last time. But now that you were here, you were like an excited puppy who’d just been told to sit.

“Course he done got me all riled up, then just…” You gestured towards the stairs as you spoke to yourself, sighing and wiping the blood away from your mouth with the back of your hand. You could only imagine the mess in the room if Lestat had dealt with Viktor. The amount of blood and the fact that he didn’t drink from him was rare, to say he had a distaste for someone's blood when you knew he fed upon others and sapped their life away as easy as a snap of your fingers. And yet he was careful every time he drank from you. Tender, making sure you didn’t pass out or lose consciousness, listening to your heart rate and showing much restraint to not be as greedy as he wanted with you.

Even he knew that if you egged him on, it would be that much harder to contain himself. Fortunately you didn’t have to wait long before your name was called, which caused you to scurry up the stairs so fast that you almost face planted by the time you got to the top, grabbing onto the railing before turning into your room.

It wasn’t as bad as you first thought, the bed looked perfectly fine beside the covers being pulled here and there, but you could see the blood seeping through the carpet on the opposite side of the bed. It was only then that you heard a small whistle, looking over towards the side where the bathroom was. Lestat stood in the doorway, shirtless, the blood on his face and down his neck having been rinsed and wiped off, beside the obvious smudges still left on his skin. Though there was one thing that stood out rather boldly against his skin.

Perfectly painted onto his lips was a rather glossy – oily even – rich scarlet color that popped in comparison to his pale skin.

Not blood.

No.

Lipstick.

He chuckled as he watched your head tilt to the side rather curiously, thankful that he couldn’t feel the heat that traveled to your face. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you mon chéri,” Lestat started as he slowly made his way over to you, almost as if he was prowling. Before you knew it, he’d pushed you back onto the bed, straddling your lap with your face now in his hands. You melted at the feeling, almost as touch starved as he was for you. Your hands now placed on his own waist you pulled him closer, both of your bodies buzzing with a newfound arousal.

Lestat leaned closer to your face once more, head tilting as he captured your lips once more. A hum escaped you as you could taste him yet again, letting out an audible groan as your groins rolled into one another. You wanted him badly. You were smitten with the man, his voice, his touch, the need to have him in your arms and in your bed, it was a greed you wanted to give into.

Another whine left you as his lips left your own, moving to kiss the corner of your mouth and then your cheek. Your jaw was next, his lips pressing against every inch or your jawline and even underneath. He’d kissed down your throat as you tilted your head up, exposing more of yourself to him as he continued his path. Lestat had to stop himself from wanting to prick your throat. He could hear the blood just below your skin, feeling the heat it gave off as it ran, how good it would taste after straying away for so long.

You couldn’t control the moan that left your lips as he showered your throat in almost endless kisses, down your collar and against the crooks of your neck. By the time he’d finished and met with your dazed face again, he seemed very proud of his work.

As your half lidded eyes glanced down at Lestats face, you could see him practically glowing, as radiant as ever, even with the smudged lipstick on his lips.

Though it was your appearance that seemed to get him even more eager to take what was his.

In a flash, you two were on each other, magnetized as your hands groped and felt against one another. Clothes were ripped off, shredded, torn, thrown in this direction and another, but neither of you cared for the mess. You only cared for each other, like you were the only two left in the world. Rolling around on the bed, you ended up locking your arms under Lestat, keeping him in place as you leaned down and assaulted his throat, marking him up the best you could.

You knew he liked it rough, but it was hard to do so when you practically worshiped him. It wasn’t an act, did. But you missed him like the stars and the moon and you wanted him to know that deep down. That you loved him, whether he reciprocated or not. You wanted to be selfish, keep him in your arms forever. And as selfish as it was for you, you only hoped that he wanted the same, even as you were weaker than the vampire himself.

The guttural noises left Lestat as you bit down near the crook of his neck, hands slipping down to his bare thighs as it hooked onto your hips. His head was thrown back into the pillow that rested under his head, blonde hair sprawled out behind his head as he called your name once more, feeling as needy as ever. “Don’t tease me mon chéri, I’ve been too long without you…”

Grunting out, you felt his fingers against the back of your head as you proceeded to leave marks against his throat, hickies and dark bruises, but not deep enough to break or to draw blood like you wished. When you pulled away to look at your work, his hand caressed the side of your face and he watched as you leaned into the feeling pressing your lips against the side of his palm before looking down at him with a sense of yearning. A longing that’s been stirring inside you since the first week you missed him.

“Normally you are the chatterbox instead mon garçon de la campagne. Why the sudden silence?” Even after the intrusion, outburst and overall assault that happened not too long ago, he enjoyed your voice. How you praised him and cared for him so. It was unorthodox that you weren’t speaking, even now. Not to say that he didn’t like your brutish noises as you indulged yourself, but it was one of the qualities that made him attracted to you.

It wasn’t until that statement did you look Lestat dead in the eyes and spoke. “Doll face, I love you to the ends of the world and back, but right now I just want to hear you scream my name.” That seemed to stun the blonde once again. “And I got better uses for ma’ mouth right now. Not enough time to talk.” Your voice shifted towards a lower town as you dipped down to assault Lestat's chest, one of your favorite places to spoil.

As the vampire's voice rang within the room, his back arching off the bed as you did your best to mark up his chest in bite marks of all sorts. You found great joy in seeing his body react in such a way as your mouth enveloped one of his nipples, tracing your tongue around the sensitive nub before using the edge of your teeth to tug, his body pressing up against yours and nearly lifting off the bed itself.

But Lestat wanted more. He’d been away for too long and was tired of the foreplay. “I…I am not a virgin,” he panted out. “I can handle myself just fine.”

“Let me treat ya’ like it anyways baby doll…”

And as his eyes rolled to the back of head, your mouth loved on and against every part of his body, your fingers finding spots that made his body curl and mewl in weakness as he wanted more. The slow and tender you fed him lit his entire body up in the best way imaginable, his voice loud enough for anyone in the quarter to hear.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

Your back ached as you sat up from the bed, the stinging sensation of Lestat’s nails running down skin lingered even hours after wearing him down the best you could. The beauty in question rested right beside you, curled up in the sheet and his head nuzzled up against your side.

You knew that he wasn’t asleep, but simply closed his eyes to briefly rest. He’d have to return home soon, to rest inside his coffin and to dispose of the body that was unfortunately still slumped against the side of the bed. In the heat of things, you barely cared that there was a dead person mere feet away from you as Lestat was the only thing in your mind through the night. As you made your way off the bed and into the bathroom, your lower waist was just as roughed up from the rather crushing gripped Lestat had with his legs clinging onto you with such force.

You could barely remember how many times you made him cum that night, but it was enough that your own hips were starting to bruise. His voice calling out your own was like a symphony of its own, causing a cheeky smile to appear on your lips. By the time you’d gotten into the bathroom and stepped in front of the mirror, you were shocked. On not only your lips but splayed all over your cheek, neck, and even covering the majority of your collarbone was lipstick stains from Lestat.

It hadn’t registered back then how much he’d done, but now it was clear as day, he marked you. You could remember him muttering how he would erase any trace of that drunk businessman, especially if there were any traces of him on you. Your neck itself was sensitive as all getup, especially after Lestat fed off you that night. No wonder you felt light headed and weak on your feet. “God, I hope this can wash off,” you muttered to yourself, though you weren’t opposed to the idea of Lestat doing this more often.

“I doubt it will…” Lestat stepped in behind you in all his nude glory before hugging against your waist and placing his chin against your shoulder. “And if it does…I’ll do much worse than this.” A grin appeared on his face as his looked at you through the mirror, watching as you replicated the same grin. For the moment, the two of you stayed there, swaying in one another arms before the vampire spoke up. “I..I am cursed with my maker's temper…I meant no harm. I saw that man in your bed when I came to surprise you and–”

“No need for an apology Les…I missed you too.” Turning your head, you kissed against his hair before sighing. “You were gone for so long..thought you’d up and left. Wasn’t gonna bother you no way if you didn’t wanna see me.”

Lestat stared at you in silence for the longest before shifting his gaze elsewhere. “I have a good reason for why I was gone. I did not merely abandon you…but there is someone I have to speak with you about.”

“Who?” There was only one other person that you could think of at the top of your head, especially with the series of events that had happened in the past.

“Louis…”

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

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a/n : who let me cook?? Anyways, thank you for reading so far! Replies and repost are appreciated! Thank you for reading!

please do not repost my work on other sites! thank you! - @that-one-malereader-enthusiast

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[my-horniness-is-okay]

LOVED this 🥰 a must read!

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗗𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗗𝗮𝗺𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗙𝗮𝘄𝗻

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʟᴏᴜɪꜱ x ᴏᴄ x ʟᴇꜱᴛᴀᴛ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴡʜᴇɴ ʟᴏᴜɪꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇꜱᴛᴀᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴀ ʜᴜɴɢʀʏ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ᴀʀᴛɪꜱᴛ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴᴅʀᴇᴀ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱʜᴇ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʟɪᴠᴇꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇʏ’ʟʟ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ʜᴇʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴄᴏꜱᴛꜱ.

ᴛᴡ: ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴘʀᴇᴅᴀᴛᴏʀ/ᴘʀᴇʏ ᴅʏɴᴀᴍɪᴄ, ᴛᴏxɪᴄ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘꜱ

an: this one-shot is inspired by a few iwtv fics I’ve read on here, but I tried to give it my own twist. I hope y’all enjoy my precious little monsters! Btw, it’s basically x reader but I have her a name and little bit of a backstory cause it makes things run a little smoother while writing.

Running was the only option. That's what she told herself as she stood in the darkness of the docks. The night was foggy and she would've been blinded by night had it not been for the lampposts. Her body shook with fear. They'd find her, she thought to herself. And if they didn't, they'd hunt her down, but now she was free. She was finally free.

If Andrea had one regret, it would be leaving her dear girl. Her light, her beauty, her Claudia. She had no idea what her parents had done or who they were. She was a happy little monster, and she deserved her freedom. She hoped she wouldn't hate her and that one day, she'd find her and let her explain.

It wasn't suppose to be this way. She was meant to be free after working at the Azelea. Make her money and take herself and her bother, Julian, far away from this place. They wanted to go to New York. That dream was long gone.

Andrea was never supposed to be wrapped up in Louis and Lestat's damned relationship. She wondered, briefly, if she'd ever even had a choice. She knew if she had, this would never had happened. She was wooed, seduced and then taken into that home without any knowledge of what that would be.

Running was the only option.

She knew this to be true. She would only remain human for so long, and she still wanted a taste of her freedom. For whatever reason they'd refused to turn her, especially so early. She was only twenty-five, and they enjoyed her innocence. The kind of innocence only a human could have. They liked her wide eyed optimism, and it made them feel less like the monsters they were.

Her innocence had been depleted into nothing but empty, inky blackness. She felt nothing but fear and despair now.

Her memories started coming back the more Claudia asked about her past and the more she drew blanks. Louis and Lestat would comfort her and fill in the gaps for her, but it never felt right. Her hands shook with fear as her memories settled back into her mind.

4 years ago

Andrea never thought she'd be working at the Azelea. She was a bright young artist with a point of view, her paintings were her pride and joy. But money was running low and Julian could not provide for both of them. He would never know what she did at night, or perhaps he did, but he never complained about the extra cash.

He wanted so badly to protect her, but he couldn't do it any longer, not when they were barely scraping by. She had to learn to fend for herself.

Luckily, the Azelea was a well kept establishment and she wasn't treated badly. Her boundaries were her boundaries and the girls there protected her when it was needed. Especially since she didn't like going past simple favours.

The true height of her nights was the two men who she got to lay her eyes on every night. The owner of the club and man about town, Louis de Pointe du Lac and his paramour Lestat de Lioncourt. How could an artist glance at them and not see what magnificent they exuded? They quickly became her inspiration after a few long glances.

Those long glances would soon turn into longing looks. When Lestat played the piano at the club, he'd lock eyes with her and then with Louis, as if he was playing for them. When Louis walked around the club with a cigar between his lips, he'd keep his gaze trained on her even as he talked to others. Andrea blushed and giggled when they did that.

What she didn't know at the time was that they knew every sickeningly sweet thought she had about them, and those gazes and winks were teasing, almost beckoning her to come closer. They watched her every night as she debased herself for lecherous men, but refused to go all the way. It was something she really didn't allow herself to do, and as there was no shortage of girls at the club, no one ever mentioned it

She'd find herself painting them on her nights off, which had become more and more frequent. For whatever reason, her work had become sparse and men no longer approached her. She felt she was doing something wrong, something that made her undesirable. Was it her resistance to do more than what she offered?

It wasn't so bad at the time, but she saw Julian's dejected face every time she got home with empty pockets. She couldn't stand it anymore and so to reduce the cost, she'd spend nights at the Azelea in that one room that was always free. Coincidentally it was the room she kept her painting supplies in.

The night had come to a close, even though it was still dark. Fake moans could be heard from most every room, but the band had cleared out and the tables were empty. Andrea was painting again and this time, she'd taken her appreciation for the two elusive men's beauty a bit far, portraying them as heavenly angels.

Given what they were, it later felt like a perversion of the holy paintings she'd seen all her life. But now, all she knew were that they were divinity incarnate, with eyes like church windows.

That's where she struggled the most, her brush strokes becoming more meticulous with every second. Their faces were sculpted like marble, each highlight and shadow falling perfectly into place. She sighed as she looked at the half finished work.

A knock at the door broke her out of her haze. "Andrea, I'm coming in!" According to him he had knocked twice prior to entering, but Andrea hadn't heard Louis.

She jolted and almost backed up entirely into her pairing. Thankfully, she barely managed to hide it from the smiling face of her angels. Louis had come in with Lestat behind him, grinning mischievously.

She giggled nervously. "M-Mister du Lac! Mister Lioncourt! How can I help you?" She had never truly spoken with them, having been hired by the head girl who everyone called Bricks. Andrea silently hoped they weren't here to talk about her lack of business, or to let her go.

Louis heard her thoughts that night too, and had internally scoffed at the idea that they'd ever let her go. He'd been the one who had made her off-limits to touch. Both he and his companion had quickly grown attached to the bright young girl, and seeing her be caressed and violated by random dirty men filled them with rage, so he'd put a stop to that.

"You seem nervous, Andrea. Trust me, nothing to be nervous about." Louis reassured, removing his sunglasses and placing them into his inner jacket pocket.

Lestat hadn't spoken a single word, only taken in the room around him. It seemed Andrea had built her on world in that room, and he wanted to know everything about her world. Her mind was a wonder to him, a cavern of artistic inspiration and a view of the world he hadn't seen in decades. It was so pure, just like her and just like her paintings.

She sighed, relieved. Then Louis looked down at her hands, stained with paint. "Painting again, huh?"

Her cheeks grew red with shame. "Y-you noticed that?"

"Of course, I did." His hand reached out and grabbed the side of her neck, his thumb brushing over her throat. Her breath caught in her chest as he pressed into her skin firmly, eyes wide at such a bold gesture. He huffed a laugh at her pure reaction, as if she'd never been touched before. He liked how sensitive she was and how curious her eyes grew, desperate to look at his actions but unable to. When he pulled away, there was emerald paint on his thumb. The colour of his eyes. "You've got splashes of colour all over you." He said slowly. She didn't speak, still shocked at his actions. "I've never seen a finished painting though." Was that an invitation? Did he want to see her work? She didn't know.

A presence was felt behind her and she jumped away. "The spirit of a true creator, and the instincts of a frightened fawn." The velvety baritone of Lestat spoke, she turned to face him, her back now facing Louis and her painting exposed. "Fascinating. Almost as fascinating as your most recent work, ma petit faon." My little fawn.

His eyes were glued onto the painting as Louis neared them from behind her. She could feel the coldness of his body, his chest almost settling into her back. His shining eyes settled onto the portrait of him and Lestat, specifically on the angel wings on their backs. The longing looks in their eyes and the intimacy of that.

"Angels? You painted us as angels?" He asked quietly. He was an angel to her? Truly?

Lestat smiled softly. "Closely entwined heavenly bodies. Is this how you see us, cherie?"

Andrea was still trying to stutter her words out, looking from Louis to Lestat as if one would help with the other. But they only stared at you with soft expressions on their faces. "I-I—" she cut herself off, gathering her thoughts. "On the nights I don't get much business," which was every night now. "I paint. I see you every night, the way you look at each other, the way you enjoy yourselves, your eyes. Unearthly eyes. Like stars." Her rambling had gotten the best of her. "Apologies, Mister du Lac, Mister Lioncourt, that was out of line—I shouldn't have—"

Louis placed his hand on her arm and pulled her closer to him, grinning down at her. "Careful there, sugarcane. If you keep talking like that your tongue's gonna fall out."

Her back was pressed into his chest, and she was silenced again.

Lestat stood before her, looking to the portrait one final time before glancing back at her. He placed his hand on her cheek with a certain finality in his eyes. If only she'd known what that meant. "It's enchanting. No, more than that, magnificent. You are a being of extraordinary talent, and extraordinary beauty."

Everything felt so hot. Andrea was breathing heavily at the feeling of being so intimately between these two men who she'd admired for so long. This moment could've lasted forever, it was art in itself. The Divine Damned and Their Fawn.

Lestat hummed. "I'd like to pay you for your work. Have this masterpiece hung in our home."

She jolted. "What?"

"Name your price and I'll take it. You'll have to come see it mounted of course, I'd like your keen artistic eye." His smile turned into a smirk at the thought of her in their home.

Andrea couldn't believe it. Someone wanted to pay for her work. Someone actually wanted to have her paintings in their home! This was amazing!

"Are we getting an answer anytime soon, Andy?" Louis asked with a laugh. Andy? That was new.

Andrea laughed nervously. "Mister du Lac—"

"Louis." He corrected. "You can call me Louis."

What was happening? She hadn't even spoken to them before tonight. Why were they being so kind? Something felt wrong.

"Louis." She said slowly. It tasted sweet on her tongue. "I can't possibly take your money. It wouldn't be right!"

"And why not?" Lestat asked. "You've created something of worth here and I'd like to see it appreciated. You must be compensated somehow. Unless you'd prefer another form of payment." He gave her a lustful glance up and down her body. She shivered.

"Lestat." Louis chided. "Pay him no mind, sugarcane. He can get haughty."

"Horribly untrue, mon cher. I'm only being honest." The Frenchman scoffed. "Your price, beautiful Andrea?"

"I couldn't possibly—"

"How's three thousand?" Louis piped up, not even blinking.

"Excuse me?!" She shrieked.

"Four thousand?" Asked Lestat. Her mouth was agape. "No, how about five?"

"Stop saying numbers!" Andrea interrupted loudly, immediately feeling ashamed. "I'm sorry, I am, I don't—"

"Five thousand it is." The blonde continued. "We'll come back in a week. Have it done by then, hm?" And then he pressed a kiss to her temple. "Shall we, mon cher?"

Louis nodded. "A week, Andrea." He reminded before pressing a kiss to her cheek.

And then they walked away. Seven days from that night, her entire life would change.

_______________

They'd come to collect a week later and with all her free time, she'd managed to finish. They'd both marvelled at the painting and immediately insisted she come to their home and tell them where to place it.

Andrea shied away at the prospect. She'd told her brother about them and Julian had asked her to stay away. He didn't demand anything of her, but he strongly advised against getting involved with them. He'd told her of the rumours, that they were in cahoots with the devil. She'd scoffed at that, but agreed something was off about them. There was no way to be so otherworldly and slightly off putting and still be normal, or completely human even. But she shook those thoughts from her head.

Of course they were human! They were right there in front of her, flesh and blood! It was silly to think otherwise, but then again they were just so fascinating. People usually weren't so.

She promised herself she'd only stay for an hour, but when they guided her through the door, her painting under Lestat's arm, she'd been accosted by a lovely girl with a large shining smile. She shrieked with excitement, jumping from her seat on the couch. "Oh, is this her, daddy Lou?" She asked him.

He nodded. "Yeah, this is her. Andrea, meet our daughter, Claudia."

He'd spoken of her a lot over the past week whenever he and Lestat came to visit her room. According to him, she was a lovely little horror that kept them on their toes every day. She'd laughed at that and told him she used to dream of being a mother to a girl like that.

That had made both him and Lestat incredibly excited.

"They talk about you a lot, Miss Andrea!" The girl confessed, giggling. "They said you were gorgeous and talented and you are!"

"Claudia." Lestat chided. "Calm yourself, ma petit. Lovely Andrea needs a moment. Don't you, sweet girl?"

Andrea just broke out into chuckles. "On the contrary, she is just as you described, and I love it!" She said. "It's lovely to meet you."

"You too!" The child said honestly. "Is that the painting? Can I see?"

After that night, visiting Louis, Lestat and Claudia had become regular for her. She'd spend her every moment there, teaching the young girl to draw and paint when her parents were busy and then passing the rest of her time conversing with the two men.

___________

"No!" She shook her head on one of these nights. "No, no, no! I'm sorry, Louis dear, but there is no way you truly believe that anything could come close to the brilliance that is Wuthering Heights! That's nonsense!"

He laughed at her passionate words. She was laid on the couch with her head in Lestat's lap and her legs on Louis', discussing their favorite novels. It was heaven.

This home was so cozy, so sweet. She loved it there. Her head was fuzzy from the champagne they'd fed her for the last few hours, fingers and face stained with charcoal from drawing with Claudia.

"Just because it's your favourite doesn't mean it's the best, sugarcane!" He rebutted kindly.

"No." She said simply. "It is the best. And yes, simply because I say so."

Lestat laughed loudly at that statement, pinching her cheek slightly. "What a brat you are, my girl. Never wavering from your opinions."

She pouted. "So you disagree then?"

"With you?" He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her nose as Louis caressed her thigh. "Never." He said dramatically.

"Oh, so it's ya'll against me now, is it?" The younger vampire cut in playfully. "I see how it is."

Andrea pulled his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss against his knuckles. "We haven't unionised just yet, Louis. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it."

"Not yet?" He asked. "So you will eventually?"

"She already has me in her thrall. I might not have a choice, mon cher." Lestat weakly defended himself.

"Not my fault." She mumbled lowly.

Louis chuckled. "He was right, you are a brat!" He said, and then pinched her side. She squealed and jumped. "Oh, you're ticklish, aren't you?"

"Louis, don't you dare!" She said. A meaningless warning as he began attacking her skin with a tingling sensation as she thrashed and laughed. "Lestat!"

"I'm not getting involved. This is far too fun to watch!"

"You monster!" Andrea said playfully.

She'd never been happier than in that moment.

__________

As of late, the moment she was left alone with Lestat and Louis it felt like everything was right in the world. She'd feel a title between her legs she had felt with so few people, but also a sense of safety.

"You two love each other, right?" She'd asked one night, lying in their bed. She didn't know how she got there between the drinks and jokes, but there she was, cuddled between them. Louis held her and Lestat had his head rested on her stomach, letting her play with his hair. The younger vampire would occasionally press kisses against her head and Lestat would whine and cuddle closer into her.

Lestat nodded. "Yes, we do, mon cherie. Very much." He answered. "Have you ever been in love?"

Andrea shook her head. "No. I'm only twenty-one, Lestat. I haven't lived long enough to fall in love."

They laughed at the reminder of how young she truly was. A lick and a promise in vampire years, truly.

"I hope I will." She confessed. "I'd like to. Fall in love, have a family."

We could be your family, Lestat wanted to say.

"At the club," Louis spoke. "The girls told me you don't do a lot."

She suddenly remembered that this man was not just her friend, but her bosses boss. Her cheeks grew red with shame and she moved away slightly even as his grip around her kept her firmly with him. "I-I'm sorry. I just—I couldn't—"

"I'm not sayin' it's anything bad, sugarcane. Don't worry." He smiled at her concern. "I just wanna know why?"

This time her cheeks were red with bashfulness. "I've never..." she paused. "I wanted to save it—"

"For a special occasion?" Lestat filled in, looking up at her with mischievous eyes. "That's sweet. Perhaps you shouldn't have taken up work as a prostitute then."

"Lestat!" Louis chided.

"You own the establishment, you don't get to play holier than thou." He scoffed. He then turned back to Andrea. "It truly is a sweet sentiment, though. It's a special thing."

"I think so." She said. She suddenly realised just how close Lestat's face was to the heat between her legs. She felt flushed and nervous.

Louis smirked at her, listening to her shallow breaths and her quick heartbeat. "Huh. Are we special to you, Andy?"

She nodded, unknowing of their thoughts. "Yes."

"How special?" He asked.

"Incredibly. You're my muses." She answered honestly, her head fuzzy.

Lestat's hand snuck under her dress, caressing her calf gently. He began to slowly bunch her dress up and pull it up, up, up her thighs.

Louis pressed a kiss on her forehead, and then her eye, her nose her cheek and finally her lips. She gasped at the two sensations, Louis dominating her mouth with his own and taking her in like she belonged within him. He held her neck with one hand and caressed her chest with his other. He pulled away and she whined.

Lestat bunched her dress over her hips and pulled her panties down her legs, throwing them haphazardly somewhere in the room. Another whine left her lips.

"You sure about this?" Asked Louis, lips swollen.

She nodded once at him and then down at Lestat. "Yes. Yes. Yes."

"Truly?" Asked Lestat.

"For tonight only, yes. I trust you." For tonight only. As if they'd let her slip from their grasp after this.

Given her profession, she wanted to get this over with soon, and now she had someone to do it with. Someone to guide her, to care for her and talk her through it. She knew she'd be leaving for New York soon, so didn't allow herself to think of any deeper relationship developing, and she thought she'd made that clear with her statement. For tonight only.

Louis' mouth was against hers again in a flash and Lestat went to work devouring her.

That night they took her in every way they could, and in their minds, had laid claim to her body as they had to her mind.

____________

Julian did not like the fact that she was with them so often. Not only was she with strange men at late hours, she wasn't bringing home any money. The money they'd given her for the painting had quickly run out and she couldn't find it in herself to ask for more.

"You can't keep doing this, Andrea." He'd sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know you're enjoying yourself, and that's fine, I'm happy for you, but they ain't good for you, I swear."

She looked up at him from her seat on the floor of their apartment. "I like them. They're very nice to me." Andrea said, nervously playing with her hair.

He kneeled down in front of her with a concerned look on his face. "I know." He said, cupping her face. "I know that. But we gotta start buckling down. We're getting so close to New York." He said happily.

She gasped. "We are?!" She jumped to her feet, giddy. "New York, Julian! New York!"

"New-fucking-York!" He hollered, joining her in her excitement. "Woo-hoo!"

"Yes, finally!" She cried, years of stress falling off her shoulders. "How much more do we need?"

When he told her the number, she sighed in relief. All she needed was one more client to make that much. Sure, no one in the Azelea approached her anymore, but for this she'd be the one to initiate. Just a little more money, that was all, and they'd be free.

"I can get that." She told him confidently. "I swear to you, Julian, I'll get us that money, and we'll be out of here."

He sighed. "Andrea, you don't have to—"

"I do though." She interrupted. "And I will. I promise. Let me take care of this one thing, please."

And reluctantly, he let her.

That night she walked into the establishment with a goal, not even noticing the looks of confusion she got from Louis and Lestat. Not noticing them at all really.

She set her sights on the drunk man who was sat in the corner and had zeroed in on her the moment she walked through the doors. He was from out of town, she was sure. She hadn't seen him before that night, so he was perfect.

She didn't know the eyes trained on her as she finished her work and was given the money. Her body felt used, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She had the money now, and immediately went to speak to Bricks, so she could quit.

The older woman had looked her up and down sceptically. "You sure about this?"

"Yes. I am, Bricks." Andrea had said with a large smile. "I've got the money now. Me and my brother and I are heading to New York."

Her brows furrowed at those words. "Mister du Lac know about that?"

"Louis?" Andrea said, slightly shocked. "I'll say my goodbyes to him before I go. I don't see how he's part of this exchange."

"So he doesn't know." She filled in. "You might wanna talk to him before you quit."

"Why?"

But Bricks couldn't answer that. Or rather, she wouldn't. She hesitated to say anything, but knew her boss would want to be told as soon as possible.

So instead of supplying an answer, she just shook her head. "No reason. Just to let him know he's losing one of his girls." She clarified. "Good luck in New York, muffin."

She sighed, relieved. "Thank you, Bricks."

____________

When she'd arrived home, Julian had already started packing. She'd shown him the money and he'd thrown his arms around her with such glee, she never wanted the feeling to go away.

They laughed and teased each other as they threw their clothes into the suitcases, making plans for what they would do in their new city. Andrea had never been so happy before.

A knock sounded at their door. Julian furrowed his brows. "Expecting company?" He asked her.

She shook her head confusedly. "No. You?"

He shook his head as well, and then went to asked the door. She shrugged and continued packing.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, can I help you?" Julian asked their unexpected visitors.

She couldn't hear the rest of the conversation, it was quiet and muffled but then she made out the sound of Julian shouting.

Julian never shouted. He was a calm man with a good head on his shoulders. What had gotten him so out of himself?

She put her clothes down and walked out of the room, eyes immediately landing on the scene before her.

It was her angels, Lestat and Louis. The former had Julian up against the wall with his hand around his throat, and Louis just watched her.

She shrieked at the sight. "What are you doing?!"

Louis just shook his head at her and pointed his finger. "New York?" He asked accusingly.

She only nodded, confused. "What?"

"You're going to New York? Seriously?"

She swallowed her fear. "I was going to come say goodbye before we left, of course I was—"

But that wasn't the problem. He sped in front of her, his face so close to her own she could feel his angry huffing against her skin.

"After you made your money, right?" He seethed.

She shook. "How did you—"

"Before we could rip that dumb fucker off of you and chop his hands off?" It came out like a shout and she flinched, her ears aching.

She looked away from him and directly at Julian. "Lestat, please get off him!"

He only laughed mockingly and pressed her brother harder against the wall. "I don't think so, ma petit faon. He's the reason you want to leave, yes?"

She shook her head urgently. "No, no, we've had this plan for years—"

"But it was him." Lestat continued. "If he wasn't with you, you wouldn't even have thought about it. You'd be content with us."

"With you?" She repeated, fear and confusion getting the best of her. "It was one night, I told you it would be! I don't understand! Please just let him go!"

The blonde tilted his head, as if thinking. "Alright." And then Julian was thrown onto the other side of the room.

Andrea cried out. Her brother was hurt, hurt by the man she considered so horribly important. He must've broken something, bruised some other parts, and when she saw the blood staining his head she jolted forward. She needed to take care of him, to get him away from these people he'd been right about, she needed him to be better, she could make him better.

But Louis would not let her.

He wrapped his arms around her waist as she thrashed in his hold like a wild animal. "Sh, sh, sh, sh. It's okay. It's okay." He cooed in her ear. She was horrified, kicking and scratching at him but he didn't even blink.

"No, no! Julian!" She screamed. But he was unresponsive, minus some slight groans falling from his lips.

Lestat sauntered before her, flicking his wrist and looking down at her brother. Then he looked directly at her, placing his hands on her face like Julian used to. He pressed his lips to her temple and inhaled her scent, an angry hiss like sound leaving his lips. "I can still smell him on you." He sneered. "You really thought you could leave, sweet girl? This is your home, we are your home." He insisted.

Andrea still struggled against Louis' hold, tears streaming down her face. "He's right. Andy, he's right." She other spoke into her ear. "Please, just listen."

She wept as he spoke. "What are you?"

They paused at the question, Louis looking down in shame but Lestat ready to answer.

"Vampires, dear girl. We're vampires."

That sounded ridiculous. But she thought about it for a moment; they were only out at night, she never saw them eating, some men seen at the club once were never seen again, and their strength. The strength to throw Julian across a room without blinking an eye. There was no way, no possible, tangible way. But it was true.

Angels. She'd seen them as angels, when they were exactly the opposite. Their beauty was unearthly, but not divine. It was damned.

She breathed heavily, panic shooting up and down her chest. She thrashed even more, screeching like a wild monster. "Let me go! Let me go! Julian!"

Lestat's eyes grew soft and full of pity. His poor Andrea. His poor, beautiful Andrea who did not deserve to feel any of this pain. If only she'd told them before hand, and they couldn't removed this ridiculous notion from her head.

"Don't concern yourself with him." He cooed. "Soon enough, he'll be gone, and you'll be with us."

"Just listen to him, sugarcane. We'll be happy, I promise." Louis spoke softly into her ear.

He nodded towards his companion, a secret promise for something that must be done. As long as Julian was alive, he would haunt her every memory, even if they made her forget him. Even if they made him forget her, he'd see the pictures or read his diaries and look for her. He needed to be taken care of, so Andrea could be taken care of.

"But for now," Lestat said, walking back to the groaning body of her brother. He wrapped his hand around his neck again, twisting.

"No!" She cried, sobbing.

"Rest." Said Lestat. The last thing she heard before her eyes shut was a sickening snap! and the horrifying promises of her new life.

_______________

Present time

They'd made her forget it all. Replaced her memories of her brother with memories of a childhood friend who'd passed when they were young. Julian no longer existed to her, or to anyone at all. Until things began to click.

All she remembered was changing her mind about New York and running to their townhouse to confess her love, and they'd taken her in with open arms. Over the last four years, they'd crafted somewhat of a perfect relationship. They all worked together so well, and Claudia had been beside herself when Andrea had become a permanent fixture in their home.

It took no more than a month for her to refer to Andrea as Mama. Andrea was finally a mother, and her child was perfect.

But she was leaving. On the night the three of them had gone hunting together, she'd laid in bed and searched her mind for every one of your hidden memories, finally breaking through their brainwashing. She'd panicked immediately, grasping at her chest and finding disgust in every inch of the home, her paintings included.

They were hanged all over the house, in the coffin room, the living room, the hallways. Lestat said it was a shrine to her greatness. She wanted to puke.

She'd packed a bag and gotten a ride to the docks before they'd come back, buying the next ticket out. She wasn't even sure where the boat was headed, but knew it was far away from New Orleans. Perhaps she could make it to New York someday, fulfil her brother's dream. Honour him somehow. Guilt clawed at her chest. She should honour him, she'd gotten him killed. Her and her stupid love for those creatures.

She waited impatiently. She looked around her, and something suddenly felt very wrong. There was no one there. It wasn't odd at this time of night, but weren't there people working at the docks? It was so, very quiet, hauntingly quiet. She thought it was impossible to hear silence until tonight.

Panic grasped at her chest and she set her suitcase on the ground beside her. "Hello?" She called out. "Hello?" Again. No answer. She walked away to find another, perhaps safer spot.

A flash somewhere in the distance. No. They couldn't have. But they did. They found her. They'd fucking found her.

She ran, her suitcase long forgotten. But she couldn't run for long. They were vampires, apex predators with an all seeing eye. She would be caught and shoved back into her gilded cage soon enough.

But she still had hope she could run. She still had hope for her freedom. How stupid she was.

She kneeled between two crates, trying to keep her whimpering to a minimum but could not help her frightened noises. What would they do if they caught her? Would they hurt her? No, no, they wouldn't. They couldn't. Could they? She heard quick steps and angry breaths from near her and slapped her hand against her mouth. Her eyes widened and she curled into herself.

They would not get to her. She was alright, she deserved to make her own decisions for once. They wouldn't take it from her this time. She'd sooner die than let her take the last bit of herself she had left. But she was so afraid, so horribly afraid. It rung in her ears like a wasps nest, the constant ringing of a threat nearby. Her instinct was to flee, but they would catch her faster if she did.

Only when she heard the steps move further away, did she raise herself to her feet and carefully move away.

That was the wrong decision.

She bumped into something immediately, and then hands shot out to grasp her forearms. "Andrea? Oh, thank God."

It was Louis. He seemed so relieved to see her. It disgusted her to her very core. She reacted immediately, slamming her heal onto his toes. It didn't hurt, but it shocked him enough for him to suddenly release her. He cried out and she ran into a clearing. She didn't know where it led, but it was far away from him.

"Andrea!" He roared from behind her.

For a moment she thought she lost him, but she knew better than to be hopeful.

"Bonjour, ma petit faon." A voice spoke from beside her ear. She jumped to face him, but he simply held her to him tightly, her face pressed against his chest.

She shook in his hold, and thrashed slightly, but he grasped her arms and held her in front of him like a prized calf. "Oh, my precious girl."

"You killed him. You killed Julian, you monster!" She pushed her hands against his chest.

He just nodded slowly. "Yes, I did. And I did it for you. Just like I do everything for you."

"No, you did it for you! For you and for Louis! You killed him, you fucking killed him!" She was wild now, unforgiving, with nothing left to lose but her own life.

His face was now full of rage as he tugged her closer. "It was an act of love. The truest kind. I did what was best for you, I won't have you deny this."

"Let me go, Lestat!" Andrea begged.

He looked her up and down, as if considering something. A long pause between the two of them.

"Alright." He said. "Run."

"What?" She breathed.

"I'll give you your chance." He said simply, his face growing feral. "Run."

The game was beginning. His sweet fawn wanted to run, he would let her. He was a hunter, after all, and a hunter needed his prey. She could run all she wanted, her pretty little feet would tap against the ground and she'd search for safety, doe eyed and lost. He'd take her, bind her and bring her home. Home.

He dug his hand into her hair and pulled. "Run." He hissed.

So she did. The lovely little prey with two monsters on her tail.

She tried her best to slow her heartbeat, blood rushing into her ears and her throat closing up with unshed tears.

He took pleasure in this, she was sure. Two pairs of steps were behind her, and now she knew Louis had joined in and he was fucking pissed. While Lestat was playful, the other truly angry.

She ran? She actually fucking ran? How dare she, he thought to himself. They'd done everything for her, welcomed her into their family, and Andrea ran.

He'd get her, they'd get her, and make sure the thought of leaving never crossed her mind again.

She hid behind another crate, just to catch her breath for a moment.

"Come on out, sugarcane!" Louis called out, tired of this chase.

Lestat chuckled deeply at his anger. "What do you think, Louis?" He opened one crate with a flick of his fingers. "Is she in here?" It fell against the ground loudly. Andrea almost shrieked. "No. Our little fawn has sprinted further away."

"I'm getting real tired of these games, Andrea!" Louis huffed.

She carefully lowered her hand from her mouth and swallowed her fear.

Everything went silent and for a moment she thought she'd gotten away.

Then Lestat was before her again, a mocking, self-satisfied smirk on his face. "There she is."

Defeated, she just curled into herself. "No, no, no. Please just let me go."

"And let you slip between our fingers? Go where we cannot find you? I don't think so, dear girl." He shook his head.

Louis shot out to grasp her forearm and pulled her to her feet. He looked her up and down, anger pulsing from his body. But then his eyes creased in concern. "Are you hurt?" He asked shakily.

She shook her head, tears gathering in her eyes. He nodded. "Good. Good. That was a stupid thing you did. You scared me. Claudia's worried sick." And then he pulled Andrea into his arms, cradling her head like she was made of glass.

Her body shook with sobs, feeling so utterly undone, that she could no longer fight them. She'd tried and failed to get away. She didn't even want to think what they'd to to her now.

He pulled away and his face was confusing, half fuming half depressed. She didn't understand what he wanted her to say.

"That was fun." Lestat chimed in before he took her jaw in his hand with an iron grip. "But never again, Andrea. You don't run from us." He demanded. "Say it, you don't run from us."

Tears ran down her face. "I don't run from you."

"Good girl." And then he kissed her. It stopped her breath, but he didn't care. He wanted all of her, wanted to consume her being and take it into himself. She was him and he would be her once he had his way.

Before she could catch her breath, Louis kissed her as well and his kiss was desperate as if he searching for something within her that would satiate his hunger. She'd almost slipped away from him, and perhaps here and now he could show her how much he needed her, but he wasn't sure she'd ever know.

She was their light in the darkness, their rose eyed beauty who saw them as angels. Who saw them beyond their vampiric nature, and understood that they too could be good.

Unfortunately, Andrea was aware how delusional this was.

When Louis pulled away she finally breathed, tears streaming down her face. Lestat held her close and kissed away her tears. They loved her, in their own horrible way, they loved her.

"Home." Lestat said. "Let's take you home."

And home they went.

_______________

They didn't let her go out much after that, and hadn't bothered to erase her memories. She'd just find out again, and would try her luck in running once more. They'd rather keep her as she is, with the reassurance she wouldn't try and escape.

They'd also forbidden her from telling Claudia what had happened, and they said they'd know if she did. They'd lied to her and just told her that Andrea had lost track of time while painting in the park.

Andrea was relatively numb these days, except when she was with her daughter. She was in bed with Claudia, holding her tightly to her chest.

She watched her mother carefully, concern etched on her features. "Mama, what is it?"

"Nothing, baby." She assured with an unconvincing smile.

Claudia didn't believe her. "It's something. Did you fight with Daddy Lou and Uncle Les?"

It wasn't a fight, it was a fucking hunt. But she couldn't say that to her daughter. "No, Claudia. I'm just tired, I promise."

"Then I believe the time has come to sleep." They heard Lestat from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, a satisfied expression on his face. He was content, it seemed. "Say good night to Mama, Claudia."

The girl vampire frowned but pressed a kiss to her mothers cheek. "Good night, mama. I love you."

Andrea cupped her face. "I love you too."

She got off the bed and walked towards Lestat who held a hand out for his companion. She took it, but did meet his eyes.

He held her close as they made their way to the coffin room. She was already in her sleep wear, same with the other two. Louis walked into the room after them, having said good night to his daughter before joining them.

To the side of the coffin they shared, another one of her paintings lay. It was dark and stormy, two bodies falling through the sky, completely disfigured and angry. Angels wings turned leathery and rough, blood dripping from their mouths, but it was also a bit too blurry to truly make out. It was horrifying.

Louis took one look at it. "New painting?"

She didn't reply, only nodded.

He tried so smile at her. "It's nice."

Lestat pressed a kiss to her head and then allowed her to settle beside him in the coffin. "You've always been so talented, ma petit faon. It was your artistic eye that made us fall for you, I think."

Louis laid on her other side, making it an insanely tight fit, but they would have it no other way.

If they had looked at her painting a little longer, they would've noticed the eyes of the demons she had painted. One pair a disturbing emerald green, and the other an unsettlingly light shade of blue.

[my-horniness-is-okay]

Keeping things fresh with old habits | Part 1 Part 2 ->

[my-horniness-is-okay]

YOOOO TWILIGHT FANFIC HELL YEAH this shit is so goooood

Screening: Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978).

Pairing: Yandere!Carlisle Cullen x Reader (Twilight).

Word Count: 2.1k.

TW: Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Medical Malpractice, Blood, Controlling Behavior, Deliberate Social Isolation, Misuse of Prescription Drugs, and Generalized Twilight. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

It might’ve just been the isolation getting to you, but you were starting to think that your doctor wasn’t completely human.

Not that you’d ever say so out loud. At best, it was awful thing to think about a man who’d only ever been kind to you and, at worst, it proved yet another symptom to your ever-developing, ever-worsening illness had cropped up and would need further treatment to correct. You knew better than to say things that would make you seem more sick than you already were, but it was hard to stop yourself from lingering on the idea – especially considering you only had books, sleep, and his company to pass the endless time. Admittedly, it’d been a while since you’d seen another person, but you could’ve sworn he was paler than he should’ve been, to the point of bloodlessness. He never ate or drank around you, but sometimes when he spoke, the light would catch on his teeth in a way that made them look too sharp, too prominent. You might’ve been dreaming, but once, after you took your medicine but just before you fell asleep, you swore you saw him taking the cap off of the blood sample he’d taken a few minutes prior, like he planned to do something aside from—

You heard a door open and instantly, your paranoia was dismissed in favor of more interesting stimuli. In this case, that came in the form of your doctor, Carlisle Cullen, stepping into your bedroom, an inhumanly perfect smile already painted across his inhumanly perfect lips.

…maybe you should tell somebody about your little conspiracy. If only to be absolutely sure that you were really losing your mind.

“Good morning,” he said, and it occurred to you that you hadn’t thought to check the time, yet. Your life existed in three states: alone, asleep, and with Carlisle. Only that last one really mattered – the other two could easily be lumped into the same category helpfully labeled ‘waiting for Carlisle’s next visit’. “Have you been keeping yourself busy?”

“I’ve only been awake for a couple hours,” you explained, shrugging as he took his usual seat in the chair left next to your bed. He was always polite enough to ask about the boring details of your day, and you were always embarrassed enough to skirt around just how little you had the energy for. Most of the time, it was all you could do to pull yourself out of bed and yourself to eat before retreating back into your little safe haven. On a good day, you’d be able to go for a walk, maybe respond to a few of the calls you were constantly missing, but most days weren’t very good. “Reading, mostly. Thanks again for the recommendation.”

The book he’d lent you – a dry historical drama with characters as bland as water and a plot as boring as sin – sat open on your lap, but you’d only gotten through half a chapter before giving up. It was hard to believe Carlisle was only a few years older than you, sometimes. You couldn’t imagine how someone who seemed so young could have such awful taste.

Still, he looked pleased, his pleasantly aloof expression taking on a defined note of satisfaction. “It’s important to keep your mind occupied while your body’s recovering. You wouldn’t want to waste all of my hard work by letting yourself die of boredom, now, would you?”

“No, doctor.” It was stupid to try, but he’d set himself up for it. You couldn’t seem to stop yourself, your heart beating just a little faster as you grasped blindly for the impossible. “You know, there’s this friend of mine who keeps asking when she’ll be able to visit, and I thought it might help pass the time if—”  

“You’ll have to find a way to let her down.” Carlisle’s voice was smooth, calm. You did your best not to sulk, but still, he let out a labored sigh, only a touch too professional to roll his eyes. “It’s for the best. It’s good that you stay active, but you know what’ll happen if you overexert yourself, don’t you?”

Vaguely. It was hard to remember the details of your condition, and you weren’t in the mood for another lecture. “I do, doctor.”

“And you’re going to behave your check-up, aren’t you?”

“I am, doctor.”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite patient.” Your compliance was rewarded with a beaming smile, an appeased nod as he pulled his old-fashioned leather doctor’s bag into his lap. “We better make good on that promise before you change your mind, then.”

You didn’t protest. Honestly, you didn’t say much of anything. You never talked during your exam, preferring to let Carlisle go through the necessary motions with as little interference as possible. Instead, he filled the silence with mindless chatter about his children and how they were doing at the local public school, the hospital’s ongoings since you were unofficially discharged, and your favorite – Forks’ particularly colorful smalltown gossip, from the sheriff’s wayward daughter moving back into town to the spike in bear sightings on the local hiking paths. “It’ll be a busy week,” he mentioned, as he finished taking your blood pressure. “You might have some unexpected company, after all.”

At that, you perked up. You met nearly all of Carlisle’s assistants (medical students, you guessed, judging by their ages) by now, and even if you didn’t care for all of them, it was still nice to see someone other than him. Your least favorites were the dark haired twins – the wiry boy who always seemed to be biting back a smirk and the pixie-like girl who always acted like she knew something you didn’t – and you were particularly fond of the blonde girl… Rosemary, or maybe Rosaline. She was nice, compassionate, kind enough to keep you company even when Carlisle wasn’t in the room. More importantly, she brought interesting books – romance and horror, novels like Dracula and Carmilla and Interview with a Vampire, always handing over with a sweet smile and a hushed reminder not to let Carlisle know she was breaking his rules. Looking back on it, you probably shouldn’t have accepted anything she tried to give you. You would’ve hated for her to get in trouble just because she was trying to be nice.

Rather than voicing your overwhelming bias, you watched intently as he slipped the loose cuff off of your arm, tucking it back into his bag and removing something else, something long and silver and sharp. Immediately, your gaze shot back to your lap, your throat going dry in an instant. The next time you managed to spit something out, it was nearly too quiet to be audible. “…is there any chance we could, uh, I don’t know,” You paused, shrunk into yourself. “…skip the phlebotomy, this time?”

Carlisle’s answer was as swift as it was ruthless. An airy laugh, a jagged twist to this smile as he took up the needle properly and turned it over in his hand, looking for defects. It was already attached the glass syringe and, even worse, an empty vial; just a touch bigger than you remembered it being, the day before. “And take that kind of risk? How little do you think of me, (Y/n)?”

“It’s not you, it’s just—I already feel a little faint, and you take one every day, and—” You cut yourself off, inhaling sharply. “I just don’t know if it’s really necessary. Considering how careful you are and everything.”

“You’re right, I am careful. Which is exactly why I have to do this each and every time I come to see you.” He sighed, shook his head – suddenly more of a patronizing, paternal figure than any kind of medical professional, let alone peer. “You understand, don’t you? Without regular testing, your condition may worsen, and if you get any sicker than you are now…” You stiffened as he trailed off, bracing yourself. You knew what came next, what always came next.

“You’ll have to go back to the hospital, angel.”

It was strange, how a voice as smooth and as beautiful as his could be so difficult to listen to.

You didn’t like Carlisle. You hated his condescending smile, his repetitive rambling, his terrible taste in books and his creepy little students. You hated how little he let you do, how he talked about your illness – always skirting around the details, never giving you enough information to know whether you were on the verge of dying or a few days away from making a full recovery. No, when you were honest with yourself, you didn’t like him. Hated him, even.

But you couldn’t go back to the hospital, with its blank white walls and sobbing patients and strange, mind-altering drugs that put your sleep and made you feel like someone was biting into your throat. It’d been a miracle when Carlisle first told you about his domestic services, when he offered to have you discharged in exchange for only the promise that you wouldn’t seek care that didn’t come from him. Arrangements were made, your rent and bills taken over by some nameless, faceless local charity, and for the first time in months, you got to go home. You could live with Carlisle and his once weekly, now daily check-ups. You could live with the fact that you didn’t remember the last time you’d gotten to make a decision for yourself.

And, if you had to, you could live with paying for your freedom in blood, too. As long as it meant you didn’t have to go back to that terrible place.

Once again, you didn’t say anything, but you didn’t resist as he sighed and ran a sterilizing pad over your forearm, the antibiotic strong enough to burn. You clenched your eyes shut, but that did nothing to block out the feeling of a thin elastic band being wrapped around the crook of your elbow, of his needle pushing through your skin and burrowing into the vein underneath it. There was a second of pressure, of knotted soreness, and then, the syringe was gone and you were left feeling just a little colder, just a little more empty than you had before.

Even after opening your eyes, you kept them trained on your lap. You easily could’ve spent the rest of his visit in silence, but metal clinked against glass as he rushed to cap his vial and suddenly, you needed to hear the sound of your own voice. “I think I might be getting paranoid,” you managed, with a breath of a laugh. “For a few minutes this morning, I was able to convince myself that you were… I don’t know, an alien studying humanity, or something.”

“If I was, I’m sure that I would still pick you as the best possible specimen for my examination.” It was hollow comfort, but you smiled anyway, nodding along. Your medication came next, in the form of a small, chalky white pill that you still struggled to swallow under Carlisle’s vigilant gaze. You managed to choke it down, though, and as always, the effects were instant; a sudden clearness, blankness, followed shortly by an exhaustion so thick and so heavy, you couldn’t remember what it’d ever felt like not to be tired. You tried to hold yourself up, but faltered – buckling under your own weight. Carlisle chuckled as he caught you, helping you lay down with a soft squeeze to your shoulder, a feather-light kiss to the top of your head. “Sleep, angel. It’s good for you.” And then, his grin still pressing into your scalp. “And try not to dream about vampires, this time.”

So he did know about Rosalie’s books. Pouting, you shrunk into yourself, letting him drag the comforter over your abruptly immobile body as your eyes eased shut, as he pulled away – a vial of your blood still warm in his hand. It would’ve been impossible to stop yourself from falling asleep, but you managed to stave off unconscious long enough to watch him remove the vial’s carefully applied seal, to unscrew the air-tight cap with the kind of tenderness you’d only seen him use while taking your temperature or petting his fingers through your hair after he thought you were already too far gone to remember. He did a lot of things when he thought you weren’t looking, didn’t he? You’d never really noticed that, before.

Through your eyelashes, you watched him bring the vial to his lips before everything went dark.

[my-horniness-is-okay]

"God I just want you to keep leaving nice creamy rings at the base of my cock, fuck." Katsuki shudders, heat rising to the nape of his neck but he isn't ready to cum yet. Pressing his fingers roughly between your two bodies to get some of your sticky slick, sure to make sure it clicks loudly while your pussy desperately squelches around his fat length.

Taking him inch by inch roughly and quickly now that he's made you into such a pretty slack jaw mess. Pulling his fingers away so now the slicked blonde hair can give your puffy clit stimulation as he grinds into you. Panting before he shows silvery strings as he spreads his fingers apart, making a vulgar show of licking between each digit with a low growl. Cock twitching between your velvety walls to show just how much he loves swirling his tongue to get any sort of taste of you. Panting around his own thick digits as he drives into you roughly, abandoning any sort of rhythm to chase his own high as he groans out one final thing before painting your velvetine walls in delicious thick white.

"Squeeze me just like that sweetheart, with your creamsaver cuuuuunt."