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zorostitties · 2 months ago

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Aurora; 6 (m)

⤕ Your existence had been an endless night, where shadows whispered long forgotten secrets. Trapped in a golden cage, your fragile mind and shattered memories were chains that kept you from dreaming of freedom. Then, he appeared with the first light of dawn, like a gentle sun warming your cold skin. In his gaze, the promise of a new beginning; in his presence, the sunrise your soul had longed for.

In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: angst, romance, slow burn, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, mental health issues, grief, physical abuse.

rating: 18+

word count: 7k

A/N: HELLO Y'ALL!!! I planned to post this chapter yesterday, but unfortunately I was too drunk to finish writing anything. The pre carnival parties got me 🙂‍↕️ That being said, this one wasn't proof read, so my apologies for any grammar mistakes. I love how past chapter made all of you theorize LMAOOOO as I replied in the comments, I'm sad that I can't really discuss anything with y'all (no spoilers!!) but I LOVED reading everything! I love how much attention y'all are paying to any details!! 🥹🥹

Anyways, enjoy <3

⤕ Masterlist ⤕ Also on AO3 ⤕ Playlist

Olrox felt that horrible stench from the moment he stepped out of the ship.

At first, he thought it was just the usual human filth. Too many souls, too many plagues, too much blood soaking the lands of the Old World, too much history, too much evil. Olrox never liked visiting Europe, and not only because the travel was exhausting, even for a vampire. To him, that continent meant a mix of distastes. He’d only cross the ocean when he had no other choice.

Then, he stood face to face with Erzsebet Bathory – and the stench got even worse.

Not many things shocked Olrox anymore, but when he first met the so called “Vampire Messiah”, he couldn’t help but feel that way. She reeked. Her horrible smell already permeated the entirety of France. Olrox wondered how any of her servants managed to stand beside her without vomiting. Hell, even the normal humans of Machecoul should be feeling that at some point.

Of course – the world was not what it used to be. Not many people were able to feel the fragrances of magic anymore.

Olrox came from a time and a people that weren’t blinded by the teachings of the Christian Church. They knew that magic is very much real; they knew that it existed in every aspect of life, from the forests to the rivers to the seas, from the birth of a child to the death of an elder, from the blood that dripped when a girl became a woman to the blood that splashed in a holy sacrifice. This type of knowledge was being slowly forgotten, buried in the sands of time. Mankind had a short memory. With each generation, they became more and more unaware of the invisible forces around them – not only in the Old World, but in his home, too.

But Olrox didn’t have a short memory. Olrox never forgot any teaching.

And Olrox knew that that was the stench of blasphemy.

Erzsebet Bathory was no goddess. Of that, he was sure. But the type of magic she was feeding of… it was ancient, difficult to manage. Dangerous. From a time when gods still roamed Earth and still had the power to bless or punish. And it was quite ironic, in fact, that Drolta – who was not only Erzsebet’s most loyal servant, but also claimed to be Sekhmet’s priestess – would even dare to try that.

Olrox sincerely did not understand Drolta. She was even older than him; she was a powerful vampire and had deep knowledge in the occult. Why would she act so foolishly? Was she blinded by the love for her goddess, or was she blinded by her thirst for power?

This goddess she claimed to love – wherever she was, he wondered, could not be satisfied with any of that.

And yet… as days went by, as Olrox investigated Machecoul… he noticed another smell.

It was very well masked under Erzsebet’s stench. It was… timid, in a way. Very easy to go unnoticed. He felt it faintly in Mizrak. It became stronger in the night creatures. It was disgusting in the Abbot. And now, standing in the underground of his church, it was unbearable.

The stench of a demon.

Olrox stood in front of the necromancy machine the now deceased Abbot used to make night creatures with. Another irony in this great puzzle he was putting together – a funny irony this time. Did the people that come to pray to their God upstairs had any idea that a hell machine laid under their feet? Did they ever imagine that the man that used to hold their Holy Scriptures also held a book originated in the underworld?

He would’ve laughed at the entire situation if it didn’t affect Mizrak – and he wouldn’t have really cared if his inner voice didn’t warn him otherwise.

Olrox knew the entity was with him at that moment. Surrounding him, vibrating in a low frequency. The basement immediately got cold. The smell of coal and sulfur got stronger.

“I know who you are,” Olrox muttered, not caring to turn around. He could feel that thing grinning at him. “Old Man Coyote. Mephistopholes, or some other name.” His eyes wandered over the hell book he held. “I know what promises you make and how tempting they are. And I could make good use of a powerful patron.”

Olrox closed the book, finally looking over his shoulder. The entity was nothing but a shadow; blurry, dark, trying hard to somehow keep itself together in the same level of existence as him – and it would never achieve this in its totality without a vessel.

“But this doesn’t belong in this world,” he said, shaking the hell book slightly, “And nor do you.”

He threw the book inside the machine, where it burned immediately. The shadow retreated.

Olrox made his way out of the Abbey. The smell still followed him, though. It was mixed with the human filth, the blood, the plagues, the history, the evil. Mixed with Erzsebet’s stench. Hidden under it. And looking in retrospect, it was always there, from the moment Olrox stepped out of the ship.

It was very reflective of the situation slowly unfolding in front of his eyes. Erzsebet was noisy, boisterous, blinding, just like her stench. The other stench was quieter, moving silently like a snake ready to pounce on its prey. He wondered if she would notice the snake before it sank its fangs in her ankles. Probably not. She wasn’t as perceptive, or as intelligent, or as dangerous.

Yes, the type of blasphemous magic Drolta and Erzsebet were messing with was dangerous. But gods didn’t roam the Earth anymore. They couldn’t protect of punish the way they used to.

Demons did.

Demons could.

Olrox wondered what type of pact they made with this demon – and what was the price they would have to pay for their foolishness.

PAIN.

It was red and piercing and incessant and strong and nauseating and you felt your bones crashing and flesh being slashed and the pressure in your stomach and the taste of blood in your tongue and your vision went black and you couldn’t breathe and nothing else existed but pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN–––––

...

You knew pain. You knew it very well. You knew it better than anything else – better than yourself, better than your cloudy past.

You could deal with it. You could deal with it.

You would deal with it.

So you forced your brain to start working again. You forced your eyes to focus.

And they saw red. Blurry red. The night creature’s jaws tightly around your body. Its teeth sank deep into your clavicle, your chest, your stomach, and–

And–

And you couldn’t feel half of your right arm anymore.

You still weren’t hearing anything very well. If you could, you would’ve heard Annette gasping, desperately calling your name; then you would’ve heard her scream of anger, then you would’ve heard the sound of her blade slashing the night creature’s remaining head from its neck.

The pressure of the jaws was gone. The head fell on the ground.

It was like taking the cover off a leaking pipe.

The bleeding started.

Your brain was divided in two sections. The bigger section which occupied 90% of it was yelling PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN. The smaller section, barely 10% of it, was strangely focused and analytical. This little part always understood very well everything that was happening.

PAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINmy lung was pierced. If I try to breathe, I will inhale bloodITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSdon’t breathe for now. There’s already blood in your throat. You’ll gag and it’ll only make things worstPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINprobably one or two ribs broken, too. I can’t move my right shoulder… so the collarbone was also piercedIT HURTS!! IT HURTS!! IT HURTS!! IT HURTS!!

MY RIGHT ARM! IT’S HANGING!!

You held your breath. You stumbled back. You heard Annette’s incoherent, desperate voice – oh, she will freak out if she sees me like this. So, with the little body control you still had, you pushed her away with your left arm and stumbled to the back of the gallery.

Don’t worry about this, it’s what you would’ve said if you could breathe, if there wasn’t blood clogging your throat. It’ll heal anyway. I’m more worried about you seeing me in this state.

How you didn’t trip was a miracle. You stumbled to the farthest place you could reach, leaning on the wall with your back facing Annette; you didn’t utter a sound. Don’t scream, don’t cry – these two rules were still engraved in your behavior.

So when you looked down and saw that your entire forearm was hanging from a little piece of skin and muscle, all you thought was oh shit.

The two bones of the forearm were visibly cracked, peeking out from a horrible gash in an exposed fracture. You didn’t feel anything from that point down to your hand, which meant that all the nerves were ripped off; it bled uncontrollably, which would become the even bigger problem – you always passed out very fast due to extreme blood loss. But you didn’t want anyone to see you in this state. You knew they didn’t have time to wait until your full recovery.

So, quite honestly, you were relieved that your forearm wasn’t completely ripped off; you were grateful that it was still hanging by that small piece of skin. Growing entire limbs back was not only slow, but disgusting and extremely painful. All you had to do was give your body a little push for it to understand what it needed to do.

With your left hand, you held your forearm and fit the bone back to its place – like two pieces of a puzzle.

Oh fuck it hurts. This time, you had to groan. As the wound was very much open, you could see exactly were the bones should connect; luckily enough, the little gash of flesh didn’t rip off, which would completely disconnect the forearm from the rest of your body. You still heard Annette behind you, but you couldn’t comprehend anything she was saying. You just kept your eyes glued to your arm.

It’s like your body didn’t know what to heal first. Too many wounds. And yet, for the second time that day, you were lucky: the healing decided to act on the arm first.

And oh FUCK how it hurt.

It hurt almost as much as having it injured; you closed your eyes tightly, feeling as the bones started to reconnect, the noise it made – it reverberated in your entire body. And then the nerves were starting to reconnect too like vines and when they did IT HURT HURT HURT HURT because you started to feel the rest of your forearm again, and your fingers had spasms, and then your muscles were also reconnecting and rebuilding, and then finally the wound was closing–

Blank.

You passed out.

When your eyes opened again, you were laid on the floor, staring at the ceiling – Annette and Richter’s tired and horrified faces hovering over you.

Much time mustn’t had passed. Well… that’s what happens when one holds their breath for so long. You turned your head to the side and coughed blood, but after spitting, you felt that you could breathe again – albeit slowly, like your air passage was as thin as a straw; it was a relief anyway. You groaned. The throat wasn’t damaged. Good.

They were saying something, though you weren’t listening. You tried to raise your right arm to no avail; oh, right. The collarbone. It still hadn’t healed. It radiated pain from that point to your fingertips. If there was pain, it meant that the arm was still in the process of healing, although the skin had already patched itself, closing the open wound.

And then your ears started to hear again.

“...too much blood,” Richter’s voice was hurried, borderline desperate. “She’s losing too much blood, we need to do something!”

“Mmm’ okay.”

They stopped their incessant talking and looked down at you.

And then, they gasped when you started to rise, using the strength of your left arm.

“No! Keep lying down!” Annette tried, but you just groaned in response.

You bit your tongue, holding a groan of pain as you managed to sit, both of them resting their hands on your back to support you. There was still pain everywhere – you didn’t even know where to focus first; the pain on your right arm that spread to the shoulder and shattered collarbone, the sharp pressure in your chest that felt like someone heavy was stepping over it, your stomach which was still bleeding as the skin hadn’t regenerated yet, the broken ribs that made each breath hurt, or the blood loss that brought the familiar dizziness and headache.

And still, you looked at Annette.

“Did you get hurt?” you managed to speak somehow.

Her eyes widened. She let out a soft gasp.

“How are you asking that when you’re like this?!” And then you saw it... the look of pure guilt. That’s not what you wanted to achieve with your action – not that you really thought about anything the moment you jumped in front of a night creature.

I don’t die, Annette, is what you wanted to say; you needed them to understand this once and for all – there was no need to worry, no need to feel guilty. This strange body of yours had gone through much worse. Everything would be back in place after a few hours.

You couldn’t say anything, though – because at the same moment, a shockwave of pure agony made your mind go blank.

You closed your eyes tightly. You bit your lower lip, swallowing the scream that wanted to escape. Don’t scream, don’t cry; don’t scream, don’t cry, you repeated in your mind like a mantra. This time, though, it wasn’t because you were scared of a worse punishment; you just didn’t want to shock these two. They weren’t innocent babies, of course – both were capable of killing, much stronger than you. But they were still young and seeing an ally in such state shouldn’t be easy.

Or maybe you were just putting yourself in highest regards than you actually were.

Still, you kept swallowing more screams and grunts of pain. Richter and Annette eyed you with worry, as you kept your eyes closed for more than a minute without uttering a sound or letting any reaction. You became quite good at the art of acting like you weren’t feeling anything.

After the shockwave dissipated – you knew it would come back; it was always like this with serious injuries – you moved your legs, making clear that you wanted to get up. The two of them hurried to help you to your feet without touching the right side of your body.

Oh… that’s a lot of blood, the conscious 10% of your brain noted. The deep blue gown was drenched in red now on your right side. The world twirled; don’t pass out, don’t pass out, don’t pass out, you repeated, as if it would make any difference.

When your sight focused again, you saw Alucard walking into the gallery.

And if you could speak at that moment, you would’ve asked, why are you soaked?

Yet you didn’t say anything because you watched how his expression changed in seconds. It went from shock – eyes widened, lips slightly parted, brows frowned – to straight up anger.

Once again, it scared you. You didn’t like to see him angry. The idea of Alucard being angry at you was terrifying.

In the blink of an eye he was standing in front of you, holding your left shoulder (oh, you never got used to a vampire’s ability of moving so fast). You flinched, and not because of his touch, but because you knew what anger like that usually followed…

But then – he snapped his head at Richter.

“This would not have happened, Richter Belmont, if you hadn’t told them where we were going!”

You flinched again. His voice genuinely sounded like a hiss. You’d never heard him speak like this before.

He was angry at… Richter?

You couldn’t turn your head anymore, couldn’t look at anything beyond eye level, which was just Alucard’s chest at the moment. Darkness came and went; your hearing worked as if it was underwater – muffled voices, they came and went too.

“She got hurt because of me,” Annette intervened, her tone defensive, guilty and angry, all at the same time. “And it wouldn’t take a sorcerer to predict we’d come to Paris, Alucard. We also thought Drolta was dead. We though you’d killed her.”

PAIN.

It was sharp as if a spear had just pierced your stomach. You closed your eyes again. Don’t scream, don’t cry; don’t scream, don’t cry; don’t scream, don’t cry; don’t scream, don’t cry… Your ears were still hearing, although you weren’t paying attention to anything anymore. Something something something prepare the city. Something something National Convention. Something something something nests of vampires. Why couldn’t they shut the fuck up for a second?

The world twirled – but this time it was quite literal; Alucard took you in his arms bridal style, having the care to not touch the right side of your body. The ceiling came and went out of focus. You wanted to vomit. Don’t pass out, don’t scream, don’t cry…

He was walking away. If you could speak, you would’ve asked, where are you taking me? You have to destroy Sekhmet’s mummy, isn’t it? Shouldn’t you hurry?

“Why aren’t we coming with you?” Richter asked – or you thought he asked that.

Alucard stopped for a second. “I’ve told you what I need you to do. Do I have to say it again?”

If you could speak, you would’ve said something along the lines of why are you being so mean to him?

But you couldn’t speak, nor could you think. The conscious part of your brain shrunk to barely 5% at the moment another shockwave of agony hit your body – focused on your chest now; it was difficult to breath, you felt the ferrous taste of blood in your tongue. Don’t pass out, don’t scream, don’t cry; don’t pass out, don’t scream, don’t cry; don’t pass out, don’t scream, don’t cry; don’t pass out, don’t scream, don’t cry…

You completely lost notion of time and space (did you black out briefly? Heavens, you hoped not…). When the wave of pain dissipated, you realized that you were no longer in his arms. You were… laying. Over a soft surface.

Your eyes focused again. A wooden ceiling, a window to your right. A… room? Were you laying on a bed? How did you get here?

You tried to sit, only to feel a hand touch your left shoulder.

“Shhh,” Alucard shushed. Oh, he’s still here, sitting on the bed too. “Don’t move.”

“No,” you muttered, or something that sounded like that. “We… ugh… we need to go.”

“You’re in no condition to do anything right now, Ruby.” The anger had disappeared completely. Worry was the only emotion you heard in his soft voice. You groaned again, insisting in sitting up. Alucard left a tsk past his lips, and you thought you heard him whisper “what are you doing, woman?” though you couldn’t be sure about this last part.

Still, he helped you change into a sitting position with your legs hanging from the bed, his hand supporting your back. Yes, this was a small room; simple, a small desk and a chair being the only furniture other than the bed. You wanted to ask where the hell were you, but you mustered your forces to ask what actually mattered at the moment.

“The… mummy…?”

The sight of Alucard was blurry. Still, you saw his eyes drop. He sighed.

“Drolta took it.”

Your heart dropped, too.

If Drolta retrieved the second half of Sekhmet’s mummy… that could mean they wouldn’t need you to summon an eclipse anymore. Which meant you weren’t their upper hand; you were just a useless injured person. Alucard should be preparing to fight, not sitting beside you as you bled–

PAIN.

This time, you couldn’t hold the grunt of pain back; you tightened your eyes, shrunk your shoulders, bent over slightly.

“What is it?” Alucard asked worriedly. “Where does it hurt?”

Fucking everywhere!, is what you wanted to answer.

Cuts, skin or muscle pierced… this type of injury was “easy” to heal, “easy” to handle. But that night creature made much more damage beyond what the eye could see. Your insides were hurt – and the healing of this type of injury was much more violent. You could feel your organs moving, expanding, regrowing, patching; bones reattaching, sending waves of excruciating pain through your entire skeleton. The bleeding must’ve stopped at that point, no more wound was visible on your skin, but that didn’t ease any of the pain at all.

“Mmmmh,” you probably were trying to say something coherent, but nothing came.

“It’s okay,” Alucard shushed softly again. “Don’t hold yourself back.”

His voice wasn’t coming from beside you anymore. You opened your eyes briefly to see that now, he was down on one knee right in front of you. Alucard held your hand (the good one) softly.

“Squeeze my hand if you need it. Just don’t hold yourself back.”

Don’t scream, don’t cry, was the instinct engraved in your very being. And yet, Alucard was asking you to do the exact opposite.

You couldn’t. Not really. You were too good at holding yourself back at this point. However, when another wave of pain came, you squeezed his hand out of instinct, squeezed it tight – and that was the signal Alucard needed. You didn’t open your eyes (even if you weren’t in pain, to look at him so closely would be probably torture). You didn’t see his expression when, with his free hand, he softly touched the back of your head and made you rest your face on his shoulder.

“It’s alright,” he whispered. His lips were so close to your ear; his deep voice reverberated in your body.

Ninety percent of your brain was yelling in sharp pain. The ten percent that weren’t focused on the way he caressed your hair softly; then, he was caressing your back. Your body trembled, your jaw so tightened that it almost felt that your teeth were going to crash; jolts of pure agony made you want to scream. Your hand squeezed his incessantly to a point you didn’t even realize you were doing it anymore.

Alucard didn’t complain about anything. He stayed there, holding you with care. That 10% part of your brain felt the sweet scent on the crook of his neck, his hand softly caressing your back, the warmth radiating from his body, his voice saying It’s okay and I’m so sorry every time a grunt of pain escaped.

He stayed there until the pain eased. He stayed there until your mind finally gave in and you passed out, embraced by darkness.

“Do you regret it?”

You frown at ???’s sudden question.

“What?” Did you even hear her correctly? The music is a bit too loud.

“Do you regret it? To have chosen this path?”

You look ahead again. Oh... now you understand her question. You can’t blame her for thinking that anyway. You know it’s not easy for most people to understand.

Sun bathes the patio. The air smells of wine, flowers and good food. Most of the guests occupy the center, dancing and talking. Kids run in between them. ??? proudly shows off a beetle to his friends.

“Of course not,” you say with such certainty that no one would dare to question you. “I am much proud of the choices I made.”

And yet, only you know the slight sting in your heart – the tiny loneliness that refused to go away.

The wooden ceiling again.

You stared at it for a long time. The window beside you was opened now. A soft refreshing breeze kissed your skin, just as the afternoon sun rays.

Your body tingled. You stretched the fingers of your right hand. They tingled, too; the push of the muscles on your wrist was a tiny bit painful, but nothing compared to the excruciating agony you felt a while ago.

Then, you moved your right shoulder. Up, down; with your left hand, you touched the collarbone. It… felt normal. You looked down at your body and – hell, that dress was in pieces, damp with your own blood. You were lucky that the corset wasn’t completely ripped, otherwise your chest and torso would be exposed.

You touched the parts where the fabric was teared. The skin… normal. No more pain. No more cramps in your stomach or chest.

Only then did you sigh in relief.

You saw movement with the corner of your eye – and when you turned your head to see Alucard, you completely forgot about the weird dream you just had.

He was sitting on the floor with his back leaning on the bed. But, as he heard your sigh, he turned to look at you.

He was close.

Very close.

His white hair was visibly damp. His expression didn’t show much sign of anything as he analyzed your features.

“I didn’t expect you’d wake up so soon,” he said quietly.

And then – you remembered everything.

You gasped, wanting to sit in a jump, but the world twirled and you fell back. Alucard stood up and sat on the edge of the bed, ready to catch you if needed.

“Don’t move so abruptly. You’re still weak.”

“I’m fine...” you didn’t expect that to sound like a whine. Your tongue still tasted like blood.

Alucard sighed. “Stubborn little one, aren’t you?”

You didn’t expect him to call you that – and it immediately made heat creep to your cheeks. This heat was getting too familiar at this point. Nevertheless, he helped you to sit, placing his hand on your back. You held his arm for support.

Alucard wasn’t wearing his cape, his belt, gloves and his coat anymore; the pieces of clothing were hanging from the window. You felt that the sleeve of his white blouse was damp, and that should be the case with the rest of his clothes, too – the black vest, his pants. And then… you noticed he wasn’t wearing his cravat as well, and that the three first buttons of his blouse were opened, exposing just a peek of his collarbones and his chest–

And you had to look away for the sake of your own sanity.

“How long did I sleep?” You asked in a husky voice.

“Not much. An hour and a half, I believe.” This was a relief. At least, he hadn’t wasted much time on you. “Your healing is very fast, indeed. Maybe faster than you’d realized.”

Well… the passage of time was a difficult topic for you anyway, so you never really paid mind to how long it took until you were fully recovered.

“What are you going to do now?” You asked, already feeling apprehension bubble within you. “If Drolta retrieved Sekhmet’s mummy… she won’t need me anymore.”

Alucard tightened his lips and looked down. “We must help the city prepare to fight. It’s the only thing we can do right now.”

You nodded slowly, also dropping your eyes. This was the worst case scenario. The Erzsebet you knew was powerful in her own right… an Erzsebet with the entirety of Sekhmet’s power would be hell on Earth. Add that to her legion of powerful vampires – Paris wouldn’t stand a chance, and soon, the entire continent would succumb.

You couldn’t help but think this somehow was also your fault.

You were still holding Alucard’s forearm for support, and he was holding yours, too. His grip was soft, yet firm. It was the first time you were seeing his hand without the gloves. Differently from other vampires, his nails weren’t long and sharp. His fingers were slender; the skin of his palm was surprisingly smooth, given he was a swordsman. And his touch… was much warmer than you were expecting. Vampires are usually unnervingly cold to the touch. Alucard was as warm as a normal human.

“Ruby.”

The way he called your name – so quiet, his voice so small… you’d never heard that tone coming from him. It felt deeply intimate in a way, and you couldn’t explain why. It immediately made you look at him again.

His golden eyes were clouded with guilt.

“I’m sorry.” The breeze coming from the window made yours and his hair sway. You silently blamed it for the goosebumps you felt, and not his voice or his touch or his proximity to you. It looked like Alucard was struggling to find his words – again, a first. “I truly am. I… had no idea that Drolta was alive. I was sure to have finished her back then.”

The mere mention of her name made fear crawl over your skin. “...If we can still call that Drolta, that is,” your voice was merely a whisper, as if saying her name out loud would attract her. “What happened to her?”

Alucard frowned. “It appears she was turned to a night creature, though I fail to understand how she managed to keep her soul. I didn’t know this was possible. I should’ve considered Maria’s father would be a bigger problem to us.” That last sentence was more directed at himself than to you. Maria…? Oh, right. The girl in pink you saw briefly at the ruins in Machecoul. What did her father had to do with anything?

He closed his eyes for a moment, his shoulders dropping a bit. “...Actually, I should’ve considered a couple more things before involving you in all this.” And then, he was looking at you again, and you felt that you couldn’t breathe. His gaze was tender and overwhelming at the same time. It’s like he could blur the world outside with his mere presence. “I put you in more danger than I should have. I’m sorry for not taking good care of you.”

Your chest tightened.

Taking care of you, he said; not supervising, not under my responsibility. He said taking care. And once more, it felt intimate. Perhaps you were seeing too much again, wanting to be more important than you were… and yet, you couldn’t help but feel warmth involve you as his words sank in, as if they were a soft blanket in a cold night.

Even if you were seeing too much, you decided to hold onto his words, to keep them as a cherished little secret.

But things didn’t go exactly like that – and you needed to make it clear.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“You don’t need to try to comfort for me, Ruby…”

“No, listen to me.” Alucard was caught off guard by your abrupt interruption. “The night creature was going to bite Annette. Those injuries – they were going to happen to her. So I took them instead. She wouldn’t have survived that.”

He seemed speechless for some moments. Then, he quirked one eyebrow up only slightly. “...Wasn’t it a bit extreme?”

Maybe it was his tone that showed how weird he thought you were, but for the first time that day, you managed to chuckle, covering your mouth with your hand. Your reaction surprised Alucard a bit.

You tilted your head to the side. “I was trying to be useful,” you confessed in a tiny voice. “Not dying is the only thing I’m good at, apparently. So I decided to use it to someone else’s advantage.”

Alucard sighed. “Don’t have such little care for yourself. Just because you heal, doesn’t mean you should put yourself through all this willingly.”

That sounded like a reprimand, although he wasn’t being harsh. It made you hesitate. “But… Annette was going to die.”

“I understood that,” he nodded. “And I’m sure she’s grateful to you beyond words. Just try to be more careful from now on.”

It was your turn to nod. You knew he meant you no harm.

Maybe you were still a bit groggy from sleep, or maybe it was the proximity to him and the touch of his hand, or the fact that he appeared a little more open to conversation at that moment that made you feel a little brave – braver than you’d usually be.

You inhaled before talking.

“And I think–“ oh shit, this is a terrible idea. But you’ve already started, so go all the way! “I t-think you were a little too harsh with Richter back there.”

Alucard froze.

That’s it. He’ll hate me from now on. Our little moment will be over, and he’ll just be aloof with me forever.

“So you were conscious.” Was all he muttered. He seemed… hesitant. His eyes tightened a bit. “Is that so?”

You gulped and avoided his gaze.

“I understand that what he did was foolish. But I was there at the moment–“

“Is that so?” His voice almost made you throw yourself out the window – he wasn’t loud and he didn’t sound exactly upset… no, he was teasing you. That was another first.

“...and I know he didn’t do it with bad intentions at all.” You tried to conclude, feeling your cheeks burn. “Richter is… he’s too young, you see? A-And–“ You had to gulp again. “And he admires you a lot. Maybe more than you realize. I think… I think he wouldn’t want to let you down.”

Alucard sighed.

He crossed his arms over his chest, letting go of his grip on your forearm for the first time. And then, you saw it again, that glimpse from the forest: something juvenile about him that he kept very well hidden or very well controlled, at least.

Alucard was almost pouting, in fact.

“I know all that.” He nodded. “But I’ve been searching for Sekhmet’s mummy for the past five years, you see. And the entire mission got compromised because a boy couldn’t keep his mouth shut.”

You didn’t know how to reply to that.

“Oh.” Was all you muttered, feeling a little silly. It was Alucard’s turn to chuckle.

“I understand your point.” He looked up at the ceiling, his eyebrows turned slightly upwards in something that looked like a tired expression. “I guess I’m not used to being around young people anymore. I might’ve… forgotten how they mess up constantly.” For his next sentence, Alucard spoke inwards, almost through gritted teeth: “Well, I guess acting like that grants you two women defending you all the time, so it must be worth it…”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head softly. It looked like he wanted to smile, but you weren’t sure. He analyzed you for a moment, then sighed. “I know that ideally, you should rest for the rest of the day, but we’re in a critical situation right now. I must speak to the Revolutionary Commune and the National Convention to warn them about the incoming attack… and you must come with me.”

You nodded. It’s not like you were planning on sleeping anyway; you’d already brought them enough trouble in a single day. Alucard got up from the bed and retrieved his belt, coat and sword, which was leaning on the wall.

“This inn serves food, so I suppose you should eat something before we leave, at least.” He explained as he put the coat on. Oh… so you were in an inn. Right. “And I got you new clothes. There’s a basin with water, too, so get changed.”

Indeed, there was a change of clothes neatly folded over the small desk, which surprised you a bit. When and how did he get you that?

However, as Alucard was starting to step away, another memory from earlier that day hit you like a boulder; you gasped and held his wrist.

“Wait.”

The white-haired vampire looked down at your hands around his wrist, then at your shocked expression and frowned.

“What is it?” He immediately sat down again, his full attention over you.

A strange anxiety made your heartbeat increase. How could you have forgotten about that?

“I know we don’t have time to waste on distractions,” you started in a hesitant, yet rushed tone. “But I must go to the Louvre again.”

His frown deepened. “Why?”

“I found something there.” You looked up at him with round eyes – a mix of amazement and fear, perhaps. “When I was trying to hide from the night creature. I found this… thing inside one of the boxes. And it reacted to my touch.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know how to explain it. But it was… it was magic. I think it’s a scepter, though I’m not sure. And there’s writings on the same language from the book. Remember that book I talked about? The book they made me read to summon the eclipses?”

Alucard nodded. He held his chin, pensive.

“It’s not a surprise that there’d be magical items there. Many antiques carry magic. Museums are full of these things, though I doubt the curators are aware of any of it.” He hesitantly looked up at you. “It… might not mean much.”

“But it might mean much.” Out of instinct, you gripped the fabric of the skirt nervously and looked down. “I’m sorry for asking you this. I don’t want to slow you down. B-But I feel that’s important. I… haven’t remembered anything important up until now…”

Except the memory of you father, you thought, but I won’t talk about that with you yet.

The seconds he took to speak again felt like torture. Finally, he sighed.

He rested his hand over your nervous ones. You froze.

“I guess I should find us a horse, then.” Alucard didn’t sound upset at your request. “Luckily, the Louvre isn’t far from here.”

You looked up at him. At that moment, the smile was impossible to hold back.

“Thank you.”

Alucard smiled back – one of his tranquil tiny smiles, his eyebrows slightly curved upwards.

It probably didn’t last more than three seconds, but in your head, that little moment extended for much longer. It was enough to make your stomach feel funny, and this time it had nothing to do with the pain you endured mere hours ago. The warmth radiating from his hand over yours seemed to spread through your whole body. Was it inappropriate to admit that you liked it? Should you be ashamed of yourself? Did Alucard felt the same way, even if it was just a fraction of the feeling?

...the ambrosial smell, the honeyed taste…

Alucard closed his eyes for a moment.

“Let’s hurry.” He got up again. “Can you stand up on your own?”

A part of you wanted to say no just so you could have an excuse to hold his hand again, but you were far too embarrassed to even try something so sly. You got up and grabbed the change of clothes. It smelled of soap.

Alucard was already holding the doorknob when you remembered another very important thing – and it immediately made your cheeks feel burning hot.

The type of gown you wore wasn’t made to be easy to dress or undress on your own.

“Hm, Alucard…” you called, which made him stop and look at you. “Could you… help…?”

You sheepishly pointed to your back with your thumb.

You weren’t brave enough to look at him.

The fact that Alucard hesitated a second to answer made you want to run away.

“Oh. Of course.” His voice didn’t show any surprise. The white-haired vampire let go of the doorknob and approached. You turned around, holding the change of clothes close to your chest, your back as stiff as a board.

The fact that you couldn’t see him didn’t make the situation easier. You could feel his presence right behind you, standing so close; when his fingers touched the lace of the corset, you instinctively held your breath. His fingers were agile and precise, his touch was feather light.

That felt awkwardly intimate.

Maids always dressed and undressed you. They didn’t really care about being delicate whenever they touched your body. They despised you, and you despised them, so these acts never felt intimate. At that moment, however…

Don’t think too much about it, you scolded yourself. It’s nothing special.

You’d like to tell that to your bubbling stomach.

Once again, you probably had a really distorted notion of time, because although Alucard was being fast, it felt like it took him ages. He untied the lace up until a point where you could finish it yourself.

“Done.” He announced in a quiet voice.

You managed to mutter a strangled thank you before you heard his steps and the sound of the door closing behind you.

Only then did you breathe again.

You got rid of the destroyed gown as fast as you could. There was a cloth inside the water basin, which you used to clean the dried blood from your body the best way you could. As impolite as it was, you had to spit out the window, trying to get rid of the horrible ferrous taste that still lingered in your tongue.

The clothes Alucard gave you were more similar to what you saw other women wear on the streets: a long sleeved white blouse, a skirt at mid-calf height and a sleeveless vest that shared the same moss green tone. Your closet consisted on either beautiful ball gowns or simple nightgowns, so to be able to wear something so light and so easy to dress by yourself was a relief.

There was a small mirror hanging on the wall. When you saw your reflection, you immediately wet your hands and passed them through your hair, trying to lower the wild strands, and decided to tie it in a tight bun.

That’s when you saw the last piece of clothing you hadn’t noticed before.

It was a ribbon tie.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, your fingers working on tying it, you… noticed something.

The dress was simpler than what you were used to wear, yes – it wasn’t something for a special occasion, after all. But… the chiffon collar was quite pretty. The vest and the skirt were well sewn, too, and fit your body perfectly. The cufflinks of the blouse were golden. And the bow tie… its color complimented your eyes.

It didn’t exactly seem like it was an outfit chosen in a hurry. It looked like… some thought was put into it.

Your cheeks felt hot for some reason.

Don’t think too much about it, you repeated. It’s nothing special.

At last, you opened the door. You were surprised to see Alucard leaning with his back on the wall beside it, his arms crossed.

His eyes wandered on your entire figure, though his expression didn’t change.

You held his cape and gloves nervously and cleaned your throat.

“I believe they’re dry enough now.” Alucard nodded and took them. While he put his cape over his shoulders, you hesitated before finally voicing the question: “May I ask how did you get wet?”

“I fell in the Seine.” He replied in a deadpan tone, his eyes glued on his hands as he put the gloves on.

“Oh.”

Finally, he lifted his gaze to you again.

He stepped closer.

For a moment, it seemed that he wanted to say something, which made you look up at him in expectation. He was… expressionless. Maybe. But there was something you couldn’t decipher in his eyes. Something you weren’t brave enough to ask. Something that appeared… inviting, somehow.

Don’t think too much about it. It’s nothing special.

Alucard’s eyes dropped to your collar.

You held your breath when he touched the ribbon tie delicately. Did he nod in an almost imperceptible motion or were you imagining things?

“Let’s go.” He said in the same nonchalant tone as always before walking towards the stairs at the end of the corridor.

You were frozen in place for a few seconds.

Don’t think too much about it. It’s nothing special.

Yes, right. Ninety percent of your brain agreed on this. You were under his responsibility, after all. Alucard wasn’t especially rude towards anyone, as far as you knew (well, except for Richter sometimes). That’s how he acted with everyone. And besides that, you had much more important matters at hand. There wasn’t time to be distracted.

Yes, right. You walked towards the stairs in a hurry to match his pace. Don’t think too much about it. It’s nothing special.

Right.

And yet – the tiny ten percent of your brain kept stubbornly whispering in the back of your consciousness:

Was it not, really?

#alucard x reader #castlevania #alucard #castlevania alucard #castlevania nocturne #adrian tepes #adrian fahrenheit tepes #alucard tepes #alucard x you #castlevania x reader #alucard adrian tepes

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redcherrykook · 3 months ago

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────𐙚 inevitable transition (a)

────୨ৎ────

content: cheater!jungkook

note from cherry: i've spent the past days horribly anxious and with all this nervous energy, i channeled this angsty fic. I hope it hurts in the rightest ways.

────୨ৎ────

Waking up to a silent phone.

Ordinary buzzing of your alarm and sheer nothingness after. The other side of the bed was left empty, touseld, not unusual. He does wake up earlier than you do, does have a tight schedule.

Your phone remained empty.

A routine you had gotten familair with recently.

Your "thinking about you baby" and "I love you my angel" texts have disappeared into thin air. Merged with the chirping of birds that are only audible for the ones who wake up early enough to witness them.

In actuality, they have been transfered to the screen of another.

Her arguably beautiful face lights up in the morning, greeted by his profile picture. Him, him and his doberman. For her, it did not matter when she woke, he'd been there. Left his traces, given security.

You knew this, yet he still kissed you with the same lingering smile, spit the same "love you" when met with your presence.

It had become routine after all, to behave like lovers.

Which explains why, when Jungkook changed his profile photo from him and you sharing a kiss, you did not question it. Brushed over it, like he did every time he came home late.

Until the lights started to give out as well, the apartment he came back to had turned dim. A house, simply that.

Jungkook no longer felt home.

His arms had not lost their strength and yet, an embrace had never felt weaker. A kiss never duller.

It seemed almost too perfect, how he'd put on a show- pretend as though all these miniscule things didn't turn into a portrait of his betrayal, did not hold any weight to them. An accumilation of odd details. If you didn't know better, he seemed close to oblivious.

"You're overthinking it" his voice ringed, filling your ears with a sentence that should have been reassuring, should have put your racing heart at ease, lowered your cortisol.

In contrast, that is far from what it had done to you. It should have been obvious why he started referring to you with your full name, should have been evident why it took him longer to respond, longer to like your posts and even longer to message first.

Well aware of who he was talking to when it showed he is online but your text still read delivered.

It was right before your teary eyes.

The livingroom clock ticks, time will pass recklessly, without control. The minutes will go by anyways.

You grew into the habit of reminiscing times of a near past- you had been his only once. When there had not been another number to dial, a selfie to open, a giggle to share.

Bittnernes from your morning coffee mingled with the question, if that reality ever existed in the first place or if- maybe, he has been awaiting a chance to escape, replace, all along.

'I'm so attached to you'- a simple string of a unkept words that have forgotten their true integrity somewhere along allure and temptation of another. He hadn't meant it, nor could he bare the slight drop in the corner of your diluded smile- one which used to possess the property of igniting a spark inside his chest.

Jungkook's attachment is mirroring a sticker stuck to the back of ones phone, peeling away from continued usage, drained of its color, barely grasping the surface. Simultaneously, it was however, no more than the remainders of its glue that you will never be able to rid yourself of- it would always be part of you.

You have been forgotten before- have blended into the anonymity of a growing circle when on your part, it has only been you two. an us. it would stay that way for you, for as long as your lungs work, as long as your heart pumps.

#redcherrykook #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #jungkook angst

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alllgator-blood · 4 months ago

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Disappeared for a bit but I'm still here, I just got overwhelmed and learned I should probably take this blog less seriously

I'm using the new year as an excuse to come back on here and try to not ditch my account for another 6 months-- I'm NOT good at posting stuff online to a crowd of more than like 5-20 followers, I originally wrote a huge long-winded draft describing all of my thoughts in great detail. It was too long. I guess all I want people to know is I'm somebody who's spent years making art that I knew nobody will ever see, so it's incredible and overwhelming to have thousands of eyes on my art all of a sudden? It's both the coolest thing and the scariest thing ever to me simultaneously, I'm by no means a Popular Artist but I went from virtually no interaction for years to suddenly tens of thousands of cumulative notes on my posts so it's huge for me. And I haven't adjusted super well to it, entirely due to my own shitty brain chemistry.

I don't want anyone to feel like I'm ignoring their messages or like I don't appreciate the fact they go out of their way to give me their thoughts/send me ideas, genuinely this is the most support I've *ever* had for my art and it's so so fucking cool. It's led me to create so much more than I thought possible! I used to run ask blogs for a couple very niche video game fandoms, and I prided myself on being able to draw full comics for EVERY ask I got, answer EVERY message and went into this blog assuming I could still do that. Um....safe to say I cannot....I have like 200+ asks and I think I drafted a dozen or more that I answered but felt my art was too low effort. I felt so bad I couldn't put maximum effort into everything, and I've been beating myself up over it to a point where *no* asks are getting answered, and this blog went from a really fun thing I actually woke up early just to check on, to something I wanted to avoid like the plague for the past week out of guilt. DUE TO NOBODY'S FAULT BUT MY OWN, everyone has been so chill when I've had to take breaks so idk why I feel the need to hold myself hostage.

So I'm gonna try and take it easier, give myself a break when my personal life goes horribly, close my ask box periodically if I feel overwhelmed, maybe hop on here like once or twice a day rather than compulsively refreshing every 5 minutes...I hope that makes things better. I realize I should probably just *do* that without announcing it, but I have no self discipline and unless I announce I'm gonna do something, it's not gonna fuckin happen lmao.

Anyway if you read this far, here's the first panel of a sequel comic I made to the christmas one I posted last time I was on here, this one is *very* representative of my mindset the last week and will hopefully not reflect how I feel now that I survived december. I know for a fact there's mentions I haven't gotten to check yet so I'm gonna do that after laying down for a bit, here's to a chill 2025 where my social anxiety doesn't eat me alive

#river rambles #vent post #I'm hoping this'll be the last one of these I ever make lmao #I PROMISE I'M NOT TRYING TO SEEK PITY I JUST FEEL THE NEED TO EXPLAIN EVERYTHING I DO

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art-from-within · 11 months ago

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ER hc: Demigods in Love

(TW its long. Long.)

If they had a big fat crush on you and fell in love with you, they wouldn't say it outright at first but there would be signs

Morgott:

He becomes more catty-chatty. He usually cloaks his feelings of extreme self loathing(leading him to believe he deserves nothing and distance himself from things that bring joy, fear of rejection etc) with a rain of sour quips and old age scoldings, a technique he would definitely utilize all the same(and fail horribly) to suppress new trifling emotions arising within him, feelings he dare not indulge in for his own sake and everyone else's.

But despite his harsh words and taunts, the fact is not missed on you, that he is there. He is there, and for all his talk of finding you so lowly, he bothers to address you and your 'meager flame'

"I see thee little tarnished," he will say "smould'ring with that wretched flame of ambition" he will repeat this often, but the emphasis on 'little' changes with time. It is those little things, those minute slip ups, that itches a part of your brain.

Malenia:

She becomes more stiff around you. She is already taciturn enough, but around you she becomes stiffer than every statue in haligtree combined. But in those rare moments when she does address you, her voice becomes more softer than usual. Sometimes you catch her head nodding towards you gently. Other times you find her standing guard outside your door, though she will refuse to admit it was nothing else but that. Keeping you safe is her love language.

She will also make sure to always have the most fresh med needles stuck in her before she ever steps foot into your vicinity. Anything to make sure you don't get even the slightest WHIFF of her rot...poor valkyrie. She really tries.

Mohg:

He becomes more...clingy. And by clingy I meant he stalks you (a mogh classic).

He isn't audaciously obvious with it, no he is never obvious with anything. But as I said, there are signs. Bushes and trees seem to rustle more than usual. Warm beverages left on your table with no owner in sight, roses blooming during the wrong seasons and WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT??? Somebody who is TOTALLY NOT MOHG just healed your student rune debts?? Ahh! Good heavens!!! Who could have done this??? Definitely not the rich demigod omen who lives 2 broken buildings away that seemingly always knows when you need a heat pad hmmmm

Despite all this though, it seems this amount of clinginess is inversely proportional to the lines of dialogue he will spare you i.e. the harder he falls for you, the more he stalks and the less he talks (tldr of another hc post, that welcome guest speech of his is totally scripted and he can’t function outside said script). His confidence leaves him when he sees someone he cannot risk losing. He also love bombs you, with all intentions meant. Anything material, you have it. Its almost like he can read your mind (he is in your bloodstream).

He functions on the mindset that nothing in this world is selfless, and that love can only be bought and not earned. He 'bought' the love of his sanguine nobles through promise of power...he straight up kidnaps his 'doctors', who now love him(they are all mad with bloodlust). The albinaurics are there (for miquella). He is truly convinced that he cannot be loved without reason, so he does all this extra crap to cook up said reasons. Local omen has yet to discover consent out of the shunning grounds. Maybe u can change him 👍or make him worse.

Godwyn:

He gives you golden privileges….Godwyn wouldn’t outright confess his love for you on first sight, but I imagine he would be the SECOND (Rykard being first) most forthright man in this sea of bashful tsundere personages. Aside from his flirtiness increasing by 10 folds, He will let you ride Fortisaxx. Must I even elaborate further? There are noble men in Leyndell who would sell their cock and balls for that opportunity, but he straight up goes “hey you wanna ride my dragon” wink. Fortisaxx is best wingman, drops hints to help his brother/friend/(lover?😏) out. Considering he has a whole lineage, and i really doubt the omen twins received any action in the lore, he is the most experienced when it comes to love, and he has learned the best way to deal with it is just be chill.

Bonus points if you catch him drunk, the comedy you would play witness to would be legendary.

Godrick:

He will let you touch him. …

Pre grafted Godrick:

would be a total tsundere straight up. He has 0 confidence in himself, and his old and wrinkly ass has only known rejection by that point to not have any qualms about confessing. Throw in an odd sense of aristocratic pride into the mix and you have got a noble who looks and acts like he is competing his way into a guillotine. He is quite rude, and if he is got a single talent up his sleeve, it is without a doubt his ability to drive anyone into a frenzy(no three fingers needed) with his snarky quips alone. He is physically not up there, but by words alone he could burn bridges (and he has). Perhaps he gets this talent from his great great great great great great great great great grand uncle who, rumors say, also rules over Leyndell! He is a small crooked paranoid little freekle frackle that clings onto what we would call Ancien régime mindset and lifestyle

Given this context, the first sign that something is awry is that he lets you be near his viscinty. He is still snarky, with all the thou-s and thee-s sprinkled in. But he lets you near him. Hmm that’s odd. You thought Ettiquette 6600038 stated no non royal was allowed to walk beside him-OH and he is staring right into your soul. Thats also weird. You thought he hated the commonfolk? Did he just hold your hand? Granted he was terrified by the lightening, but still…hm… and he just tried cooking for the first time?? Ended terribly he burnt the kitchen down. He did all that for himself he says…you hear a “yea right” from a very brave soldier of godrick, never to be seen again. He gives you a suspiciously customized hankerchief, embroidery of (insert your fav flower here) when you catch a cold. Never asks for it back.

Post grafted Godrick is mostly the same, but more crazy with a 10% increase in confidence. For one, its been 24 hours and he has yet to tear you apart from limb to limb which is something. “Unfit for grafting” he says. yea right.

...

He also shows you his gore Godfrey goon shrine, your quality of life depends on the tone of your laugh. He lets you bathe him (wow you touched him…or some dude’s entire torso which he stole.) and Gostoc doesn’t fuck with you like he does with others. Good. Good. He trusts you enough to complain abt some tantalizing trespasser omen loitering infront of his castle named ‘Margit’. Which sounds awful lot like Morgott. He hasn’t clicked the dots and he most likely never will.

Radahn:

He lets you ride Leonard.

Radahn is the type of guy who is beyond friendly with anyone, so when he does something which would so obviously be labelled affectionate coming from others, it is generally dismissed as an act of friendship. He remembers your birthday and holds a surprise party which is VERY COOL, but he also hosts birthday parties for everyone else….which is also cool… He suffers through the friendzone for a while with grace.

But when he offers you a ride on his dear Leonard, that darling steed of his that he treats like his heir apparent? Yup, that very horse, is when the gears in your mind unclog. His highness Prince Leonard has always been a boundary none dare cross, but here he is granting you a safe passage to jump right through. He lifts you up with ease, and places you on the saddle. And when you smile, he smiles even wider. Signs eventually bubble up to the surface. He laughs more often around you, completely at ease. When drunk he regails you with tales of bygone heroes and his own aspirations to be one. Reply with “but you already are one” and you will catch him lag for 5 seconds.

He keeps you close by during expeditions, and even during social gatherings. He uses his gravity magic to help you/your siblings indulge in some 0 gravity fun. And during less crowded evenings, he arranges fun getaways with friends, except its just you two this time...and here on out. Oddly enough though, the closer he gets to you the more you find yourself isolated at your job etc. You start finding your posts more empty. Which is odd since you did remember there were 2 other people assigned at this pla- AND its general Radahn with 2 roasted exalted flesh in hand! Wonderful.

One can only speculate how he uses his powers as head general...

Bonus point if you like cats. He will bring his cats for a wash to your house (another excuse to see you)

Ranni:

She spills tea.

This one is easy since we have in game canon content as reference. At first she is secretive. She introduces herself as "renna", and maintains a professional distance. But as time passes and she comes to warm up to you, that distance is chipped away by her own doing. She confesses to her many well hidden secrets, dark secrets like how she played a hand in the night of black knives or her more lesser secrets like stealing her mom's books, giving young Radahn a bobcut in his sleep, mischiefs with Rykard etc. Her trust in you, that you will keep her word between you two, is the sign. Anytime the topic steers towards anything remotely romantic though, she transforms into a bashful tsundere

"Noooo don't open that box from that chamber in this location you don't want to marry me noooo" (gives you the key to that box). Also "take not the ring from this place, the solitude beyond the night is better mine alone." Is code word for "please marry me I am very lonely".

Rykard:

ОНОНОНО

Pre Snake Rykard:

He shows you his sex dungeon

Yea. The most forthright admirer award goes to! PRAETOR RYKARD! Rykard seems like the type of guy who has this very thick professional exterior, that betrays his true perverse nature. You sit down with him and think

"wow, what a well rounded individual! Yes he is rough around the edges, but he dresses nice, he speaks well, he looks lordly enough albeit dark circles, he is good with machines (he doesn’t tell you that he names them 'abductor virgins' 💀) hmm surely he isn't some perverted freak with dungeons and torture rooms in his house"

and then he offers you a tour of his house and peels off his skin like a snake fresh out of hibernation and every fibre of your being tells you to run as fast as u can. Think Tywin Lannister but it's obvious somebody's been slipping drops of mercury into his coffee. His stern facade hides a lecherous mind

It would go something like this. He is wearing his tywin lannister inspired drip, while riding his very high horse. He bothers to look down from his very high horse at which point he sees you. Double take. He approaches you with the confidence of an absolute slut, but its coated with enough regal varnish to make them barely acceptable in public. Something like "Good evening Fair lady/good sir, I see thou art unchaperoned this low in the evening. May we escort you somewhere safe?". You don't really understand what he is getting at first, until he offers to give you a tour of his beautiful rich and lavish manor. And like, he isn't lying. It's beautiful. It's rich. It's lavish. On top of a fucking volcano? It’s always the fucked up bitches with tastes like look at Mohg?! 10/10 (I had rank him second to Mohg in dripmaxxing). But the deeper you venture into his abode, the crazier the tour becomes. And then you watch this man peel his layers of civility strata by strata, with each new chamber easing him into his true self until ultimately what is left is a crazed man with a crazed look pointing at a literal dungeon with very suggestive toys. Tanith is there.

The pros though is that he is a good lover, and father. Stressing on Father, because you are gonna make him one. (Magic world if you are a male reader. Anything is possible)

Post Snake Rykard:

Ooooohhh togethhhaaaaaa we prossspeeerrr untuu eterniteeeeeeeee become fameeelee?

( he is giving you a choice which is a show of love. Choose your next words very carefully)

Godfrey:

He lets you dress his scars.

He recognizes that familiar feeling of love, and his age and experience has taught him that fighting it will be more painful, so he just lets it be instead. Despite his bloodlust and barbarism, which resurfaces here and there, he is surprisingly courteous in casual settings. Being married to a goddess you find out, is a lonely existence. Is there any love between the two? Questions that will storm your mind as you do good on the honor of dressing his wounds. You can feel the eyes of his golden beast watching over you. Such an act had intimate undertones back in his homeland. Do you understand?

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

Miquella:

He doesn't 'slip' up any 'signs' no he LITERALLY stabs you with it(out of desperation), but you are still oblivious because he looks like your 8 yrs old baby cousin with a bug addiction(Those wings are real y/n)!He tries to appear his real age by snatching every opportunity provided to show the vastness of his mind and wisdom, but ends up giving young Sheldon vibes. He tells you straight to your face that he loves you like "no other", but he just gets swaddled in your lap like a baby. Not enjoying this experience.

Messmer: Don't know anything about him to write 3 paras (for obv) but the vibes he is giving right now is that he is less pookie bear than imagined, and impaling isn't just a hobby but his way of life. Going off of the trailer, I had say if he had a crush on you, he would be as straight forward as Godwyn, but with a more sinister bent. He would let you play with his snakes...maybe burn you deep to leave his mark...?

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alewritesfics · 6 months ago

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Hope

Happy marriage part 3

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Word count: 4k

Summary: new hope blossoms and new starts commence

A/n: long time no see people! 😅😅😅 Sorry I went MIA but I got this done and decided to post it. Now I won't give an exact time on when I'll post because now I see I'm a little liar and I don't go through with my word 😶😶

I'm very sorry to leave you all hanging. But here's the last part of happy marriage and I hope you like it!

MASTERLIST Part 1. Part 2

“When I said I will give you a chance to make it up to me, I did not mean you had to follow me and be glued to my side everywhere I go.” You spoke annoyed, lifting up your eyes from the romance book you were currently reading. You had felt Anthony’s gaze centered on you for a few minutes now, you tried to ignore it but it felt so intense it was impossible to.

It was annoying, really, well maybe just a bit endearing, although you’ll fiercely deny it if anybody mentions it. Anthony really seemed to be trying to earn your forgiveness, he was more attentive than before, more understanding, a little bit more romantic as he now gifts you a bouquet of flowers every single day (something that annoys Lady Bridgerton as the maids cannot seem to find any more empty vases). But it was annoying that he seemed to follow you wherever you went.

A walk around the garden? Antony was walking behind you. You sit down in the drawing room to read a book? Anthony was seated next to you before you could even blink. A ball? He would always pull you into dances, something you couldn’t deny him of. Annoying, very annoying (You secretly love it, don’t lie to yourself).

“I know,” Anthony responded, meeting your eyes without any shame, “I do not mind following you around, it is quite…..fascinating, to be in your presence that is.”

You held back the blush wanting to come on to your cheeks at his words “Surprised you are just now figuring that out” You said, flickering your eyes back down to your book, pretending his words did not affect you in any way when the truth was that they did. “You know, it is not too late to give up now. You will not have my forgiveness from one day to the next.”

It was hard not to forgive him in an instant whenever he spoke sweet words, no matter how much you wanted to deny it, you still loved him, deeply. But the reminder of how much he hurt you and how much you cried over him washed away any sudden desire to forgive him. He had to work hard to earn your forgiveness, it’s not something you’ll give away easily towards him, not this time.

Anthony wasn’t deterred by your words, “There is something us Bridgertons are, and that is that we are stubborn, so i will not rest until I have fully earn your forgiveness, you have my word.” He said as he stood up, determination filling his words “Gather much patience and indifference as you can, darling, because I am going to be by your side until I succeed and I can see you are not as unaffected as you try to appear to be” He then turned around to walk out of the drawing room

“There is another thing I am bargaining for,” He stopped before he exited the room “and that is to earn back your love….no matter how long it takes” he said shamelessly before finally walking out

You swallowed harshly, your heart beating fast in your chest as you fully took in his words and the promise in them. You exhaled shakily, feelings you did not want to feel ever again trying to resurface. It is both horrible and amazing how much he affects you, whether he said cruel or sweet words, your traitorous heart always seems to beat faster to no one but him.

He felt so idiotic. For the first time in his entire life, Anthony felt like the dumbest person in the whole wide world. He could see it, he could see how much he actually hurt you. You were distant towards him, cold even, your eyes didn’t have that sparkle in them whenever you saw him, nor did you bend over trying to fulfill his every wish, not that he wanted you to, but there was this pain in your eyes, this hurt when your eyes met his which made him feel so guilty and dumb.

There is this saying that goes, you never know what you have until you lost it. Anthony felt like that. You was an amazing person and he felt like the dumbest person alive to not have realized that sooner. His mother was right from the start, you really are the perfect viscountess , the perfect woman….the only woman for him.

His only relief is that the pain that he previously saw in your eyes decreases with the time he spends with you. It gave him hope and he will not rest until that pain disappears completely and your eyes once again reflect love in them when you see him.

“Y/n” His face lights up, eyes flickering up when he heard your name, standing up from his seat as he saw you enter the dining room with a plate full of cookies, his reaction not unnoticed by his mother who hid her smile pretending to take a sip out of her glass of wine.

“Y/n,” Anthony said taking a step towards you before stopping and instead pulling out your unofficial assigned chair (which is coincidentally besides him, wink wink), one you haven’t sat on since your marriage crumbled.

You sit down on the chair, silently thanking him with a nod of your head “I made some cookies, they’re recently baked so they might be hot” You smiled, putting the plate in the middle of the table “I-“

“You didn’t have to.” Anthony said breathlessly, the thought that you accepted his gesture and was so close to him making his heart beat quickly, it felt as if it would snap right out of his chest. You were not completely ignoring him…

“I know, I wanted to” You say with a nod

“They look delicious.” Anthony said, not knowing what else to say to you, suddenly feeling as if he couldn’t muster up any idea on what to say to keep the conversation going.

“I hope that they are” You answer

“I am sure anything you make is amazing,” He said with a smile

You blink, now you were the one speechless “Thanks….I guess?” you say awkwardly. You heard Benedict chuckle from beside you, you turned to face him, giving him a glare.

“Ah no, do not mind me” Benedict uttered, taking a sip from his cup of wine “Pretend I’m not here, I just remembered something funny and it made me laugh”

You scoffed before standing up from your seat “I have to go get ready for the opera” you said “do not follow me” you uttered once you saw Anthony moving to stand up as well

“but I- I can-“ he groaned when he saw you leaving without another glance

“Anthony, go call Y/n and Hyacinth , the carriage is almost here” Violet Bridgerton told her son as she looked out the window

“No need” You spoke as you walked down the stairs, Hyacinth not far behind you

You let out a breath as you reached the ground floor, Anthony’s gaze immediately found yours as you descended the stairs. His eyes lit up, as though seeing you for the first time that evening, his breath catching slightly at the sight of you. You wore a gown of deep sapphire, its elegant lines flattering your figure without drawing too much attention, and yet, to Anthony, you might as well have been the only person in the room.

“Y/n…” He murmured, his tone soft, almost reverent. The man you had once known to be brash and commanding now seemed utterly captivated by your every movement. It would have been endearing if it wasn’t so infuriatingly persistent.

“You look beautiful,” he added, his voice lower now, as if it was meant only for you.

You offered him a polite smile, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “Thank you, Anthony.”

Hyacinth grinned mischievously from behind you, clearly picking up on the tension between you two. “Anthony’s been quite eager about the opera all week,” she teased as she passed by, giving her brother a sly look.

Anthony’s expression shifted into something more sheepish, a rare sight indeed. “Only because I knew you’d be there,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

You sighed inwardly. This was all part of his effort to win you back, but he couldn’t just charm his way through everything. Not after the pain he had caused. There was a deep well of hurt beneath your composed exterior, and no amount of flowery words or pretty compliments could erase it. You had promised yourself that if he truly wanted your forgiveness, he would have to work for it. He would have to see the depths of the damage he had inflicted.

“Let’s just get going,” you said softly, already moving toward the door where the carriage waited.

The opera house was a grand affair, as always. Chandeliers glittered overhead, the rich burgundy of the velvet curtains creating an opulent backdrop for the night’s performance. People dressed in their finest milled about, awaiting the start of the show, their chatter filling the air like a soft hum.

You took your seat next to Anthony, and despite the large crowd, it felt like you two were the only ones in the room. As the lights dimmed and the first notes of the opera began to play, Anthony leaned slightly toward you.

“I’ve never quite appreciated music as I do now,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft overture. His eyes, however, were not on the stage but on you.

You didn’t respond, focusing your attention on the performance. Sienna Rosso, the opera singer he had an affair with, had a voice that could command any room, but tonight, it seemed Anthony was deaf to it. His gaze never left you, even as the area swelled with emotion, which completely surprised you.

Throughout the performance, he remained close, his presence a constant reminder of the promises he had made. When Sienna reached a particularly moving part of her song, you noticed Anthony’s hand briefly brush against yours where it rested on the armrest. You quickly pulled your hand away, not wanting to give him any more satisfaction than necessary. The corner of his mouth twitched in what you could only describe as amusement, but he didn’t push further.

After the opera ended, and the crowd began to file out, you overheard murmurs from others in the audience. Most were compliments on the performance, but a few curious glances and whispers were directed toward you and Anthony.

“It seems Viscount Bridgerton is quite taken with his wife these days,” one woman said to her companion, not too far from where you stood. “He didn’t take his eyes off her once.”

You pretended not to hear them, but the words echoed in your mind as you followed Anthony outside. His devotion was clear, and while part of you appreciated his efforts, another part still held back.

The days that followed were filled with Anthony’s persistent attempts to be near you. He insisted on accompanying you during your walks in the gardens, even if you would rather enjoy the peace and quiet alone. You often found him sitting in the drawing room whenever you tried to read, as if his presence had become a permanent fixture in your life.

One morning, you entered the drawing room with your favorite book, intent on having a quiet moment to yourself. To no surprise, Anthony was already seated by the window, reading through some documents. His head lifted the moment you walked in.

“You don’t always have to be here, you know,” you said, trying to sound indifferent as you sat down with your book. You felt a sense of déjà vu as you remembered you said almost the exact thing days ago.

“I know,” Anthony replied, not looking up from his papers. “But I want to be.”

You shook your head slightly, unsure whether to be frustrated or touched by his relentless presence.

As time passed, Anthony’s efforts didn’t wane. Instead, they became more thoughtful, more personal. He began to ask about the things you can loved—books, music, even the small hobbies you indulged in. One day, he found you at the piano, quietly playing a familiar melody.

“I didn’t know you played,” he said softly, standing by the doorway as he watched you.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you replied, not looking up from the keys.

Anthony stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “Then let me learn.”

For a moment, you stopped playing and turned to him. His gaze was sincere, and for the first time, you saw just how much he truly wanted to understand you, not just win back your favor. There was a quiet desperation in his eyes—a longing to connect in a way that went beyond mere apologies.

“I’m not the same person I was before, Anthony,” you said softly. “And neither are you.”

He knelt beside the piano bench, his hand resting lightly on the edge. “I know. But that doesn’t change how much I want to be the man who deserves you.”

Anthony’s devotion became even more apparent during the next ball. You had agreed to attend, mostly to maintain appearances, but you had no intention of dancing with him. Yet, as the evening wore on, you found yourself in his arms once again, moving to the rhythm of the music.

The anticipation of the evening bubbling inside you. You’d worn your best gown—an elegant shade of deep emerald green that complemented your complexion beautifully, with delicate lace detailing that caught the light as you moved.

As you stepped into the grand hall, the chandeliers glimmered above, and the soft murmur of conversations created a symphony of excitement. You could already see a few familiar faces, including Anthony’s, who was talking animatedly with Benedict. As your eyes caught his, a smile crept onto his face, and it sent an unexpected flutter through your chest.

“You look stunning,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as you approached him. There was a sincerity in his tone that made your heart race.

“Thank you,” you replied, trying to keep your composure. “You don’t look too shabby yourself, Viscount Bridgerton.”

“You’ve really been making an effort, haven’t you?” you remarked, genuinely curious.

“I have,” he replied earnestly. “I realized how much I took for granted, and I want to change that. I want to understand you better, to show you how much you mean to me.”

His words stirred something deep within you. It was a mixture of hope and caution, the remnants of your heart still wary. “It’s going to take time,” you reminded him gently.

“I’m willing to wait,” he said, his voice firm yet tender.

The rest of the evening passed in a haze of laughter and shared stories, a tentative but genuine connection beginning to weave itself between you. Over the following weeks, Anthony continued his pursuit, each small gesture a reminder of his commitment. He would bring you books he thought you’d enjoy, spend afternoons listening to you play the piano, and even sought you out during family gatherings, always ensuring you were included.

During one particularly memorable evening at a ball, Anthony once again swept you into a dance. The music flowed around you, and with each turn, he whispered sweet nothings, his breath warm against your ear. “You look breathtaking tonight,” he murmured, pulling you closer.

“Flattery again?” you teased, but the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you.

“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth,” he replied, his gaze unwavering.

As the dance continued, a group of gentlemen approached, their laughter echoing with a cruel edge. One stepped forward, a smirk plastered across his face. “Well, well, if it isn’t the Viscount and his precious wife,” he sneered, his voice dripping with condescension. “I never thought you’d stoop so low after stepping out on her for that soprano. What a delight to see you back with the real prize. But then again, is she really a prize if you had to search elsewhere?”

The laughter from his companions was sharp and mocking, and your heart sank at their words. You could feel heat rising to your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and anger flooding through you.

Anthony’s demeanor shifted in an instant. “If you’ll excuse us,” he said coolly, his grip on your waist tightening as he moved to lead you away. “Your lack of manners is as appalling as your lack of character.”

“Come now, Anthony. You can’t seriously think anyone would believe you’re happy here,” the gentleman continued, his smirk widening. “After all, we all know your heart is still with that soprano. Poor thing, she wasn’t simply a phase, was she?”

The cruel laughter of the group hung in the air, and you felt the sting of their words cut deep. Anthony’s protective nature surged to the forefront, his expression hardening as he glared at them. “Fun at the expense of another’s feelings is not fun at all,” he retorted, his voice steady but low, a clear warning laced with anger.

You watched in surprise as he stood his ground, the intensity in his gaze unwavering. “You’d do well to remember that she deserves respect, not your mockery.”

As the gentlemen backed off, their laughter fading into awkward silence, you felt a rush of gratitude for Anthony. “Thank you,” you whispered, looking up at him. In that moment, you truly saw the man he was becoming,the way he stood up for you, how he was learning to respect your feelings, and the genuine warmth in his eyes. It was as if a veil had lifted, and you could see the sincerity in his actions.

Your heart softened for him, the edges of your hurt beginning to blur. “You’ve really changed,” you added, your voice barely above a whisper. “It means so much to me.”

“Always,” he replied softly, his gaze searching yours. The intensity in his eyes was filled with an unspoken promise, a vow that he would continue to earn your trust and love.

As the evening wore on, you both enjoyed each other’s company, the space around you brimming with laughter and joy. The memory of the cruel words from the gentlemen faded, overshadowed by the warmth that radiated between you and Anthony. With each smile, each shared glance, you could feel the distance between you gradually closing, drawing you closer together.

You gently squeezed Anthony’s hand and leaned in close, your voice barely above a whisper, “Come with me.”

His eyebrows raised in curiosity, but he didn’t hesitate. You led him out of the ballroom, down the halls of the house, until you found a small, secluded alcove at the back of the house—a quiet corner where you could be alone. The air was cooler here, with the faint scent of roses from the garden outside, and the moonlight filtered softly through the window.

Anthony looked at you with concern, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what was on your mind. “Are you alright?” he asked gently, his voice filled with care.

You nodded, stepping closer to him, feeling your heart pound in your chest. “I’m fine, Anthony. I just… I wanted to talk to you alone.”

He looked nervous, as if he feared what you might say. His eyes flickered between yours, waiting, bracing. You took a deep breath, your fingers still wrapped around his.

“I’ve been thinking,” you started, your voice soft, “about everything that’s happened between us. The pain, the distance… but also, how far you’ve come.” You met his gaze, your heart swelling with the depth of emotion that had been building inside you for months. “You’ve changed, Anthony. Truly. And I can see how hard you’ve worked to prove yourself, not just to me, but to everyone.”

Anthony’s jaw clenched slightly, his brow furrowing as he listened. “I did it for you,” he said quietly, “because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you completely. You mean everything to me, Y/n. I know I’ve hurt you, and I’ve regretted it every day since. But I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

Your eyes glistened with unshed tears as his words struck a deep chord within you. He was baring his soul to you but this time, in the privacy of this small, intimate space, it felt even more real—more raw.

You reached up, gently cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over the stubble on his jawline. “I know, Anthony. I can see that now.” Your voice wavered slightly, thick with emotion. “And I want to give us another chance.”

His eyes widened, surprise flickering in his gaze, followed by an overwhelming rush of relief. “Y/n… are you sure?” His hand covered yours on his cheek, his thumb caressing your skin as if he was afraid you might disappear.

You nodded, stepping closer until your bodies were almost touching. “I’m sure,” you whispered. “I want to be with you, Anthony. I want to move forward together. No more walls between us.”

A soft breath escaped him, as if he’d been holding it in for far too long. “I’ve waited so long to hear you say that,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with emotion. “I love you, Y/n. I’ve always loved you, even when I was too foolish to realize it. You are everything to me. My heart, my soul… I don’t deserve you, but I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret giving me another chance.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but they were tears of joy, of hope, of finally letting go of the past and embracing the future. “I love you too, Anthony,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Despite everything, I never stopped loving you.”

The moment hung between you, charged with emotion, until Anthony, unable to resist any longer, gently cupped your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was soft at first, tender, as if he was afraid to push too far. But as your hands found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer, the kiss deepened, becoming more passionate. Years of unspoken feelings, of longing and heartache, melted away in that single, soul-stirring kiss.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together, the weight of the past lifted from your shoulders.

“You’re mine,” Anthony whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m yours, forever.”

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you nodded, feeling the warmth of his love wrap around you like a blanket. “Forever,” you agreed, your heart full.

Years later, the memory of that night remained vivid in your mind, a turning point in your love story. Life had changed for the better, your marriage growing stronger with each passing day. You and Anthony had built a beautiful life together, filled with laughter, love, and the joy of your growing family.

On sunny afternoons, you would find Anthony in the garden, playing with your children—two boys and a girl—who adored their father with all the fierce love you had once felt when you were a child. He was a different man now, a devoted husband and a doting father, and every day he made good on his promise to you.

One afternoon, as you watched from the porch, you saw Anthony scoop up your youngest daughter, spinning her around as she giggled uncontrollably. Your heart swelled with happiness, and you realized how far the two of you had come. The man who once made mistakes was now the man who never let a day go by without showing you just how much he loved you.

Anthony caught your eye from across the garden, and for a moment, everything felt perfect. He smiled, his eyes filled with the same love and devotion that had been there that night in the alcove, when you decided to give him another chance.

And you knew, deep in your heart, that it had been the best decision you had ever made.

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man-i-love-fanfiction · 5 months ago

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To Share the Space with Simple Living Things - Hozier x Fem!Florist!Reader

Chapter One: Blue Hydrangeas- Gratitude

Summary: Your job as a florist has been the highlight of your day for years. It becomes even more exciting when a certain new customer becomes a regular.

Word Count: 2286

Author's Note: Hey guys! My first multi-chapter fic, i'm so excited!!! i don't have a strict posting schedule, but I won't go more than two weeks without an update. please bear with me here because I have no idea what it's like to be a florist. I hope you all enjoy!!

p.s. special shoutout again to @deprivedmusicaljunkie for beta reading, i can't thank you enough!

fic below the cut :)

You were a part of the small minority of people who actually loved their job.

The concept of this was strange to most people — strangers making small talk, men asking introductory questions on dates, even your own parents. Maybe because it wasn’t exactly a career; more so a job that someone has as a way to make rent while getting their degree, which is how you originally began to work at Earth's Laughter Florists. College had been years ago for you now, and yet you stayed behind the counter, making bouquets for customers with a genuine smile on your face. It got to the point that when the old owner decided it was time to retire, she chose you to take over. Of course, you immediately accepted; this job was the best part of your day. While all of your friends were going insane with their office jobs, you… admittedly still went insane from time to time, just in a much prettier workplace.

You had even taken it upon yourself to learn flower language: different types of flowers having different symbolic meanings. It was almost like extra credit. It gave you a new challenge of arranging flowers while keeping both color and symbolism in mind, and helped you create bouquets and arrangements with more meaning. This, in turn, gave your customers a new incentive to buy different flowers for different occasions based on what they meant. More business for you, more smiles on people's faces, and more money in your pocket. Everyone wins.

Another benefit of the job — your favorite part — was that it gave you small glimpses into the lives of other people. Flowers had a multiplicity of sorts. They were so versatile that people bought from you for almost every occasion. Weddings, funerals, birthdays, dance recitals, you name it. It made you more appreciative of others. Every day was a new insight into whatever your customers had going on. And today was no exception.

You arrived an hour before the store opened, as usual. You went into the back and threw on your apron, adjusting your name tag. Thoughts of everything you had to do before opening ran through your head, and you quickly began to busy yourself with everything from giving some flowers new vases of water to following up on an order for a wedding. Your two coworkers came in around a half an hour after your arrival, donning their aprons, saying their hellos, and also beginning their day. When the time finally came, you flipped around the sign hanging from the door, telling everyone outside you were open. You stood behind the counter and waited.

And waited.

One of the only downsides of your job was that it required a lot of patience.

It's not like you were just staring at the clock, biding your time until a customer entered. You still had work to get done, mostly tying up loose ends from what you didn't finish before. Your coworkers were occupied with a tall order of arrangements, so they stuck to the back, with the occasional popping in to ask if you needed assistance. Politely, you declined.

Mundane was the word that kept repeating itself in your head as you did your odd jobs around the store. Not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, mundane meant nothing horrible was occurring (even though it meant nothing was occurring). Of course, mundane never does last long.

You had just finished creating an arrangement to put on display when your first customer of the day walked in.

The bell above the door rang, and you quickly walked back over to where you were supposed to be standing, not even bothering to see who had walked in until you were behind the counter.

The first thing you noticed was that he was taller than you had expected, with long brown curls that fell down to his shoulders. His outfit, a black turtleneck, a brown leather jacket, and black jeans, was the right mix of formal and casual; you could tell he had somewhere to be, but with people that wouldn't mind if he laughed a little too loudly.

To top it all off, he was handsome. You couldn't pull your gaze from him if you tried.

He walked forward, slowly looking around at all the flowers on display until his gaze locked onto you. He broke the silence between you.

“Hello. I need some flowers.”

You maintained your composure and brushed off your previous thoughts. You started your usual routine, asking him the same questions to get to know the situation (and him) better.

“What's the occasion?”

“It's my mum’s birthday.”

“Does she have a favorite flower?” You asked. He replied with no hesitation.

“She loves hydrangeas. Blue hydrangeas. She always has.”

His immediate answer brought a small smile to your face. You nodded intently and began to think of all the possible combinations of flowers that would work well.

“You're specific. I like that. That makes my job easier. Usually guys say something like ‘I don't know’ or ‘the purple ones’ or just ‘roses’. It's like some people don't even pay attention.”

“Well, that's all I know how to do.”

“A blessing and a curse, I imagine.”

“More of a blessing, believe it or not.”

“I have a similar blessing, though it seems to be laser-focused on plants of all things.” You joked. “Speaking of plants, let me start on your bouquet.”

You left your spot, walking over to the wall of flowers on display for you to pick from. You stopped and stood next to the man, fixated on the wall as you tried to decide what flowers would go well together, in meaning and in visuals. Mumbling, you thought out loud.

“Alright. For his mother. Blue hydrangeas… that's gratitude. What can go with that?”

The customer tilted his head in confusion, clearly having heard you.

“I don't mean to interrupt, but what's with blue hydrangeas and gratitude?” He asked. Your eyes widened, and you turned to face him as you started your explanation.

“Oh, it's flower language. I learned about it to help me make more symbolic bouquets. Back in the Victorian era, people would use bouquets of flowers to convey messages they couldn't say out loud. Most of the time it was a love confession, though you could also reject someone if you picked your flora wisely. Individual flowers have meanings, too. Blue hydrangeas, your mum's favorite, symbolize gratitude. There was even a change in the meaning based on which side the ribbon was on, or if they were given upside down, and…” You cut yourself off when you realized you’d been talking for much too long, your excited expression dropping. “I’m rambling about something you definitely don't care about. I’m sorry.”

He gave you a confused look, and a small laugh of disbelief escaped him.

“What? Don't apologize. That was fascinating. I don't know if I’ll ever see flowers the same way again. In a good way, of course”

The fact that he was actually invested in what you had to say pleasantly surprised you. People — not just customers, people you actually choose to surround yourself with — would often tune you out after the first two sentences.

You knew this man for two minutes and he was already raising your standards.

“Well then, I’m happy to give you a new perspective. I’ll get started on your arrangement.”

You stepped back to get a better look at the flowers lining the walls of the room. You already had a vague idea of what you wanted, you just needed to put it into action. Hydrangeas were grabbed first, and made the focal point of the bouquet immediately. Other flowers were picked up and put down, a trial-and-error of sorts until you found which ones truly matched.

Occasionally, you looked over your shoulder to find your customer still standing there, spectating you from a few feet away. He watched you with a certain gleam in his eye, one you would attribute to admiration if you didn't know any better.

Once your selections were made, you picked out a plastic sheet and took the flowers into the back, where there was a smaller room with a much larger table surface for a workspace. The wrapping was laid out, and meticulously, flowers were laid down. Rearranged. Shifted around. After a few small touches, everything was in the exact place you wanted it.

You finally finished up, wrapping the flowers in the silver plastic and tying it up with a blue ribbon. You went back behind the counter and held the bundle of flowers up, pointing at each one as you described the meaning of each specifically selected flower.

“There's the blue hydrangeas for gratitude, white roses for loyalty and beauty, and belladonna delphinium for protection and well-being. You're basically showering your mum with compliments with this thing.”

“It's gorgeous,” he replied, the look of astonishment from before lingering on his face.

“As nature tends to be.”

“I mean, you can't argue with that, but the way you’ve arranged them, it's… stunning. She’ll love it.”

His compliment surprised you; it wasn't too often you got such a compliment for a simple bouquet. It caused your heart to flutter in your chest in a way that definitely crossed the border of the employee-customer relationship you had going on. Frightening. Maybe if you kept acting unaffected, it would magically stop.

“Let me ring you up.”

There was no true cash register, and you instead relied on a pen, a yellow legal pad, and mental math for customers’ totals. It took a moment, but you calculated what he owed you.

“That'll be $54.”

He muttered in agreement, and you watched as he reached into his coat pocket. His hand stayed there, fiddling around. After a moment, he reached the opposite hand into the opposite pocket. He felt around for a second, pulling his hands out and placing them on his hips. His content expression was replaced by one that was much more panicked.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit!”

Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“What’s the matter?”

“I…I forgot my wallet back at my house. Do you take any online payment?”

You shook your head.

“No, sorry. We're old school. That's alright though, I can put these to the side and you can run home and get your wallet.”

He let out a frustrated sigh in response, angry more at himself than anything else.

“That's the thing. I live thirty minutes from here and I’m meeting my mum in fifteen minutes, and I have specific instructions to be on time. I might just…”

He stopped his sentence, paused, and took a deep breath to calm himself.

“I’ll find something else. Thanks for all your help, though. You have a gift.”

You caught the sincerity behind his now bitter tone, and it made your heart ache. He turned to leave and took a few steps forward. You didn't process that you had said anything until his reaction.

“Wait.”

He immediately stopped in his tracks and turned around, and you realized your impulses led you to call out for him even though you had no plan whatsoever.

Biting at your lower lip, you thought of an idea. You genuinely wanted to help this man give his mother flowers… The fact you found him attractive was merely an added bonus. Besides, the pity you felt for him overrode that. Once the metaphorical light bulb lit above your head, you spoke again, leaning in closer and lowering your voice so only he could hear.

“Okay, I’m not supposed to do this, and this definitely isn't a good business practice, but I can tell you're not just doing this to steal flowers from me, so I’ll make an exception.”

He leaned in as well with a look of intrigue. You continued to explain.

“You can take the bouquet for now, and then within… I don't know, two days, you have to pay me back. I’d just need a name and phone number so I can contact you if you don't show up.”

You snatched one of your business cards from the display and flipped it over so the blank side faces upwards, leaving a pen in front of you so he could write. He picked up the ballpoint, seemingly scribbled for a moment, and then slid the card back over to you. Written in surprisingly beautiful handwriting, you read his name aloud.

“Andrew… Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

“I know.”

This caught you off guard. For a second you wondered if maybe you did accidentally give a free bouquet to a shady guy.

“Excuse me?”

Andrew’s mouth went agape as he realized the connotation behind what he said, and he quickly muttered an explanation, flustered. “Oh my god! No. Not like that. You… your name tag.”

A sigh of relief escaped your lips, and you gave him a nod.

“Right. Forgot that was there for a second. Alright, take your bouquet. Happy birthday to your mother. And remember, two days.”

He gave you a gesture showing his gratitude, pressing his hands together.

“Thank you. So much. I don’t know how I’ll repay you.” He said, grabbing the bouquet.

“Hopefully with money in two days,” you joked.

He let out a laugh.

“Money would do the trick. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon.”

You watched as he left, the smile of your face growing as you noticed his appreciation of the flowers you had arranged by the doorway. He paused for a moment before opening the door and leaving, and you caught him humming a tune you'd never heard before.

You hoped he would come back much sooner rather than later.

#hozier #hozier x reader #andrew hozier byrne #hozier fanfic #hozier fanfiction #writing #fanfic #writeblr #writers on tumblr #divider #to share the space with simple living things

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hees-mine · 5 months ago

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Roll one - L. Heeseung

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader!

Warnings: smut, smoking, dirty talk, blowjob, drabble.

Genre: 18+

WC: 2,010k

“Ooh, I’m telling on you,” heeseung, your best friend, said after entering your room, that was filled with the smell of weed.

He had texted you earlier that he was free to hangout if you wanted to and naturally you agreed but you didn’t know he was gonna be annoying as soon as he stepped foot into your room.

You glared at him as he entered without your permission not to say he needed it he was literally your bestfriend after all. “If you do you’re not leaving this room alive.” You puffed out the smoke from your mouth and reclined against your bed frame.

You could joke freely with him like that cause heeseung was your childhood friend. You knew each other in and out, maybe even more than your parents, given the fact he knows you smoke and they don’t.

They’re out on vacation right now which is perfect cause that leaves the house to you and your oversized blunt that sits between your thumb and index finger as you take another puff.

“You’re a bad girl, you know, that smoking behind your mom and dad's back.” he closes the door behind him and plops down on your bed, not minding the smell. He’s smelled it on you a million times before, so he’s used to it. He’d even occasionally smoke with you.

“Yeah, yeah,” rolled your eyes at him.

“With a bad attitude, too,” he says while kicking his shoes off.

“Want some?” You say, offering him some of your blunt.

“What? Head? Yeah,” he chuckles, and you scoff at his horrible attempt at humor.

“I meant the blunt, you idiot.” he bumps you with his shoulder, laughing softly as if to tell you to take a joke.

“Sure, I’ll take a hit.” he wasn’t as much of a smoker as you, but at times, he would. You pass it to him, and he wraps his lips around it, inhaling deeply and holding it for as long as he can before coughing hysterically. “Oh shit,” he laughs in between coughs.

After his coughing bout is over, he takes another hit, this time a lot smaller than before, and hands it back to you. “You know, we actually just indirectly kissed,” he says as if that’s news to share.

“Oh my god, can I just suck your dick and get this over with?” You sighed, knowing this wouldn’t be his last attempt at a sexual joke aimed at you.

“Thought you’d never ask” he half jokes but little does he know you’re not joking with him anymore.

Read full story on Patreon

Posting a longer fic next week

#heeseung smut #enhypen lee heeseung #enhypen hyung line #enhypen fluff #enhypen heeseung smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #enhypen fanfic #enhypen heeseung #enhypen #lee heesung smut #heeseung angst #lee heeseung smut #heeseung x reader #heeseung fluff #lee heeseung #heeseung #lee heesung x reader

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alexanderlightweight · 1 month ago

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Ok, so I read your pinned post and it says it's ok to prompt out of wed. But it feels wrong but I'm doing it, bc I happened to be rereading mob wife Alec (such a good verse, I have read it sooo many times now. Just 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻) and honestly this thought would not leave my mind. So imagine at one of these meetings, Alec happens to notice a sketchy smarmy guy and he's watching him closely bc he's concerned he's going to do something bad. (maybe something to one of the women who are there serving or one of the wives.) Sketchy guy notices Alec watching him and he assumes its bc Alec is interested. (bc straight guys and their absolutely stupid egos, do not get me started.) anyway, things happen, guy accuses Alec of coming onto him. And Alec is so insanely offended, he's speechless. All he can manage to do is point at Magnus and go, "have you seen my husband?!" Bc absolutely not a single person can hold a candle up to Magnus.

it doesn't quite match up 100% but this is where mob!wife Alec took it. it's been a while but I was delighted to write in this verse again so thank you for this delightful prompt

<3 lumine

dressed to kill

Now Alec knows he’s not the best at this undercover work.

Whether as a distraction or in desperation, pretending to be something he’d not has never been one of his fortes. Something Magnus is very fond of reminding him of and well, enough time has passed that Alec can admit he was pretty terrible at pretending to be straight.

Especially in front of Magnus.

And even now, for all the effort Alec, Magnus and even Simon have put in, Alec is still horrible at blending in with mundanes.

Which leads him here.

To a situation that he is truly unable to fathom and still doesn’t know how he ended up in.

“I’m not sure I heard you correctly.” Is what he automatically responds with, it’s an attempt to buy time but the thought of having to hear such stupidity again changes his mind. “No,” he immediately says when the man opens his mouth again, “no need to repeat it.”

Alec knows denial intimately.

He lived submerged in it for over two decades and now he firmly reaches for the long since abandoned feeling and wraps it around himself. Denial may not have worked in the face of Magnus but fortunately for Alec, no one compares to Magnus so he’s safe.

“I’ll ask someone to get you medical aid, you’ve clearly had more than you can handle.” Alec says it to be gracious. He’s trying to not make a scene and he’s certainly not interested in having to explain his involvement in yet another mundane death.

Or at least he tries.

Then the true absurdity of the situation hits him and he can’t help it.

He laughs.

Not a full-bodied laugh, the kind Magnus, Izzy or Jace can draw from him, but the deep, darker chuckle that builds when he’s on a hunt.

“You think you’re something worth my interest?” Alec’s voice is low, the predatory instinct of a hunt entrenched in him.

The quieter a shadowhunter is, the more deadly they are.

Alec has never needed to shout to make his threats known, he also doesn’t need a threat to teach this mundane a lesson.

“I am already married to the most gorgeous being in any dimension, who are you to think you can compete?” All the evidence Alec needs is the hand he points in Magnus’ direction and it’s with a scoff of disgust that Alec leaves. Even without active runes he’s faster than the most agile of mundanes and in an instant he’s at Magnus’ side.

He really doubts he had the self-control to listen to one more assumption of Alec’s interest in someone other than Magnus.

It’s automatic, for Magnus to reach for Alexander even as he slots into place next to him. No words of greeting are needed for Alexander to automatically tuck himself into Magnus’ side.

“What’s wrong?” It’s clear that Alexander is flustered, and not in a ‘I-lost-track-of-this-mundane-conversation-ten-minutes-ago-and-would-like-to-be-done’ kind of way.

“Someone had the audacity to think I was interested in them.”

Magnus’ hand tightens on Alexander’s hip even as he processes the words.

Unfortunately, despite how much he despises hearing such a thing, it’s not unexpected. One of the prices Magnus has had to pay during these ventures are the mundanes who show interest in Magnus’ boy.

In the shadowworld they are fairly prominent figures and between the two of them, they have few enemies who would risk crossing them both.

That includes coveting what isn’t theirs to desire.

And while Magnus doesn’t doubt for a minute that the mundane was making absurd assumptions, he is curious as to how a mundane thought Alexander was approachable.

“How?”

It’s a genuine question, Magnus has met quite a few people who have been interested in Alexander, he’s just never met one that had the gall to think it was reciprocated.

Alexander pauses, brow furrowed as he thinks and then he shrugs, expression soft and a little sheepish. “I stopped paying attention pretty quickly. I just wanted him to stop talking.”

Magnus can’t help but laugh, delight thrumming through him as he disguises his humor with a kiss to Alexander’s hair.

(the guy was too straight for alec to deal with, the vibes were just a no and the guy’s prey instinct kicked in via survival mode and he took off before Alec could point him out to Magnus. the reason the guy thought Alec was interested in him? Magnus and Alec will never find out but it was actually because alec was watching the bartender make drinks with fire -he was comparing it to Magnus talent and finding it lacking- and the guy happened to be somewhat in eye zone)

and it is 100% canon that Alec goes around this universe and all my universes comparing mundanes and shadow world beings to Magnus and finding everyone else lacking.

magnus finds it absolutely charming when Alec is tired and starts mumbling about how the bartender completely lacks the same elegant flair that makes Magnus' alcoholic fiery drinks so much more enticing and appealing (tipsy Alec admiting he only tried that first drink Magnus offered him because he wanted to see what Magnus' magic fire tasted like and instead he got a mouthful of blue vodka and everclear and a part of him has never forgiven Magnus for that betrayal and Magnus is always treated to a wrinkle of Alec's nose when he's offered a new drink before he tries it). Magnus doesn't say anything about it because he thinks its both adorable and hilarious.

#lumine writes #dressed to kill #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters

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t1oui · 5 months ago

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thinking about how living w regulus would affect harry like

he's such a fucking snob about everything. food, decor, fashion, you name it, he's got opinions on it.

he does ballet despite being the least graceful person on the planet. he's somehow pretty good at it, likely out of spite

speaks french

very much a cat person, has a cat named leo who is his baby

like yk how james and sirius are extremely codependent? that's how harry is w leo. both of them can not handle being apart from each other too long

reads a lot of stories

thinks seeker is the best quidditch position

on that note, lots of slytherin house pride. james hates it. harry refuses to put any gryffindor decorations up in his room

harry loves taking pictures just like reg so the house is filled with photographs

and ofc harry is snobby about what types of cameras he uses thanks to reg. james now just lets them deal with the cameras & photography stuff bc he's scared to get the wrong thing lol

harry is taller than reg but bc dysphoria all of reg's old clothes (like quidditch jerseys + hoodies and stuff) are his size so half his wardrobe is from reg's hogwarts days

definitely the type of guy to change his bedding & curtains & everything in his room based on the season. will anybody actually be in there other than him and his parents? not really, but he MUST redecorate

idk what this even means but snobby about candles. this is another thing james is scared to buy him

harry and reg speak french w each other more than english

since james doesn't speak french w harry (i hc he's only comfortable speaking it w reg) harry is used to having a conversation in two different languages so sometimes he'll be speaking french w his friends without noticing

he'll be in the middle of a rant and realize they don't understand a thing he's saying lol

reg and harry control the decorating for every holiday, every birthday, etc.

the one thing harry knows how to do that reg doesn't/reg didn't teach him is cooking. reg never cooked for himself as a child so james was the one who taught him

doesn't look like it most of the time but all of harry's clothes are very expensive... did i mention he's a snob

harry is such a dry texter/writer... he's such a dick about grammar when it comes to writing even tho he can barely string a sentence together when speaking

deeply sarcastic (look! a canon detail! we never thought we'd see that on this account, did we?)

will take his partners on the most expensive dates & whatnot like it's nothing... cedric the farmboy™️ is not prepared

writes sad boy poetry when he gets annoyed w someone... like harry will storm off all pissed and then he comes back 20 mins later with a beautifully written, very angry poem for whoever made him mad

has so many clothes & different curtains and bedding sets for different seasons that he also uses the closet in the guest room (reg takes up 99% of his and james's closet for the same reason)

has an inherent hatred of fake plants

bedroom is simultaneously tidy and so messy a hurricane might as well have come through

leaves a book behind everywhere he goes

secretly the worst sense of humor lmao

he may not have gotten his love of drawing/painting from regulus, but you def see reg in the way he is, you guessed it, a massive snob about art supplies

soooo indecisive. redoes his room at least twice a year

an asshole when he gets less than 10 hours of sleep... he's mildly tolerable after 3 cups of coffee (black, of course) but you might as well just ignore him until he gets a nap in

on that note is very good at making coffee and is, drum roll please, a massive snob about it. who would've guessed (somebody count how many times i've said snob in this post and comment it please and thank you)

if he doesn't like a gift he's horrible at pretending he's happy w it so people usually go through reg whenever they buy him something... this goes both ways too, people go through harry when buying something for reg

is visually james and lily's but in personality is really just reg's (and also lily's... he definitely inherited his spite from her lol)

is a crazy cat lady by age 20

at least 10 pictures of leo in his room... he has whole photoshoots for her and she poses for them

might as well not hang out w harry at his house bc he'll make out with his cat the whole time

loves going to art museums w regulus

he's a, surprise surprise, snob about art. james just doesn't comment on art altogether atp

his vocabulary is a weird mashup of french, english, and hindi that makes it very hard for anybody who doesn't know him well to understand what he's saying lol

looks angry until he smiles (he got this from lily but a life with reg has perfected it)

needs a golden retriever to his black cat in any given relationship (enter cedric and cho) (yes i'm going to push my rarepair on everyone reading this)

tl;dr being raised by/living w regulus has turned harry into a massive snob about literally everything and regulus is proud of it (blink twice if you need help, james)

#hp fandom #harry potter fandom #hp #marauders era #harry potter #james potter #regulus black #jegulus #jegulus raising harry #regulus raising harry really #leo the cat #let's give her her own tag :)#she is immortal btw. leo never dies #anyway

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noiriarti · 9 months ago

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Just Practice: Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Modern Best Friends AU) Ch. 2

Summary: Anakin is your best friend, the one person you can't survive without, and you're about to go to different colleges. You bring up your worries about your inexperience and he offers to help.

NSFW!!!!!!! Literally so NSFW!!! TW for mentions of choking and degradation

Ch. 1, [Ch. 2], Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Bonus Chapter

Chapter 2: An Inescapable Fact

Anakin Skywalker was in love with his best friend. It was an inescapable fact, the same way that the sky was blue, and the Earth was round. Another fact was that he had made out with and practically came on his best friend. He didn't really know what he had been thinking, or if he even had been thinking, but, after he left, all he knew was that he wanted to do it again. And again. And again.

Maybe he liked it a little too much. When he walked down the front steps of your house with his mom, picked up his bike from your lawn, and dashed up to his room to "finish packing," he not-so-subtly palmed himself, his hand lingering on the front of his jeans, where you were grinding against him minutes (minutes!!!) ago. It took him all of thirty seconds to take care of it, imagining you were still on top of him. As he lay there, panting, his hand covered in cum, he wondered if you were doing the same thing. (You were, of course, but he didn't know that.) He pulled out his phone with his clean hand and typed out a message. Hey. His phone dinged less than a second later. Hey, you had sent back. Now he was left wondering what the fuck a person is supposed to say to their best friend who they're in love with and just "for practice" made out with?

That was great. No, too eager.

That was hot. No, weirdly horny.

How are you? No, too nonchalant.

I've been in love with you since seventh grade and I can't imagine life without you so please don't stop being my friend and if you want to be more I'd really enjoy that but no worries if you want to stay just friends. Jesus Christ.

We should do that again. Passable. Send.

And so he waited for you to respond. And waited. And then stood up and cleaned himself up. And packed a bit. Eventually, later in the night, his phone pinged and he dove across the room to check it, but it was a notification from Instagram that one of his teammates had sent him a post. Anakin tossed his phone back on his bed with a little bit more force than necessary, then threw more of his shirts into the open suitcase on the floor. Another hour passed, and there was still radio silence from you. He opened his texts and stared at your exchange for a bit. It was still unread.

I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I crossed a line and it obviously is making you uncomfortable. I enjoyed what we did, and I'd like it to continue, if you want. If not, that's chill. I just want you to talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking, and how you're feeling, and if you still want me in your life. Please-- he drafted, stopping suddenly when he saw the Read notification pop up. He deleted the entire thing with shaking hands. What were you going to say?

Those three dots in the bubble were literal torture, he decided. Being stretched on the rack was probably easier than this horrible purgatory of not knowing whether the one person in his life who he couldn't exist without wanted to end their friendship.

Agreed, your text read. He immediately typed out a Are you okay?, which you answered with Yeah, you?. He assured you that he was, and you told him you were going to sleep for the night. Anakin finally put his phone down and asked himself what was wrong with him.

He hadn't felt this way around a girl, well, ever. In sophomore year, Padmé approached him and asked him out. He was so thrilled someone showed interest in him that he didn't think too carefully about it, but he caught feelings for her quickly. She was smart, kind, pretty. All the things a girlfriend ought to be. She made signs for his games, and kissed him with a desire he longed for. Everyone knew that she loved him, especially him. That's what made it gut-wrenching, because there was always something he was looking for that he could never find with her. Something he was missing. Little things killed them, like when she bought him cranberries and didn't know that he hated them, or when he realized her parents would never approve of him, no matter how hard he tried. He was always the captain of the soccer team who lived in the not-so-nice part of the town, where there were more cows than people, and she was always the genius debater from a house that had six bathrooms.

The first time he had sex with her, it was all hands and kisses and whispered praise. The second time, when he was less stunned by the newness of everything, he started feeling it. That wrongness. And it just didn't stop. When he said her name, the word felt foreign on his lips, like he wasn't meant to say it. Once, he brought up doing something more intense, like pulling her hair or smacking her ass, and she said she probably wouldn't enjoy it, but she'd try it anyway. She, in fact, did not enjoy it, and Anakin drove away from her house later that night in his beat-up Toyota feeling like a monster. Everything was just a little off between them. All his fantasies, all his conceptions of how a girlfriend and sex should be were based on how he imagined you would act. He'd know about your sweet tooth and give you the frosting off his cupcake, and you'd give him the pickles off your burger. With Padmé, nothing fit just right, it was a little off. In another world, he thought that he could have choked it down, married her. Had a happy life in a suburb somewhere. She would have loved it.

He found himself responding to her texts slowly, and kept trying to bring himself back to their dates when he zoned out. It didn't work, and, after a teary, bittersweet goodbye eight months after they dated, he was single again. When Padmé got into Harvard in her senior year, his junior year, he congratulated her, and she hugged him, and he knew that they were okay. Maybe he didn't ever really get to know all of Padmé's nooks and crannies because he didn't feel the urge to. With you, it was practically pathological. He hungered for every photo of you, every glance that you threw him.

Now that he had kissed you, finally giving in to his stupid desires, he knew, with certainty, that this was love. Not a childish crush, not a teenage boy's lust, but love. (And also lust, but that was secondary.) As he fell asleep that night, he decided to tell you that just thinking of you was setting his heart racing now, that he wanted nothing more than to be yours. He'd just do it when he visited you.

When he loaded his whole life (three suitcases, it turned out) into the back of the massive van your parents had rented, he realized you hadn't seen you this morning yet. Your parents were setting up the front, arguing over which highway to take. Why did it matter? There were four hours until the flight. Your parents had pulled out two of your five suitcases, which Anakin dutifully loaded into the back next to his own luggage. You must have packed a whole rack of weights inside them, leaving Anakin sweating after stuffing the trunk. The pom poms you had made for both of your suitcases (an early going away present, you had said, which made his heart constrict and ache) were laid down like ducks in a row. As your mother emerged with the remaining three suitcases, probably even heavier than the first two, he thanked his lucky stars Coach made them do so much conditioning. That, and the away games gave him practice at waking up at the ass-crack of dawn, a skill that came in useful today.

You weren't a morning person, which he knew, so your absence wasn't a shock, but you coming out of the house looking perfectly awake was. Anakin watched you cast one last look at your house, memorizing its grooves like you didn't already know them by heart, before you turned your gaze to him. Your eyes met, and he instantly looked away. Fuck, you looked pretty this morning. You walked up to him, and he noticed the faintest trace of makeup around your eyes.

"You look nice," he blurted out once you walked up to him. He cursed himself. When had he become so awkward around you?

"Thanks," you said as you smiled back at him. Like nothing had ever happened, like he hadn't kissed your neck eight short hours ago. So it probably meant less to you than it did to him. The cool early morning air soothed the sting of that idea. You climbed into the backseat, wedging yourself in between the various backpacks and Anakin's seat. When he buckled himself in, your thighs were pressed together, just like last night. Anakin's hand itched to bring your legs over his, to grab your knee and kiss you again. But he wasn't going to.

The car ride was calming, only an hour to the airport, and you were the only car on the road. In the dark, early morning, you had fallen asleep almost instantly. Your parents had lapsed into silence, and he was supposed to be only torn up about leaving his mom, but he kept getting distracted by the way your head lolled around the headrest. Eventually, your head fell into the space between you, resting at an angle Anakin thought would need a chiropractor to fix. So, he did what any best friend would. He gently guided your head to his shoulder. It must have been more comfortable for you that way, anyway. He couldn't sleep, hyperaware of your every movement like he had never been before. Heart fluttering and hands antsy, Anakin managed to survive the drive. Once you got to the airport, and your parents called your name, you jolted up, and he missed you immediately. If he thought separating before would be hard, he had fucked up last night and made it a thousand times worse. Not that he regretted it, really.

The five of you made it through check-in (another lifting of the bags, which broke him into a sweat he hoped looked rugged and not gross) and security (where every single one of his bags was pulled aside because he was carrying some of his projects, which, okay, did have a lot of wires and chips in them, but he was an engineer, dammit, not a bomber). By the time you had dragged yourselves to the gate, the sun had risen. Your flight was first, straight to LaGuardia, then Anakin and Shmi would get on the plane to Ithaca just an hour later. You still had two hours until the flight, which the two of you spent in McDonalds getting one last Icee (cherry for Anakin, blue raspberry for you), drinking it until Anakin's stomach hurt from the sugar. It was like the previous night never happened, and neither of you mentioned it, dodging the topic and filling every silent moment with some comment about a tourist dropping all their bags or some mom with a child on a leash. When the first boarding call came from your gate, only ten seconds' walk away from your current perch next to some chargers on a wall, he knew your parents would want you back soon. He only had a minute, and you sensed it too. The sun was rising, casting its sleepy shine through the windows of the terminal and lighting up a halo of frizz around your head. You were beautiful, he thought. He pulled you into a crushing hug.

"Thank you for being my best friend. Promise you won't forget me?" You whispered to him while still in his bear hug. The tiny voice you used, the fear that question hid were too much for him. He pulled you in tighter, until he could barely breathe.

"I could never. I'll be your best friend forever," he affirmed. Because that's what you were, above all else. Friends. Anakin had to preserve that, and he wavered on the decision to tell you about his feelings. Your friendship came first. When he walked you back to your gate, the last he saw of you was when you turned back to look at him right before walking through the gangway to your plane. It reminded him of the way you looked at your house before you left, a gesture of love and loyalty. Then you were gone, and he missed you instantly.

Another hour in the airport was dreadfully boring without you, it turned out, and the five hour plane ride was even worse. By the time they landed, Anakin was practically ready to jump out of the emergency exit, just for the entertainment of it. Everything he did was tinged with the slightest bit of disinterest. The book he packed, The Art of Electronics, proved to be dreadfully dull, and his phone was similar. There was only one person he wanted to hear from.

When they landed in Ithaca's airport, Anakin and Shmi loaded into a taxi and drove off to his dorm, which was comfortingly close. Just a hop away, then he could be home. The room itself, when entered, smelled damp and stale but at least looked clean. He and Ben, his slightly older roommate who played professionally in leagues in the UK before coming to college, got on like fire and tall grass, and Shmi practically had to keep reminding them that they, indeed, needed to unpack.

Around five, he shot you a text.

Anakin: How's your room?

You: Nice, big! Here's a pic

You sent a picture

You: I finally met Ahsoka IRL, and she's just as nice as I thought she'd be!

You: I really like hanging out with her and her girlfriend Barriss

You: What about you?

Anakin: It's good, me and Ben, who's also on the soccer team

Anakin: lmfao that looks tiny

Anakin: We have a common room

Anakin: Feast your eyes

Anakin sent a picture

You: Jesus how have you managed to make it gross already

Anakin: It's not gross

Anakin: The Nicki Minaj American flag is camp

Anakin: And we only need two chairs for the TV

You: Two folding chairs in the middle of the room and nothing else on the walls is unhinged

Anakin: Unfriended

He smiled and set his phone down. Things were back to normal. Now, all he had to do to finish move-in was get thoroughly drunk with his new teammates.

You kept in contact with one another, sending cute squirrels (Anakin) and rats (you) that crossed your paths, or updating each other on your classes. Two weeks in the semester, Anakin finally felt brave enough to ask you. He was sitting on his newly-acquired couch, which you had bullied him into buying off of Facebook Marketplace. It was dingy, and had several stains that made him wonder if it was a crime scene, but it was cheap, and that was what mattered.

Anakin: Hey, can I come over this weekend?

You: Please. I'm going crazy here without you.

Anakin: Can I crash on your floor then?

You: I mean, if you're coming, we could practice a bit more, so you wouldn't have to use the floor

Anakin: That sounds amazing. What do you want to do?

You: I don't know. What do you want to do?

Anakin: I asked first

You: lol idk. It's just weird to talk about this with you

You: Not that I don't enjoy it, or want it. Just still feels weird.

Anakin: I get that, for me too.

You: I don't know if I'm ready to be idk, naked? I guess?

You: But I want to do more

You: I think I want to try giving head

Anakin: You don't have to do anything you don't want to

Anakin: I'd enjoy that a lot

You: g2g to class ttyl

Ben wasn't home, thank God, or else he could have walked in on Anakin stroking himself in the living room like a pervert. The image of your lips around him was too much to resist, even for the second it took him to get up and walk to his room. While fucking his fist, the fantasy escalated. Him fucking your throat harshly, feeling you gag on it. Him using your hair to drag your mouth up and down his cock while your hands were tied behind you. Once he came, he started feeling guilty about imagining you in such a rough situation. Anakin had no idea if you even wanted that, and he vowed to let you take the lead as much as possible. He also felt guilty about leaving another teeny tiny stain on the already suspicious couch when some cum dribbled down his hand, but it kind of blended in.

On Tuesday, he left his electrical engineering course when he got a text that stopped him in the middle of the hall.

You: Hey

You: So I am going to a sex store for the first time today

Anakin: Hey

Anakin: Wow ok exploring nyc

You: Should I get anything for this weekend?

Anakin: Idk, up to you

Anakin: Just choose whatever you want to try

You: ok i will pull up with a massive horse dildo for u then king

You: But seriously, I want to make it enjoyable for you too.

You: Do you have any requests for like outfits or something?

Anakin: fuck all the way off

Anakin: What? Like, shirts?

You: No

Anakin: Oh

Anakin: Whatever makes you feel good

You: But cmon you've got to have a pereference

You: *preference

Anakin: pereference

Anakin: I don't have a pereference

Anakin: You could say I don't perefer anything

You: Fuck off

You: Answer the question motherfucker

Anakin: Idk maybe black lace? Whatever makes you happy

Anakin: I've always wanted to rip fishnets, if that's something you want

You: Sounds like a plan

He liked the message and slipped his phone in his pocket as he bounced over to the student lab, ready to finish the Arduino gadget he was making for class. You in a lacy set sounded like a dream come true, mainly because he was almost certain he had that exact wet dream last year.

The four ensuing days allowed Anakin to think, for once, which was never a good idea. It grew new doubts to stress over. Had he accidentally pushed the idea of fishnets on you? What if you weren't into the stuff he was into, or if you decided you weren't into him enough to be able to do anything further with him, now that the horny initial haze had dwindled? He was considering this again while on the train, watching the upstate countryside roll by. Sometimes it was close enough to Minnesota that he felt like he was home, so he shot his mom a text saying he missed her, and that he'd call her tomorrow. He also had two unread texts from you.

You: Hey!! When you arrive just text me and I'll grab you

You: I'm excited to see you

Anakin: Hey

Anakin: I'm excited to see you too

Anakin: Lots of stories to share

Before he could think better of it, he typed out something he hoped would dull the constant questioning in his mind.

Anakin: Oh

Anakin: Also

Anakin: I feel kinda bad for bringing up something only I'm interested in the last time we talked about me coming over

Anakin: This should be about you

You: Takes two to tango, as they say

Anakin: Never say that again

You: I will say it again

Anakin: Shut up I'm trying to be serious

You: I'm saying that I'm interested in that sort of stuff

You: When I was at the store there were a bunch of things I wanted to try

You: Like wax and ropes

Anakin: Kinky

And, now, the question he had been nervous to ask, or even to think about.

Anakin: Do you want to try them on me, or for me to try them on you?

You: Definitely you doing that to me

You: I've been doing research

You: There's a lot of stuff I want to try, if you want to practice with me

Anakin: Fuck that sounds fun

Anakin: Like what?

Was he letting his cards show too much? Maybe. It just felt too good not to ask.

You: Degradation, overstim, just idk. Rough in general

You: Down the road maybe rope

Anakin: Damn ok 50 shades of grey

Anakin: You have been doing your research

Anakin: That all sounds good to me, as long as it's good for you

Anakin: I can't wait to get there

The rush of excitement he felt at the idea of tying you up and fucking you until you screamed drowned out the notes he was meant to be reviewing in front of him, and the circuit diagram he was supposed to draw.

He thought of you splayed out in front of him, covering those slutty lace panties in your juice until it soaked through the other side. He thought about his hand on your neck as you begged him to cum. And--fuck--you gagging on your knees as he thrust into your throat. He was hard--again.

But he had to remember what he was coming here to do, really. To tell you how he felt. He pulled out the piece of paper he had spent the past two weeks writing and rewriting in his mind as he did dribbling drills and soldered wires. There were four drafts in his desk, written out and crumpled into the back of the drawers, because he knew that one look at you in your room, giving him those desperate eyes, would wipe him blank of anything except how much he wanted you. After how platonic you were at the airport, he wasn't sure if he should say anything, because the distance over the next four years would make it so hard to be together, and you hadn't ever talked about long distance. Now, he looked at the paper and didn't know what to think. Did he really want to say words as big as "I love you" so quickly, so soon? The doubt plagued him as he looked over the final version of the letter, which was suddenly sappy and childish.

Since we were kids, I've considered you my closest friend. Someone who made me *me*. I started listening to Fall Out Boy because you did, I peel bananas upside down because you showed me how, and I only eat pepperoni pizza with olives and mushrooms because you've ordered it so much that it grew on me. I treasure you your friendship so much, and those feelings have been changing since we were younger to something more romantic. I don't know when it started, but when we kissed, I knew I loved--

He looked away. Why was he using the word love? He didn't know if you two would even work romantically. What if you went on a date and it felt just like your regular dynamic? What if he was a bad boyfriend, like he was to Padmé, and you didn't want him anymore? Was he about to throw years of your trust away?

He wasn't sure whether to tell you, at all. Anakin just wanted to know if you felt the same way about him, or else he'd lose more than just his pride. He had to give it more time. And, until then, this was all practice anyway. (He was really, really good at lying to himself.) He folded the paper precisely, and stuck it in his pocket. Just in case.

The train slowed with a screeching that rung his ears and arrived at Grand Central. From the moment he left the train, the station was packed with people. Everything was buzzing, from the voices shouting over each other to the side of his arm where someone smacked into him. The air was stale and warm from the bodies, which moved in completely unpredictable patterns through the vast space. If he was this overwhelmed, how were you faring in the city? He made his way to the subway station just a few blocks across midtown, then got on the 1, which was surprisingly clean based on everything he had heard about New York. Anakin half expected to be pickpocketed and to see rats on the trains, but the plastic yellow and red seats playfully shined at him, clean and inviting.

Before long, he found himself on Columbia's campus at sunset, walking through the buildings which all looked a little bit too similar to find your dorm. Carman Hall, there it was. Anakin texted you that he was outside and steadied his nerves. He would finally get to see you again. Hug you again. Kiss you again, a part of his brain that he dutifully shoved into a dark corner said.

Three minutes passed--he was looking at his phone clock for every one of the--and then the entrance clicked open. There you were. You looked amazing, and city life clearly agreed with you. You were wearing a simple denim skirt and green shirt, but you looked incredible. You had added a few ear cuffs, glinting in the dwindling sunlight, which cast your skin in a warm glow.

"Hey," he said into your temple as he crushed you back, "You look--wow." He pulled away and grabbed your shoulders, examining if you were still the person he knew. You were, he determined when you beamed at him. Your hand was still the same as he remembered when you flashed an ID badge, featuring a photo he had taken against a wall in your house, at the bored-looking security guard, who just waved you two by.

Anakin had just started telling you about how one of the midfielders, Rex, kicked the ball directly in the coach's crotch, when the elevator doors opened on the sixth floor, and he followed you down a winding hallway full of nameplates, whiteboards, and decorations. One room had construction paper black cats and pumpkins all over the door, which made him stop and smile. You stopped in front of a door that had fake leaves stuck to it, making it look like a tree was dropping paper leaves onto the floor. You unlocked the door, which groaned as it opened to show exactly the room you had sent him photos of, but with significantly more clutter on your desk.

"Welcome! This is my humble abode!" On the other side of the room, the girl sitting on her bed, cast him a withering glance. She had wide, doe-like eyes that he was sure probably hid a lot of mischief. Her hair was styled in twists she had gathered into pigtails that tumbled over her shoulders, with a string of beads woven into the crown of her head.

"This must be Jake," the woman he presumed to be Ahsoka said, scrutinizing him with her piercing eyes. Jake? Who the fuck is Jake? Anakin wondered as he tried to read your reaction. You spluttered, obviously not ready to have that piece of information revealed yet.

"No, no, this is Anakin! From home!" You put on a strained smile in an attempt to salvage the situation.

"So, you're not dating?" Ahsoka quirked up one eyebrow, not buying for one second that whatever she was seeing in front of her was platonic.

"No, not at all. I could never date him, he's my best friend!" You said too loudly, forcing the words out. Perfect. Just perfect. That solidified his decision. If you were friendzoning him this hard, and you were obviously trying to practice for this Jake guy's sake, then there wasn't any point in what he was going to say. The paper in his pocket was so easy to crush under his fingers, he almost wished he had done it sooner. It was stupid, anyway. This wasn't anything more than two people exploring new things. His feelings would pass, eventually.

Ahsoka shrugged and hugged you goodbye after she slipped off the bed and grabbed an overnight bag. She left, presumably for Barriss's room, and closed the door behind her.

In the silence left in the room, the words were on the tip of his tongue. Who's Jake?, he would ask nonchalantly. Like it didn't matter. Anakin stopped himself. It wouldn't do him any good to know more. Instead, he kept recounting the story of Rex making the whole team run sprints for the day with his crazy aim, albeit with less enthusiasm. In return, you told him about the suck-up in your Intro to Psychology course, who gushed to the professor that he loved his work and was his biggest fan. It was literally a 101 class, what was he trying to prove?

Anakin's pack lay forgotten by the door as you two recounted your weeks to one another, and for a moment it didn't feel like a new city, it just felt like home. He didn't even realize that it was night until you pointed it out, mentioning that you missed the stars that you could see from your yard. And the fireflies. But the city lights twinkled nicely enough that he couldn't see a difference. You lapsed into silence, watching students walk out onto the street as stores pulled down their shutter doors. The bed was to your left as you stood watching the window, and your eyes glanced to it.

"So, um. Want to watch some Netflix?" You said in your best approximation of a sexy voice, turning to your right and looking up at him in a way that you hoped was seductive. Anakin looked at your face and burst out laughing.

"If you want to do stuff, just ask!" He raised the pitch of his voice, imitating yours as he bit his lip fake-sexily. "Netflix and chill?" You grabbed one of the copious pillows on your bed and hit him with it. He caught it immediately and lobbed it back at your head, but you ducked at the last possible moment, so it hit the bed with a thump.

"Missed!" You giggled. That sweet laughter would be the death of him. When you caught your breath, the sweet smile he had stole your breath.

"Um, do you want to... practice?" You asked. In truth, you wanted him, badly. Your eyes flitted down to his lips, which he immediately noticed and took as his cue to use the last of his willpower to make sure you were okay with this before kissing you silly, and hopefully doing more. Much more. He stepped closer to you, drawing you in with his arms around your waist.

"Just so that I'm perfectly clear. You don't have to do anything that makes you feel the slightest bit weird. We don't have to do anything now, at all. Or ever, if that's what you want," he said huskily.

"No, I do want this," you whispered, nodding and leaning in so that you were nearly touching noses, "I want you down my throat." Fuck. There went his self-control. He crushed his lips into yours, the softness of the previous time eclipsed by the need in both of you that had been building in between texts for the weeks you had been apart.

No. You had to talk this through. He had to know that you understood what you were getting into. Anakin pulled away, even though it killed him.

"We should talk more. No touching until we're done talking," he said, holding his hands up to prove that he was serious.

"Fine. But you're going to break first. I'd bet anything." You also held your hands up, defiant as ever. He was seized with the urge to make you obey him, and quieted it down as much as he could.

"Fine. I'll take that deal. Just, let's talk first. You said that you wanted to try rougher stuff, and I don't want to do that before I'm certain I don't cross a boundary," he said. He thought of himself last year, the guilt over Padmé.

"What boundaries could you possibly cross? I'm asking you to be rough." Anakin was still worried.

"Yes, but it's your first time giving head. I don't want to make it uncomfortable. Or, if I cross a line and can't tell... I just want to keep you safe. How about you tap me twice for good to go, three times for slow down, and four times for stop?" You nodded, giving him those same big eyes that made him want to absolutely ravish you. The time between you stretched, turning pliant and gooey as he searched your eyes for uncertainty. "Show me," he purred. He had poured some of the commanding tone into it that he wanted so desperately to use. You obediently tapped out the sequence on his arm, and he tossed you a smirk.

"Okay. First of all, I won. You touched me first," he said, enjoying the way you were about to fight him on it, "And, second of all, shut up and kiss me." And you did.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

AN: Oh we are getting raunchy in the next chapter buddies!!!

Tag List (message me or reply if you'd like to be added!): @akixxrafiiy

#anakin skywalker #star wars anakin #anakin x reader #anakin smut #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker/you #anakin/you #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x you #star wars prequels

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chokingcpr · 2 months ago

Text

Thanks so much to everyone I’ve spoken to who have encouraged me to post my writing, especially @heimlich99, who insisted that there was an audience out there for this and was kind enough to read it over for me <3

The candles on either side of the table burn tall, freshly replaced by your servants before you’d ordered them to leave for the night. I sit, well-mannered and composed in my chair, fighting to tamp down my discomfort as I watch you gulp down your wine and place the cup back down on the table, turning your wrist with little tact so I can see the jewels gleaming on your oversized cufflinks.

“And personally, I don’t care for the new proposals that came through from their ambassador this week. Honestly, this whole recession is their fault. If they had only listened to me, they would have known better.” You explain, scoffing, as though you can barely tolerate the thought of their supposed ignorance. I blink at you, nodding my head politely. The less I say, the faster this horrible dinner will be over. Your fork scrapes your plate as it skewers another chunk of pheasant, before being held out in my direction, your eyelids lowering seductively. “Don’t you agree, my Lord?” you purr, swaying it softly up and down as you speak. To avoid having to answer you, I part my lips, stiffly taking the bite into my mouth and immediately closing it to chew. Unfortunately, you wait in silence for me to swallow and answer you.

“Yes, my Lord. Of course. But I truly must insist,” I say instead, after a beat, “that you look over my proposal. I’ve the papers with me here tonight, let me just-”

“Ah-ah, we’re in no rush, are we?” You purr again, smoothing a hand over your collar distractedly. I turn away from my satchel, sighing, resigned to another hour of listening to you brag about your home, your chef, and your policies, instead of allowing me to finalize the trade alliance we had begun to discuss.

“Truly, you’ve never tasted a bird so tender. When I caught it– all by myself, mind you– earlier today, I nearly–” your fork falls from your hand and clatters loudly on your plate as you begin to cough, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as your eyes widen in shock. Distracted by the opportunity to brag once more, you’d failed to notice the large wing bone you’d shovelled down your throat alongside your life-changingly tender pheasant. Relieved at the interruption, I politely look away, raising my wine to my lips to give you a moment to recover.

When several long moments go by with no change, I subtly drag my gaze up to you, unable to suppress my growing amusement. “Oh dear. Wrong pipe?”

At the lack of verbal response, I carefully lean over the table and pat delicately between your shoulder blades a couple of times, taking care to avoid dragging my clothes through the elaborate meal you’d had prepared for the two of us. Without waiting for you to recover, I sit back down, crossing my arms across my chest. Your wide eyes shoot up to meet mine as I watch you, calmly. Your coughing is beginning to turn into short, breathless hacking, the occasional wheeze making its way through your partially-obstructed throat as a deep red flush slowly crawls up your neck. I frown innocently, tilting my head slightly. “No? Still stuck? Hmmm…”

The legs of my chair drag across the hardwood planks as I push it away from the small table, making my way over to you, as unhurried as I can manage.

“My my… seems like quite the predicament you’re in, hm? Shall we blame the cook, or the bird?” I quip, grinning out of your line of sight as I pat your back again, harder than before. My teasing appears lost on you as you pound urgently on your chest with your fist, truly beginning to panic as the bone lodged diagonally in your throat refuses to budge, even as you continue to gag and croak. Your glass of wine makes it to your hands again and you try to guzzle it down in one gulp, but the deep red liquid pours back out of your mouth as soon as it enters it, staining your expensive shirt. “What a waste.” I mutter, thinking of the label you’d proudly waved in front of me before pouring the wine for us. Having exhausted all your options, you turn your head up to look at me and gesture frantically at your throat, clutching it with shaking hands as tears begin to well in your eyes at the strain of your repeated attempts to gasp for air.

A smile tugs at my lips, almost affectionate, in some cruel, karmic way. My hand trails down from your throat to your chest, settling at your waistband before I begin to carefully tug open the ivory buttons of your shirt, revealing a rich, soft frame. “Someone’s clearly never gone hungry before.” I tease, setting a warm hand flat on your stomach, patting it a couple times to emphasize my point.

With slow, drawn out movements, I begin to pump my hand in and out, coaxing weak groans from deep in your throat. Momentarily you seem relieved, before your mouth drops open and remains that way as you begin to desperately thrust yourself against my hand, trying to gather enough pressure to pop the bone from your throat. Instead of stopping you or pushing harder, I shift my hand subtly so that your thrusting is in just the wrong spot, depriving you of the leverage you so desperately need without drawing your attention. “What a pathetic little thing,” I drawl, looking down at you, watching as you grow purple in the face, wine and drool mingling to paint twin streaks down your chin. “Look at you, so desperate. I bet you’re wishing you hadn’t been so greedy, hm?”

You croak loudly as I push my hand into your belly sharply a couple times, despite its positioning remaining unproductive. “If I’d known it was this easy to get you helpless like this, I would have fed you a bone like that on purpose. I’m almost disappointed I didn’t think of it myself.” My voice grows lower as I tease you, heat pooling in my gut at the sight of you, purple and frantic, pumping your belly against my hand as you choke on a pheasant bone.

The whites of your eyes slowly grow more and more prominent as they begin to roll back into your skull, your movements growing jerky and clumsy as you begin to lose the strength to continue. With a sigh, I pull my hand away and drag you around in your chair so that I can reach your back, and wrap my arms around your waist, beginning to thrust firmly and steadily into your stomach, in the correct spot this time. Your arms swing heavily at your sides with each thrust, jaw opening and closing as you gag, your lips beginning to turn blue. I take a moment to appreciate their colour before throwing your chest over my arm and pounding roughly between your shoulder blades, tilting my head to check if you can breathe before returning to thrusting into your soft stomach.

When several sharp rounds of this make no difference to your condition, I drag you out of your chair and throw you over my lap, beginning to wallop your upper back as hard as I can as you lie, helpless and unable to breathe over my knees. I refrain from taunting you, despite how badly I want to, simply because I know it will be wasted on you: you’re barely conscious, and certainly unable to understand me anymore. My hand connects with your back over and over again, slamming down between your shoulder blades, my rhythm calm and steady. I’m doing what needs to be done, but there’s no fear or panic: I’m almost reluctantly dutiful in my actions.

Eventually, after enough time has passed that most remnants of sound have ceased dragging themselves from your throat, a particularly hard blow to the back seems to cause the bone to shift in your windpipe, and I hear a sudden, choked wheeze as your body begins to try to suck oxygen down into your starving, convulsing lungs. I pause, listening to your pathetic attempts at breathing before I push you carelessly off of my lap and onto the hard floor, taking my time to kneel down on the plush rug beside you.

With another sigh, I wrench open your slack jaw and stick my fingers down your throat, feeling around for the bone you’d inattentively gulped down. I can feel it almost immediately, and crook my fingers to attempt to sweep it out, but it’s too far down for me to reach comfortably.

Withdrawing my fingers, I put my hands on my hips, tutting down at you disappointedly. “You’re truly going to make me do all the work?” I mutter, annoyed, but heave you over so you’re lying flat on your back, head tilted back, throat pointed up at the sky, begging to be cleared. I sit up straight and tug your shirt further open, exposing your chest, and place my hands between your nipples, beginning to pump hard over your heart.

A few minutes go by, the only sound filling the room being my quiet panting as I pump your chest, and your strained, barely-audible wheezing, interrupted every few seconds by soft gags as your body unconsciously strains to clear its airway. A soft groan escapes my lips as I heave you over to lie on your side once again, and sweep my fingers down your throat. This time, they catch on the bone, having shifted enough from my chest thrusts to poke up through your windpipe and into the back of your mouth, and I easily tug it out, taking a moment to look at it. A wave of disgust washes over me at the reminder of your gluttony and greed, and it clatters somewhere as I toss it aside, wiping my hand clean on your fine, expensive sleeve.

Your airway cleared, I wait to hear you begin to breathe, and roll my eyes as I hear no such thing. Jerking your head to the side and opening your mouth, I hold your nose shut with my hand to avoid air escaping, and fit my mouth over your slack one, blowing air deep into your lungs. Blue lips spasm under mine as you suck in a breath of your own halfway through, and I pull away, giving you a moment to see if you’re recovering on your own. After a few silent seconds, I thump your back again with one hand, resting the other on your chest to support you as you lie on your side. “I don’t have all day. Take a breath.”

Bypassing holding your nose this time by simply sealing my lips over both your mouth and nose, I give you another slow, deep breath, feeling your lungs expand against my hand. As I pull away your chest shudders once, twice, and then you begin to gasp, loud and deep, finally breathing on your own.

Colour rapidly floods back to your face as properly oxygenated blood manages to flow through your body for the first time in several minutes, and I sit back on my knees, watching you, unimpressed. “If this was your attempt to impress me during this meeting, I can honestly say that you’ve let me down. You’re quite the joke, I’m afraid.”

When you open your eyes, bleary and unfocused, the candles have burnt down to their last few centimeters, and the food on the table is cold; the room empty. A signed and stamped contract lies beside you on the floor, outlining my final terms for our trade alliance.

#heimlich maneuver #cpr #heimlich #resus #resus community #resus kink #medfet #resus writing

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