#he's like down to his undershirt and flushed and a bit mad | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soranihimawari · 3 years ago

Text

Decode, my Love

A short about coming to terms how to handle the rumor of you and a certain vice captain dating.

Word Count: 6K+

Pairing: iwazumi hajime x (f)reader x oikawa tooru (timeskip compliant to a certain degree including hints, not spoilers for latest bonus chapter)

Warnings: first kisses, allusions to handsy teens being in like/love. out of love//learning to love again//reconnect with pining person// oral (f! receiving) non-invasive description//soft oikawa tooru

Follow up ->fundamental truths

How I know either of them would have held reader’s hand when they share more the just the look™️

“For the last time, I am not dating her!” Iwazumi’s voice yells through the door of the boys locker room after practice one morning. The her in question was the same young lady who had exceeded his expectations when he had met her in his third year in middle school. She surprises him and by default Oikawa by showing up to their highs school gates on the first day of their first year. And by the ever elusive “she,” Oikawa teases his friend by saying your name over and over again. Cute iterations of your name paired with Iwazumi’s family name made him blush like mad once during a summer sleepover during Golden Week with the team during their second year. Now in their third, you become one of their strongest supporters, even going so far as having their coach seek you out when there is a disagreement between the players. Like right now, you arrive at the gym to hear the latest gossip from Hanamaki who laughs with Mattsukawa when you give them a pointed look.

“Oikawa’s sassing Iwazimi again?” you frown, clicking your tongue at the two of them for not stopping their captain and vice captain. “Over what this time?”

Mattsukawa stops laughing almost immediately before rolling his eyes where you stand.

“You’ve got to be joking,” you deadpanned at the two of them. Hanamaki calms himself down long enough to say the rumor was going around again that you’re the apple of a certain ace’s eye.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you grumble pushing past them after you tell them to head to class. Eventually, as you wander into the gym, you see Oikawa nursing the back of his head with an ice pack mumbling something or other about “being honest with yourself.” Oikawa seems to not have noticed you and even if he did, he makes a notion to point out where your other friend is. Considering they are the last ones to clear out of the gym, you were able to sneak in the locker room. The steam from the showers still lingers and you can smell the school provided soap (and your friend’s cologne) wafting in the air. Oikawa’s specific ringtone for texts is heard from where you spot your half dressed friend (in his ivory tracksuit pants and dark blue dry-fit material undershirt). He is mocking himself in the mirror as he styles his hair with the pommade you bought too much of since your brother was coming home from university last month. His voice is a bit higher and as he washes his hands from the excess, he mimics OIkawa’s voice:

“Just tell her you’ve loved her since you were thirteen,” he sasses himself. “Tell her how at the date you want to take her on White Day three months from now…”

You turn and hide your gasp covering your mouth with your hands. You hear him practice talking to you in front of the mirror over and over again until he settles on naturally asking you during lunch tomorrow. He’s too nervous about it, but he does little to hide the flushed color on his cheeks. As quietly as you can, you turn to sit down on the bench waiting to see if he’d notice you–when he does, he scolds you for scaring him half to death. You laugh with him saying you don’t remember hearing his voice ever reach that high of a note, but seeing as he clutches his chest, you arch your eyebrow at him suggesting he take a seat next to you.

“How much of that did you hear?” his voice is wonky and all over the place until he fishes out his water bottle from his gym bag.

“Enough to make me want to do this,” your hands find their way toward either side of his face.

“YN, don’t–mm?!”

Your lips interject whatever it is Iwazumi was about to say. And for good measure too; the kiss starts off innocently enough, but as all first kisses go, let alone one in a private locker room right before final bell is rung, your partner decides to prolong denying what he felt all along. You feel Iwazumi’s hands wrap their way around your waist, encouraging you to eventually sit on his lap; warm calloused hands climb higher to mess with your ponytail holder today, your half-up do currently is undone by the slick movements of his feathery hands. He cradles you like broken glass because he doesn’t know much it broke him when you entertained the idea of dating someone other than himself (who mind you, helped during your first series of rejections the last years in this high school melodrama [i.e. your love life is worse than Oikawa’s, you make a joke one day in science class at your expense]). You want to continue, you really do, but when your hands travel to loop around his shoulder, you hear a laughter rumble between your joined lips when you trace the kanji for “skip day”. You open your eyes slowly to see a softening moss green orb stare back you, and with a slight nod you feel from his nose smoothly bypassing yours, you let him break this kiss to hold you tighter.

“Thought you’d never ask,” is what you think you heard when you hop off his lap to stand. You wait outside the gym where you had your friend from class inform your homeroom teacher you were feeling sick when you came on to school grounds. She arches her eyebrow at you two looking quite feverish, saying you both probably caught whatever was going around the soccer club informing her that Iwazumi offered to walk with you.

“Feel better guys,” your friend says giving you a little salute. You promise to text her when you’re available. And what really sells this lie? Iwazumi was coughing in an attempt to clear his throat. She pats your shoulder saying your secret is safe with her.

Hours later, you’re underneath a familiar set of blankets. The same ones you used on movie night over the weekend when Oikawa was being a menace to society trying to get you two to share while an older Godzilla remake plays on the screen in the Iwazumi family residence’s living room. Currently though, you wear a certain ace’s hoodie saying you always liked this one because of how soft it is; Iwazumi chuckles nodding he does agree it always looked better on you anyways.

“Hajime,” you glance down at the jacket covering a good part of your uniform skirt and by default your leggings on your thighs. Your hands are still linked beneath the covers, his response is in the way he rubs your knuckles with his thumb.

“Did you really mean what you said earlier?”

“About?”

He adjusts his arm closest to your head in order for you to curl into him; pressing your ear against his pectoral and you glance up at his sharp jawline. You’re adorably cute like this, he thinks. Eyes filled with a lucid idea of hope with how eager you want to know the answer to your question. Judging by the way you scrunch your nose like you do when hoping for one, he realizes this was your way of asking if this was something one sided so you could brace yourself for another rejection or if this was going to be a new normal for you two.

“What you said in the locker room? You know, the date on White Day and how you’d ‘never break me’ unless you want me to…”

“You heard that part?”

“Haji, your best friend is the tea-spilling King, naturally Tooru told me…”

Iwazumi sat straight up in bed, bringing your face into contact with his mattress. If he were more angry than embarrassed, you could picture all the ways volleyballs would hit his captain like it was dodgeball day. It’s not every day when the guys enlighten you to what Iwazumi had said when he was describing candidly in detail people with your sarcastic personality, sharp and witty too. You let out disgruntled, “oof!” before laughing more to yourself than him.

“I’m going to kill him,” the friend of yours seethes.

You, on the other hand, sit up and use your arms to your advantage to have him lay back down beside you. Your lips are used to silence his rage and to make him forget he was ever annoyed at the witty captain from earlier. Simultaneously devious, he sighs into your mouth mumbling a ghostly apology for not thinking straight. You hum as you let him take the lead in kissing you softly; this was how you’d always want to remember your first love–warm and real and bright.

So why, after all the promises he had made with you were you here? Five years goes by in a flash and for lack of better words, you hear through the grapevine via Hanamaki and Mattsukawa, that one OIkawa Tooru is due back to visit home during the off season. Your ex-boyfriend whom you’ll always have a soft spot for is in attendance with his new eye-candy for the month, well scratch that, the year. You were invited to the social gathering of the V-League world as a friend’s plus one. It’s been a while since you all last saw each other. Truthfully, you felt the breakup was necessary because of the different paths you five took post-graduation. Hanamaki learned to hold down a job though his latest venture in securing a delivery driver job was promising, he was not the one who invited you. Mattsukawa sees you at the bar nursing your cocktail the second you walk in looking a like a nightmare waiting to be fucked. HIs words, not yours. The friend of death eyes your second, wait, third(?) whiskey neat before he tells you if you and Iwazumi don’t make up, it’s probably for the best since you broke things off back then. Iwazumi smiles contentedly as his date, your former close friend and seatmate who recently returned from jetting to UCLA to finish her master’s, greets other members of the Olympic Team. Her laughter and their happiness is palatable. You put on a mask and though through recent times Mattsukawa calls you every once in a while to hang out, you know it’s out of the kindness of being a friend to you and the newly recruited athletic trainer. Oikawa Tooru enters the room and as everyone in the hall congratulates him on his safe arrival and for the fact he’s the starting setter for the second Olympic Games he’ll be headed to, he thanks everyone, including one pesky cat, for talking him into playing this all-star game.

“He’s here,” Mattsukawa says, nodding in the direction of the door.

“I know, I heard,” you practice a smile. Mattsukawa gives you a solid seven out of ten for the smile you produce, even if he knows it’s fake. You pretend to never notice how your loyal friend is the one who walks taller than you to embrace his old captain–it’s not every day the boy who comforted you by taking away a half-drank bottle of gin in your studio when you scrolled through the social media feed of your girl bff practically being kissed on the shoreline of Huntington Beach, CA by your ex lets you cry into his shoulder. Mattsukawa remembers how broken you sounded when your voice whispered-yelled, “all this time you were pretending with me, huh?!”

Elsewhere, Iwazumi greets his friend on the other side of the pub where the party was taking place. Oikawa blinks as he does a double take when Iwazumi introduces his girlfriend for the first time in person to him; Oikawa arches an eyebrow and the two young men don’t say a word. The girl in question is really cute, but pales in comparison to you who always seemed to shine best when surrounded by those who loved you best. Though Iwazumi asks his friend to not say a word behind his eyes, Oikawa can’t help but scoff.

“You really are mean,” Oikawa quiet with rage said as the girl walks toward the other end of the bar. She doesn’t want to engage in conversation with you because you chose to pretend to not see her. You told yourself you’re not to be angry with either of them. University years had them experience new things and you knew that, you just had held on to the last bit of hope in the bottom of your highball glass.

“You broke your promise to her, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa crosses his arms over his chest.

“I know, alright? It just happened,” Iwazumi replies. “Don’t ask me to compare the two. You weren’t there.”

“I wasn’t, but you know she called me right after Issei left her place,” Oikawa watches you return the glass to the counter and cash out your tab. “She was a mess. And you’re damn lucky we were there for her when you turned your back on yn-san. Excuse me.”

You walked toward the less crowded side of the room, trying to avoid everyone and every conversation around you. Whispers of who you were in relation to any of the players or their agencies was completely unknown. You must have blended in with the regular crowd for a Tuesday night. The bouncers or night guards thought with what you wore you were part of the event. Even if you weren;t, you still did not think you had the strength to stay a minute longer. Until a familiar wave of lavender and pine hits your nose. You come face to chest in a bone-crushing hug by a flash of sky blue and white. You hear your name whispered kindly in your ear. Both of you exchange brief hello’s as you wiggle out of his tighter hold, you could feel a dissipating animosity between old friends kick back up again. Perhaps it’s for the best you don’t know what Mattsukawa knows: immaturity and love do not often go hand in hand, yet here was the counterpart and antithesis of your ex’s friend group–Oikawa Tooru was many things, a captain, ladies man, young men admire his tenacity and certainly a team once called him ‘great king.’ He was all those things in the past, yet recently his coach says to him a piece of advice: “olvida el pasado y reclama su corazón. ella necesita saber cómo te sientes. dijiste que la amabas aunque tu mejor amigo no podía…” (roughly advising his star setter to forget their shared past and how you need to know how much he’s loved you even when Iwazumi could not).

“Hey pretty girl,” he redirects you to lock eyes with him. Brown eyes grow immensely bolder with the way your body reacts–it burns too hot. The nickname makes your heart pulsate through your fingertips as you lazily draw a line upward to hug an old friend proper. Oikawa Tooru makes you pinky promise you won’t leave his side. You don’t question it when he ushers you to meet the rest of his teammates from the tournament hosted by the JVA. Your best friend, whom you think doesn’t see this whole exchange, comes back to hand Iwazumi their bar cocktails. She takes a sip confessing how she knew something was up with the way Oikawa had spoken to the man on her right.

“Oikawa’s been smitten with her lately,” she casually said. She shrugs when she mentions it makes sense karma pays Iwazumi a visit. “Afterall, I was her best friend before we started pursuing each other romantically. No wonder he’s attached to her. Remember how taken you were with her back in high school?”

Iwazumi feigns innocence while he grips the glass a bit harder. Regret is as bitter as the ones in his glass. Oikawa looms behind you, resting a hand on either the small of your back or on your waist, and once you proclaim your feet are a bit tired from wearing the wedges that completed you attire for the night, Iwazumi sees Oikawa whisper something to JVA Rep. Kuroo’s ear and the two captains exchange a small smile as if to say, “go get ‘er because you’ve been dying to tell her for years.” Oikawa doesn’t apologize to Iwazumi for his actions, as you’ve come to find out. The Argentine does not owe anyone an explanation but you.

Outside your balcony in your new flat, Oikawa Tooru stands watching you sing along to a song you don’t know. Your pronunciation of Spanish words has improved quite a bit; you had to learn it in order to take a semester off. You thankfully pulled off another successful winter/autumn semester so you could primarily take off to Argentina to visit an old friend. Oikawa offered to take a break as well to entertain you. Back then, like a year ago, he asked you to stay longer for fear of losing his opportunity to be someone you could love. He waited until you seemed like you were over Iwazumi, he just needed you to confirm you were and fortunately tonight, you seemed like you did just that. Though Mattsukawa warned the two to play nice, Oikawa was told via text you needed a distraction so you wouldn’t pull off any embarrassing moves (like spill your darkened whiskey all over a certain athletic trainer’s face or you know, slap the girl he’s currently sleeping with across the face for breaking the ‘don’t date my ex’ unspoken rule). Here you were within his grasp and when the song ends, you hear one of your audience members applaud. The other was a dozing stray cat on the tree branch ahead of you. You’re startled a bit by his presence mentioning he should really get new louder shoes. He laughs, mirthfully so, taking his place beside you. You rest your head on his shoulder like you used to when you would take his side on an argument.

“Your Spanish got better,” Oikawa muses, his lips pulled into a smirk.

“Your Japanese accent is coming back too,” you tease.

The night air in Tokyo is cool and for lack of better terms, a bit nostalgic. You rest your chin on your hand as you lean against the balcony, your company glances down at your free hand.

“What are you thinking about? You seemed very apprehensive earlier to leave my side,” you say, eying his profile against the pale moonlight.

“That my idiot best friend broke the heart of the only person I could truly admit I love,” Oikawa replies without even thinking. “And I love volleyball a whole hell of a lot.”

You think you must be dreaming and woke up in an alternative timeline, so you pinch yourself. Nope, this was really happening. Oikawa Tooru, suave and the most handsome setter in the South American Circuits, who has 1.2 million fans worldwide, just admitted his feelings towards you–the one person he couldn’t secure a date with because well, moral codes aside, you weren’t quite ready to love him yet. Although now, at 2:19 in the morning, Tokyo Standard Time, your heart and soul makes him look ten times more princely. He rambles on telling you tales of the past and how you always were the most attractive person he’s ever met; sharp, witty, funny, and yet when you started dating Iwazumi, he began to distance himself for fear of being found out. You inform him you had no idea, but in hindsight, you thought it was strange how often the fights between the boys seemed to occur; half of them were because the dates that Iwazumi took you on were one of Oikawa’s ideas. It was the most memorable one because it was for your 100 days anniversary. Oikawa helped string the fairylights at the gazebo by Iwa’s house. He admitted it saying if he really was bold back then, he would have whisked you away with him to Argentina without a second thought. Or at least asked you, but with your life here, Argentina would have to wait.

“You honestly had no idea?” Oikawa Tooru says aghast.

“How could I have?” you defend laughing a bit at your own fickle heart. “You didn’t outwardly spell it out for me even though I was a bit dense when it came to romance.”

Oikawa stands in front of you now. Towering over you, but hovering nonetheless, caging you between the concrete ledge and back patio of your apartment. You glance up at him, anxious fireflies set your chest a flame knowing to tread lightly.

“I’ll stop here,” he says, tracing your lips with his roughly padded thumb. “If you don’t want me to follow through.”

“Oikawa,” you warn, automatically pursing your lips against his fingertips. Soft and kind, hard and stubborn, he thinks is part of your charm. Your hair flows over your shoulder again as you begin to notice he leans down a bit more, his breath when he speaks pricks your upper lip with laiden desire.

“Not my last name sweetheart,” he whines, holding your chin a bit more firm.

Oikawa witnesses the dangerous contortion your face makes when your painted lips jut out into a soft pout, a bit annoyed as he pulls away slightly and your heart sinks a bit toward your shoes.

“Will you ever kiss me Oikawa Tooru?” you honestly in earnest ask.

“Only because you asked,” is the last thing you hear when you feel his lips outclass everything you ever knew about love. It is surprisingly compassionate, logic defying even. How are his lips this hot? Why are they making you feel like you’re floating on bubbles from the champagne toast from earlier? It can’t be because you’re weak in the knees with someone you thought was completely out of your league and vice versa. You don’t break the kiss when you feel his hands wipe away the tears spilling out of your eyes. He doesn’t let you have a moment to feel sorry for realizing the truth too late: he can’t fault you for crying because he knows those tears are one of relief, not sadness. You deepen the kiss moments later, angling your head in one way, asking for permission to further rely on him to keep you standing for fear you’d fly away into the night. Feverish kisses like this makes his hands wander across your lithe body; you’ve always been a runner, but a swimmer, he forgot about the captain of Seijoh’s Swim Team who was the anchor in 4x4 relays. He’d seen your record smashing win at nationals when Iwazumi had make-up exams to take; he’d seen how disappointed you felt when you saw him in Iwa’s stead, remembering then of your boyfriend’s academic duties. Regardless, five years, and over three to four different time zones later, you feel how much love he harbors for you when he pulls you back inside your residence. You set the pace, and he obliges like a river to the sea. His lips are not shy nor are they coy; they are brutal in telling you to succumb to his love. Languid and painstakingly slow, you realize you’re subconsciously undoing the buttons of his shirt as stealth fingers find the zipper on the back of your dress–”Tooru, I want us to keep going.” Chocolate hair bounces when he nods, allowing you to catch your breath when he bites his lips calling you a flower’s name: “Impatient, are we?”

“You’ve been pining over me for years and you want to go slow?” you are a sassy one, your lips graze over his pulse point by his collar bone.

“Believe me when I say this,” he nips your ear carefully, enough to make you slightly jump into his arms more. “I yearned for this day to come, so I’m going to savor Every. Waking. Moment. With. You.” You feel your zipper become completely undone and as your dress falls into a pool around you, you hurriedly undo the rest of his buttons to slide the fabric over his shoulders.

“God damn king,” you mutter when your arms trace over the hardened toned body of the boy, no, scratch that, man you’re seemingly hopeless in falling for. Five years is as long time to admit you’ve always been curious what it was like to date, fuck, and probably most incrediously make out with the Oikawa Tooru. Well, the “the” didn’t have to be extravagant, no, since you’ve known him a majority of your school life as Oikawa, captain Oikawa, and most undoubtedly your ex’s best friend who had set his pride aside to watch you date someone who wasn’t him. You reassure him when you tiptoe to ghost over his lips again you’re of sound mind when your mind and soul finally let go of the past–presently, you’re too busy falling back in love with the man who loved you for nearly a decade. Oikawa as you’ll soon learn doesn’t care you almost slept with Mattsukawa that night with the gin; he doesn’t mind if you took in Hanamaki when he was kicked out of the family home; he just cares that for once you chose yourself to win back your love life. You picked yourself back up and healed like the warrior empress you are. Contrary to popular belief, he calls you a charming nickname he heard one of his fans calls you on social media (you had posted a photo of you and Oikawa cheering the sunrise with your pan de bono. Fans world wide gave their support when he shouts your silhouette out with an old fandom’s name for warrior royal: “To my dearest Amarthwen, may we have many more mornings like this.” #lotr #nicknamesformicorazon

“I should be saying that to you,” Oikawa nudges your nose with his. You both smile into the next kiss because you have silently trusted each other’s hearts to be taken care by the other; you say his name like it’s a landline., one you’ve always known to call you when you’re down and for the life of you, you’re dancing with him, half dressed in your flat’s hallway leading to the master bathroom, you let him waltz with you to the next song on the playlist. Well, not quite a waltz, more like a bachata to your room; he chuckles when you gratefully come into contact with the mattress. He looms over you, your bra has your chest rise and fall in support of a love well-deserved. You bounce slightly when you toss your head back to have your distinguished guest close the door a bit behind you.

“Finally,” you mumble against his brow. “You can have me. All of me, free from whatever you think still lingers in my mind.”

“Dear clever girl,” his arms slide to swoop you up closer to his almost bare self much like where you are now. “Stop talking and let me love you as you are.”

Your arms raise to trace over his shoulders as he continues to further fall into your good graces. Quiet declarations into the night formulate steamy beads of sweat above your temple. His hair sticks to your forehead as he pulls a breathy moan from your lips, he places you back down on your barrage of pillows, slowly, delicately allowing his actions to speak on his behalf. He chuckles when he sees your thighs rub together to hide the effect he has on you; he always had you admit to yourself. You tell him to not look at you like he’s about to eat you alive.

“Poor choice of words.” his voice threatens.

Eyes seek your permission with lustful desire. Tonight, he swears is about making you feel the most godlike. Tomorrow, he vows to make you pay by having you satisfy him. It’s an unspoken rule in your own home to have a box of condoms hidden by your toy chest. You make a mental note to tell him where the stash moves strategically whenever he visits or until you are prompted to move with him a few years later (like aiming for two and a half, maybe three if things really progress further) because gods above know you would have said yes on the spot like when he touches you there, pressing his fingers over your clothed sex. You realize he’s an impish devil, one you could see raze a village for flogging the woman he loved, yet he is so uncharacteristically tender with you, it makes you wonder why anyone would break up with him in his youth. You don’t really care about them at all, not when he’s with you, gripping your hands and pinning them adobe your head.

Eventually, with enough foreplay in the works, your knee nudges against something and when your eyes realize what that something is, you listen to the man so far from his new home growl a needy, “Careful there love,” to your ear. You offer to take care of him, you try in earnest, curious to know how well you could take him; you know because in your delirium when you were on the mend, you’ve gotten off sheepishly with your toys thinking about the time you spent on a much needed and well-paid for in advance vacation to Argentina fianced by two very faithful friends. It’s no wonder Hanamaki goes broke every time he decides to stay at your place, he was too busy making travel arrangements and paying down installments with Mattsukawa’s card for your trip abroad. The boys mean well, they really do, but also because they were tired of the shenanigans their friends put you through. You return saying perhaps one day when you’re back to being a bit more whole, you would have given into the athlete’s longing stares much sooner.

Much sooner became now and though he sacrifices his obvious response to your drooling self, Oikawa says tonight should be dedicated about how well he makes you feel. Tomorrow, he promises you can wake him up however you deem fit because he sees the lust blown pupils reflecting his image back at him before they roll back toward your skull.

“Tooru, don’t play,” you say, feeling him press his lips against your forehead. He has wormed his way between your legs, propping them open with his knee. His trousers long since hang off the side of the bed and it takes everything in your will power to commit the sensation to memory: softened chapped lips trace a constellation against the entirety of your body from your browbone, nose, down to either side of your collarbones, valley between your breasts (which still stay securely in place by your bra of choice), down and down; with one hand on your ribcage, the other beckons you to nod, slipping beneath the waistband of your low-rise underwear, you brace yourself for what comes next.

“Consent, give it to me,” he commands, no pressure given at all. There will be a time for formalities and ‘pleases’ to be said, now is not one of those times. Greed has wormed its ugly head between your bodies as candidly as nature taken on showcasing your response to each other. Your hips roll to nearly match what he is insinuating and the rest of your body electrifies the answer he needs because at the moment, you’re a bit lost on words.

Oikawa plants more kisses than he could ever imagine on your exposed skin, raising a leg to slide down the last of the cloth barrier hiding you from him. His hand gracefully slides down and up before removing what you’ve kept hidden for nearly a decade. Breathing excruciatingly slow, you hear tender words being whispered against the outline of your skin. Upon further reflection of tonight, it’s a wonder you didn’t cum on the spot as the words you’ve longed to hear slips past your patient lover: “Sunshine most dear, I’ve been wanting you since forever.”

You close your eyes, breathing him in, soaking his silhouette from your place below him, he begins his descent in playing with your sex. You turn to fist the sheets around you, trying to behave, knowing you can’t. Not when he demands your utmost attention, he licks hot stipes and makes succeulent sounds against the meatiest undersides of your thighs. Thighs he had fallen asleep on in the beaches of Brazil when he took you via train to meet the karasuno crow on the beach. Loving and teasing because of who Oikawa Tooru is as a person makes you wish you had selfishly seeked him out on your own; Mattsukawa and Hanamaki tried to warn you that the most angry you could make a former lover is have them witness how happy you were without him. And by gods have the fates decide to tie your souls with the man who is dedicated to worship the ground you walk on.

“More?”

“Tooru, I swear to god if you mah~oh fuck you~make me wait any,” you’re cut off by first cool breath he takes before he tastes you fully. You’ve come too close to being undone by his hands alone, and mind you they felt better than any toy’s false sense of security. Though he aims to please you with his hands alone, you realize he was just warming you up. This was the second set of five in your head, you’ve come to the enlightened path and by the gods you think Oikawa is amongst them as you slowly become a slave to his love.

“I should have done this long ago,” his breath is hot against your thighs where he takes his claim. You definitely will wake him up tomorrow touch starved and taken care of, you swear on your life.

You crack open an eye as you feel your leg return to a propped stand next to the other one as one skilled man would learn all your body’s tells starting now, when his nose nudges against an overtly sensitive area. sighing with a lovelorn mewl of his name on the tips of your tongue. Open-mouth kisses work as reassurance the longer you hear him drink you in. Your back arches to aid your arms to reach he top of his head, encouraging him to hear and taste how utterly delectable you truly are. The sounds are as audacious as you think; so lewd and you’re practically sticky where his lips and hands make a toy out of you. You tilt your head back when you’re close, propping yourself up by the elbows nearly passing out from the way he pleasures you. Minutes pass and when you reach your desirable end, he chuckles saying it’s been a while since he tasted anything similar to ambrosia.

“Fucking delicious sweetheart,” his voice is gravely, licking the remnants off his face. His fingers trace a bit over your panting lips, inviting you to taste yourself. And you come to find out he was right. You were mentally trying to still your quaking legs, the mess he made of you still stains the sheets for right now, yet he distinctly hears you in your feverishly hot body, “I will fuck you until all I know is you, Oikawa Tooru,” you’re breathing harder now, your body still trapped underneath his daunting figure, his hands almost rub the sensitive part of you again. “Fucking Christ.”

“I look forward to it,” he says. “But for now, I think you and I need to cool down…”

You don’t walk to the shower after he cleans you, no. He had the audacity to scoop you in to his arms and carry you to the glass shower in your apartment. The sheets for modesty’s sake drops off in the floor of the bathroom. You make him stay with you saying you will change the sheets once you’re through here. So why, after a few more confessions are said, do you find yourself pinned against the warm of your own shower? Rough hands still roam your suds driven body and a broken, “please” beckons your lover to continue marking your neck on varying degrees of purple. You want to touch him, you truly do, but he growls in your ear tomorrow.

“But I want—”

“Delayed gratification baby, trust me.”

He plays with you now under the shower head, rolling his hips so you can have an idea of just how being with you for a short period of time has already worked him up. You laugh when you step out of the shower as he gives you a ‘just caught stare’ when you invite him to finish himself off in the shower.

“Two can play that case little star,” you turn to wrap a town around your body.

The glass door of the shower slides open and a hasty, “‘m not small,” is said. You laugh shaking your head saying he started calling you cute names, so why can’t you gift him one too?

“Little star, you burn bright for me,” you said, turning him around to finish his shower as you close the shower door. You peaked down, swallowing your pride because come tomorrow, you think of what your carnal brain would want to devour for breakfast…you shake your head recalibrating the idea of going down on him much as he did you, but you choose a more ‘palatable’ route to show him the morning after. You leave the bathroom after brushing your hair, finding some decent clothes to lay in; you strip your bed and replace the linens altogether before you pull out more overnight attire. You’re thankful over the years you have known and slept over at Oikawa’s place in Argentina you remember a pair of sweats he leant you. They still fit him, but they also were so comfortable you snuck them in your luggage when you were packing. Regardless, now seemed like the perfect time to return them to their owner. The water in the shower shuts off as soon as your washing machine is turned on. Oikawa finds you half dressed again a top your bed. New t-shirt bra on while your pajama bottoms have an old university logo on them. He arches an eye brow at you stating how no matter the years that have gone by, you look divine.

“Keep talking slick and I’ll put on a shirt,” you tease.

Oikawa laughs saying he’ll lay down first this time, inviting you with open arms to join him. He speaks secrets into your cooling skin; tracing them over and over as if you’d disappear in a blink of an eye. You don’t though, you can’t blow since he proves he loved you from the start.

“You don’t mean that,” you say frowning. Oikawa’s cupping your face, rubbing your cheekbone with the pads on his fingers.

“Oh, but I do,” he adds. He kisses you once. “I really do.”

You relax more the moment you reform this soft gesture. You press a firm kiss on his lips before you hear him say something predominantly too early. You knew what it meant, you do, but hearing how taken he is with you, you utter a soft, “yo también.” Your hair is brushed behind an ear as you hear him hum a gentlier version of good night, you stifle a yawn as well, before you place a protective arm across his chest. Your hair pools behind you and when he glances down to see a content smile on your face, oikawa tooru wraps his head around finally having the chance to prove just how much he loves you.

Oikawa Tooru is a man of many, many talents. Turns out, being your best lover takes precedence over all others who came before him; after all, he always seeked pleasing you. It starts slowly at first, like the morning after when you wake to him holding you with a smile traced over your exposed shoulder.

“What time is it?” You grumble half-awake.

“Don’t know,” he replies. Stifling a yawn, you twist to face him, holding his face in your hands. He winks at you as you slowly fade back to sleep uttering a tired, “thanks for giving us a chance.” Pressing his lips on the crown of your hair, he says, “any time.” Sure enough, you eventually learn just how to navigate the storm of being linked to Oikawa; his fans learn to love you too, some trolls make it through though, but you are stronger than you know. No petty person would be able to surrender to your unyielding snark. Once, Oikawa hovers over your shoulder while you reply to a love q&a. Your pajamas with satin clouds and white undershirt courtesy of your lover’s closet mixes well with the background of him pouring a glass of juice and coffee for you both.

“What are they saying?” He asks.

“How did you know we would work out?” You repeat the question that snagged your attention.

“Hmm,” oikawa had a thinking face on. You carefully take the mug out of his hand and sip. You were curious too.

“The day we had our first movie night in high school,” he says with a smile. “You didn’t see half of the romance or dramas I did and I thought to myself one day, I’m going to show her every single one that reminds me of us.”

A collective string of hearts and positive vibes were seen and read. You trying to hide your blush behind your mug was cute, and when he calls you out on it, you shake your head.

“I knew the moment you’d actually let me crash here, in Argentina with you,” you sheepishly admit. “I was doing some soul-searching at the time and this guy, the one who just signed on with team San Juan, took me to the promenade during a local festival. Bought me cafe con leche and an arepa…He still is my best lover, so thanks for that.”

“No problemo,” he says with a bright smile. In the sock drawer on his side of the room sits a constellation box filled with precious memories he has had with you. Perhaps the question should be asked soon, especially with the ring buried alongside the first love letter he ever wrote you.

The morning sun rises above the horizon. You’re sitting in front of Oikawa on the blanket he prepared for you. You notice the box behind him, but you say nothing yet. Oikawa had been vague about wanting to come to the place where he first took you when you arrived—you dipped your toes still eating the last bit of an ice cream cone when he hugs you from behind. Kind of like now, except this time, you kiss his jaw with a tender smile. You echo what you said during the live stream last Saturday, it’s something which you tell Oikawa to this day, only this time he interjects with a question in terms of a phrase.

“Marry me.”

“Are you asking or telling me ‘ru?”

You hear him drag the box out, feel for the ring, and in telling you to close your eyes, you feel him take your hand and slip the ring on your finger. You’re too riddled with vibrancy to open your eyes fully when he asks you this time, making you turn your body into him:

“Marry me, yn,” his heart lines pulsate with the way you agree. You tackle him on the sand, whisper yelling your affirmative answer and with the ring on your finger, he seemed to return your answer effortlessly; you kiss him harder that morning, the cool metal scratches his smooth jaw when you both nod saying social media is going to flip the fuck out. You feel him pause his squirming, knowing in a matter of minutes, you’ll be dipped to one side, purple kiss marks on your neck would appear later. For now, jovial tears threaten to spill out of your glossy eyes. As you look at him, the prince to your whirlwind adventures in a new land, you thank the gods for putting you on his path—every day your affection grows to infatuation to now a love most forged in the fires of a phoenix rising. Granted you needed to love yourself first and thankfully by the good graces instilled in Oikawa’s psyche, he waited for you until that first night back in your apartment. The first kiss that made him take you into his heart and soul where you always were meant to stay. His curls press lightly against your hairline as you command his attention away from the new day.

“I can’t wait to love you for eternity,” his words dance like a halo above your head when he consistently wipes the tears again away from your face. “Daring girl, you’re so much more dear than you’ll ever know.”

“Tooru, are you always this articulate?” you laugh, blubbering through the next kiss.

“For you? Para siempre.”

Outside of where he proposes to you in your shared beach house estate in Argentina, there are photos hanging on the wall scrapbooking the milestones your love has taken you around the world–San Juan, Rio de Janiero, Miyagi, Poland, France, etc. The Olympic jersey your boyfriend of four years now has you wear that night is just an allusion to how serious your relationship became with each other thus giving you the option of becoming one of the few Oikawas in the world.

#🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #iwazumi hajime x reader << timeskip oiks x reader #team timeskip!oikawa x reader #🔞: mdni for ma themes #cw: language #cw: swearing #cw: fingering/handjobs[?]#cw:mentions of consent

17 notes · View notes

jawritter · 4 years ago

Text

No, Screw You Sweetheart

Summary: You HATE Dean Winchester, I mean really, REALLY hate him.

Written for: @anaelsbrunette Birthday Celebration! Happy Birthday hun!! 💜

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Prompt: Move away from the door and let me at him.

Warnings: Smut, unprotected smut, fingering, a little bit of a daddy!kink, girl on top, language. I think that’s about it.

Word Count: 2016

A/N: This fic is completely unbeta’d so all mistakes are mine! Please DO NOT COPY MY WORK! Feedback is golden! Hope you all enjoy this one! I decided to take a break from the Christmas fics to bring you some porn, so here ya go lol.

**MASTERLIST** **BECOME A PATREON**

Dean and yourself had a bit of a love/hate relationship. Okay, maybe that was a little harsh. You and Dean had a “you get on my last dying nerve, but since killing you will upset your little brother I’ll choose to just let you live,” relationship.

That really doesn’t sound any better, does it?

Normally you could ignore your distaste for the eldest Winchester. Normally you stayed out of each other’s way. When you worked with the Winchesters you usually worked mostly with Sam. Not this time. This time you had to work with Dean, solo, on a witch hunt. Therefore all of Dean’s little annoying habits were all right in your face, and dammit, you had enough of his shit to last you a lifetime. By the time you got back to the bunker, you were ready to pull your hair out; or his...

Dean being who he is, he couldn’t just leave you alone, could he? Fuck no, he had to press his luck, and in extension press your buttons. So when he walked by you and childishly tugged on your hair, not hard enough to hurt you but just to get on your nerves, you lost it.

Way deep down you knew that giving chase is the exact reaction he wanted out of you, but that annoyingly gorgeous face, peppered with those annoyingly adorable freckles just got under your skin some type of way, and it was on.

Dean bolted through the hallways of the bunker towards Sam’s room, knowing damn good and well you had every intention of jumping on top of him, and getting him back in whatever way you could think of that would inflict pain, but no permanent damage. Starting with those damn perky ass nipples that drove you crazy. Always seeming to stand out teasingly against his tight undershirts, giving you just enough of a tease to send your imagination into overdrive.

Okay, maybe there wasn’t as much “hate” involved in this relationship as much as there was a lot of pint of sexual frustration on your end.

“Sammy,” Dean yelled, bursting through the door of Sam’s bedroom, and jumping over the bed to hide in the far side of the room. “She’s trying to kill me!”

Sam confusedly jumped to his feet and stood at the door of his room, blocking you from getting to a cowering Dean, who was having a damn hard time hiding that smirk that was pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Move away from the door and let me at him, Sam. I promise I won't cause any permanent damage. Not like you Winchesters can actually stay dead any damn way.”

Sam gave his brother a narrowed eyed stare as Dean snorted out a laugh, leaning against the brick wall of his brother’s bedroom before turning his gaze back to you who was doing everything you could do to get past the overly tall Winchester and to the elder asshole in the room.

“I’m just spitballing here Dean, but I’m pretty sure that you asked for this, whatever you did,” Sam said, still blocking the door to his room where Dean was peaking around his brother, daring to move closer.

“Bullshit,” Dean mocked annoyance. “I did nothing worthy of the pain she’s wanting to inflict on me.”

“I doubt that,” Sam said, looking over his shoulder at Dean, who was staring at you with an impish grin on his perfect face. He looked almost boyishly adorable when he did that, and it got under your skin just how much it seemed to send a torrent of butterflies loose in your stomach every time he looked at you that way. The nerve of him.

“He pulled my hair,” you tell Sam accusingly. Sam rolled his eyes as Dean stuck his tongue out at you.

“You know what,” Sam said, grabbing Dean by the collar of the shirt and you by the shoulder, guiding you towards Dean’s room. “I think I know what needs to happen here, and I never thought I’d say this but you two have left me no choice.”

Sam came to a stop in front of Dean’s door and opened it before shoving the two of you inside together. “You two need to fuck. I’m tired of this middle school teasing going on between the two of you. Handle it like adults, and leave me alone.”

With that Sam slammed the door, leaving you alone with Dean, who immediately started backing up with his hands in the air.

“Look, I had nothing to do with that,” Dean said earnestly. “I was just giving you a hard time because I like to get a rise out of you, that was all Sam.”

Your eyes narrowed at him and you took a threatening step closer to him. “You like to ‘get a rise out of me’, do you Winchester?” you asked, watching those jean-clad bowed legs as they backed him up towards the wall of his room.

“Well, yeah. You're cute when you're mad,” he admitted with a smirk, licking those damn lips of his as his eyes raked over your unashamed.

Your mouth hung open in disbelief as you stared at him, all joking and playfulness falling from your stance as you stumbled over your own thoughts.

Of everything you expected to come out of his mouth, that was not what you thought he was going to tell you. To save your dignity you did the only thing you could think to do, hoping that he hadn’t noticed you falter, and praying that you could walk out of here with your head held high, and your self-esteem mostly intact.

“You’re such an asshole, you know that? You’ve been driving me fucking crazy this whole hunt because you think it’s cute?”

You hadn’t realized you were backing away from him, not until he started to slowly stalk his way towards you as his olive-green eyes darkened.

“That’s what I said. Don’t think I stuttered,” he said, his deep rumble becoming impossibly deeper as you took another step back and he matched your pace, slowly narrowing the space between the two of you.

“The teasing, the immature little pranks, the nitpicking over every fucking thing I did on this hunt, It was all to just get under my skin,” you asked him.

“Yup, you got a baby girl,” he practically growled as your back hit the bedroom door, and he closed the distance between the two of you, standing practically chest to chest with you. Your heart was beating so loud against your rib cage you were pretty sure he could hear it from where he was standing practically chest to chest with you.

“Screw you, Winchester,” you retort in a breathy, much less fiery comeback, to entrapped in the way his body was practically pressing you into the hardwood of the door behind him; in the way his scent was all but seeping through your skin and into your bones while his dark gaze did all but ruin you without even laying a single hand on you.

The smirk that he gave you in response nearly knocked you breathless, his gaze shamelessly sinking down your body and utterly soaking your panties in the process. “No, screw you, Sweetheart.”

Dean’s lips came crashing into yours in a bruising, fire laced kiss. Invading your mouth with his warm, wet tongue, licking into the heat of your mouth shamelessly as your fingers carded through the short hairs at the base of his neck and goosebumps erupted over your quickly overheating skin.

“I fucking hate you,” you growled at him, biting down on his lip hard enough to get his attention but do no real damage. It would be a shame to damage such a pretty face after all.

Dean chuckled darkly as his hand made quick work of unbuckling your pants and shoving his thick fingers into your underwear, running across your slick soaked folders, teasing your entrance, and putting a delicious amount of pressure on your already throbbing clit.

“Oh honey, your mouth says you hate me, but these ruined fucking panties you’re wearing are singing a different tune,” he said, lips brushing against your own with every word. His warm breath fanning over your face as you check flush with arousal, and two of his thick fingers sink deep inside of your already fluttering walls while his thumb continues its agonizingly wonderful circles on your little bundle of nerves. His fingers curling and pumping, driving your hire in a hurry, and before you knew it you were all but begging him for that release he kept you teetering on the edge of, but not letting you fall completely over.

“Please Dean, please,” you beg him, moaning as quickens the pace of his fingers.

“Please what baby, tell Daddy what you need,” he said, nipping at your lips your legs begin to shake, and your walls start to crumble around his fingers.

“Please De, let me come,” you beg him. His teeth scrape your pulse points and his fingers dive deeper into your fluttering heat.

“Go ahead, baby girl. Come for Daddy,” he growled against your lips.

Your orgasm railed through your body like an out of control freight train as your walls clamped down around his thick digits while worked you through your high, swallowing your moans as you shook in his hold until you were all but limp against him.

“Fuck Dean,” you gasp as he picked you up as if you weighed nothing, and carried you over to his bed, peppering you with little kisses before dropping you down on the soft memory foam mattress.

“Still hate me,” he asked, laying down beside you and letting your roll him onto his back and straddle his hips, looking down at his gorgeous green eyes as your fingers trail down the freckled sin of his chest before you grip the hymn of your shit and pull it over your head, slowly peeling off each layer of clothes and only getting off of him long enough to remove all your clothes so that you could sink down on his thick, throbbing length, smirking as his mouth goes slack when he’d become fully sheath inside you. Stretching you in the most amazing way.

“I can’t fucking stand you, Winchester,” you tell him, lifting off of him before slamming back down on his length, enjoying the little whimper that left his lips as he started to lift his hips to meet each painfully slow roll of your hips as you slide up and down his length, dragging it out and torturing him just as he had you through this whole hunt.

“Your perfect face, and that cocky ass attitude, someone needs to put your in your damn place.”

You quickened your pace and he all but arched off the bed underneath you, hands finding your hips and helping you ride him; perfect white teeth sinking down in his lower lip so hard that it was practically bleeding before he could bring himself to answer you, his cock throbbing inside your velvet heat as you both barrelled towards your release quickly.

“Then put me in my place baby girl,” he growled as your second orgasm flowed through your body and hot ropes of come painted your walls as he yelled into his release underneath you.

Hours later Sam had not seen either of you and was starting to worry that he’d made the wrong call by putting the two of you in the room together and telling you to “work out” your problems. So he quietly slipped up to Dean’s door, cracking it just enough to see inside, noting how you were both curled up into each other’s hold sound asleep with clothes littering the floor, and sheets barely covering your modesty. He smiled to himself as he shut the door, laughing as he made his way down the hallway to the library. Now maybe the two of you would be just a little less annoying and he could finally get some peace and quiet.

Forever Tags:

@deandreamernp

@forgetthisbull

@miraclesoflove

@deanwanddamons

@rvgrsbrns

@chevyharvelle

@onethirstyunicorn

@i-love-superhero

@lyss-dw79

@magssteenkamp

@lemondropirwin

@squirrelnotsam

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@defenderrosetyler

@screechingartisancashbailiff

@thecreatiivecorner

@vicmc624

@busy-bee-angel-misska

@justanotherwinchester

@brilovesdeanwinchester

@idksupernatural

@lyarr24

@amandamdiehl

@miraclesoflove

@emoryhemsworth

@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel

@softsebastian

@tatted-trina6

@anaelsbrunette

@hayleeharling

@flamencodiva

@coldmuffinbanditshoe

@dirty-pan-goblin

@itmejado

@supernatural3002

@teresa-67

@thoughts-and-funnies

@hearteyes-j2

@miss-nerd95

@writers-whirlwind

@peaches007

Dean’s Babes

@forgetthisbull

Jensen and Dean’s Babes

@msmarvelouswinchester

@akshi8278

@love-jackles-37-blog

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #yas's birthday bash celebration #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester smut #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean fanfiction #dean fanfic #x reader inserts #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn smut #spn one shot #jawritter #screw you sweetheart

287 notes · View notes

builder051 · 3 years ago

Note

Hi! Happy SS! Could you maybe right something where Steve gets appendicitis? Like maybe in Whoa Bessie or Powers/No Powers where Bucky freaks out and Steve is trying to make sure he's not panicking while trying to grin and bear the pain. Maybe they need to call Sam for help? If not that's okay, I love your writing :)

Can do! This is Powers/No Powers.

___________________________

Steve hopes his morning stint of vomiting doesn't disturb Bucky any more than the usual flushing of the toilet in the ensuite. They've been sleeping together again. Literally, at least. They still hold such different hours that this passing in the night is sometimes the only time spent together, but, it's better. They both feel it.

Steve wipes his mouth on a washcloth and peers out the doorway and into the bedroom. The dresser. The closet. He doesn't want to yank open stuck drawers or reach up for shirts carefully hung up on the bar. His stomach hurts, and while the fire inside him has mostly tamed, blots of sweat on his upper lip and lower back keep him from really settling.

Steve grits his teeth and heads to the dresser. The bits of wood scraping against each other usually make him think of the piece of furniture as rustic, handmade. Now it's nothing short of annoying.

Steve chooses an undershirt and boxers. He pulls them on, trying to act normally. Pain blooms, though, as he lifts his right arm over his head. His entire flank, from chest to groin, starts to throb, and the nausea edges back into his stomach.

Steve lets out a breath and takes a couple of steps backward. The foot of the bed hits him behind the knees, and Steve's body curls automatically. He wraps arms around his toes and buries his chin in his knees.

The mattress shifts. "'S going on?" Bucky asks sleepily, appearing as a long pale face surrounded by poufs of dark hair. "You ok?

Steve has to force out a groan before he can speak. "Something. Down hereish." He gestures around his right stomach and hip. Then he forces a placating smile. "Probably did something at the gym..."

"Stevie." Bucky contorts himself so he's now on Steve's other side. "You never hurt yourself. And if what you're showing me is accurate, we've got a lot more to--"

"S-sorry," Steve mutters, skidding across the bedroom floor before landing on his knees in front of the toilet again."

"Yeah..." Bucky whispers, before following and stationing himself beside Steve with washcloths and towels.

Steve still has his head in the toilet when Bucky starts giving edicts.

"You know it's your appendix, right? Mine went a couple years ago, and it was just like this."

"Nuh." Steve uses the edge of toilet seat to scrape bits of mucous off his chin. "I don't know..." He avoids loosing a gag by turning his face into his shoulder. "The ER is mad right now, and my deductible..."

"Well," Bucky looks around for his phone, which is hanging out of the pocket of his boxers. "It's, what 7:30? People are up. Sam's probably up." He raises his eyebrows at Steve?

"What, and he does PJ field medicine in the living room until I pop or something?"

"I was thinking like he could help keep the edge off, then maybe call and see if they have a bed. He still has connections at the VA." Bucky tries an uneasy smile.

Steve's gone limp and freezing. He nods, then reaches out for Bucky.

"Yeah," he says. "That's good." Then, "Back to bed? 'M cold..."

"Of course." Bucky's good arm immediately weaves over Steve's shoulders, and they make a break back for the bedroom, launching from the floor and landing in a tangle. Steve wraps his arms around himself to protect his tender abdomen, and Bucky arranges the blankets for optimal warmth.

Bucky turns away from Steve a little to place the call to Sam.

Steve hears the phone start to ring. "Not looking forward to this..."

"Love you way more than the alternative," Bucky whispers before Sam picks up the line and says, "hello."

#fanfic #fanfiction #marvel #mcu #captain america #powers no powers #powers no powers choose your own adventure #steve rogers #bucky barnes #winter soldier #sickfic #emeto #emetophilia #illumivo #illumivomi #appendicitis #hurt/comfort

7 notes · View notes

cedric-stories · 4 years ago

Text

A Long Day

Word Count: around 1,300 but I could continue this at a later date

Warnings: Suggestive, make out, fluffy (kinda, lol)

Plot: Not really a plot. This is a dump of (I’m gonna be blunt) things I wish could happen between us.

Reader pronouns: she/her

A long day

Things had been rough at work this morning. As soon as it was time to leave you ran for your life to get home. Once you got there, you walked in to find a raging Cedric.

“Oh, Merlin’s mushrooms! Everything is going wrong!”

You signed. Things seemed to be complicated for Cedric today as well.

“Hey, honey. What’s up?”

Cedric turned around and looked at you. He gave a small shrug and turned back.

“Okay then.”

He laughed. “Okay then? What in Merlin’s name is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you didn’t even answer me when I asked a question.”

Cedric, once again, turned to face you.

“Well, it’s been a hard day, I am sorry.” He replied with a huff.

“Fine. I wasn’t asking for an apology”

You headed off to the bathroom and got a shower. This is just what you needed. Cedric will probably be in a mood the rest of the day and it would just send your already-horrible-day into an even worse time. Cedric wasn’t one to be in a terrible mood (not in the littlest bit) or even very angry, but he was one to be grumpy; and grumpy was not what you needed.

After taking your time in the shower, you finally decided it was time to face the rest of your evening. You got to ringing out your long hair and stepped onto the cool surface of tile outside the shower. You went to grab your towels from behind the door when you realized they were gone. It was so strange; you knew you had seen them there before you got in. Then, you looked for your clothes and noticed only your panties were left. You were dripping wet and didn’t know what to do. Against your better judgement, you decided to call for your boyfriend.

“Cedric? Can you get me a towel or something, please?”

You waited a minute and didn’t get an answer.

“Cedric?” you called. Still nothing.

You rolled your eyes and presumed he was working on some potion or spell. The next thing you could think of doing was putting on your green, lacy bra and panties and head to the bedroom. Shaking as you walked along, you reached the dresser and when you opened the drawers there was nothing.

“Are you looking for something, angel?” A voice asked from behind you.

You were startled and spun around to see your boyfriend standing about four feet from you.

“I was looking for my clothes or a towel. I called you,” you said in a rather snappy tone, “did you hear me?”

Cedric gave a grin. “Yes, I did.”

Your face looked shocked. “And, again, you didn’t answer?”

“That seems to be what happened, yes.”

“Why?” you asked, flinging your arms down at your sides.

Cedric’s smile grew wider and more dangerous.

“I didn’t want to.” He answered very flippantly, waving a hand in the air as he spoke.

Your eyes squinted.

“Um, why?”

He began walking towards you, his arms unfolding.

“Well, I thought this might be more fun. After all, what’s the point in taking your things if I just give them right back? I would say you know me well enough to come up with a good answer to that question, sweetheart.”

Suddenly, you noticed the glimmer in his eyes, and it all started making sense to you. A warmth in your stomach began to burn as he was walking forward. It became harder to stand and your arms couldn’t keep steady.

“Ah,’ you replied to him, not moving a muscle.

“Ah indeed,” he paused. “so, I noticed you’ve had a hard day at work, lovey.” He said, reaching an arm out to brush the side of your face. “I’m terribly sorry I was rude to you when you got back.”

Your head instinctively pressed up against his warm, gloved hand. A soft hum left you as he trailed a line down your neck to your upper chest.

“It’s okay.” You said, looking at the ground.

“Why don’t you come over here,” he said gesturing to the quilt-covered bed, “and relax.”

He moved his other hand to your waist and began sliding it up.

“I think I can take good care of you.” He said, kissing your cheek. “Don’t you?”

You smiled wide.

“Yes.”

Next thing you knew, he was softly pushing you onto the bed. His lips brushed over the top of your hand and began kissing up your arm. Once he reached your shoulder, he put his mouth to the top and started to suck . You tried your best not to moan but it wasn’t easy. The feeling of his warm tongue over your skin made you almost dazed. After a few minutes, he stopped sucking and went back to kissing you. Once he reached your chest, you felt his tongue glide up your neck. Your head flipped back, and a long moan escaped your mouth.

Cedric’s cheeks began to flush when he heard you. He sat up and gave you some room. You scared him with your close-to-violent reactions, and he didn’t know if you were enjoying any of this. He was still very insecure in your relationship.

“I’m sorry, y/n. I may have gotten a little ahead of myself.”

You looked at him, shocked and sat up quickly. You grabbed his collar and kissed his lips hard.

“No, no, no! Please, Cedric, don’t stop. For the love of god, don’t stop!” you began to beg. You normally gave him some space and would politely tell him whatever it was was okay with you and you enjoyed it, but today was different. Today, all you needed was him and you were determined to get it (since he had already started this madness). Your core was burning and something inside you told you he could finally handle this side of you[TJ3] …

Which he tried to handle it but was very surprised by your actions. You couldn’t help noticing how his robe was stilled tied. You pulled on the knot and looked up at him.

“Please?” you asked, your eyes big.

He gulped and shyly nodded.

Without another thought, you began to untie his bow and gently opened it. You ended up flipping over and straddling the man. You kissed up his neck to his face, making him giggle. You ran your hands over his chest, felt the cold buttons of his vest and started undoing them one by one.

You looked into his eyes once more for approval (which you got by a small kiss and another nod). After, you couldn’t help but smile at him, and get a little frustrated by all the layers he wore.

When his vest was unbuttoned you put your hand on his undershirt and leaned down. Sliding a hand behind his head, you kissed him firmly then backed off; trying to get him to follow. He sat up on his forearms enough for you to start sliding off his robe and vest.

“Y/n, this wasn’t exactly what I had planned. I was the one who was going to handle- “

You shushed him with a kiss.

“Oh, Cedric, as long as you are happy, I am having a great time.”

He goofily smiled and you pushed him backdown on the bed. You couldn’t help but admire his beautiful gray bangs that contrasted against his dark hair. You twisted a piece around your finger and brought your other hand to his face and booped his nose.

“You’re so handsome.” You said to him, gently sliding your arm up his shirt.

His blush got redder after your comment, but then you noticed him look down at your chest. He unhooked the back of your bra and smiled.

“as long as you don’t mind, I’d like to-um…”

A shock ran up your body and your core was set on fire.

“Go ahead.”

Author’s note

: I would really like to continue this but, tbh, I’m new to writing smut so if I went on it would be my first. Hope you liked it! Also, I have read every x reader on tumblr about him so if it sounds like things you’ve read before I think I got some inspo from other writers! thanks again y’all

122 notes · View notes

buntycake · 4 years ago

Text

The Brothers and Wedding Day (Suit-Wearing MC)

Pride:

Diavolo having asked Lucifer to take care of some tasks before school, he met you at the entrance of RAD. On the steps of the school, illuminated by Devildom’s moon, Lucifer stood dressed up in a black suit and red vest that were tailored to perfection. He made you hope that you looked even a fraction as stunning.

The white and black embroidered suit that the two of you had picked out together had looked amazing – at least it had on the hanger. You owed it to Asmo for looking as good as you did. This morning he made it his goal to help you with your hair, makeup, and accessories this morning. Even if he was a few ideas away from going overboard, you were thankful.

So when his gaze met yours, eyes widening in surprise and a bright smile cracking over his face, your heart fluttered with happiness. He offered his arm as you reached the top of the steps and looked over your costume appreciatively. “Stunning, as always,” he’d complimented.

As you walked arm in arm through RAD, stares from the student body were abundant. Even Diavolo did a double-take when he met up with you two. He joked that you should hold a ceremony. After all, it would be a waste to look so good only for a school event.

Greed:

Mammon had insisted on getting dressed together and ended up worming his way into your room. He claimed that he couldn’t risk someone seeing you in your outfit before him. You were his human and he had to be first in everything. So, he stayed, and you dressed in the bathroom.

The outfit you picked out was a dress shirt, fitted pants, and a simple tie. There was gold detailing on the shirt that made you shimmer under the light. You had thought that with all the gold accessories added on you would look garish, but looking at yourself in the mirror, you looked lavash. Like you bathed in money for fun.

Mammon was pacing nervously around the room when you exited the bathroom. He seemed to freeze and buffer when he caught sight of you. You couldn’t help but chuckle and took the chance to take in his appearance, too.

He looked roguish in a suit. Mostly because he didn’t button up his shirt, tighten his tie, or fix his hair. Of course, his black suit was accented with gold – you were his human, so you had to match. Honestly, between the two of you, you kind of looked like you were attending a mafia wedding.

He blinked furiously, finally breaking out of his daze. With surprising speed, he stepped forward and grabbed your hands, he got down on one knee. “Marry me.” You laughed out of surprise. Mammon insisted that he was serious and that he’d buy you a ring later.

Envy:

You’d never seen Levi sew until the first day of Spirit Week. That morning, you had tried putting on the traditional black kimono and hakama he’d made for you, but with all the fabric you ended up tripping over yourself and tearing one of the layers while trying to put it on.

When you brought the torn kimono to his door, you expected him to be mad. Instead he just took it from your arms and shuffled you into his room. He pulled out a sewing machine from god knows where and within 10-15 minutes he had gotten it patched up.

You could barely hear him offering to help you put on the kimono as he murmured. Even so, you accepted the offer. As embarrassing as it was to be undressed in front of him, you had a feeling that Levi was even more embarrassed, if his flushed face was any indication. But he diligently helped you put on each layer of the outfit. His hands steady the entire time.

When he had finished, his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. Then he excused himself and went to put on his own outfit. He exited his bathroom with a traditional black kimono and hakama – his sigil of envy embroidered on each shoulder. His blush returned when you told him he was handsome. From the corner of his room he produced a parasol and surprisingly bold this morning, he took one of your hands.

Even though your outfits weren’t as flashy as some others at RAD (looking at you Asmo), there was something more intimate to them. Walking hand-in-hand under a paper parasol, you almost feel like true newlyweds.

Wrath:

Satan took a more historical approach to the prompt. Instead of dressing in modern wedding styles, he was set upon basing your costumes on a different era. So, the two of you researched weddings across the ages and decided on the Victorian Era. He had some suits fashioned for the two of you – with a couple of modern touches, like less scratchy fabrics.

The day of, you had expected to look much more uncomfortable in your suit. Afterall, the whole ensemble included the appropriate socks, high-waisted pants, an undershirt, a collar shirt, a vest, a cravat, a morning coat, and (of course) a top hat. The whole outfit was a bit stuffy, given all the layers, but you felt exceedingly charming in it. Maybe it was the top hat or the smart mulberry coat, but you were struck with a surge of confidence as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

You were startled by a knock on the door. On the other side you found Satan, looking absolutely princely. He wore a traditionally blue morning coat with a white waistcoat and green hellebore flowers tucked in his coat pocket. It looked as if he tried to slick back his hair, but a few troublesome strands still managed to fall in his face.

Admittedly, you had felt shy under his gaze as he seemed to take in every element of you. He took your hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “You look absolutely exquisite.” With how hot your face became; you could have boiled a pot.

It turned out wearing multiple layers in Devildom wasn’t the best idea. It was a blessing that Satan was around to remind you to drink water or to sit down and shrug off a few layers when you got too woozy. Even so, the two of you were the most elegant looking couple at RAD. It was like you had stepped out of a vintage photo.

Lust:

Trust that Asmo has spent WEEKS planning for this day and you were absolutely dragged into that preparation. This included tearing through wedding boutiques looking for the perfect dress. Make no mistake, he gets to wear the wedding dress. Period.

Inevitably, none of the dresses met his expectations and he designed his own. Poor Levi was roped into helping make the dress. Once all that was completed, then it was your turn. He helped you pick out a chic suit. The two of you decided to ditch the plain, traditional suit for a sleeker vest suit.

You saw the dress on the hanger before you saw it on Asmo because he insisted you get ready together so he could help you with your ensemble. After Asmo’s 100 step self-care routine and getting dressed in your own outfit, he finally stepped out in his full costume.

Draped in silvery organza that gathered on a floor like a blooming flower, his modesty barely saved by the plunge line, stark white sheath underneath the transparent fabric, Asmo looked beyond stunning. He forwent the traditional veil for a giant, wide brimmed lace hat.

Of course, you complimented him, and he ate it up. However, the rest of the morning was devoted to you. Your brightly patterned vest was the statement piece of your outfit and Asmo was able to bring it all together with a few choice accessories. Together, the two of you were so dazzlingly, that the student body has a hard time looking at you directly.

At RAD, Asmo insisted on a photo shoot. Of course, he roped other students into it, too. He spent a decent part of the day photographing other’s outfits. When he showed you the glamour shots he took of you, you were floored. Even dressed in an outfit out of your comfort zone, Asmo had managed to capture you candidly – truly as yourself.

Gluttony:

Honestly, Beel was just happy that you wanted to dress up with him. He went shopping with you to pick out outfits and worked to match his outfit to whatever suit you chose, but he didn’t really have an opinion on his own outfit. So, he ended up choosing a classical tuxedo.

The day of, he came to your door, a rose and a sunflower in hand, and looking like the sweetest thing in the world. You felt the heat rising in your cheeks as he tucked the flowers into your coat pocket and complimented your appearance.

The two of you weren’t the flashiest couple at RAD, but you sure did get a lot of looks when Beel decided to carry you bridal style for the rest of the day. The action had Lucifer in a tizzy, but it just made you feel warm and loved to be tucked into his chest. Asmo just had to take a picture of you two like that. You were glad he did, since you now keep that photo tucked in a safe place.

The highlight of the day for Beel was absolutely the massive wedding cake that Barbatos made for lunch time. It had to have had at least a hundred tiers to it. The cake was the traditional white with intricate pink and red frosting roses as decoration. Beyond Barb’s beautifully crafted cake, Beel seemed to really appreciate the tradition of couples feeding cake to each other. Especially when he could use it as an excuse to kiss the remaining crumbs off your lips.

Sloth:

Belphie decided he was going to wear a pajama suit to Wedding Day. You know, the ones with a suit printed on the front? Yeah, there was zero effort to be had for Spirit Week. So, you just decided to roll with it.

You found a suit made of satin pajama material, some slippers, and used a bed sheet as a cape for some flair. Belphie couldn’t help but laugh when you went to retrieve him from the attic. It was enough to prompt him to go to school that day. BUT you had to bridal carry him there. (Don’t worry, Beel helped you out if you weren’t strong enough.)

The two of you were clearly out of place in your pajamas among the sea of white dresses and suit. You got plenty of odd stares from the other students as you passed them in the halls. Asmo was personally offended by the costumes you showed up in. Even more so because the two of you wouldn’t take a proper photo. The two of you looked like a walrus passed out on Ambien every time someone turned a camera on the two of you.

It wasn’t until the two of you started napping anywhere and everywhere at RAD that Lucifer began to rag on the two of you. The temptation was too much for Belphie. He was wearing pajamas and your bed sheet cape made naps easily accessible. It was just too easy for the two of you to cuddle up together.

Apparently, Lucifer had been holding back a lecture on proper attire because it was Spirit Week but sleeping in the middle of the hallway was the last straw. The two of you got a scolding that was about half a day long, but according to Belphie, it was completely worth it. He could never regret spending a day creating mischief with you.

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me gn!mc #obey me spirit week #obey me gender neutral mc

210 notes · View notes

svu-ncis-criminalminds · 4 years ago

Text

Love and Hate

For the Anon who requested 46 and 26 with Sonny Carisi? I can't get enough of him!

#26 Cuddling in comfortable silence before murmuring “I love you”

#46 Argument leading to kissing/sex

WARNING : Smutty smut smut

“You’re being an asshole,” You snapped as you unlocked the front door of your apartment, Sonny sulking angrily behind you as you fumbled with the keys. He stepped forward and tried to snatch them from you but you held them away from him, “Sonny I swear to god, knock it off.”

“I can’t, I’m an asshole.” You groaned and finally got the key to turn in the lock, pushing your way in. He followed you close behind, you could practically see the steam coming from his ears. “You’re an asshole.” He added afterwards. You glared at him.

“That’s all you got? You’re a child.” You went to the kitchen and opened the fridge pulling out an open bottle of wine before going to the cabinet to get a glass. You don’t even know how this stupid fight started, but you were ready for it to end. Sonny continued to stand in the kitchen with his hands on his hips.

“Have another glass of wine, that’s exactly what you need.” You laughed. If it wasn’t a nice glass you would have considered chucking it at his head.

“Says the man who needs a beer to sleep. Maybe get that checked out before you try and lecture me. Again.” Now you remembered. Sonny was mansplaining during dinner and you had tried to make a joke that had come off much ruder than you intended. And it spiralled from there. Then you were arguing about everything that had bothered you in the last six months. You were mad at Sonny for Sonny making you mad at him.

“Well someone has to tell you how-” You slammed your hands down on the table.

“Shut up for once in your life!” You cried. “You’re not my dad, you’re my boyfriend, I don’t need you to parent me all the time, I don’t need you to explain every little thing to me because you’re a big old smart ADA man and I’m a halfwit detective!” You ran your hands over your face, trying to wipe away the tears before the man noticed them.

“Do you hear yourself?” He asked incredulously. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes I’m serious!” You turned away from him, shaky hands pouring yourself a glass of the wine. Sonny didn’t say anything for a second and when you turned he at least had the decency to look guilty. “I’m going to bed. Sleep on the sofa.” The guilt was gone, he was pissed off again.

“The sofa?” He asked, “You’re fucking out of your mind. It’s my apartment too, my bed. I’ll sleep where I please.” You pushed past the man towards the bedroom you both shared. Once again the man followed close behind you, when you got to the bedroom you went in and attempted to slam the door in the man’s face but he put a hand out and pushed it back towards you. It hit your arm and the glass fell to the ground, shattering into a million pieces, wine skidding out across your floor. You both stood in shock for a minute before you screamed. Sonny jumped and you yelled again, running your hands through your hair. You didn’t want to do this, not with him, not now not ever, but god he drove you insane. On the good days it was so so good, and on those rare bad days it was terrible. Like a storm.

“Shut up! The neighbors are gonna think I’m beating you!” He cried out grabbing your wrist and you jerked away from him.

“Get away from me, I don’t even want to look at you. I hate you.” Sonny stepped forward again and you took two steps back. You didn’t mean it, you couldn’t mean it but you wanted him to hurt like you hurt.

“Don’t say that,” He whispered. “Listen, I don’t wanna fight with you.” You laughed, looking up at the ceiling.

“You could have fooled me,” You spat. He was quiet again. He took another step forward, you were crying openly now. This time you didn’t step back. He took another step and then another before he was standing directly in front of you. He reached a hand up and brushed the tears from your cheek and you flinched at the contact.

“I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry. Don’t ever tell me you hate me again, please.” He begged quietly. You finally looked at him and he seemed so dejected it, it broke your heart even more. It wasn’t worth it.

“I don’t hate you, Sonny. I hate fighting with you.” He touched your face again and this time you didn’t pull away.

“I hope you don’t hate me, because I love you very very much.” You smiled softly and pushed your face into the comfort of his hand.

“I love you too, I’m sorry. I get frustrated. I get frustrated and I get angry and I get... irrational.” He chuckled and leaned down to kiss you gently a few times.

“And I’m, how did you put it, an asshole. I’m sorry, Y/N.” You smiled and nodded and leaned up to kiss him again deeper. You stood in the doorway to your bedroom trading little kisses that slowly grew into long and deep kisses. Sonny wrapped his arms around you and pulled you flush against him. You wrapped your arms around him and played with the hair at the back of his neck as he slowly backed you up towards the bed. “Let me make it up to you,” He murmured against your lips and you grinned, falling backwards onto the bed.

“Make up sex?” Sonny continued to grin down at you, loosening his tie before taking it off and tossing it to the side, you let out a wolf whistle.

“You know the only reason we fight is for the make up sex.” He teased shrugging off his suit jacket and dramatically tossing that to the side as well. You propped yourself up on your elbows and laughed enjoying the show.

“Strip for me baby,” You catcalled, “This is the champagne room!” Sonny made a big show out of slowly unbuttoning his shirt, before removing that as well. When he pulled his undershirt over his head he spun it around a few times before tossing it at you causing you to giggle wildly. “You better hurry up, sonshine, I’m getting impatient.” Sonny, always eager to please, picked up the pace, undoing his belt and dropping his trousers in one quick movement. He tried to slyly kick his pants off, but due to the shoes he was still wearing they got stuck and he had to sit on the edge of the bed to kick them off. You grinned and got up, wrapping your arms around him from behind, kissing all over his bare shoulders. “That’s my boy.” You purred and he turned quickly, tossing you back down on the bed, successfully down to his underwear.

“Excuse me, I’m your man.” He placed emphasis on the last word, straddling your legs as he pushed your dress up around your waist, leaning down to kiss your exposed stomach.

“Oh my man, my big strong sexy man with a mouth-” You cut off with a moan as Sonny reached the top of your panties with his mouth, “With a mouth built for sin, so much for a good Catholic.” You moaned again as Sonny gripped your legs and pulled you closer to him, kissing you through your underwear.

“You’ve corrupted me,” He argued, teasing you with his tongue through the fabric. He had barely touched you yet and you were wiggling beneath him, out of breath and full of lust.

“Please,” You begged, sitting up and pulling you dress the rest of the way over your head, tossing it towards Sonny’s own pile of clothing. Sonny kissed back up your body, finding your breasts and burying his face between the two of them, kissing the skin there.

“I could live and die between these boobs, Y/N” He informed you and you scoffed, giving his hair a playful tug.

“You’re ridiculous.” Sonny kissed past your breasts, sucking and nibbling on your chest then collarbone and then neck as he found your lips again, grinding himself down onto you. You could feel him growing hard between your body’s at the contact and you wanted him inside you yesterday. But he wasn’t gonna give it up to you that easily, Sonny liked you best when you were frazzled and begging for it. And oh he was going to make you beg.

Sonny sat up again, taking you with him as your kiss heated up, mouths on mouths, tongues pressing against each other’s and exploring each other’s mouths hastily. He unclipped your bra and pulled it off you, tossing it blindly as he hands went to cup both of your breasts. Calloused thumbs toyed with your nipples, stroking them and pinching them until they were hard and sensitive.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight, you’re going to feel it everytime you move tomorrow,” He promised you and you moaned wontonly. “First I’m gonna use my mouth doll, make you cum on my tongue, and then when you’re all spent I’m gonna put my dick in you, make you take all of me like I know you can.” The dirty talk was hot, but Sonny’s hands on you were hotter. Sonny kissed back down your body, using his teeth to drag off your underwear before allowing his hands to finish the job, you lifting your hips to allow him.

He kissed around your core, making you let out a string of curses as your hands dug into his hair, pulling gently again. Finally he put his mouth on you, lapping between your folds, and kissing your lower lips. You moaned breathlessly, unable to keep quiet. Briefly you thought about what the neighbors must think of you arguing and then immediately having loud sex. You laughed. Sonny pulled his mouth off you, and replaced it with his fingers, pushing one into you.

“What’s so funny.” You shook your head and bit down on your bottom lip as your hips jerked forward.

“Nothing, nothing, please, don’t stop.” Sonny kept his finger inside of you, thrusting it in and out slowly and firmly. He replaced his mouth though, finding your clit and circling it with that delicious tongue of his. You were desperately trying not to push yourself up into him, but occasionally you wouldn't be able to control yourself and your hips would buck up, causing the man to use his free arm to pin your hips down. He brought you close to climax before pulling back and adjusting himself in his underwear, giving you a second to cool off. You whined loudly.

“Sonny!” he grinned at you.

“Y/N!” He mocked in the same voice you had used. You pouted down at him.

“Baby, please. I wanna cum, please please please.” Sonny dove back into you again this time with a goal. He added a second finger, fucking you with them as he alternated between sucking and licking your sensative bundle of nerves. You felt a familiar pooling behind your bellybutton as your orgasm approached. “I’m gonna cum,” You whispered, tossing your head back and moaning again. Sonny doubled his efforts, and when you finally tipped over the edge he removed his fingers and pushed his tongue into as deeply as he could, feeling you tighten around his mouth and listening to your cries from above him. When you were done he pulled back grinning and gave your one hip a little smack.

“That’s a good girl,” He cooed and you whimpered up at him. You maintained eye contact as you took deep breaths to steady yourself.

“Do you... Do you want me to suck you off, love?” You asked, still breathless. He shook his head, leaning down to kiss you on the lips a few times, pressing his body down into you.

“No, I wouldn’t last a minute with your pretty little lips around me, and I promised to fuck you senseless. He pulled back again, pulling his boxers down and groaning as his trapped cock finally spring free. “That’s better. It’ll be even better inside of you.” You smirked, spreading your legs for the man.

“How do you want me?” He moaned loudly, looking down at you with lust filled eyes.

“Just like that, I want to see your face when you cum. I want you looking in my eyes when I cum inside you.” You and Sonny had stopped using condoms about a year into your relationship, you were on the pill and what man ever wanted to wear one. He said he liked it better when he could feel you around him with no barrier. Sonny laid down on top of you again, bracing himself on his elbows on either side of your head as he kissed you deeply. His throbbing dick lining up with your over sensitive region. Finally, FInally he was inside you, but barely. He pushed his head in and stopped, watching your face as your mouth opened into a small ‘o’ shape.

“More, more, more.” You begged him, arching your back to try and force him deeper into you. Sonny tisked at you, smirking as he kissed you.

“Wait,” He murmured before slowly, painfully slowly, pushing himself into you. Inch by inch he stretched you out until he bottomed out, fully inside you. Once there he didn’t move, he just allowed you to adjust to him, mouth on your mouth as you breathed labored breaths into each other. Suddenly he moved, thrusting into you even deeper before pulling out and setting a slow pace. He would push all the way into you before pulling almost all the way out before doing it again and again. It was slow and hard and you loved it. “Tell me you love me,” He ordered, maintaining eye contact just as promised.

“I love you, Dominick, so much.” The use of his given name made him moan loudly into your mouth. He started faster, really giving it to you, you wrapped your legs around him, feet pressing into his ass so he couldn’t pull back as far. He moved, adjusting you both so when he thrust in he was hitting your sweet spot every time. He began more erratic in his movements, chasing his own orgasm, but you were close too.

“I love you, Y/N. Cum for me baby, let me feel you.” You whimpered. “Touch yourself.” He commanded and you snuck a hand between your two sweaty bodies to touch yourself as he fucked into you. It only took another minute and your whole body lit on fire, convulsing around the man. Your walls tightened, making you tighter as he thrusted. You both moaned into each other’s mouths, Sonny using one hand to push hair from your face so he could see you better. His own gelled hair was a mess from your hands running through it so many times. Finally he reached his own climax, spilling his seed deep inside of you with a guttural groan. He kept himself deep inside you, as you both laid there panting.

Finally Sonny gently pulled himself out of you and moved to lay next to you on the bed, pulling you close and kissing you several times. You laid like that for a long time, both coming down from incredible orgasms. After a long time of comfortable silence, Sonny turned and nuzzled his face into the side of your head.

“I love you.” He murmured. You smiled and snuggled up closer to him. You could both shower in the morning, do laundry, and talk about the argument. You briefly remembered the spilled wine on the floor and rolled your eyes. You two were ridiculous. Both assholes. Both too passionate for your own good sometimes, and both so so so in love.

“I love you more.”

#svu #law and order #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu x reader #svu x reader #svu x you #law and order svu x reader #svu x y/n #sonny carisi #sonny carisi imagine #sonny carisi one shot #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi x y/n #sonny carisi x you

134 notes · View notes

angst-fairygodmother · 4 years ago

Text

Vengeance (Diego Hargreeves x Reader, Kinktober)

A/N: Oh boy...this one went hard. Pun intended? It’s technically a direct sequel to PDA as opposed to a stand alone. But I suppose it could also be read alone. Up to you. Word Count: 1874 Kinktober Prompts: Edging/Teasing, Angry Sex (kinda) Rating: E(xplicit) Content Warnings: blowjob, dirty talk, mild degradation, swearing, teasing, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, rough sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation Cross-posted to AO3 here.

After the stunt Diego had pulled, you were eager to get him home and growing annoyed with every delay from how slow he was eating to the fact that he wanted to take the scenic route home. However, you let him continue, knowing exactly what he thought he was doing, and what was actually happening instead.

As soon as you made it through the door, finally, you pounced on him, knocking him back against the closed front door and kissing him harshly. This was the kind of kiss that doubled as a war, and you were determined to win. His hands gripped your hips, holding you close and you used that to your advantage as well, grinding slowly against him and drawing out a groan from his parted lips. You nipped at his lower lip before slipping your tongue into his mouth. He tried to slip a knee between your legs, leaning like he hoped to flip you around so he could take control, and you growled, pressing your hands to his shoulders to keep him exactly where you wanted him.

“Y/N?” he asked, panting as you drew back to trail your lips along his jaw.

“You were cruel,” you said, punctuating your words with little open-mouthed kisses. “Toying with me at dinner, teasing me by dragging out the walk home. And now, you’re going to pay for it.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Unless you tell me to stop it is,” you purred, continuing your journey, dragging your teeth lightly down the column of his throat.

He groaned, his head falling back so that he stared at the ceiling and his neck was bared for you. Deftly, your fingers unbuttoned his shirt as you continued to kiss and lick every sensitive point you could reach, thankful that for once he had forgone his usual sweaters in favor of a nice dress shirt. Sliding it off his shoulders, you growled in frustration when you found that he was wearing an undershirt. Rather than waste precious time, you abandoned the idea of slowly stripping him bare and moved to undo his belt instead, sinking to your knees to kiss the exposed parts of his stomach as you untucked the offending shirt.

As you teased trailing fingers over the prominent bulge in his pants, a flicker of movement caught your eye and a flash of white sailed over your head. You ran your hands over the taut plane of his stomach, feeling his breath shudder beneath your fingertips.

“Oh now you want to be good?” you questioned, a self-satisfied smirk on your face. “It’s too late for that.”

You hated giving up even that fraction of control by allowing him to decide for himself to take off his clothes, but what you wanted to do would be so much easier without fabric in the way, so you did. You rocked back on your heels and stared up at him, totally in command despite your suppliant position.

“Fine. Then strip for me.”

You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, nodding rapidly and nearly falling over himself to follow your orders. When he was bare before you, you placed your hands on his hips, pressing him back against the door.

“Now, stay right there,” you instructed, letting your breath ghost over him.

You trailed feather light kisses across his skin, lips crossing every inch except where he wanted you the most, lingering to pay particular attention to the sensitive scars that littered his body from years of fighting.

“Y/N…” he whined, fists clenching at his sides as he resisted the urge to bury them in your hair and guide you to what he needed. “Please��”

“Please what?” you asked, rocking back and removing all touch, which only made him whine louder. “Use your words Diego.”

“Please, baby, I need your pussy, your mouth, something, anything. I need you, need to feel around me baby.” he begged, repeating it like a chant.

You bit your lip, the sound and sight of him so desperate for you so quickly sending a jolt of electricity through you, your thighs clenching in a search for friction. His words cut off suddenly in a wanton moan as you surged forward, licking a long stripe along his cock before wrapping your lips around the tip and sucking harshly. His head slammed backward, banging hard against the fiberglass he was practically pressed into and you paused; you had no intention for your little game to result in actual injury.

When he didn’t seem to have a pained reaction, you smiled around him and began to move, each bob of your head sinking you further down onto him until he was hitting the back of your throat and you struggled not to gag. You kept the pace slow, almost lazy, and when he bucked his hips, trying to take more than you were ready to allow him, you reached up, digging your nails sharply into the bony parts of his hips and pressed him back again. He hissed, sucking in a sharp breath as the pain bled into the pleasure.

You felt him trembling beneath your touch, so close to tipping over the edge that you could literally taste it on his skin, the salt of sweat and pre-cum mingling on your tongue. Staring up at him, making sure he could see the predatory and pleased look in your eyes, you slowly backed away, pulling your mouth off of him completely. A thin line of spit continued to connect you to him and you raised a hand to demurely wipe it away.

“Fuck, why did you stop?” he panted.

“Because, I’m not done with you yet.” You rose to your feet, pressing yourself to the long line of his body. “Maybe now you’ll learn your lesson about playing nicely.”

You leaned in as if to kiss him, when you caught something spark behind his eyes, a fire that you very rarely saw, and it distracted you just long enough. Strong hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him and then suddenly, it was your back against the wall. He kissed you hungrily, all tongue and teeth, as if he truly intended to devour you whole. One hand trailed down your thigh, hitching your leg up around his waist so that he could press even deeper against you.

“Diego,” you moaned as he turned his attention to your favorite place, the sensitive spot behind your ear.

You tilted your head to give him better access to it and he rewarded you with a harsh bite, sure to leave a mark.

“Bedroom, now,” you panted, trying to regain some semblance of control.

Finally agreeing with you on something, he moved quickly, lifting you so that you could wrap your other leg around him as well, balancing your weight with hands that pinched and grabbed at your ass. Without breaking his attention from your neck, he stumbled down the hall, not caring that you knocked into the walls and doorframes as you went. You kicked off your shoes somewhere along the way, and as soon as you both dropped onto the mattress, his hands travelled up, practically tearing your rumpled dress off you.

“You think you’re the only one who can play games, princess?” he growled, biting and mouthing down your exposed skin until he reached the swell of your breasts.

Roughly, he slid one of his hands under the band of your bra, palming your breast and rolling your pert nipple under his fingers. You arched into his touch, reaching around behind yourself to undo the clasp (before he completely ruined the expensive garment by stretching it out of shape). As soon as you did, he yanked it off you, and fixed his lips around the unattended bud, sucking harshly.

A high, keening whine escaped your lips and he chuckled, vibrating your skin. His free hand moved your panties out of the way, sliding them down just enough to allow him access.

“God, you’re so wet for me,” he groaned, teasing you with the faintest touch of his fingers over your folds, not dipping close enough to bring you any satisfaction.

“Truce?” you asked breathlessly. “No more games. Just fuck me.”

“Oh I’ll fuck you alright, princess,” he growled, moving back up your chest and throat to hover over your lips again. “But there’s no truce until you’re begging. And remember, you started it.”

He smirked at your shiver of anticipation. With one thrust, he bottomed out, pausing long enough for you to adjust before he set a punishing pace. Each time he withdrew nearly all the way out, only to fill you completely once more, your body fluttering around him as he found his mark with precision, driving you mad.

“Diego!” you cried, voice strained and eyes squeezing shut. “I’m going to cum!”

“Go ahead, cum for me. But I want you to look at me when you do.” He grasped your chin with one hand, holding your gaze on him, the other hand tweaking your nipple again.

You cried out, your muscles spasming and clenching around him as you came, but he continued to fuck you through it, pace never stopping. You bucked your hips to meet his thrusts with your own. If he wanted war, then you would fight back with all you had.

The coil within you wound up again, quicker than you thought possible, and you started seeing stars.

“That’s it baby,” he muttered before pressing his lips to yours, tongue delving deep and motions never faltering.

You felt yourself crest over the edge of pleasure again, sucking his lower lip into your mouth and biting down on it as you did, your squeal mixing with his groan.

“Can you manage one more for me, Y/N?” he asked, stilling for a moment, all his performative aggression vanishing in the wake of concern for you.

You nodded, unable to find the words but still wanting him more.

“That’s my girl,” he smirked before resuming pounding into you.

You squeezed the hand he had entwined with yours and brought your other one up to scrabble across his back, surely leaving thin red lines with your nails. His hand trailed down your body, leaving your breast to slip between you and rub circles on your oversensitive nub.

You wrapped your legs back around his waist, pulling him closer.

“I’m gonna cum again,” you panted. “I want you cum with me Diego baby. Please. I wanna feel it.”

Your words and bucking, pressing closer than should have been humanly possible, the clench of your muscles around him, the sting of your nails, it was all too much for him. His hips stuttered, thrusts losing their rhythm until you felt his release, driving you over the edge again with a primal scream, vision flaring white, every nerve overstimulated.

Weakly he trailed to a halt, pulling out of you and rolling to the side, brushing sweat-damp hair away from your brow.

“That was amazing,” you mumbled hazily, rolling to face him, clinging to him weakly as you came back to earth. “I should rile you up more often.”

He laughed, equally breathless as he snaked an arm around your waist. “Fuck, I love you.”

#Kinktober: Sinful Sundays #it's not Sunday but I don't care #oh actually...it's Thirsty Thursday! So that works out fine #Diego Hargreeves x Reader #Diego Hargreeves Kinktober #Kinktober 2020 #smut #I lost the prompts on this one a little bit #but I had fun? writing it #yet again: post and run!#also not to worry just because this is going up today does not bar the possibility of another toward end of day on Sunday #made it for Thursday with 7 minutes to spare

105 notes · View notes

thestarwrites · 5 years ago

Text

The Seven-Year Itch? (City of God Season 4 one shot) Finan x OC Spoilers S4

Kelly looked up from where she sat in the pub. Finan, Shitric, Osferth and Stiorra had been drunk for the better part of three days. Uhtred was to be lord of Mercia and her husband was letting it go to his head. And now, drunkenly, he was running a hand on the red haired woman- Eadith.

“And how long has my husband been this close with this woman?” She said with a cold tone.

Shitric guffawed, “She’s saved our arses and been through a lot, thas all. He’s jus bein nice— have some ale, Kelly.”

“I don’t care for any. I am going to see Uhtred, see how he fares. Tell my husband to enjoy being nice.” Standing up she stormed out.

Finan turned when he saw his wife leave. Eadith turned his face back to hers- Shed been a mistress before, “She seems a jealous woman....”

“She just doesn’t know how beautiful she is...” Finan slurred and sighed.

“I don’t think she’s that beautiful. She dresses rather plainly, and almost like a man.” She attempted to spill poison in his ear, “I thought maybe you’d like a more ornamental woman... a beautiful gem on your arm...” she ran a hand over his neck, “That is the kind of woman you deserve. Not a fat country whore, but a--”

“A city dwelling whore?” Yanking his arm back he looked at her, not with venom, but with certainty, “My wife is the most beautiful woman who ever walked this earth. Inside and out. If ye wish ta stay with us then by all means, but you shan’t talk about my woman as such. You had ta let a King hump ye once, she’s spent months with the Danes.”

Not knowing what to say, she took up one pot of ale and went to sit aside Osferth.

Taking a deep breath, Finan ran a hand in his hair, he knew better than to chase after his wife when she was angry. Eventually he went to sit beside Shitric and Stiorra, drinking until he couldn’t remember his own name...

-------

“He didn’t need a bigger head you know.” Kelly huffed as she stood before Uhtred, arms crossed, “Walking around calling himself the Lord’s advisor.”

The Saxon laughed and sighed, “Kelly... you should be proud of him. He’ll have a position, a station, wealth, political influence.”

“Finan doesn’t need any of that shite to make me proud of him,” She looked out the window, watching him and the men stumble to the next ale house with Eadith in tow, “I’ve heard men often start cheating on their wives when they’re about seven years into marriage...”

He sighed, “Shitric has never slept with another but his wife, and they have been wed longer than you and Finan have.” He adjusted his white shirt, “Besides, you should know better than any that he would not do such a thing, he is a good Christian.”

Sitting on a bench she rubbed her legs, “That woman, Eadith, she despises me. I can see it in her eyes.”

“Why wouldn’t she hate you? You are married to a good man. And there are not many good men in the world.”

“Do you know...? About Finan’s past.” Kelly looked up. Uhtred nodded. She nodded, “I worry that he’ll get sick of me. That he’ll see a prettier flower over the hill, and throw aside the woman rapidly getting too old to bear him a son.”

“Do you have no trust in the man you wed?” He chuckled softly, “He whispers your name in his sleep. He’ll pick up small rocks and flowers on the road to press and give to you when we return. You accepted a disgraced and broken man and made him the happiest in all the world. You know him at his worst and he knows you at yours. You are lucky, my friend.” Uhtred came to her and hugged her, pressing his forehead to hers.

Taking a deep breath she steeled herself against his warm embrace and nodded, “Thank you Lord.”

“Besides, if you think you are getting too old to have a son- find him now and hump him.” He laughed, “Go on now, I have to get baptized. For the third time.”

She shoved him gently, smiled and nodded, going out and passing Young Uhtred as she did, kissing his forehead affectionately.

---------

Finan lay on his bunk with a groan. Sighing softly he was beginning to sober up and he had a pit in his stomach wondering where his wife had gone of to.

“I wondered when you’d come back.” A soft voice came from a chair in the corner.

He lifted his head and smiled lopsidedly, “I’d have come sooner if I knew an Angel awaited me...” He moved over and patted the bed. She shook her head and smiled, getting up to go sit on the edge of the bed. She was only wearing her undershirt. Finan ran a hand on her thigh and sighed, “I thought ye’d be mad at me...”

Resting her hand over his she smiled gently, “I can’t stay mad at you... especially not when I’ve longed for your touch for months...” She moved his hand closer to her sex.

“Holy shite. Yer no’ mad at me and ye want ta hump.” He scrambled to get up and secure the door, before he started to take off his leather armor.

Kelly laughed warmly and lay back into the bed he’d been sleeping on, the pillow already smelled of him. She watched as he scrambled to undress, “You can relax Finan... I’m not going anywhere, we are not sneaking around... You’re nearly forty, be more dignified.” She laughed.

He smirked and slithered into bed, kissing up her chest and neck, stopping to groan into her ear, “Making love to you will never not be the most exciting thing in the world to me, angel.”

Moaning softly she buried her fingers in his thick black hair, her other sliding over his scarred back, “Finan... I’m--”

He nipped her neck, looking down at her, “What is it?”

“I should be fertile right now.” Her cheeks flushed.

Nodding he smiled sympathetically, “Okay, we’ll do what we always do and I’ll pull out--”

“No--” She bit her lip, “I mean I... I want--”

Finan stroked her face softly, “Ye want me to come inside ye?”

She nodded, “I want us to have a family... I know... you-- you had--”

He kissed her again, “I want a family too.” He smiled at her, “I need someone to carry on my Irish charms.”

“You always know exactly what to say...” Leaning up she kissed him again, wrapping a leg around his waist, “I love you.”

“I love you too, my bonnie lass.” He smiled and filled her in one fluid stroke. Moaning she gripped his hair, which caused a guttural noise from his throat, leaning down he sucked and nipped a multitude of bruises along her throat. So not only God would know what they’d done tonight.

His hips worked in a perfect rhythm against her own, and his hand slid down between them to rub the sensitive bundle of nerves there, “Come with me...” he groaned in her ear, “I’m close, love-” With a gasp she nodded, holding onto his hair as she kissed him.

--It should be said, Uhtred and the others, when they talked of sex, thought Finan’s love life was rather boring. But the two enjoyed sex where they could look into the eyes of one another and connect in a way they loved. --

Resting his forehead on hers, his cock still twitching inside of her as he spilled the remainder of his seed, she smiled, “What are ye thinkin?”

“I hope we have a girl first, to spite you.” Kelly laughed breathlessly.

He couldn’t help but laugh and kissed her softly, if not a bit sloppily, “You are going to be the absolute death of me.”

“Oh but what a wonderful death.” She quipped.

He smirked, bouncing his eyebrows, “Can I fuck ye again, my lady?”

She laughed and nodded, “Anything you wish, my Lord.”

#the last kingdom #finan #Finan x OC #City of God #One shot based of City of God #smut

43 notes · View notes

unpack-my-heart · 5 years ago

Text

I Have Crossed Oceans Of Time To Find You – Final Chapter

FYI: This chapter contains explicit smut, and as such the fic rating has been bumped up accordingly.

Chapter Word Count: 12293

Read Chapter One on AO3 HERE

Read Chapter Two on AO3 HERE

Read Chapter Three (this chapter) on AO3 HERE

@tinyarmedtrex @xandertheundead @violetreddie @constantreaderfool @eds-trashmouth @toziesque @moonlightrichie @appojoos @sunshines-fabulous-legs @perrytheplatypus4president @qwertsod @rainbow-reddie @pulitzerandhearst @mad-h-w

Preview:

“This place is too big for just you, Eds.”

“Eds?”

“Edward, y’know, your name. It’s too long, and I’m too -- too drunk to say it. So now, you are Eds.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Yes you do,” Richard insisted, poking Edward on the cheek, “You’re Eds, the littlest vampire”

“Stop calling me that!”

“What? Eds? Or little?”

“Both!” Edward groaned, and he swotted at Richard’s finger that was still pushed into the soft swell of his cheek.

“Fine, fine. No Eds, and no little. You can be Edward the Terrible, Edward the Undeadward, Edward the Blood-Thirsty, or --”

“Eddie.”

“Pardon?”

“You can call me Eddie.”

Read the rest of this chapter under the cut

“I may have a heart that no longer beats in my chest but I am not immune to your barbed words, Tozier.”

Richard shrugged, and watched Edward leave the room. The alcohol that swam in his stomach rapidly began to turn his mind foolish. He stood up, half intending to follow the sulking vampire out of the room, but instead found himself wandering over to the decanter of wine, and he poured himself another large glass. And then another, and another and another until he found himself lying prostrate on the floor, arms slung above his head clumsily, laughing at something he couldn’t quite explain.

An hour later, or perhaps two, Richard couldn’t be sure, the door creaked open and the sound of heavy footsteps filtered into the room. Richard opened his eyes, and saw Edward hovering over him, eyebrows knitted and face scrunched in an expression of hybrid concern-surprise.

“You’re still here,” Edward said plainly, leaning down to gently pry the glass from between Richard’s fingers.

“My wine! You can’t take my wine, that’s --” Richard hiccupped, “that’s not very nice.”

“I thought you would have left, I assumed you’d --”

“Where would I have gone? I don’t --” Richard hiccupped again, “I don’t know where anyone is, you killed them all!”

At that, Edward jumped back slightly, releasing the very gentle grasp he had on Richard’s hand, leaving it to flop to the ground with a loud thwack.

“No! No, no,” Richard said, in an attempt to backtrack, “I mean, you ate them? Is that, is that better? Ate?”

Edward chuckled, a deep, syrupy sound that sent a jolt of static up Richard’s spine, setting the tiny hairs on his arm on end.

“I suppose you are correct, I did, technically, consume some of them. You are a bizarre little thing, aren’t you.”

“Little?!” Richard gasped indignantly, and rolled onto his side before pushing himself up. He wobbled on his legs like a new-born deer, but Edward’s arm shot out, and grasped him around the waist. “I’m taller than you! Much taller than you, actually.”

“Careful. Yes, yes, fine. Not little, you’re very --”

“You’re little, you know. The littlest vampire. Were people really scared of you?”

“Terrified,” Edward replied, solemnly, and helped Richard stumble back towards the couch.

“I wouldn’t be scared of you -- I mean, I’m not scared of you, I’m just --”

“Just what?”

“Confused, and a little bit --” Richard yawned, “a little bit tired.”

“Quite right, it’s nearly nightfall. You must rest.”

“Hey, hey why -- why aren’t you asleep? Don’t vampires have to sleep during the day? Isn’t that sort of your whole deal?”

“My whole deal?” Edward parroted, amused. “Yes, well. I suppose that is usually our whole deal, but, at this present moment my body uh -- well, it doesn’t want to sleep.”

“Oh. What does it want to do?” Richard asked, and watched curiously as Edward stepped away from him, just barely, before his eyes darkened.

“The bond, between us, is so powerful, so strong, that even though we barely know each other, my body wants to -- do other things. To -- to you.” Edward said, gesturing vaguely at Richard, who pulled one of the cushions up to his neck.

“No, not -- not those things”

“No, Edward, I don’t -- I’m not -- I don’t want to --”

“Richard, look at me,” Edward implored, sitting down next to Richard on the couch, and grasping both of Richard’s hands in his. “I would never, will never, do anything that you don’t want me to. I’m not --” Edward dropped Richard’s hands, and stood back up, “I’m not a monster”

“I didn’t say you were, I just… This whole thing. It’s bizarre. I’m flushed with alcohol and twice as stupid as I normally am, and this, well, this isn’t something you just get used to”

“I am aware of that,” Edward snapped, before rubbing a hard across his face harshly. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to snap at you. This is a lot to process, for both of us. You need to rest, please let me help you to your room”

Richard didn’t protest. He let Edward slot his arms around his shoulders, and let himself be hauled to his feet. They walked slowly through the twisting corridors, Richard’s legs trembling under his own weight.

“This place is too big for just you, Eds.”

“Eds?”

“Edward, y’know, your name. It’s too long, and I’m too -- too drunk to say it. So now, you are Eds.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Yes you do,” Richard insisted, poking Edward on the cheek, “You’re Eds, the littlest vampire”

“Stop calling me that!”

“What? Eds? Or little?”

“Both!” Edward groaned, and he swotted at Richard’s finger that was still pushed into the soft swell of his cheek.

“Fine, fine. No Eds, and no little. You can be Edward the Terrible, Edward the Undeadward, Edward the Blood-Thirsty, or --”

“Eddie.”

“Pardon?”

“You can call me Eddie. That’s what -- My mother used to call me that.” Edward – Eddie – said, and he pushed Richard gently through the large door at the end of the corridor.

“Eddie, huh? Well -- I’m Richie, nice to meetcha,” Richie said, sticking his hand out. Eddie stared at it blankly, before gingerly taking it in his own.

“Nice to meet you, Richie.”

– X –

A strange, ethereal noise woke Richie that night, a noise that floated through the mansion, dancing in and out of each of the rooms like smoke. It was a beautiful sound, a siren's call to Richie’s restless soul, and it tugged at him, dug its claws into his flesh, deep into his gut, and it tugged.

Despite still being in the throes of his alcohol-fuelled stupor, Richard hauled his legs over the side of the large bed, feet landing flat on the floor with a dull thud. The sound grew louder, and louder still, until it was practically screaming, as if the house itself was howling some imagined pain that Richie couldn’t understand.

Before he could convince his leaden feet to move, to go in search of the origin of the noise, Richie’s head began to pound with such ferocity that he fell back, and was consumed by the insatiable appetite of sleep.

– X –

When the morning sun began to pour into the bedroom, Richie awoke with no recollection of the haunting lament that had woken him in the dead of night. Whilst his memories did not remain, the violent pounding of his head did, accompanied by a swirling tempest in his gut that pressed on his stomach and threatened to send him sprinting to the bathroom.

A brisk knock on the door spiked Richie’s heart-rate, before a cautious voice called out,

“Richard? I mean -- Richie? Have you woken yet? It’s nearly noon”

Memories of the night before flooded back to Richie, exacerbating his already tender head.

“Yes, yes, I am awake. I’ll -- What do you want me to do? I mean, what are we doing? What -- What’s the plan?”

Eddie snickered from behind the door, a raspy, rattish sort of sound.

“I want you to come downstairs, when you are modest and ready. You insisted I leave the room post haste last night because, and I quote, I sleep butt naked, Eds, butt naked. I have some food you can eat to help settle your stomach”

“Food?” Richie called out, “Do you mean food food or, um …”

“I mean food food, you oaf. I’m not going to force feed you blood, if that is what concerns you”

“No, I didn’t, well, yes, I suppose I was rather concerned”

Richie stumbled to his feet, ignoring the lusty beckoning of the plush, downy bedding, and he began to shove and wiggle his uncoordinated limbs into the clothes he had been wearing the day before. “I am modest, if you want to come in, you can”

Immediately, and before Richie had managed to properly get the undershirt over his head, Eddie burst into the room, eyes trained steadily on Richie’s pale, and exposed, chest.

“Oh, I mean -- nearly modest,” Richie stuttered, pulling the shirt down.

“Yes, well,” Eddie said, voice ocean-calm, “you may follow me down, I fear you may get lost on the way to the kitchens”

Without another word, Eddie stalked out of the bedroom, but not before Richie saw the faintest hints of a flush paint his cheeks.

True to his word, Eddie lead Richie down a rabbit’s warren of labyrinthine corridors and stairways that twisted round and round like old, gnarled tree roots. The kitchen was hidden away in the bowels of the house, at the end of what Richie imagined to be the longest corridor in the world, followed by a descent down a seemingly never ending stone staircase. Finally, Eddie stopped in front of an inconspicuous looking door, and pushed it open, revealing the biggest kitchen Richie had ever seen. The gas stove was lit, and a large copper pot was sat on it, bubbling away, and the smell of cooking vegetables had filled the air.

“Vegetables?” Richie asked, and he watched as Eddie walked over to the pot, and began to stir.

“Yes, vegetables. You need the goodness after last night, you drank far too much”

“Well forgive me for panicking after being told that, one, I was in the presence of a creature of the night and, two, that said creature of the night was bound to my soul through a sort of metaphysical force that ‘I couldn’t even understand so don’t ask,’” Richie mimicked, hanging back in the doorway.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “You’re difficult.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Do you want any of this, or not?”

“Depends. What is it?”

“It’s a vegetable stew, one of the only meals that my mother used to prepare for me herself. It’s called --”

“Ghiveci,” Richie interrupted, with a grin that Eddie returned.

“Yes! Do you know it?”

“Yes, my father used to bring me bowl after bowl of it when I was taken ill, and sometimes I’d feign sickness just so he’d make it for me.”

“Your father? Are you close with him?” Eddie asked, as he spooned the stew into two large bowls.

“Yes, very much so. I -- I suppose he will be worried about me.”

“Perhaps,” was all Eddie said in response, setting down one of the bowls in front of Richie. “Now, eat.”

Richie ate. The stew was good, a hearty, meaty broth with large chunks of tender vegetables floating in it, and, much to Richie’s bemusement, Eddie was slurping it up with an enthusiasm that matched his own.

“So,” Richie began, “you can -- you can still eat, uh, human food?”

Mid-way through lifting a spoonful of tender potato to his mouth, Eddie let the vegetable slop back into the bowl with a splash.

“Richard. This is growing tiresome”

“What?! I’m not trying to offend you, I’m just -- curious”

“I have no problem with your curiosity, the more you learn now, the better, I suppose, but must you insist on drawing the line between you and I so harshly?”

Richie blinked.

“I shall not ask anything else of you, I will not ask you to stay, I will not ask you to like me, but do please stop calling everything I am not, everything I cannot do, human. I am acutely, painfully, aware of what I am. I do not need you to remind me.”

The asparagus stalk turned sour in Richie’s mouth, and he swallowed, but a lump remained petulantly lodged in his throat. Eddie, sat across from him, was hunched over his own bowl of rapidly cooling stew. He wouldn’t look up at Richie, and continued to solemnly spoon his food into his mouth.

“Eddie?”

No response, just the clinking of cutlery against china.

“Eddie? Please don’t ignore me.”

More clinking of cutlery, this time accompanied by obnoxious slurping.

“Eddie I’m sorry, you’re not -- you’re not a monster.”

“How do you know?” Eddie spat, finally looking up at Richie with wild eyes. “How do you know? You have no idea who I am, or what I am. What I’ve done. Now you’re here, because -- because I didn’t die like I was supposed to, and now it’s all… it’s all wrong”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“The bond.” Eddie said, plainly, “That metaphysical bond I said I wouldn’t explain to you. The reason I said that, the reason I wouldn’t tell you, is because it’s my fault it’s like this, that the bond is so … concentrated”

“Concentrated? I’m lost, Eds.”

Eddie sighed, pushed the bowl away and cradled his head in his hands.

“I didn’t die like I was supposed to because I was turned. Those motherfuckers turned me, and then I didn’t die. Most people, they don’t meet the person they’re bonded to. They live thousands of years apart, or even if they are born in compatible eras, they never meet. One lives in China and the other in England. That’s how it usually is. But ours, our bond, it’s wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“Wrong,” Eddie confirmed with a short nod of his head. “I didn’t die, so the bond became … stronger. More concentrated. It caused those headaches you get, and it drives me wild with … a sort of craving. A need.”

“I’m still lost, how exactly is that your fault?” Richie said, leaning forwards until he could, if he tried, grab Eddie’s hand in his.

“I’m the one that got turned, I’m the one that didn’t die,” Eddie said, staring at Richie as if the answer was obvious, as if his immortality was his fault, his burden to bare, and his alone.

“Look. Eddie, look,” Richie implored, standing up and rounding the table so he was crouched in front of Eddie, who looked down at him with a mildly panicked expression.

“I’ve only known you for, hell, one day and one night, but I know, despite all rationality telling me to get the fuck out of here as fast as my legs can carry me,” Richie said, eliciting a wet sounding laugh from Eddie, “I know, in here,” Richie grabbed at Eddie’s hand and placed it on the left side of his chest, directly above his rapidly beating heart, “I know, in here, that you’re not a monster”

Eddie let his hand rest gently on Richie’s heart for a few seconds, before drawing it back with a small, caged smile.

“You are very kind, Richard. Now, help me wash the dishes.”

They made quick work of the dishes, with Eddie plunging his hands into the soapy water to clean them, before he handed them to Richie who dried them off with a soft piece of cloth.

“I haven’t eaten a vegetable for nearly two-hundred years, I’d almost forgotten what a carrot tasted like,” Eddie said.

“Really?”

Eddie nodded. “Yes. Whilst the taste is nice, nutritionally, it does nothing for me. It would be the same as you just drinking bowl after bowl of bone-broth. It tastes good, but you’d wither away soon enough”

“So, you get your nourishment from --”

“Blood, Richie. Yes, I drink blood.”

“Human blood?”

“Look,” Eddie turned around, crossing his arms over his chest, leaving a small trail of suds on the floor. “I’m not going to lie to you, or pretend that the maintenance of my life doesn’t cause suffering to others. I exist mostly on a diet of sheep blood, but -- there are only so many months that will tide me over. I do, occasionally, and not without guilt, venture beyond the confines of this town.”

“To find people to eat?”

“I prefer drink, as I do not actually -- uh -- eat them. I drink their blood, but yes. To find people.”

“Huh,” Richie said, mulling the notion over in his head. Here he was, standing in front of a man, a vampire, who had just readily admitted to killing people to drink their blood, and here he was, standing in front of a vampire, without the slightest sprouting of the seeds of panic in his stomach.

“Huh.”

“Is that it, huh?” Eddie said sceptically, and Richie shrugged.

“I mean, yes. I’m not -- I’m not scared? Or, even remotely freaked out? Which, in itself, is freaking me out. I am scared of the fact that I am not scared. Is that normal?”

Eddie laughed, syrupy and warm, and placed a hand on Richie’s shoulder. “I have no idea.”

– X –

The rest of the day passed slowly, like running through sand. After tidying up the kitchen, Eddie ushered Richie back upstairs and back to the room where they’d drank the night before, the evidence of which still stood on the table, the sight of the rich, burgundy wine turning Richie’s stomach.

“What -- what now?”

“Well,” Eddie said, as he walked over to the large, wooden bookcase before he ran his finger across the dusty spines of the many, many books housed on it, “that’s sort of up to you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I would normally be asleep now, and would only arise when the sun begins to sink beneath the horizon, but, as I’ve explained --”

“Ah, the whole your body wants to do things to me issue.”

Eddie shuddered, before he grinned, a smile slightly too wide, with too many teeth on show, the smile of someone who hasn’t smiled for centuries, the smile of someone with a mouth full of fangs.

“Yes, that issue. I have many many books, and, as long as you promise not to pull up any of the plants, I have a -- Well, I have a garden.”

“You mean, the grounds?”

“Sort of. I have a… vegetable patch.”

Richie paused, before shaking his head. “You, creature of the night --”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Edward, stalker of the living, devourer of necks --”

“I’m warning you--”

“You have a vegetable patch,” Richie laughed, collapsing backwards on the couch, and he held his stomach as he laughed, for fear that he would explode from sheer joy.

“I’m failing to understand what’s so funny about me growing my own potatoes!” Eddie said, crossing his arms across his chest as he leant against the wall.

“Everything about that is funny. Everything,” Richie said, still laughing. “You don’t even eat them! Why do you grow them?”

“It’s … something to do, I suppose. I get bored, moping around this ridiculous building on my own.”

“So I have permission to go and look at your potatoes then?”

“Yes, but don’t you dare pick any of my tomatoes, I’ve counted how many --”

Before Eddie could finish his sentence, Richie had grabbed the nearest book from the shelf, and had skittered out of the room, and had begun to charge down the hallway, not knowing exactly how to get out of the building and into the grounds, but enjoying the air rushing past his ears and the slight burn of his lungs. After turning this way and that, and getting hopelessly lost for nearly fifteen minutes, Richie managed to find his way outside. The air was frigid, and it whipped at his skin with tiny hands. The book now slotted firmly in his back pocket, Richie began wandering the grounds, rubbing dead leaves between his hands and throwing rotten twigs into the air as high as he could, sending them soaring like birds before they inevitably fell to the ground with a sickening crack.

Before long, Richie found the vegetable patch, nestled neatly in the corner of the grounds under the safety of a large, grandfatherly oak. The patch was divided up into orderly rows, six in total, each row with a different crop of vegetables sprouting from the earth. Potatoes in the first, carrots in the second, cucumbers in the third and so on. To annoy Eddie, Richard plucked a juicy looking tomato from the vine and popped it in his mouth, sweetness exploding over his tongue as he crunched into the plump fruit. As he walked around the plots, he noticed that at the end closest to the bordering wall there were little handwritten signs propped up on wooden stakes, written in elaborate, curling cursive letters, indicating which vegetable was growing there, and what date they had been planted. Richie was taken aback by how normal Eddie’s handwriting was, how normal the whole ritual must have been, when Eddie had written out the names of his plants, had hammered the stakes into the soil, had presumably sat back on his haunches and admired his handiwork. Yes, the whole thing was so normal, it forced Richie to sit down and breathe, in and out, in and out, until his heart-rate slowed and he could see more than three feet ahead of him.

“Must you insist on drawing the line between you and I so harshly?”

Eddie’s words echoed in Richie’s brain, a cacophony of sound that forced Richie to listen to it, that insisted he drink in its message, that insisted he allow the message to percolate, to ferment in his stomach.

“Must you insist on drawing the line between you and I so harshly?”

After he had inspected all of Eddie’s vegetables, tried and failed to open the locked door of the small shed, and eaten a few more of Eddie’s tomatoes for good measure, Richie wandered out onto the huge lawn. The lawn was overgrown but not wildly so, and had wildflowers littered across it sporadically. The grass was plush and bouncy beneath his feet, and it didn’t take much persuading until Richie pulled the book out of his back pocket and lay down. He spread himself out like a cat, and began to read.

– X –

“Richie? Richie, wake up, you’re covered in grass”

When Richie blearily blinked his eyes open, his immediate reaction was to believe that he had, in fact, gone blind. All he could see was nothingness, an oppressive blankness that stretched on for miles and miles, until Eddie’s illuminated face floated into view.

“Rich, how long have you been asleep?”

Asleep. Richie didn’t remember falling asleep, but now that his eyes had become accustomed to the dark, and he could see Eddie standing there, wrapped in a thick, black overcoat and holding a large, hand-crank torch, that was the most obvious conclusion.

“Oh, hey, Eds, long time no see,” Richie groaned, rolling onto his stomach before pushing himself to his feet. His muscles groaned, and he shook out each limb, hoping to shake any remnants of sleep from them.

“Come with me,” Eddie said, not waiting for Richie to respond before striding off purposefully, “I have something to show you.”

Richie jogged to keep up with Eddie, unleashing a litany of questions to the tune of “where are we going?” and “Oh I didn’t know you had an outhouse!” until Eddie stopped in front of a pair of metal gates, locked with a heavy chain and padlock.

“Now, what I’m about to show you is my pride and joy. This, Richard Tozier, is what I call The Poison Garden. Within these gates is the most beautiful garden you will ever lay your eyes on, and each and every one of these plants, if consumed, would send you spiralling down a tunnel of agony you cannot even comprehend”

Richie nodded. “That -- is actually very cool, Eds, and exactly the kind of plants I expected a vampire to grow.”

“Are you insulting my potatoes again?”

“Would I do that?” Richie said, faux-shocked, and Eddie laughed.

“Yes, yes you would. But, if I am to let you inside these gates, you must promise me, sincerely, that you will not touch or eat any of these plants.”

“I’m not a cow, Eddie, I’m not about to go chomping on your foliage.”

“Promise me, Richard.”

“Okay, okay, I promise.”

When he was satisfied that Richie’s promise was genuine, Eddie pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket, and unlocked the gates, which swung open with a loud creak.

“After you,” Eddie said, and he thrust his arm outwards, guiding Richie inside.

The garden, as Eddie had promised, was beautiful. Unlike the neat, orderly rows of plants in vegetable patch, this garden was more sporadically organised, as if Eddie had stood in the middle of the narrow path and thrown the seeds into the air to be carried to their rightful place by the wind. Richie walked forwards, not noticing that Eddie had hung back, and he scanned the garden with awe. Each plant was encased inside its own little metal cage that didn’t affect the amount of light the plant got, or impede its growth, but stopped any rogue animals from taking a lethal bite. Like the vegetable patch, however, each plant had a little handwritten sign, with information about the effects on the human body upon consumption of the plant, and, endearingly, Eddie had drawn a tiny white skull on each sign.

“That one is called belladonna,” Eddie muttered into Richie’s ear, and Richie jumped, having not been aware that Eddie was so close to him, close enough to speak directly into his ear without the sound bleeding out into the surroundings.

“Belladonna, otherwise known as deadly nightshade, is one of the most toxic plants in the world. They say consuming it can send a man insane, that is, if your nervous system doesn’t turn to sludge first. Brutal stuff, but just so beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Uh-huh,” Richie replied, barely making a sound. Something about their proximity, something about having Eddie practically pressed up against his back, speaking in hushed tones directly into his ear, set Richie’s skin alight.

“That one over there,” Eddie continued, pointing at another caged plant over Richie’s shoulder, “that one is conium maculatum, or poison hemlock. See its beautiful white flowers? Well, eat those and your muscles will constrict, and your lungs will fail, and you’ll heave your last sorry breath, all for eating just one of those little white flowers.”

“You know a lot about plants,” Richie said, turning his head to look past Eddie’s hand, but, when Eddie’s breath hitched slightly, he realised that he had just bared his entire neck right in Eddie’s face. Richie held his breath, waiting for the inevitable pain that would shoot up his neck when Eddie –

“I’ve had a lot of time to learn,” is all Eddie said, however, and he stepped back, stepped away from Richie and his defenceless neck, and walked further down the path. He made it only a few steps before he turned on his heel, and held his hand out.

“Are you coming?”

When they got to the other end of the garden, there was another small wooden shed. Eddie took the ring of keys out of his pocket once more and unlocked it, before he disappeared inside for a few seconds. He emerged holding a small, potted sapling in one hand, and a pair of large, rubber bright yellow gloves in another.

“I need to plant this young thing before she dies in that shed, she’s ready to be put to the soil. It’ll only take a few moments and then I shall escort you back to the house,” Eddie said, placing the plant pot on the ground and putting the gloves on.

“Oh, Eds, believe me, I could sit and watch you prance about in those gloves for hours, take your time,” Richie laughed.

“What? What’s wrong with my gloves?” Eddie asked, staring at his gloved hands as if they’d suddenly speak up and tell him the answer.

“I mean -- bright yellow rubber gloves? That go almost the whole way up your arms? Can you really not see how that isn’t funny?”

“Well, I suppose -- I don’t even really need them, the plants, they don’t -- affect me. I’ll take them off,” Eddie mumbled, as he began to take the gloves off.

“I didn’t mean to offend you. I think they’re quite dashing --”

“It’s fine, really. I guess it was silly of me to keep up with the pretence, I just --”

Eddie paused, and looked up at Richie, with a helpless expression. The gloves hung limply in Eddie’s grasp.

“Do you know why I love flowers and plants so much?”

“Because they’re pretty?” Richie guessed, but Eddie shook his head.

“I love them so much because they die.”

“... That certainly is a novel reason for loving plants so much,” Richie said, tone jovial and light but Eddie shook his head again.

“No, I -- look. When I was a boy, when I was still … when I was younger, my mother locked me away. People kept disappearing in the town, and she was paranoid that I’d join their ranks and be the next little boy to disappear in the night. So, she locked me up in this house, and didn’t let me leave. For years.”

“Shit, seriously? Not even into the grounds?”

“Not even into the grounds,” Eddie continued, “and I used to watch the gardeners, with their silly rubber gloves and their pruning shears, spend hours out here, tending to the garden and making it look beautiful. Then, when the frosts came and everything died, they’d collect all the dead, like the men who collected the dead after the plague times, and then the spring would come, and they’d start again.”

“I can’t believe she locked you up, like a princess in a tower.”

“Yes, yes, that isn’t really the point. When I became … this ... When I was turned, and everyone left, and they boarded up the house, I watched the garden sprout and grow and blossom without any help, without any intervention. But, when the frosts came, year after year, they died. They all died, as living things are wont to do. Would you -- Would you think I was crazy if I said I find comfort in death?”

Richie shrugged. “Not really, no”

“I can’t die, I found that out when I tried to throw myself off of one of the balconies. My bones didn’t even shatter, Richie. Not one. Watching my flowers die, watching them bloom and blossom and thrive and then shrivel, turn brown and die, it reminds me that … not everything is chaotic. Some things … Some things are inevitable.”

“Inevitable, like …” Richie paused, unsure of how to continue, “like …”

“Say it.”

“I --”

“Richie, say it.”

“Inevitable like us?”

Eddie smiled, and thrust the gloves into Richie’s hands.

“Yes, like us”

– X –

Despite his initial qualms, Richie settled into mansion life with remarkable ease.

Eddie’s body remained hypersensitive to Richie’s presence, so they’d spend the days holed up together, moving from room to room leisurely, from library to kitchen to sunroom, but together, always together. They’d spend the days reading aloud to each other from Eddie’s expansive, sprawling collection of books, or they’d sit quietly, basking in each other’s presence, or Richie would sit hunched over reams of paper as he sketched out the maps he knew from memory, and Eddie would watch him. Then, sometimes, when the top floor library was the only still point of the turning world, Richie would, with sweeping lines, draw out a map of his home town. Voice door-mouse quiet, hoarse from lack of use, Richie would begin to tell Eddie about the town, “that’s my house, my parents’ house, and that is where the tree is that I fell out of, and my grandmother lives here, and that’s where …”. Eddie would listen, eyes trained to the page, absorbing each little snippet of Richie’s life, each little crumb of who Richie was. Richie’s pen would dance across the page, a complicated foxtrot that Eddie didn’t understand, but loved to watch. This would go on for hours, until Richie had projected his entire town, his entire life, onto the page, and Eddie would remain perfectly, entirely silent, content just to listen, just to observe.

Occasionally, Eddie would excuse himself, some unknowable errands calling his name, and he’d be gone for several hours. When he’d return, his pupils would be blown, eyes as wide and as bright as polished dinner-plates. The times when Eddie’s eyes were the widest and his breathing was loud and erratic were the times that he was the most tactile with Richie. A fleeting touch here, a hand that lingers on the small of Richie’s back as they walk, a hand that pushes errant locks of hair behind Richie’s ear. It’d stop though, as soon as Eddie’s eyes returned to normal, the respectful distance between them returned, too.

It took nearly a week of Richie continually getting lost, or wandering into cupboards in the dead of night when he was looking for the bathroom, and being constantly late for dinner before Eddie demanded that he accompany Richie on a tour of the entire mansion. As per Eddie’s demand, the tour began in the grand entrance hall.

“That’s my piano. It was a gift from my father before he died, and I’ve kept it going with sheer willpower ever since. It’s almost as old as I am.”

“Do you still play?”

Eddie shrugged, and avoided Richie’s gaze. “Sometimes.”

The tour is rather whistle-stop, and Eddie didn’t give Richie more than mere seconds at a time to poke his head into each room.

“That’s the seventh bedroom, this is the eighth, the next one is the ninth, the tenth and eleventh are down there. There are two libraries on this floor, a study down there and this --” Eddie paused, and then gingerly pushed open the door revealing a very small room with a bed, a small stool and nothing else inside. “This was my old room.”

When Eddie didn’t enter the room, and chose instead to hover awkwardly in the doorway, Richie pushed his way past, breaching the threshold, before walking steadily into the room. The room was brightly lit by two decent sized windows overlooking the main lawn and flowerbeds, and the small bed had been pushed against the wall underneath them. Richie could so clearly imagine a very tiny Eddie, all those centuries ago, kneeling on the bed, elbows propped up on the stone windowsill, watching the gardeners labour away below. The only other item of furniture in the room was a small wooden stool pushed against the other wall, but, when Richie extended his arm, he could touch it from where he sat on the bed. The room was tiny, barely bigger than the cupboards Richie found himself stuck in most nights on his trips to the bathroom.

“You really lived in here?”

“For several days, yes, before she -- before I convinced her to let me roam the rest of the house.”

The room was tiny, and it grew tinier and tinier still, the walls closing in on Richie every time he thought of Master Edward, hammering on the door, pleading to be let out, pleading to once again feel the sun on his cheek and the wind through his hair, before he’d give up and sit on the bed with no one but the sun’s taunting rays for company.

“With all due respect, Eds, your mother sounds like a bitch,” Richie said, tone too jovial for the weight of his words, and he expected Eddie to snap at him, to accuse him of cruelty, but he didn’t. Instead, Eddie laughed.

Eddie laughed so much that tears sprang from his eyes, and they chased each other down his face in great, glittering ribbons.

“Oh, Richie,” Eddie said, clutching his belly, “oh how I adore having you here.”

At that, Richie felt the blood rush to his face. “Heh. Tell me again how you escaped?”

As they walked around the rest of the mansion, Eddie regaled Richie with stories from his youth, how he’d snatched the key from around his mother's neck that allowed him to escape, how he’d spent many a winter's night huddled in front of a blazing fire with the groundskeeper sat in the rickety old armchair, scaring him silly with ghost stories of yore, and how the servants used to sneak him crumbs of sweet cakes on hot, sticky afternoons in the summer when he’d long for the feeling of a fresh, summer breeze on his face, when he’d long to feel anything at all.

They were walking back to the kitchens, Eddie having promised Richie a mug of hot cocoa, when Richie spotted it. A large metal door, entirely unlike the rest of the opposing wooden ones, with four heavy-duty locks set deep into the frame.

Richie stopped walking immediately, and let Eddie carry on own the hallway, chatting mindlessly to the air. It wasn’t long before Eddie noticed Richie wasn’t with him and turned around.

“Richie? Are you okay?”

“What’s in there?”

“Nothing,” Eddie snapped, marching back to where Richie stood. “Do not concern yourself with what is behind that door.”

“But --” Richie started, but Eddie cut him off.

“What is behind that door has nothing to do with you, and you shall not seek to discover it. Now, leave it.”

Before Richie could protest further, Eddie stomped off, sending a sharp, “Come!” over his shoulder.

Richie followed.

– X –

It took fourteen days of being in almost constant contact with Richie for Eddie’s body to return to normal. Richie first noticed it when Eddie’s eyes began to droop, bulldogish, in the afternoons, and soon after, he began to flinch away from the sun’s midday greeting when they’d sit in the sunroom and play cards. He’d expected it, that one day the vampirism squirming in Eddie’s veins would rear its ugly head and pull Eddie away from Richie and back towards what he truly was.

The days without Eddie were long and tedious, and, more often than not, Richie found himself pacing the corridors aimlessly, counting down the hours until the sun sank below the horizon and the familiar sound of Eddie shifting in his room began to echo around the mansion. Eddie would emerge, smacking his lips, with his hair sticking up wildly, and he’d greet Richie with a sleepy, “Good evening” that would shake the butterflies in Richie’s stomach until they awoke themselves.

If asked to pinpoint when his attraction towards Eddie transcended simply being physical and entered the unpredictable realm of emotional, Richie would have to shrug. It was as simple as if it had happened spontaneously, as if he’d woken up one morning, walked downstairs to the kitchen where Eddie was bent over the stove, meticulously stirring herbs into a bubbling pot, and Richie’s heart had suddenly burst into song, “yes, yes, it’s him, it’s him, it’s him.” Whilst he still didn’t understand this bond that Eddie spoke of reverently, and whilst he didn’t believe in soulmates, and had said as much to a bemused looking Eddie, Richie felt something. It wasn’t a cosmic force, nor was it a metaphysical hand guiding him towards Eddie without consulting him first. It was something lighter, something more delicate, like a string of the most fragile spider silk had been woven between them, no wider than a hair, and the longer they spent together, the more Richie looked at Eddie, really looked, the more convinced he was that one day he’d be on his knees before Eddie, and he’d thrust own his beating heart clasped into Eddie’s hands, bloody and raw. Spider silk turned platinum.

At the time when the only light came from the fireflies floating like embers in the inky darkness, it was this same something that pulled Richie’s eyelids open, an insatiable desire to be near Eddie stopping him from truly slipping away into blissful, restorative unconsciousness. Though he was fearful of encroaching on Eddie’s nighttime activities, more often than not, Richie waged victorious campaigns against the part of him that pleaded that he remain in bed, that he shut his eyes against curiosity. More often than not, Richie found himself tip-toeing to the door of his room and coaxing it open with tiny, jerky movements to avoid the tell-tale creak that would alert Eddie to his rising.

As soon as the door swung open the first time Richie snuck out of bed, though, a different noise invaded the room, swirling and dancing in the air until it was all Richie could hear. Immediately, memories of his first night in the mansion flooded back to him, memories of a haunting cry that came from the belly of the house. Filled with a reckless sort of determination, Richie crept down the hallway, and, as he walked, the sound swelled around him, growing louder and more insistent with each step.

Richie burst onto the main balcony that overlooked the entrance hall at precisely the same moment that the sound crescendoed, before it fell gently downwards, furious yelling replaced by comforting whispers.

It was Eddie.

Eddie was sat at the piano, back rod-straight, hands flying over the ivory keys frantically. Richie didn’t recognise the piece, but was more than content to crouch down on his haunches, lest he be seen by Eddie, close his eyes, and listen. The tempo peaked and troughed at seemingly random intervals, and Richie wondered idly whether Eddie was playing a pre-existing song or whether he was having his hands be guided by the invisible muses, letting his body become a conduit.

Without consciously wishing to, Richie began to awake most nights, body and soul alight with anticipation. He’d sneak out of his room, and hunker down in his spot on the balcony, concealed by darkness, and he’d watch Eddie play.

Until a rogue sneeze escaped his nose before he could stop it, and his cover was blown.

With a hand covering his nose, as if it could claw the sneeze back in, Richie watched Eddie jump so hard he stood up, snapping his head this way and that, searching for the noisy intruder.

“Up here, Eddie,” Richie called out, face pulsing with heat and embarrassment.

“Richie! I -- how long have you been there?”

Richie gulped. “Not that long, perhaps an hour or so?”

Eddie shifted, and closed the lid of the piano with a loud bang. “You must return to your room, it is very late.”

“You’re beautiful, you know,” Richie blurted, without thinking.

“Beautiful?”

“I mean, you play beautifully. I didn’t recognise the piece, though.” Richie said, beginning to descend the stairs to where Eddie was still sat at the piano, hands knotted in his lap.

“I have begun to write my own music, a somewhat … recent development, I must admit.”

“How recent?”

“A few weeks, perhaps. I cannot be specific.”

Richie regarded Eddie steadily, and rested his hand on the top of the piano, as if to feel its heartbeat.

“Be specific.”

Eddie placed his hand next to Richie’s, with an all but a negligible amount of space between them. “Eighteen days.”

“The exact length of time I have been here,” Richard said, a statement of fact that neither needed to hear aloud.

“Yes,” Eddie replied, simply. “The exact length of time you have been here.”

– X –

Richie sat in the gardens, and, as he watched two small rabbits dance in the lush undergrowth, he decided that tomorrow, when the moon had risen, her smiling face bathing the world in cool light, he would ask, nay insist, that Eddie accompany him on a walk. They would leave the mansion, leave the grounds, to see if they truly did exist in the world beyond the borders of the bubble of existence that they had meticulously created with shared efforts. Whilst he was content to hide away with Eddie, an ever-growing part of him desired to breach the womb-like comfort of the mansion. He stood in front of the mirror, rehearsing his lines, practicing how he would convince Eddie to venture into the wilderness with him, but, much to his bemusement, it wasn’t necessary.

“Of course,” Eddie agreed, “if that is what you want, then that is what we shall do.”

That night, with the wind howling and rain falling from the sky in great, bloated drops, Richie and Eddie ventured out of the relative safety of the mansion and into the mercy of the wider world. Eddie had insisted that Richie wear one of his coats, a great, woollen thing that swamped even Richie’s lanky frame, but he was grateful for the shelter it provided from the weather as they trundled down the hill into the town of Krov. They barely spoke, as Eddie watched the moon with his dinner-plate eyes, and Richie watched Eddie.

Abruptly, Eddie stopped walking.

“Are you okay?” Richie asked, walking backwards for a few steps before he was stood next to Eddie once more. Eddie continued to stare at an inconspicuous spot on the ground.

“This is where it happened.”

“Pardon?”

“This is where … this is where I was turned.”

Oh. The fury radiating from Eddie was palpable, a hot current of air fighting the arctic winds. Richie had barely asked Eddie about the circumstances of his turning, and Eddie had offered little to no information himself. It was a vast and foreboding secret, something that Richie was desperate to know but reticent to ask. The look on Eddie’s face, a look of sheer savagery, like he would rip the larynx from the creature who did this to him with his bare hands and not think twice, set Richie’s stomach on edge.

Up until this moment, it had been easy to convince himself that, whilst Eddie was in possession of two rather large canine teeth, and professed to being centuries old, he was – in all the ways that counted – still human. But now, with his too large teeth bared in a too large mouth that snarled like a wolf, and his eyes, with the pupils blown and the rest an unnatural white, Eddie looked different. Eddie looked scary.

“Eds …” Richie cautioned, laying a timid hand on Eddie’s bicep. “Eds, can we go?”

Immediately, as if Richie’s words were as sharp as pins, Eddie deflated.

“Yes, uh -- of course. I seem to have … forgotten myself,” Eddie said, as if in a daze, before he allowed himself to be gently tugged away from the spot by Richie, who vowed that never again would they return to that spot.

The silence of the town was deafening. The buildings were the same as they had been when Richie arrived, the same dilapidated, crumbling walls and the same sloping rooves. But, with Eddie stood next to him, fists clenched into tight rocks, it felt different. Now, more so than before, Richie could picture the town as it had been before, a bustling town, thrumming with the energy of life. But now, the only indication that there had ever been life here were the things abandoned in the street, a chair, a bowl, a children's toy, and the incredibly guilty look currently spread across Eddie’s face.

They walked in hushed reverence along the rows of houses, Eddie peering inside each open door, and Richie watched him. Richie watched him walk inside one particular house, and lie his hand flat on the bed, with his eyes shut and his mouth pulled into a thin, straight line.

“Did someone you know live here?” Richie asked, painfully aware of the intimate moment he was intruding on, but unable to squash the curiosity within him.

Eddie’s head snapped up. “Yes.”

Richie wanted to ask more, ask who lived here, ask who it was that Eddie’s eyes glittered for, but he didn’t. Instead, he watched. A silent observer to Eddie’s very palpable, and very private, grief.

“There’s a river,” Eddie whispered, a small sound that thundered in the silence. “I want to show it to you.”

The river was a mile or so from the town, and they walked there in silence, Eddie several steps ahead of Richie. When they arrived, Richie was awestruck. The river was high and fast-flowing, and curved this way and that, a jagged vein on the otherwise perfectly untouched valley.

“I used to come here and think when I was younger. It’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Richie agreed immediately, not looking at the river. “It’s beautiful.”

Despite Eddie’s protestations that he might fall in and be swept away, Richie stood on the very edge of the riverbank, staring at his reflection, warped by the fast flowing current.

“The river is hungry, Richie. Everything it consumes, it spits out again, but it’s hungry. You must fear it,” Eddie said right in Richie’s ear, causing him to jump and spring backwards.

“Holy shit! I didn’t see you --”

Then it dawned on Richie, slamming into him like the tide against rock.

“You don’t -- You don’t have a reflection, Eddie”

Eddie sighed. “No, I don’t. It’s another symptom of this disease, another curse. I haven’t seen myself since I was eighteen years old, and that was over four centuries ago. I suppose I must look rather monstrous now.”

“I wouldn’t say monstrous, not at all. Just --” Richie paused, gesturing with his hands as if he might pluck the right word out of the air, “different.”

“Well that’s incredibly reassuring, Richard, thank you”

“Different isn’t bad!” Richie insisted, backtracking, “different isn’t bad at all. Look, I’ll tell you what you look like, so you understand.”

Richie stood back, surveying Eddie’s face as one does a work of art, with his eyebrows knitted.

“Well, you’ve got pale skin, but I suppose that much is obvious. You’ve got greyish-whiteish eyes, and they can be rather spooky in the dark,”

“Charming!” Eddie interrupted, but Richie dismissed his comment with a wave of his hand.

“But sometimes, when the light catches them when we’re sat in the sunroom, or when we are in the library with the fire blazing, sometimes … they look like molten silver, and that’s,” Richie coughed, “that’s quite lovely. You’ve got a messy crop of the darkest, blackest hair I’ve ever seen, and when you wake up it sticks up in all directions, and then that, combined with when you have creases from your pillow all over your face, I just want to --”

“Richie,” Eddie cautioned, but Richie continued.

“I, um. Your nose is pinched, and quite pointy, but it suits your face, like the peak of a mountain. Your mouth --”

Richie stopped, and his eyes flitted back and forth between Eddie’s mouth and eyes.

“Your mouth is large, perhaps bigger than normal. Your teeth, well … they are rather frightening but … when you laugh, when you really laugh and you smile, not that stupid smile you do when I know you’re trying to hide your teeth, you look --”

“Richard.”

Richie shrugged. “You look beautiful.”

Eddie placed his hand on Richie’s face, his fingers brushed the hinge of Richie’s jaw, and Richie had but a second to panic before Eddie tilted his face down, and fitted their mouths chastely together. Richie, as if on autopilot, pressed himself against Eddie, knee to chest, and his hands gently gripped Eddie’s waist, fingers curled in the soaking wet fabric of his overcoat.

After a few seconds, Eddie pulled away, just barely, just enough to stare into Richie’s eyes evenly.

“Eddie,” Richie whined, a pathetic sort of noise that he would have been embarrassed about had Eddie not practically growled and pulled Richie back down, back in.

Eddie tilted his head, as if he meant to go deeper, and fangs scraped across Richie’s lower lip. As much as Richie hadn’t anticipated kissing Eddie at that exact moment, it would be patently untrue to suggest that he hadn’t thought about doing it at some point. Those nights that he’d spent fantasising about when he’d do it, whether he’d corner Eddie after breakfast or whether he’d grab Eddie’s wrist and haul him in when they were walking around Eddie’s poison garden, he’d always come back to one thing, the thing that made his gut swirl with anticipation.

The fangs.

The same fangs that were, at that very moment, pressed gently into the soft swell of Richie’s lower lip.

Richie pulled away, gasping.

“Shit,” Eddie cussed, and stepped away from Richie with clumsy steps, “I shouldn’t have -- I assumed that, you kept saying that I was beautiful, and --”

“Eddie,” Richie said as he stepped into Eddie’s personal space, crowding him against the trunk of a tree, hands cradling Eddie’s face, “Eddie.”

“Fuck, Richie -- Fuck!”

They stood there, sheltering under the boughs of the tree, the wind roaring it’s encouragement, and kissed.

– X –

“NO!”

Eddie smacked the spoon out of Richie’s hand with a growl, and his movement sent the contents of Richie’s bowl cascading over the floor.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Eddie! I was about to --”

“It’s fucking poisonous, Richie. It’s poisonous. I was looking in one of my books to see how long I needed to let the vegetable boil – I didn’t know its name, but I’ve been eating it for centuries – but the book said that it’s poisonous! I could have killed you!” Eddie yabbered, wringing his hands as he stood over the mess on the floor, staring at the lumps of apparently-poisonous vegetables.

“I can eat it because my insides are practically dead, but if you had eaten it … if I had let you eat it … I couldn’t live with myself, Richie, I’ve only had you for a few months and I nearly killed you myself.”

And then, Richie learnt that it was perfectly possible for a vampire to cry.

Richie gathered Eddie up in his arms, and stroked a comforting hand through Eddie’s hair as the vampire wept against his chest.

“Eddie, Eddie, I’m still here, I didn’t eat any, you’ve still got me, you’ve still got me, Eds, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Do you promise?” Eddie asked.

Richie pressed his promise to Eddie’s lips.

– x –

“SHUT THE DOOR!”

Richie slammed the door shut, but what he had seen would be etched onto the back of his eyelids for centuries to come.

“RICHARD,” Eddie boomed from inside, voice syrupy and wet, “GO AWAY!”

Richie didn’t move.

“I know you’re still there,” Eddie’s voice was wet, and as he spoke, his words were interspersed with ugly, slurping sounds. “I can hear you breathing.”

A coppery, metallic smell lingered around Richie’s head, a heady fog that sent his head spinning and his mind racing.

He’d burst into the room, excited to tell Eddie that the asparagus spears had begun to stick out of the earth, but he’d found Eddie slumped over the body of a rather large sheep, mouth attached to the animals neck. Eddie’s eyes had rolled back into his head, an expression of pure ecstasy, as he slurped at the blood gushing from two large puncture wounds on the animals neck greedily, the dark red liquid smeared around his neck and face.

“This is my reality, Richard,” Eddie said, pulling the door open. “This is what I am.”

This Eddie was different. This wasn’t the Eddie that Richie had kissed at the riverbank, this wasn’t the Eddie that curled up like a cat next to Richie on the couch, and read Richie’s book over his shoulder. This wasn’t the Eddie that cried from laughter when Richie had fallen over in the mud when his feet gave way from under him in the vegetable patch, sending carrots flying over his shoulder like tiny orange arrows. No, this Eddie, this Eddie who wiped the back of his hand across his mouth roughly, this Eddie who had pupils blown wide, and who chattered his teeth together like an excited hyena, this Eddie was different, and Richie was terrified by how much he wasn’t terrified.

“I’m not scared,” he blurted, as he stared at the droplet of blood that was still clinging to Eddie’s bottom lip. “I know I should be scared, but I’m not. I’m not even a tiny bit scared.”

Eddie laughed. “You’re a strange little thing, aren’t you.”

“Not half as strange as the vampire who grows potatoes in his back garden,” Richie shot back, before he pulled Eddie into an embrace.

It took two weeks to get the blood stains out of his shirt.

– X –

Eddie’s hand was pressed against Richie’s throat, a barely-there pressure that had Richie squirming underneath him, rutting against Eddie’s leg that was slotted possessively between his own. They were shirtless, with Richie’s legs bracketing Eddie’s hips as he hovered over him. They had been going at it for a while now; what had started as chaste kisses and gentle hands on waists had become needy, insistent and breathy over a remarkably short space of time.

With Eddie hovering over him, skin ghoulishly pale in the flickering glow of the candlelight, Richie was sure no one else had ever been more aroused than he was in that moment. He bucked his hips up, desperate to make contact with Eddie’s thigh, his dick straining painfully against the fabric of his trousers.

“So needy,” Eddie hissed, and he shifted his attention from Richie’s mouth to his neck, ghosting his breath along the length of Richie’s exposed jaw. “So needy, so ready, would you let me take you now? If I asked very nicely?”

Richie nodded feverishly, mind focused on nothing but the feeling of Eddie’s hand snugged to his jaw.

“Do you want me to? Take you right here? With you flat on your back?”

“Yuh-yes, Eddie, fuck –”

“Do you? It’d be so easy, you know. So easy to just –” Eddie paused, trailing one of his hands down, skating it over the taut, trembling skin of Richie’s chest and stomach, until he’d dragged his fingers, slowly, over the bulge in Richie’s trousers and down, until his fingers were hovering over Richie’s clothed asshole.

“Eddie, Eddie, please –”

“Please what?”

“Please”

Eddie shifted off of Richie, and sat back on his haunches panting. Richie whined at the loss of contact, at the loss of Eddie’s weight hovering over him, pressing him down into the mattress, and he reached out, and tried to pull Eddie back onto him. Eddie swatted at his arm, and stood up, stumbling a bit, before he left the room in haste. Confused, and rather annoyed, Richie huffed, pushing himself up to a sitting position. Three, or perhaps four, seconds later Eddie returned, holding a small bottle of oil in his hands.

“This will make it easier,” he said, and placed the vial on the table next to the bed, before climbing back up the bed, and back up Richie’s body like a jungle cat.

Before he could capture Eddie between his legs again, however, Eddie shoved an arm underneath Richie and deftly flipped him over, so that Richie was now lying face-down on the bed, dick trapped against his heaving stomach. Eddie was on him instantly; he placed open-mouthed, wet kisses against Richie’s neck, before Eddie shifted, and began trailing kisses over Richie’s shoulder, down his shoulder blades, over the dip of his waist, before he landed at the fleshy swell of his hips.

“I want – Richie, I want to – do you trust me?” Eddie asked, voice crackly.

“Yes,” Richie answered, immediately, as he scrunched the crisp sheets in his fists, as he tried desperately not to transcend this mortal coil.

“I want – just … let me …” Eddie babbled, and then he scraped his teeth along the squishy flesh of Richie’s hips, not applying enough pressure to break the skin, but just enough that Richie cried out, half from surprise and half from concentrated want.

Eddie continued to bite and suck at Richie’s hip, and Richie buried his face in the pillow, biting at the soft cotton to stop himself from sobbing.

With deft fingers, Eddie began to tug at the soft material of Richie’s trousers, encouraging Richie to buck his hips up, allowing him to tug the material over the swell of his ass, and down his thighs.

“So beautiful,” Eddie whispered, a reverent prayer not delivered to Richie himself but to his ass, “so good for me.”

Eddie replaced his mouth with his hand, that continued to squeeze at Richie’s hips, and, even with his eyes still screwed tight and the static buzz of lust screaming in his ear, Richie heard Eddie unscrewing the top of the vial. Richie shivered on the bed, entirely overstimulated but, at the same time, nursing an insatiable need for more, for Eddie to touch more of him, all of him.

And then it was there, an oil-wet finger that probed gently at the tight ring of muscle, and, instinctively, Richie tensed.

“Sssh, my love,” Eddie whispered, and he stroked a comforting hand across Richie’s back, “it’s just me.”

Richie nodded, and his breath heaved out of him in great, staccato wheezes as he willed himself to relax. Two of Eddie’s fingers, both wet and dripping, rested against the ring of muscle, slender fingers between the cheeks of Richie’s ass like they were meant to be there, like they had always been there. Slowly, painfully slowly, so slowly that Richie felt like he was about to scream from sheer anticipation, Eddie’s fingers began to move. They circled Richie’s sensitive opening that twitched uncontrollably, as spikes of not-quite-pleasure rippled through Richie’s body.

With a careful confidence, a certainty that made Richie’s dick twitch from where it was trapped his stomach, Eddie finger bared down on Richie’s opening, until, after pushing past a little amount of resistance, it entered him. Richie’s body instinctively tensed once more, before Eddie leant forwards, and began to press small kisses to the small of his back.

“So good, Rich, so good,” Eddie praised, and Richie’s brain flicked into overdrive, as it oscillated between embarrassment and an unabashed desire for more, to such an extent that, when Eddie began to draw his finger back, Richie’s hips chased it wantonly.

Eddie chuckled, a deep vibrato that cut through Richie’s embarrassment like butter, and he drew his finger back, only to sink it in a little deeper the next time, and again, and again, until Eddie’s finger were burrowed up to the knuckle in Richie’s ass. The motion was smooth, thanks to the oil, and the not-quite-pleasure had been replaced by a rapidly solidifying pleasure buried deep in his gut that was growing and growing with every thrust of Eddie’s skilled fingers.

“Are you okay, love?” Eddie asked, and Richie almost laughs.

Richie shifted, and spat the corner of the pillow out of his mouth.

“I’m – fuck. Move, Eddie,” he tried to command, but when spoken aloud, the words just sound like he was begging, like he was pleading. Perhaps he was.

Eddie obeyed. It was slow at first, a teasing, languid movement that had Richie writhing beneath him, before it became firmer, a more confident rhythm that turned Richie’s insides to jelly, and his lips parted in a soundless groan that only the air heard. Eddie continued to thrust his finger in and out of Richie, before he pulled it back all-together, which caused Richie to whine.

“Could you take another, my love? Are you ready?”

“Fuck me, Eddie,” was Richie’s only response, and Eddie didn’t need to be told twice. However, instead of continuing to finger-fuck him with his face pressed into the bed, Eddie prodded at Richie’s side, prompting him to roll over. Richie obliged, and Eddie shuffled up the bed, and curled himself around Richie’s back. Eddie pushed on Richie’s right leg until it moved forwards so that it was lying at a right angle, giving Eddie access to Richie’s ass once more.

Before he could push his fingers back into Richie, Richie ground down on Eddie’s crotch, a spike of pleasure shot up his spine at the realisation that Eddie was as rock hard as he was.

“Eddie, Eds, I want --”

“What do you want, my love?”

“I want you to bite me”

Eddie stilled behind him.

“What?”

“I want you to, ah, I want you to fucking bite me!”

“Richie,” Eddie warned, “Richie you have no idea what you’re saying.”

Richie sat up, and twisted around so that he was facing Eddie.

“Yes, I do. I’ve been thinking about it, thinking about what this,” he gestured between them, “what this is. What it means, not just for me but for you, too. And these past few months, I’ve -- I’ve …”

“You’ve what?”

“I love you.”

Eddie didn’t say anything, just blinked dumbly at Richie.

“I know you probably don’t believe me, and I know it’s incredibly fast, and I don’t expect you to --”

“I love you too, Richie, but, God, this is bigger than love.”

“What could possibly be bigger than love?”

“Come,” Eddie said, and he stood up, and held Richie’s trousers out to him. “I have something to show you.”

– X –

The basement was freezing, and Richie watched with a steady gaze as Eddie unlocked the four heavy padlocks.

“This,” Eddie said, as he heaved the door open and revealed a long, dark, stone staircase, “this is bigger than love. I need you to see this, I need you to see all of me, see all of what I have done, before I let you make this decision.”

Richie, unsure of how to respond, pushed past Eddie and began his descent, deep into the underbelly of the house, deep into Eddie’s past.

The first thing that Richie noticed was a gaping hole in the stonework, large enough for a man to walk through.

“Who, or what on earth did that?” Richie asked, confusion evident in his tone.

Eddie sighed. “Let me tell you about Patrick.”

– X –

Eddie spoke for nearly an hour, and he paced up and down the room, patently not looking at Richie, who was sprawled on the floor, head resting against the cool stone.

“I haven’t been down here since,” Eddie confessed, staring at the hole in the wall with an embittered expression, “I can’t bear to see what he did, what I did … What I put him through.”

At that, Richie’s head snapped up.

“What the fuck? Eddie, no, that wasn’t your fault.”

“How could it possibly not be my fault?”

“How were you supposed to know he’d turn into a feral beast? No, you were the victim, as much as those --”

“Richard,” Eddie said, voice trembling, “do not compare what I went through to those people who had their throats ripped out by that animal. Do not.”

It made sense now, of course. Why Eddie’s lusty expression had so rapidly been replaced by a mask of panic, why Eddie was so reticent to even entertain the idea of turning Richie. Eddie, compelled by the kind of loneliness that gnaws at your soul, had taken a risk, and it had so horribly backfired that it had left all but visible scars across Eddie’s entire body. Eddie, his trusting, wonderful, Eddie had been duped by a creature so evil, that even the vampirism coursing through his veins could not have affected his nature that much.

“You know I’m not Patrick, right?” Richie said, sitting up.

Eddie scoffed. “Of course, you are nothing like that brute. But what if --”

“Go on,” Richie prompted.

“What if it goes wrong? What if I … what if I lose you? What if I accidentally kill you? I could --”

“You will lose me either way, darling. I will age, I will grow coarse and weary, and you will no longer love me,” Richie said, and he stood up, walked over to where Eddie was hunched in the corner, and grasped Eddie’s hands in his own.

“I will always love you,” Eddie insisted, fiercely, but Richie shook his head.

“You cannot love me when I am dead, Eddie. I will age, and change, and then I will die. Like your flowers, I will rot and turn brown with decay.”

Tears began to trickle down Eddie’s face.

“It is such a horrible choice, Richie,” he said, voice wobbling.

“I know, darling, I know”

– X –

The candles flickered in the breeze of the open window, and Richie screwed his eyes shut. Eddie was between his legs, lapping over Richie’s asshole with a broad, wet tongue. He’d been there for what, to Richie, felt like eons, teasing Richie’s hole open with a pointed tongue that darted inside, just for a moment, before the lapping, and the sucking resumed and Richie was left frustratingly empty. Occasionally, Eddie would graze the pointed tip of his fangs over the soft, vulnerable skin of Richie’s inner thigh, pressing in just enough to hear Richie gasp, before he’d pull away again.

“Eds, I can’t – please, c’mere, Eddie, please,” Richie moaned, and he buried his hands in Eddie’s hair before he gave it a sharp tug.

Eddie pulled off of Richie’s thigh, and slithered back up Richie’s body, and pressed their mouths together.

Anticipation pooled in Richie’s stomach like lava, and it took all of his self-control not to force Eddie to chomp down on his neck, but he knew what had to happen first, he knew what he had to wait for. An aching, primal urge tugged ruthlessly at Richie’s lower stomach, and he groaned as he felt it travel up his spine, reaching a deafening crescendo behind his eyes. With Eddie grinding down, swivelling his hips down against Richie’s, their bare cocks brushing together, Richie threw his head back, exposing his bare neck.

Eddie immediately dropped his head, and licked a long strip up the length of Richie’s neck, beginning at his clavicle and ending at the hinge of his jaw.

“You smell so good,” Eddie moaned, nose buried in Richie’s hair, “you have no idea what it’s been like for me, all of these months, not letting myself smell you, not letting myself have you.”

“You have me,” Richie babbled, “you have me.”

“I do,” Eddie said, “I do”

Arousal spiked in the cradle of Richie’s hips, a white hot electric heat that spread like wildfire. “Eddie, I’m ready, I’m ready –”

Wordlessly, Eddie pushed Richie onto his side, the same position they’d been in before, when Richie had asked Eddie to bite him. This time, though, as Richie lay there, back nestled against Eddie’s chest, Eddie draped his arm over Richie’s shoulder, positioning it so the soft flesh of his forearm was positioned in front of Richie’s mouth.

“You know what you need to do, right?” Eddie asked, breathlessly, and Richie nodded.

Two oil-slick fingers pushed their way into Richie’s ass, and Richie bit down on Eddie’s arm, and began to suck.

Eddie gasped behind him, a noise he’d never heard Eddie make before, breathy and high-pitched.

“Drink, ah, drink up, Rich, oh fuck oh fuck”

“Does it hurt?” Richie asked, voice thick and wet, mouth still half full of Eddie’s blood, but Eddie shook his head.

“It – ah, it the opposite of hurts, Rich, oh fuck”

As Richie sucked on Eddie’s arm, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of blood, Eddie’s fingers worked in his ass, maintaining a furious rhythm that worked in sync with Richie’s greedy slurps.

Soon, when Richie’s stomach sat hot and heavy, Eddie gently pulled his arm back. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes, fucking do it, Eddie, do it”

Eddie pulled Richie back, and Richie jolted when he felt the press of Eddie’s solid length against his ass. Need swirls wildly in his stomach, and he holds his breath, waiting for the press of Eddie’s dick against his entrance. It comes slowly at first, Eddie edging forward with gentle caution, dick slippery with the same oil as before. The tip of his cock nudges at Richie’s tight opening, and he pressed forward, Richie’s eyes snapping shut instantly, mouth parted in a silent gasp.

Eddie edged in, inch by inch, centimetre by centimetre, until he bottoms out and Richie’s ass was pressed snuggly against his crotch.

“oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” Richie jabbered, and his hips stuttered in Eddie’s lap, micro-movements that sent sparks of not-quite-pleasure and not-quite-plain up his spine.

Eddie waited until Richie stopped jabbering to start moving, but when he did, Richie’s head fell back on Eddie’s shoulder, and he forgot where he was, forgot his own name, all he remembered, all he cared about was the blunt drag of Eddie’s cock, in and out of him, a rhythm as smooth and as regular as ocean waves. Experimentally, Richie pushed his ass back against Eddie’s thrust, meeting it in the middle, and earning himself a “oh, Richie, oh, oh God…” for his efforts.

“You’re doing so well, my love,” Eddie praised, hand snaking around to grasp at Richie’s dick, “you’re doing so well.”

Heat flooded to the base of Richie’s spine, a cloying heat that grew and grew as Eddie continued slamming into him, breath stuttering in his ear.

“I’m gonna come, fuck, Eddie, Eddie, do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I love you,” Richie gasped in response, and he felt Eddie nod behind him, before he felt a sharp, piercing pain on his neck, and his vision went black. At that moment, with his lover’s hands scrabbling around his neck, Richard Tozier died.

– X –

The first thing Richie saw when he opened his eyes with Eddie’s face hovering above him, eyes wet. The first thing Richie felt when he opened his eyes was an unfamiliar toothache, overwhelming in its intensity.

Richie swirled his tongue around his mouth carelessly, and jolted with shock.

There, sat in his mouth, as if they’d always been there were two, razor sharp, huge fangs.

“Happy Birthday, Richie”

#reddie #it fandom #it fan fiction #IT 2017 #IT 2019 #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #richie tozier x eddie kaspbrak #fanfic #vampire au #19th century au #stephen king #my writing #reddie fanfiction

106 notes · View notes