#i feel like it’s a fever dream when i write smut | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

guiltyasdave · 8 months ago

Text

help me hold onto you

pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine x mutant! f!reader

word count: ~3.5k

summary: Logan deals with feeling guilty after he's accidentally cut you with his claws in his sleep.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), able-bodied reader, reader has hair that can be pulled, no use of y/n, Logan lifts reader up but he's superhumanly strong, so-, graphic description of an injury, graphic description of violence, angst, nightmares, Logan's pov, fighting as foreplay, unprotected p in v, rough sex, biting, praise kink, a lot of animalistic behavior due to their mutations, like they're just a little... primal, it's cute i swear, also reader looks like a human being it's just the mannerisms, fluff

a/n: guess i'm a multi fandom writer now? this literally came to me in a fever dream, very much like the logan brainrot itself lol. this is my first time writing for the man, after watching the movies - also for the first time - last week, so please be gentle with me <3 something very similar happens in the origins movie and i wanted them to explore that more, but alas, i had to do it myself.

massive thanks to @kiwisbell for assuring me that this idea isn't terrible and for freaking out about logan with me in general, to @catchallfangirl for coming up with the whole cat theme and for being so supportive, to @sizzlingcloudmentality for matching my freak and taking the cat theme to the next level, for helping me plot and for being an amazing beta reader, and to @javier-pena for listening to me rant about this idea and being so lovely and supportive <3

dividers by @saradika-graphics who is a queen <3

notifications blog -> @guiltyasdavenotifs & full masterlist -> here

Most nights, Logan sleeps easier when you’re in bed with him. Your body pressed against his, your skin soft and warm against his bare chest. One of his thighs between your legs where you’ve wrapped yourself around him, your touch moving over his torso aimlessly, fingers curling into his chest hair, your hands kneading his flesh in your sleep. The soothing little purrs that emit from your chest when you’re sound asleep. None of it bothers him, no matter how many times it disturbs his own rest.

It keeps him grounded, feeling you next to him. He’d rather spend the whole night somewhere in that haze between waking and sleeping, listening to your sounds, your breath fanning against his skin, than being pulled under into the depths of his subconsciousness.

He’d rather open his eyes to see you disentangling your limbs from his, stretching your whole body, arching against him as you yawn.

He’d rather greet you with a smiling “Good morning, kitten,” waiting for that adorable little crease to appear between your brows when you pout up at him.

“Did I do it again?”

He doesn’t hide his grin as he nods, growing wider when you flop back against the cushions with a groan.

“What exactly?”

“All of it.”

Your sorry comes out muffled as you hide your face behind your hands.

“It’s okay,” he says, leaning over you to pull your hands away and kiss the pout off your lips. Caressing that spot under your chin with two fingers, watching you go all soft, baring your throat to him. “I like it.”

He would much rather wake up like this.

But it’s been a long week and he’s exhausted. Exhausted enough to get lulled into a deep sleep, encased in the safe cloud of your warm body against his and your touch on his skin. Exhausted enough to dream. And his dreams are not a safe place.

His eyes fly open with a shout, his whole body jolting upwards, every muscle pulled taut. He doesn’t even register the claws shooting out between his knuckles, all of his instincts screaming at him to fight.

He’s only faintly aware of the sudden yelp of pain from beside him, the movement of something jerking away from him.

“Logan,” your voice rings through the buzzing in his ears. Smaller hands landing on his shoulders, fighting to hold him steady.

It takes a few disoriented blinks before he recognizes the familiar bedroom, a few more deep breaths to stop his body from shaking. To clear the fog in his head enough to understand what you’re saying.

“It’s me, Logan. You’re safe, everyone’s safe, it’s okay.”

His eyes find yours in the semi-darkness. Wide with worry, but firmly trained on his face, repeating that everything’s okay. He finally registers the familiar weight of you straddling him, understands that it’s your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He’s still panting, not daring to look away from your face again. The one tether that keeps him from getting lost in his mind again.

“Are you with me?” you ask, your voice softer now.

He manages a nod, tries to smile, to wipe the deep worry of your face, but he’s not sure if his mouth even twitches.

As the feeling slowly returns to his body, he notices something else. A kind of wetness, warm and sticky where your right hand is connected to his skin. The unmistakable tang of iron in the air. He stretches to turn on a bedside lamp, jostling you along with his movement. A quiet whimper hits his ears, so low that he’s sure you tried to suppress it.

With a new kind of panic surging through him, he grabs hold of your arm, bringing it to his eye level.

Three scratches ooze in deep red, just beneath your wrist. It forces a gasp from him, eyes dancing frantically between the wounds on your arm and your face. How much blood did you lose already while you were busy helping him? As if he deserved it.

“Fuck, I’m— I’m so sorry baby, we gotta—” He stumbles over his own words, grasping at you almost blindly, panicked tears blurring his vision. He did this.

“Logan,” you say, still so inexplicably calm. “It’s fine. Look. It’s fine.”

You gently pry his fingers off your arm and bring your wrist up to your mouth. Your tongue darts out, drawing long licks against your marred skin, collecting the blood and gliding over the cuts in your flesh.

It pains him to watch, but it’s the least he can do. The least he owes you. He watches you clean the blood off, watches as the wounds start shrinking at the touch of your saliva, as the skin smoothes over before his very eyes until there’s only three thin marks left, a shade lighter than the rest of your skin.

“Look,” you tell him again, extending your arm towards him. “I told you it’s okay.”

He knows you can do this, of course he does. Has watched you multiple times, his fascination with your powers never wavering. How fluidly you move, how quick you attack, how skilled you are at surviving. You just never had to survive him.

You lean down on top of him until your whole torso rests on his, your thighs still on either side of him, burrowing your head into his chest. “Which war did you dream about?” you ask quietly.

Most of the time, the dreams don’t grant him the mercy to zero in on one single memory. It’s a constant stream, one fight after the other, until all he knows is shouting, fighting, blood and death.

“All of them.”

You sigh deeply, your breath cool against his sweat-dampened skin. Raising your head a little, you start placing kisses on his chest, pressing your lips into his skin where you can feel the faint beating of his heart.

“I wish I could kiss this better, too,” you mumble.

He chuckles humorlessly, one hand reaching into your hair to scratch at your scalp. You shudder at the touch, an approving little purr traveling up your throat.

“It’s okay now,” he mutters, leaning in to inhale the scent of your hair. “Just— I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

It sounds so simple, falling from your lips like this. But it’s no match for the aching guilt that’s already eating at him, the questions of what if that start swirling through his mind.

Your body is growing heavier on top of him as you relax, your breaths evening out and your eyelids fluttering shut. It soothes him, has his own breathing slowing down, but he can’t risk falling asleep again. Not like this, not with your body so close to his.

“What are you— Logan?” comes your instant protest when he moves you to your side of the mattress, your eyes flying back open, wide and mildly confused.

“I could’ve killed you,” he mutters. It could have happened so easily. Just a little deeper, just a slightly different spot.

“No, you couldn’t,” you quip, arching an eyebrow at him. “Cats have nine lives, remember?” You sneak another quick kiss on his chest before finding his gaze again, a teasing smile on your lips. “Even kittens.”

It’s an attempt to lighten the mood, to make him laugh. He knows that. You hate the pet name he’s given you.

“And you’re not gonna waste one on me,” he grits out.

Hurt flashes over your face, more pain in your eyes than when there was an actual wound on your arm.

“It wouldn’t be—”

“Don’t you dare say it wouldn’t be a waste.”

The words come out as a low growl, aggressive enough to send most anyone running. You don’t run.

Your animal doesn’t like it when he growls at you. He can feel the tension rolling off of you, your hair probably standing on end. Gritting your teeth, you take a deep breath, release your fingers’ grip from digging into the sheets.

“Let’s talk about it in the morning,” you tell him, resignation in your voice.

Your eyes fall shut again, your head for once resting on your own pillow instead of his chest. He misses the weight of it instantly. You doze off quickly, your hands still pawing weakly at his side, like your body can’t help it. He almost pulls you closer himself.

While you sleep, Logan forces his own eyes to stay wide open, staring unseeingly into the darkness.

It’s a quiet day. You had tried talking to him, tried to convince him that it’s okay, that it’s fine. He can’t keep listening to you insisting that him almost killing you is no big deal. He should have known, should have been more aware of the risk instead of letting himself get lost in the blissful sensation of your body curled around his every night. You’ve trusted him so completely, only for him to let you down.

Just like he always does, the voice in his head whispers.

No matter how many times you swear that you can take care of yourself, he should still be protecting you, not actively putting you in danger while you’re fucking asleep. It’s happened once now, so it can happen again, and he knows that he could never forgive himself.

He knows that he’s hurting your feelings. Sees how your brows knit together when he barely kisses you back throughout the day. How you bite your lip when the way you’re butting your head against his doesn’t make him chuckle like it usually does.

He should be angry at himself. He is. But you shouldn’t be the one to catch the brunt of it, and it makes him feel even worse. You always say that he should talk about his feelings more, that it would help to let them out. He suspects that you’re right. He just doesn’t know how.

By evening, you’ve grown uncharacteristically quiet, but he keeps catching your burning glares at him when you think he isn’t looking. Finally, after you’ve stared at him for what felt like an eternity and he’s pointedly ignored you, you seem to snap.

“Can you stop it?!” It leaves your mouth in a hiss, triggering his instincts before the words even register in his brain.

“Stop what?” he growls back.

Your fingers curl as a low snarl escapes you. Normally, neither of you lets your animalistic side take over like that. Normally, you’re good at soothing each other.

But tonight, he can feel the energy crackle between you, the tension begging to be released.

“You know what! This fucking— sulking or whatever it is you think you’re doing!”

He rises to his feet, pulling up to his full height. One of your hands twitches.

“I’m not—”

You charge at him with an angry shout before another word can leave his mouth. You’re on him in a flash, grabbing onto his arm and letting your momentum carry you until you’re behind him, your nails digging into his shoulders until you’re perched on his backside.

Whipping his head around, he bares his teeth at you, growls rumbling in his chest. You angrily hiss in his face and swing a hand at him in return, leaving angry red scratches down his cheek. They heal and fade as quickly as they came, but a triumphant grin flashes over your features regardless.

“Come on, Logan,” you breathe into his ear. The edge in your voice sends fire straight through him. “Fight. You’re not gonna break me.” Your canines nip at his earlobe, somewhere between affectionate and challenging.

He tries shaking you off, but your grip on him only tightens. He collects a fist of your hair instead, pulling harshly to keep your teeth away from his throat.

“Enough,” he grits, trying desperately to regain control, to become more human again, to smother the primal need to match your aggression.

He finally grabs hold of one of your hands as well and manages to rip you off his back and in front of him, holding on tight to your upper arms to keep you in place. You’re snarling and twisting in his hold, but he doesn’t let up.

“Enough,” he repeats, searching your wild eyes. Your movements slow down a fraction, giving him a moment of hope, before you surge forward and bury your teeth in his lower lip. It hurts like hell and he can taste blood on his tongue instantly.

“Fight me,” you demand again, baring your teeth at him.

He pulls you back by your hair with a roar, gathers both your wrists in one large hand and holds you steady. You could still break free if you wanted to, he thinks. He might be stronger than you, but your movements turn almost liquid when you want to escape, he’s watched it more than once.

The pain in his lip has already subsided, but his blood is still coating your mouth, a stark contrast against the white shimmer of your teeth.

“Are you done?” His voice is harsh, his jaw clenched, carefully keeping the desire to strike back at bay.

You deflate a little, some of the wildness draining from you before his eyes.

“I just— I’m not fragile, I don’t want you to be scared of— of touching me.” Your voice grows small at the end and he’s horrified to see wetness glistening in your eyes.

The fight mode leaves him as fast as it came, replaced with the overwhelming urge to care, to protect what’s his. His pack, in a way.

He gathers you into his arms, curling himself around you. It feels good to hold you close again. Breathing you in deeply, he smells the adrenaline still oozing from you, hears the rapid beating of your heart. But mostly, it’s your unique scent, one that he thinks he could recognize anywhere. His tether to this world.

“I’m sorry, kitten. I’m not scared of touching you,” he mumbles into your hair.

You sniffle against his chest, but when you finally raise your head to look at him, new determination is glinting in your eyes.

“Prove it,” you coo, tracing the shape of his lips with one fingertip. “Please.”

That he can do. He nips at your finger playfully, your responding giggle the best sound he’s heard all day, before he shoves it out of the way to connect his lips with yours. It’s rough, a clashing of teeth and tongues, the tension that has been building and warping all day finally finding a release.

You gasp into his mouth when his tongue moves against yours, your hands pulling at his hair, needing him closer and closer still, never close enough. His groan at the taste of you travels through you both as he’s grasping at your clothes.

He longs for your warm skin under his palms, longs for how you lean into his touch so needy all the damn time. You pull away with a moan, helping him to pull your sweater over your head and stepping out of your jeans as he sheds his flannel.

You bring both hands up to cup his face, to search his eyes. “Don’t be gentle,” you plead, “please, I need—”

You don’t have to keep talking for him to understand what you need. I’m not scared of touching you.

With a growl, his hands find your hips, holding you tight as he’s walking you backwards until your ass connects with the backside of the couch. He crowds you in, paws at every inch of bare skin he can reach, his cock already hard and aching at your soft warmth and the sweet mewls that tumble from your lips.

Hitching one of your legs up to open you for him, he grinds himself against your barely covered center. A keening sound escapes you at the friction from his jeans against your sensitive flesh and he allows himself a grin.

“Feels good, kitten?”

You nod mindlessly, holding onto him and rocking your hips against his while you’re letting him move you however he sees fit.

“Do you want more?”

“Please, Logan.”

You sound so sweet when you’re like this, when you put your body into his hands. I’m not scared of touching you.

Setting your leg back down, he watches with hunger as you hastily take off your underwear while he pulls the white tank top over his head and opens his belt buckle. He could swear that your pupils dilate a fraction at the sound of it, filling him with a possessive sense of pride.

As soon as his jeans hit the floor, he’s all over you again, palming the weight of your breasts, tugging and pinching at your nipples as he swallows down your mewls. You’re soaking wet already, covering his cock in your slick as he nudges against your folds. He’s impatient to feel you all around him, to sink into you, to stake his claim again and again and again.

He normally works you open longer, gives you more time to prepare, but your impatience is just as apparent as his own, with the way you whine and plead for him, your fingers digging into his flesh, trying to pull him nearer.

He follows your pull, pressing your backside into the couch once more as he crowds your space. Leaning in, he kisses you deeply, licking into your mouth, one hand buried in your hair and holding you close.

“I love you,” he breathes against your lips as he lets go of you. I’m not scared of touching you.

You smile softly, echoing the sentiment back at him.

A surprised squeak escapes you when he turns you around suddenly, bending you over the back of the couch. He lines himself up at your dripping entrance, desperate to fill you up, to give you what you’re craving.

“Not gentle?” he rasps once more, one hand curling around your neck from behind, both in reassurance and dominance.

“Not gentle,” comes your breathy answer. It breaks off into a shriek of a moan when he slams into you with one long thrust, stretching your tight walls around his length. The sting of his sudden intrusion has to hurt at least a little, but you push back against him eagerly, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Logan holds himself still for a moment, mesmerized by the sight of your squirming body and your needy little sounds, before he pulls out almost entirely, only to push back in forcefully. Your toes barely reach the floor with how far he’s bent you over, lifting you into the air with every harsh thrust, but he’s holding you steady with ease, both hands possessively spanning over your waist, positioning you exactly where he wants you.

“Taking me so fucking well, like you were made for me,” he growls, gently scratching over your back with his nails. You arch up to chase his touch, tightening around him, almost purring with pleasure. Wetness pours out of you, coating his cock. I’m not scared of touching you. Not when it feels this good.

“M–more, please,” you whine, blindly reaching backwards to him.

He leans over you, cages you in, his arms on either side of you, his breath hot against your skin. His teeth sink into the back of your neck, not so deep as to draw blood, but enough that he knows the indents will stay there for quite some time.

Your whole body goes limp at the sensation, a surprised mewl escaping you as you clench around him wildly.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his own hips stuttering, “give it to me kitten, come on—”

He reaches around your hip, fingers teasing through your slick folds and up to your clit, rubbing with slight pressure as he keeps pistoning into your heat.

“Logan—” you gasp, getting almost impossibly tight, before you shatter around him. He keeps thrusting into you, keeps up his ministrations on your clit, until the pulsing of your cunt around him sends him over the edge as well. He spills his release deep inside of you, the thought of leaving a part of him with you always filling him with a primal satisfaction.

Pulling you up instantly, he gathers you in his arms, your body soft and pliant against his chest. Walking around the couch and sinking into the cushions to lie down, he gently moves you until your weight is resting on top of him, his embrace wrapping around you.

You stir a little, needing a moment to take in your position. The look of uncertainty that you give him damn near breaks his heart. “Is this okay?” You sound uncertain, too.

God, he’s such an idiot.

“Yeah, kitten. It’s— fuck, of course it’s okay.”

thank you so so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed, and if you did, a comment or a reblog would absolutely make my day :)

-> part 2!

#logan howlett #wolverine #james logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x female reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine x female reader #x men #hugh jackman #logan howlett fanfiction #janas fics

2K notes · View notes

strandedtoodeep · 5 months ago

Text

Poolverine fics rec' ✨

Yes, FINALLY.

So, basically what the title said: some poolverine's fics recommendation because i have 150+ bookmarks and sharing is caring so let's go!

I'll put title, link, tag the author (if they are on tumblr), numbers of words & chapters and probably silly summary or thoughts

I'll be adding some in the future with a red exclamation❗

The ones without smut have a bunny emoji 🐰

My faves are on top

If you have some recs i'm happy to take them thank you 🤲

Faves

Come Hell or High Water by @farmhandler 84k, 11 ch. || love when a fic take mental health seriously and talk about it in a way that feel so right? (bonus the smut is *chef's kiss*

Promise Me We'll Be Back In Time by @back4destiel 108k, 17 ch. || 50 First Dates was one of my favorite movie when i was a preteen (yeah) so this fic fill me with nostalgia and happiness

where soul meets body by @edgebug 33k, 3 ch. || one of my first poolverine's fic and it sets the bar so HIGH (and tbh i cried so much reading it, it's concerning)

silence is what i do best (but still i hear it all) by @cainroses 25k, 3 ch. || feral! logan is very dear to me and the character's voices in it?? absolutely delightful (beware the smut is very good but spicy)

Until you get sick of me, honestly by @3koboldsinahoodie 151k, 27ch. (on going) || i love it so much i want to forget it and discovers it again, the peak of two idiots in love it's beautiful

whoever makes my baby cry (is gonna lose some teeth tonight) by @wickedscribbles 16k, 4 ch. || love some genderplay, bottom and protective logan, my dear, i love it but most importantly the writings is scrumptious

The Void by @rovingotter 115k, 23 ch. || i'm still trying to process what i feel with this fic, please please read this blindly and i assure you, you'll never be the same

The Soundtrack by @greatsnakestintin 43k, 15 ch. (on going) || love a good road trip fic, love music so it's absolutely perfect for me! and the plot is so?? fascinating???

Kaleidoscope by Space_wanderer 79k, 14 ch. || CHAPPELL ROAN REFERENCE! when Logan is such a idiot Wade need to go get him AGAIN in his universe

Don't you want me to run? by @decaying-lover 89k, 26 ch. (on going) || if you love angst, this fic will serve you ANGST! love their dynamics, the tension, their voices, everything

❗Maximum Effort by ArtemisFAYZ012 168k, 33 ch. || OMG the plot?? the spicy spices?? the intimacy between Logan and Wade (AND Logan who falls so HARD for Wade)

On going

Somewhere I belong by @terrasilvershade 24k, 6ch. || another girls dad AU but this one, my god!!! the feels?? it's so interesting to see Logan being envious and it's writing so well

❗Do I Wanna Know by @slut-arc 13k, 5ch. || a 5+1 fic! It's cute and fluffy but also with sparkles of angst, and the ice skating scene??? didn't leave my mind for days ugh

Baby(girl) Don't Hurt Me by @peargreen-jellybean 16k, series with 4 works || 4 fics and i love them all! some good poolverine pining & domestic bliss + men in lingeries (my weakness)

❗Under Your Skin, Over the Moon by RatFlavored 5k, 2 ch. || first Soulmate AU i read for Poolverine and i love it??? So much??? think this trope is underrated ngl, and it's well written!

In Another Life by @flash-bastardd 32k, 10 ch. || x-men origins but better! (bc it's gay) i have some feelings with this movie but this fic healed me and i love it!

❗don't i give you what you need by @wickedscribbles 5k, 2 ch. || i cannot not put the new work of Wicked here, it's so good and the heartbreak??? the angst??? my heart bleed so much for them

call me when you’re ready to be real by @maroonmused 23k, 9 ch. || "and they were roommates" ofc like it's not absolutely obvious for EVERYONE except themself; a very good domestic bliss!

❗Echoes Through the Timeline by @piplover 64k, series with 4 works || i loved so many works in this series, specially the first and last one, break my heart and heal my soul

How To Pay For Rent 💸 by @fictionfeast 59k, 4 ch. || this fic feels like a fever dream, but a OH SO GOOD and well writing fever dream! (ngl as a french person Craig List scares me)

❗🐰 unhappy man syndrome by @gossippool 19k, 5 ch. || don't know if i'll recover from this fic, ever, but i'm so invested and it's pure whump all over (HUG FOR EVERYONE YALL)

❗Got My Mind Set On You by @buttsforabettertomorrow 23k, 4 ch. || Logan try so hard to be good and accepting in this one i love him so much lmao (and it confuses Wade so it's a double win)

🐰 Christmas in Canada by @thatoneartyishperson 7k, 3 ch. || listen, Halloween is still my favorite holidays but Poolverine AU Hallmark Christmas Movies ? URGH i'm here for it!!

❗back to the old house by @nico-di-angelol 71k, 8ch. || it's so interesting that i'm MAD at myself for not reading this earlier, yep it's THAT good! beware chap. 7 will break your heart

Synergy and Entropy by @artemis-pendragon 46k, 19 ch. || i was so sure that i'd put this fic here but no??? anyways, the hurt and angst in this fic are so astronomically good, so beware

❗🐰 Mr. Forgettable by @eliemo 40k, 7 ch. || okaaayy listen, this one make me cry every time i read it, idk how to explain why it feel so personal to me but it'll move you

🐰 make me into something sweet by @mothgardens 30k, 8 ch. || AU poolverine WITH MUSICAL CLASS? it's... it's beautiful! particularly love the dynamic between Logan and Wade in this one

❗knee deep in this thing called life by @secondbreakfastwizard 86k, 13 ch. || i'm so OBSESSED with this fic, autistic Logan is so dear to me (maybe bc i relate a lot) and these two are so stupidly in love

Complete

🐰 the dollhouse by @kanashikute 4k, OS || love the fluffiness in this fic, love how Logan accept to love, be loved and doesn't left Wade behind UGH they're so cute in this one!!!

❗Pavlov’s Dog by @panties-on-boys 18k, 11 ch. || this is the kind of fiction that obsesses me so much, and i don't even like perfume; it's the most smutty slow burn ever hehe

Girl Dads by @starburstsobsessions 40k, 16 ch. || AU poolverine's fic are fire and this one, THIS ONE, omg! this fic makes my dream (aka seeing dilf! logan) a reality

🐰 Glass Shards by greaserbabes 9k, 2 ch. || always love when Logan and Wade are SO STUPIDLY in love; ngl the scene with the glass shards make me cry every time

You Should Feel My Nature Too by sterlingstars 10k, OS || so uh, i love stripper! Wade okay? it's not really that with this one but it's as good AND wholesome (and spicy too) so yeah

🐰 The Folly Of Playing Gay Chicken Too Hard (Phrasing) by GayLord3000 3k, OS || the domestic fic where Wade is the stupid one, being so stupid in fact it's nearly cost him his relationship with Logan whoops

Love shot by lillygoeson 28k, 6ch. || another bartender! Logan one, but AU no powers AND with a good "twist" in the middle; this fic is so bittersweet and good oml

Don't Want To Be A Fool For You by @cuntylogan 96k, 5 ch. || bartender! Logan who try to fight his addiction (and slowly fall in love) has a special place in my heart, you go boy

❗🐰 This Old House by @twentyghosts 30k, 16 ch. || AU with patient! Wade and handyman! Logan, they fall in love, it's full of angst, fluff, hurt, and with a very cute ending

look at you by @weedwilson 3k, OS || yes it's shameless smut and mirror sex, my beloved... and I LOVE when Logan worshipping Wade this much bc he deserves it

❗🐰 Is It Casual Now? by @twilightkitkat 6k, OS || love this bc i have so many feelings about how the X-Men have treated Logan, i love seeing him stand up for himself **sob**

It's Just Chemistry by @farmhandler 37k, 5 ch. || in the same universe of Come Hell or High Water, there is so... so much angst but it's very good angst!!! still love this specific dynamic

🐰 We Should Just Kiss (Like Real People Do) by @nikaandtea 8k, OS || HOZIER REFERENCE! i'm still so happy when a fic talk about chronic pain combined with domestic bliss i'm totally sold

Night Terrors by educatedwish 50k, 13 ch. || love how Logan is written is this fic, how PTSD messed with his feelings in a serious way... my heart melt every time i read it

❗🐰 Relationship Advice by fir_forest 1k, OS || no but the idea of a fic like a relationship advice post on reddit??? i love this!! short, but sweet and very funny hehe

second nature to me now by @edgebug 36k, OS || a investigation in a gay club??? with my two idiots in love?? and with old gay Logan? i giggled so hard reading this, i LOVE IT

🐰 It Feels Like Home by @twentyghosts 10k, 6 ch. || one of my favorite trope is the 5+1 and this one... my god, right in the feels! so much fluffiness, coziness, it warm my heart

a loaded gun, can't contain this anymore (i'm all yours, i've got no control) by @obihoebikenobi 6k, OS || i have nothing to say other than read the tag hehe! but yeah love the concept, the smut is spicy (always like some focus on the claws)

🐰 stuck by the glue (oh and you) by prngslvr 3k, OS || a good rewriting of (some scenes) from DP&W, and one of my first fluff and non-smut fic that i read after watching the movie!

Let Me Get Back to You by RatFlavored 14k, 2 ch. || pls i want to read more fics with phone sex in it (i know it's specific) but in the meantime, this one is SO good (and full of feels too)

❗Heat of the Moment by @finelydressedspacemen 11k, 4 ch. || non traditional a/b/o my beloved!!! and it's always a little bit satisfying to see Scott mentioned (hehehe the drama)

tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow by signifier 10k, OS || i have a thing for time loop and this kind of fuckery, it's short but good and i love the title it make me chuckles

🐰 Take Me Through the Darkness to the Break of the Day by The_Colour_Yellow 17k, 10 ch. || a very good fic around hanahaki disease with my two favorites idiots??? sign me in! even with so much hurt and angst UGH

Oh, God, I Think I'm Fallin' by @slut-arc 15k, 5 ch. || the return of domestic poolverine and YES I KNOW but it's my weakness... and Logan is so emotionally constipated it's concerning

🐰 Little Reflection by @wickedscribbles 11k, 5ch. || poolverine + cute cat + Logan suffering from anxiety and i'm sold! because ofc Logan is a true and pure cat (and dog) dad

❗i bet we’d have really good come right on me, i mean camaraderie by @notesappwitch 31k, 2 ch. || bodyswap trope, love the character's voice bc it's so on point, very funny, a lot of emotions and the spicy scenes are perfect

the bucket list by @kanashikute 33k, 4 ch. || read this one, please, really, it's so bittersweet BUT i promise there's a good ending (and i cried so much while reading it)

🐰 he’s the headlights, I’m the deer by NatalieK 7k, OS || it's interesting to see Logan's losing his healing factor for once instead of Wade! and seeing Wade taking care of him, my heart

when you get a taste, can you tell me what's my flavor? by @slut-for-a-good-latte 5k, OS || one of my favorite thing with poolverine is psychic/quantum thingy bond because of the Time Ripper and this one DELIVERS!!

🐰 holding out for a hero by @splinnters 6k, 3 ch. || once again, i have a soft spot for Logan trusting Wade so much he called him when something is wrong and this, THIS is good

❗it's all in my head but i want nonfiction by @obihoebikenobi 21k, 3 ch. || Wade pinning x Logan perfectly happy in his relationship with his boyfriend who doesn't know he's his boyfriend it's perfect

🐰 I've got some color back (he thinks so too) by @mid13s 3k, OS || just a short fic with non-sexual intimacy because these two need comfort, hugs and a lot of affection (and the Hozier reference is chef's kiss)

who are you, really? by @edgebug 45k, 4 ch. || the sequel of where soul meets body and it's also an absolutely masterpiece! and still trying to process my feelings for this fic

#deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #deadclaws #wolverine #deadpool #logan howlett #wade wilson #deadpool 3 #poolverine fic #poolverine fics #poolverine fanfiction #poolverine ao3 #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #my faves #fanfic rec #fanfiction recommendation

667 notes · View notes

hoshifighting · 6 months ago

Text

minghao + telepathic sex

— you give a try to the soulmate meditation, finding minghao inside the meditation, the barista that you meet everyday before work.

WARNINGS: +18, smut, spiritual setting, another dimension experience, mentions of aura (minghao's aura), destinity, soulmates plot, fingering, doubled sensations, mentions of fluids (oil, cum/precum).

[my spiritualist ass needed to write something like this]

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

you’re sitting on your bed, lights off, laptop open, the screen way too bright in the dark room. your friend’s words still echoing in your head, “just try it, y/n. i swear, it’ll change your life.” and you rolled your eyes so hard when she said it, the thought of meditating to a youtube video making you scoff. but now, after a brutal day at work, your head spinning with numbers, deadlines, and your boss breathing down your neck, you figured what the hell. couldn’t be worse than staring at the ceiling and drowning in your thoughts all night, right?

so, here you are, headphones on, listening to this soft, whispery voice telling you to breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. you do it, even though it feels a bit stupid. the voice is saying something about connecting with your inner self or some other woo-woo shit, and you kind of tune it out, focusing more on the slow inhale, exhale.

but then, something shifts. like, for real. your body feels lighter, like you're floating, and your limbs start tingling. your brain’s screaming okay, this is weird, stop, but your body’s already in, pulled deeper into whatever this trance is. it’s like you blink, and suddenly, you're not in your room anymore. everything is... different.

it’s not dark, not light, just this weird in-between, and there’s this warm glow in front of you. the air smells different too, fresh and kind of sweet, like those damn essential oils your friend swears by. it feels real, but not? you glance down at yourself, and yep, still you. but your feet are moving like you’re not the one telling them to, dragging you closer to this light.

and then you see him.

at first, it’s just a silhouette. a tall, lean figure surrounded by this soft, white aura. your heart does that thing where it skips a beat—because, like, wtf is happening—but you keep moving. something about him pulls you in, despite the knot twisting in your gut.

as you get closer, you can see him more clearly. his hair’s a soft, burnt orange, strands almost glowing like they’re lit from within. the kind of hair you’d probably spend hours trying to replicate at the salon, but never really get right. and his face... god, his face. sharp, but soft in all the right places. it’s minghao. minghao? of all people? the dude you’ve seen in the cafeteria, that does your ''the usual'' everyday before work?

you freeze. not because you’re scared—well, maybe a little—but more because what the actual hell. is this meditation or did you fall asleep and end up in some kind of fever dream?

“you good?” his voice cuts through the fog, smooth, with that laid-back vibe he always carries. he’s looking right at you now, dark eyes catching yours, like he’s not even fazed by the fact that you just appeared out of nowhere.

you blink. “uh... what is this?”

he laughs, low and lazy, like you’re the one who’s being weird. “soulmate meditation, right?”

you feel your face heat up. oh, fuck no. “don’t tell me you watch those too.”

you stand there, still not quite sure if you’re dreaming or if this is actually happening, when minghao steps even closer. his energy is calm but intense at the same time, and it’s making your body buzz, like the air between you is charged with something you don’t understand. you can feel your feet getting heavier, like the ground itself is trying to pull you down, almost glitching beneath you.

minghao shrugs, the motion casual, like none of this is a big deal. “i don’t need to,” he says softly, not looking at you but feeling everything. his fingers brush against yours, and it’s such a light touch, but it sends sparks up your arm. “you can feel it, can’t you?”

you don’t answer, too caught up in the dimension. it’s like your body knows more than your brain does, and suddenly, you’re aware of every sensation, every beat of your heart, every breath.

“don’t freak out,” he murmurs, his hand sliding into yours fully now. “it’s just the energy here. you’re fine.”

yeah, right, you think. totally fine. but the way his hand fits around yours, it’s like he’s grounding you, keeping you from slipping through the cracks in reality.

“relax,” he whispers, his thumb stroking your palm lightly. “relax your shoulders, your jaw... even your eyebrows. you’re holding everything so tight.”

his touch is steady, calming, and without even realizing it, your shoulders start to drop, your jaw unclenches, and the tension in your forehead eases.

you huff, rolling your eyes, but you do it anyway, letting out a long breath. “i didn’t even know i was that tense.”

minghao chuckles, the sound easy, and you can feel it in your chest. “i could tell. your body’s giving you away.”

you shoot him a glare, but there’s no bite to it, not really.

but he’s right. you’re so damn tense, always are. work, life, all of it piles up until your body’s like a coiled spring, and he noticed on the cafeteria, he did, and here, same thing, and you don’t even notice it anymore. but here, with him, it’s like all of that just melts away. you don’t even know how it’s possible, but you feel... lighter. freer.

he tilts his head, eyes locking with yours, and there’s something in the way he’s looking at you that makes your stomach flip. “you know,” he starts, his voice dropping to a soft murmur, “there’s a better way to relax... here too”

your breath catches in your throat, he’s not just talking about meditation anymore—no, there’s a shift in the air, something heavier tugging at your sacral chackra.

“oh yeah?” you ask, your voice coming out a little breathless, even though you try to play it cool. “and what’s that?”

minghao’s smile is slow, he leans in, close enough that his breath brushes your skin, his body lightweight, moving like an angel. “you’ll feel it. just... let go.”

you don’t even have time to respond before his lips are on yours, soft and dense, and everything around you dissolves. the world, this dimension, the ground beneath your feet—it all fades until there’s nothing but him, his mouth, his hands, the heat radiating from his body.

and it’s not just a kiss. no, it’s like every sensation is magnified, doubled, like your nerves are on fire. his hand slides up your arm, leaving a trail of warmth, and when his fingers dig into your waist, you gasp into his mouth, clutching at his shoulders because suddenly, you’re not sure if your legs are going to hold you up.

he pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, “see? just like that. relax.”

your brain’s spinning, but your body’s already giving in, sinking into the feeling of his touch, the heat building between you. you’ve never felt anything like this—like your body is hypersensitive.

minghao’s hands are everywhere now, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. you’re pressed against him, and the way his body feels, hard and warm against yours, only makes the tension inside you snap, releasing in waves of need.

his mouth moves to your neck, lips trailing down, sucking lightly, and your head falls back, a soft moan slipping out before you can stop it. it’s like every touch is amplified, like your body is more in tune with his than it’s ever been with anyone else.

“you’re doing good,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and breathy. “just let go.”

and you do. fuck, you do. your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as his mouth works its way down your throat. the heat between your legs is building, and it’s so intense, like nothing you’ve felt before. everything’s heightened—the way his fingers dig into your skin, the way his breath feels against your neck, the way his body presses against yours.

his hands slide lower, gripping your ass and pulling you flush against him. you can feel him hard against your thigh, and a low groan escapes him as he grinds against you. making you call for him.

he cuts you off with another kiss, this one rougher, more desperate, and you can feel the need radiating off of him in spirals. it’s like the air between you is droning, the energy from before now crackling with something more carnal, mundane, something that’s pulling you both under.

“you want this?” he asks, his eyes dark and filled with warmth as he pulls back just enough to look at you.

you don’t even hesitate. “yes.”

everything’s blurred, time slipping away as the two of you become a mess of tangled limbs, moans, and desperate touches. and fuck, it feels good.

you don’t even remember how it happened—one second, you were both tangled in each other, grinding and gasping like it was the only thing keeping you alive, and then, somehow, without even realizing, you were both naked—were you naked form the very beginning?

skin against skin, slick and slippery with something that felt almost like oil, but thicker, warmer, making your bodies glide against each other with every touch. you couldn’t even focus, too caught up in the way minghao’s mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking slow, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

his teeth grazed lightly over your nipple, and you gasped, back arching up, pressing yourself harder against his mouth. your hand was wrapped around his cock, your fingers curling around the thick, bulbous head, and the way he twitched in your grip made your own heat pool between your legs, soaking your thighs in a way that felt obscene.

he moved lower, trailing kisses down your stomach. you could feel every inch of him, the warmth of his breath, the slickness of your own sweat mixing with whatever was coating your bodies, making each touch feel like it was magnified, like it was burning into your skin.

“this... feels insane,” you whispered, your voice trembling, not just from the pleasure but from vibrations. every sound, every moan, every gasp echoed in the strange, otherworldly space you were in, bouncing off the walls—or maybe it was just the ground? you weren’t sure anymore. the whole place felt like it was vibrating, like your moans were traveling through the very air, rippling through the dimensions and coming back to you in curls. it was dizzying, overwhelming, and it made the heat between your legs pulse harder.

his fingers slid down between your thighs, finding your clit with a kind of confidence that made your head spin, like he belonged his, like he knew everything. his touch was light at first, just barely grazing the swollen bud, but still made you shake like he’d shocked you. your hips bucked instinctively, chasing the friction, and minghao’s breath hitched, a soft chuckle escaping him as his fingers pressed down a little harder.

“relax,” he whispered, guiding your hips down, his other hand gripping your waist, “you’re so tense. just let me do it.”

his fingers circled your clit in slow, teasing motions, not enough to send you over the edge but enough to make you ache, the need building inside of you until it felt like you were going to burst. every flick of his fingers made your whole body shudder, the sound of your slick echoing in the space around you, loud and obscene, like the wet slap of your skin against his was the only thing that mattered.

“fuck, minghao,” you moaned, your voice coming out in a broken gasp, the sound vibrating through the air, making everything feel more intense. the ground beneath you seemed to pulse with the rhythm of your bodies, every sound amplified, the wetness of your slick mixing with his groans, creating this heated, filthy symphony of pleasure.

“good girl,” he muttered, voice low and rough, fingers sliding lower to tease at your entrance before plunging inside. you cried out, the feeling so intense it almost knocked the breath from your lungs. his fingers stretched you, curling just right, finding that spot inside of you that made your legs tremble.

the sensation was heightened, doubled somehow, like you could feel every single ridge of his fingers inside of you, the way they twisted and stroked, pulling moans from your lips like he was playing an instrument. “just like that,” he breathed, his voice guiding you, his other hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your other nipple. “relax into it. let go.”

you did. you let go of everything—the stress, the tension, the worries. it all melted away under the touch of his hands, the press of his body against yours, the sound of your wet skin slapping together. he was moving faster now, his fingers thrusting inside of you with a steady rhythm, and you could feel your orgasm building, that tight coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter.

“minghao—i’m close, i-i can feel it, oh my god!” you gasped, your hips moving on their own, grinding against his hand, desperate for release.

he smirked, leaning down to press his lips to your ear. “come for me. let it all go.”

coil snapped, and your orgasm ripped through you, so intense that you screamed, the sound echoing in the space around you, bouncing back at you like a thousand voices crying out in unison.

your whole body shook, and you could feel minghao’s fingers still working inside of you, drawing out every last bit of your orgasm, coaxing it from you until you were a quivering body.

the sounds of your slick, of his hand sliding against your skin, filled the space, amplified by whatever dimension you were in. it was all so wet, so filthy, and yet it felt like everything you needed, everything you’d been holding in for so long.

when it was over, you collapsed back against the ground—if it was ground at all—your body boneless, your mind hazy with the aura of your orgasm. minghao pulled his fingers out of you slowly, carefully, and you could feel the wetness dripping down your thighs, soaking into whatever surface you were on.

he laid down beside you, pulling you close, and you could feel his warmth, his steady breathing, his presence grounding you again. your body felt heavy, but not in a bad way—it was the kind of heaviness that comes with complete release, with finally letting go of everything.

“how do you feel?” minghao asked softly, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin.

you smiled, eyes already drooping closed, exhaustion pulling you under. “better. so much better.”

he chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, making your view blur a little. “good. now sleep.”

and you did, falling into a deep, dreamless slumber, your body completely relaxed, every bit of tension gone. all that was left was minghao’s warmth, his soft breathing, and the sound of your own heartbeat slowing as you drifted off into the most peaceful sleep you’d ever had.

— // next morning // —

you stumble into the cafeteria, still buzzing from whatever the hell last night was. it’s like you can’t shake the feeling, like it’s clinging to your skin, still there in the way your body feels light but also charged with something—missing something? your head’s all over the place, replaying those moments from the trance, that other dimension—or whatever the hell you wanna call it. but you need coffee, you’re exhausted, barely slept after the... experience, and you’re kinda hoping a caffeine hit will bring you back to reality.

and that’s when you see him. minghao. standing right at the counter like he always does, casual as anything. except something inside you twists the second your eyes land on him. it’s like your body knows before your brain does, the way your stomach flips, the way your breath catches. no. no way. he can’t know, right? you try to shake the thought, telling yourself it was just a dream or something. maybe your imagination is screwing with you, making you see connections that aren’t there.

but then he glances up, meeting your eyes for a split second before he looks back down at the coffee machine. “the usual?” he asks before you even have a chance to say anything, like he already knew.

your heart skips a beat, but you try to play it cool. “yeah... thanks,” you mutter, hoping your voice doesn’t sound as shaky as it feels.

while you’re waiting, you can’t help but sneak glances at him. he’s just standing there, doing his thing, but every now and then, his eyes flicker up to you, just for a second, like he’s watching you too. and it’s making you paranoid, like he knows. like he was there. but that’s impossible, right?

the coffee’s ready in no time, and you step up to grab it. your hand curls around the cup, but just as you’re about to lift it, minghao’s hand comes down too, his fingers brushing over yours. the touch makes you freeze, way too similar to the way his fingers had felt last night, the way he had— okay okay, calm down.

“you look well-rested,” he says, voice low, hardly audible over the hum of the cafeteria. his thumb strokes the back of your hand, subtly. “i hope it helped... relaxing like that.”

your heart slams in your chest, and for a second, you freeze. you can’t even speak, your mind going blank as his words hit you. he knows. there’s no way he doesn’t know. the way he said it, the look in his eyes—it’s like he’s toying with you, like he’s waiting for you to admit it.

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. your eyes are wide, staring at him in shock, and minghao’s smirk widens just a little, like he’s enjoying the way you’re reacting.

then, without breaking eye contact, he adds, “are you gonna meet me again?” minghao asks, his voice dropping even lower, his lips quirking into a knowing smirk. “there… or maybe here?” he points to the counter, as if meanings, real life.

you can feel the heat creeping up your neck, your mind still spinning from everything. he knows. he fucking knows. and the way he’s looking at you right now, there’s no mistaking it.

you swallow hard, trying to compose yourself, but all you can manage is a small nod. minghao just chuckles softly, his fingers giving yours a little squeeze before he finally lets go of the cup. “good. i’ll see you soon then.”

462 notes · View notes

zorostitties · 1 month ago

Text

Aurora; 9 (m)

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

In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: angst, romance, slow burn, eventual smut

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

rating: 18+

word count: 11k oof

A/N: HELLO GUYS!!!! Ooof I rushed to finish this one and it got SO FUCKING LOOONG. It took a little longer than expected, but as I said on Tumblr, my pregnant sister was hospitalized this week. Not only did I accompany her hospitalization but I was also not in the mood to write lol but everything is fine now! She was discharged and the baby is safe. My lil niece wanted to be a pisces real bad for some reason lmaooo not yet bbygirl stay there a little longer 🤚 Also!!!!! Dear reader Em made this incredible art of Ruby!! I got so shocked what 😭😭 someone was willing to make art of a fic of mine?? That's so cool!! Ruby looks so hot in their interpretation!! EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU EM 🫂🫂🫂 @anesthesia-4rizzle Anyways, let me shut up this chapter is already long enough lol Enjoy!! <3

⤕ Masterlist ⤕ Also on AO3 ⤕ Playlist

The scepter was lifeless yet again when you took it in your hands.

You didn’t really want to, scared of it starting to burn once again. Now that adrenaline had completely ran off, you understood that Alucard was right; you had, in fact, some sort of fever. Your forehead was covered by a thin layer of sweat and you felt unexpectedly hot, given the chilly night air. Your limbs also felt strangely weak as if you’d done some tiring exercise.

And your chest…

You remembered how your chest – your heart – seemed to burn with these three dead vampires, too. Burning you from within.

You wondered if you’d have burned with them if you kept holding it for much longer.

To your great relief, nothing strange happened when you touched the scepter again. It was exactly on the same spot you had dropped it.

Alucard knelt down near the burnt bodies. Smoke still steamed from them. He had a deep, serious frown in his face.

“Did you read the inscriptions of the scepter out loud?” He asked. You shook your head.

“No.” You looked down as Alucard got up and approached you again. “I didn’t do anything. I was just… scared. And angry.”

Alucard observed the scepter with the same frown. He touched the sun symbol softly.

“It’s still warm.” He mumbled to himself. “This scepter, for some reason, seems to be reacting to your feelings.”

You lifted your gaze to his face for the first time in a surprised expression.

That made a lot of sense.

You were frightened when you first held it. Your head was running with similar intense emotions when this strange reaction happened again. Maybe he was right… the scepter needed to be fueled by strong emotions to release its magic, whatever it was. Perhaps it didn’t even need to be you specifically, but anyone going through something similar.

You inhaled before asking – and Heavens, were you tired of asking this same question over and over again:

“Do you have any idea of what might’ve happened?”

You weren’t brave enough to look down at the corpses again, but Alucard got the message.

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment; his shoulders dropped a bit as he crossed his arms. He looked frustrated.

“I hate not knowing what’s happening as much as you do,” he confessed. “But this doesn’t feel like Speaker magic, although we’ll have to check with a real Speaker before jumping to conclusions. And it’s not fire, either.” He pressed his lips together in a thoughtful expression. “It is Sun. The scepter either has the ability to somehow store sunlight, or it can replicate it.”

You nodded. There was no other explanation: the vampires burned as if they were, indeed, standing under the sunlight. You had seen Richter’s fire magic; although it was unnaturally blue, his flames weren’t different from regular fire. They burned, but they didn’t provide light as much as the scepter did at that moment.

Alucard held his chin. He looked at nowhere in particular.

“Sekhmet is the daughter of the Egyptian Sun god, Amun-Ra. She’s related to the Sun in many ways.”

You looked down at the scepter again.

“Do you think this belonged to her?”

He narrowed his eyes. “It doesn’t look Egyptian. You didn’t find it at the Egyptian gallery, either. Though it might not mean much, since the palace wasn’t all too well organized.” He dropped his arms to the sides of his body once again. “Didn’t you say you were translating the writings to our alphabet? Can I have a look at it?”

You hesitated.

The paper was safely folded and stored inside the pocket of your vest. It was the first thing you took from the floor as soon as you stepped into the alley. You wrote it with the intention of Alucard reading it in the first place.

And yet – you didn’t want to show it anymore. At least not at that moment.

Your mind was burning, and it had nothing to do with magic this time. You were overwhelmed by a number of different things; the strong emotions you felt, this new discovery involving the scepter, the sheer frustration of not knowing exactly was going on with you…

...And the hug. Heavens, the hug.

You had stopped crying. Adrenaline had ran off. Now you could think with clarity – and the more you thought about the intimacy you shared with Alucard mere minutes ago, the more embarrassed you felt. Not because you didn’t like it… well, perhaps you felt this way because you liked it.

Why were you feeling that way? It wasn’t the first time Alucard witnessed your vulnerability first hand. Oh… in fact, that was the reason. He had witnessed this vulnerability too many times in the span of 24 hours.

You felt weak. You felt like a nuisance. You felt like a child that had to be taken care of constantly.

That is not how you wanted Alucard – or anyone for that matter – to perceive you. But how could that be different when all you did the entire time you’d met them was getting hurt?

You desperately needed to avert his attention elsewhere. You needed him to stop looking at you for a moment, to focus somewhere else; you wanted to slide away from his view, to be nothing but an afterthought at the back of his mind. His gentle gaze burned. His soft touch burned. His scent which already permeated your clothes burned. Everything about him burned.

It burned in a different way than it did with Drolta or Erzsebet, however – because you didn’t hate him. Not at all. Alucard had shown nothing but respect and worry towards you.

And yet, it burned anyway, was overwhelming anyway, and that was disorienting. That was scary. You didn’t feel like you had the right to like it.

So you avoided his gaze once again and held the scepter tightly.

“Did everything go well with the Revolutionary Commune?” You asked in a quiet voice.

“...Yes,” Alucard clearly did not understand why you changed subjects so suddenly.

You nodded. “So I think this can wait for now. Can’t it?”

Alucard hesitated once again. “Ruby…”

“Please.” You reunited all of your will to not sound fragile anymore. You were tired of being fragile. “Erzsebet and her army are coming to Paris. This entire city needs to prepare. I know you already wasted way too much time with me. We should focus on what’s more important now.”

“You’re not a waste of time, Ruby.”

Your heart tightened.

Please, don’t be so kind to me. Don’t make me feel this way right now.

“B-But I’m right anyway. You know I’m right. Whatever is going on with me or this scepter – it’s not relevant anymore, not now that they retrieved the mummy.”

He kept silent for long seconds, which made you hold your breath with apprehension. Finally, Alucard sighed.

“Alright. We should go.” You almost sighed in relief. “Their headquarters have plenty of accommodations where you can rest in–“

“No!”

You finally looked at him again. You didn’t expect to blurt that out like this, but it escaped anyway. Alucard quirked one eyebrow up. You already felt heat creep in your cheeks.

“I don’t want to rest, I want to help. I’m not tired.”

He tilted his head to the side only slightly. A tiny, not-so-focused part of your brain remarked that this little quirk of his made him look like a curious owl. “You haven’t slept properly in three days and you have a high fever.”

“You haven’t slept, either. And the fever’s cooling down.” Why did they still insist in worrying about your physical condition? You shook your leg impatiently. “There must be something I can do, right? Anything.”

Anything to stop me from thinking about my healing condition and my unknown past and this strange scepter and my fear of being taken by Drolta again and remembering my old scars and to stop myself from wishing you’d hug me again right now and never let me go.

Alucard didn’t look sure about that yet.

You felt apprehensive and nervous and impatient.

You scooped the floor with your eyes quickly. Stepping away for a moment, you grabbed something on the floor before running towards him again.

You lifted the red string to his eye level.

“Do you still have yours?”

Alucard blinked. Then, he let another tired sigh and… smiled. That tiny smile he let slip when he thought you were acting funny.

He took his piece of red string from inside his coat.

“Care to help?”

You leaned the scepter on your chest, letting it go for a while, and took the string in your hands. You tied it around his right wrist while remembering that he could tie it himself very well – he had shown he could before – but chose to ask for help anyway and- well I guess this doesn’t mean anything.

Alucard tied your red string around your right wrist, too.

He held it softly for a second longer than necessary.

“If you feel anything strange, let me know.” Alucard asked. You nodded.

“I will.”

He patted your shoulder softly. “Come on.”

You followed him shortly, relieved that he wasn’t looking at you anymore – and, at the same time, desperately wishing he was.

In less than two hours, the peaceful Parisian night descended into chaos.

Multiple guards ran through the streets on horseback, spreading the warning in loud voices, awakening the citizens from their sleep. Windows and doors were opened, confused and dazed heads peeking from them, trying to understand what was happening. The urgency of their voices made hearts beat faster and apprehension fill the air. Husbands locked their wives inside their houses; mothers tried to calm down their scared children.

Their message was clear: every healthy man was being summoned to defend the city.

Soon, the Place de la Concorde was packed with a confused crowd. They wore a strange mix of pajamas and coats to protect them from the chilly night air; most faces, still puffy from sleep. Confused and anxious conversations hovered over the crowd. Mere hours ago, the last king of France had been executed on that same square. The platform of the guillotine was still set up. No one expected that another historical – and apocalyptical – event would unravel so soon.

At last, Robespierre stood up on the platform, and the entire crowd went silent. You didn’t know exactly who that man was, but he was certainly very respected.

“My brothers and sisters,” he started, his voice rising over any other. “I summoned you all here tonight to bring appalling news. Yesterday, we won one more battle against the monarchy that chained us under their feet for years. Today, we face another great enemy. Our city is being threatened by foreign forces that want to lock us in chains once again…”

You doubted this Robespierre had any idea of who Erszebet Bathory truly was, but he wasn’t far from the truth… at least when it came down to you. The most positive side of you hoped the Vampire Messiah would forget about you now that she retrieved Sekhmet’s mummy (as morbid and wrong as it sounded), but another part of you was almost certain that she wouldn’t… be it for a plausible reason or her plain possessiveness over you. Erzsebet didn’t like to lose anything. She was like a spoiled kid who never let go of her favorite toy… and you’d been Erzsebet’s favorite toy for as long as you could remember.

You zoned out for a moment, not paying attention to much of Robespierre’s speech. Every pair of eyes was focused on him. Men and women, curious teenagers, homeless children – in fact, there were homeless people of all ages… their eyes filled with growing apprehension and fear of the menace the man on the platform described. If Erzsebet and her court succeeded, there were little chances of hope for them. Erzsebet would rejoice in their fear. She would bathe in the blood spilled. She would murder the ones she deemed unattractive and feed on the women she deemed attractive; she would “share” with her court. She would turn the ones she deemed worthy into vampires against their will. The men would either serve as entertainment or as slaves for manpower. Then, the ones that survived would learn to not fight and not scream and not cry.

You knew the patterns very well.

No one should go through any of that. As much as you wished peace for yourself, as much as the incoming battle frightened you – the mere idea of being anywhere near Erzsebet or Drotla again and the understanding that they could and would take you back if everyone failed made your limbs go cold -, there was another feeling growing within you, too.

Anger.

It had always been there. Every second in Erzsebet’s presence was torture. You never respected her. You never felt any sympathy for her. You never thought she had any sort of quality at all. You knew that there was a time when your quarters were a literal cell in her palace’s underground, your clothes were rags, your food was just bread and water if there was any food at all. When you became docile and Erzsebet granted you privileges – a proper room, good food, beautiful gowns and jewels, compliments and compliments – your anger towards her did not decrease one bit. You never felt blessed or thankful over any of those “privileges”.

You were always so busy trying to simply survive the torture that this fire didn’t have time to spread. Three days away from them was all it took for it to burn in every corner of your soul.

You weren’t just angry. No, you hated her. Hated them. Every vampire from her court was as awful as her. You hated their smell and you hated how they had no respect for human life and you hated their pompous attires and parties and you hated the fact that you had to sit and watch as they killed hundreds of innocent humans in front of you, not having the power to do anything to stop them.

They had to pay.

You weren’t as strong as Annette or Richter or Alucard. You didn’t even know how to hold a bayonet or wield a sword. And yet, if there was anything you could do to help these people defeat her army, then you would.

“…We will not subject to anyone who wants to imprison us!” Robespierre boasted. The crowd cheered; fear and apprehension were replaced by rage and motivation in front of your eyes as the man’s speech progressed. Fists raised in the air, screams and whistles of support popped here and there. “We will not allow any self proclaimed queen to sit on a throne atop of us again! We will not allow anyone to take our liberty away from us!”

Robespierre made a long pause, eyeing the crowd in all directions. It seemed that everyone held their breaths in anticipation.

Then – he raised his fist in the air.

“This self proclaimed queen will feel the taste of our iron and the weight of our freedom! Woe to the one that stands in our way. We will fight!”

The crowd exploded in cheers.

More and more fists raised in the air, mirroring their leader. Vive la Révolution!, they chanted.

You had to admit – Robespierre was great at giving speeches. You felt motivated yourself.

A sigh by your side caught your attention.

Alucard didn’t look very impressed. His golden eyes were as hard as stone. Underneath the severity of his expression, you also saw a slight hint of annoyance.

“What’s the problem?” You asked hesitantly.

Alucard took a second to answer. He narrowed his eyes.

“I just don’t appreciate hypocrisy.” It didn’t look like he wanted to elaborate on that statement. “Come. We have to act before the heat of the speech vanishes.”

Indeed – the “heat” of the speech spread like true fire through the city, being carried by anyone that witnessed it. The Revolutionary Army took the lead, its generals reuniting to trace defensive strategies.

And yet, none of these generals seemed to have the same level of authority Alucard had.

You watched from the back of the room, almost hidden (yes, you said you wanted to help, but at that moment you were the only woman present in the middle of soldiers and that was quite uncomfortable because you attracted a lot of attention for some reason) as all these generals listened to anything Alucard had to say. You didn’t know exactly what the white-haired vampire had done to gain their respect so quickly, but apparently, his first introduction left quite the impression.

Alucard was soft spoken. He didn’t raise his voice in any moment, keeping the same usual quiet but deep and husky tone – and that seemed to be much more effective than screaming, because it forced everyone else to be quiet. Whenever he spoke up, silence filled the room. It seemed no one had the courage to argue with him, though everything Alucard proposed was highly intelligent and you’d have to be a fool to disagree.

You doubted any of these men had been in the presence of a vampire before. Probably never talked to one, at least. However, it seemed that everyone understood that they weren’t talking to a simple man. Standing in the middle of these humans, it became even more clear how Alucard stood out, and not just in appearance. That was the intellect and way of speaking of a person that had lived much, much longer than the human brain could process. It seemed that everyone could feel it, even if they didn’t know Alucard’s true age. He exuded quiet authority, unyielding and highly intelligent. Once again, it reminded you of a mountain. It is silent, has been there for thousands of years; no one can move it.

Alucard looked very noble.

You remembered Richter’s words at the forest. Well, he does look like a prince.

You were glad his attention wasn’t upon you at that moment. You wouldn’t have been able to hide your awe very well if it was.

Around an hour later, the soldiers left the building to spread the strategies. What they needed the most, counting on the collaboration of every citizen:

Salt.

A lot of salt.

Sacks, boxes and buckets of salt were brought to the streets. The army provided weapons – swords, knives, rifles, gunpowder, bayonets and even cannons which were carried to the entries of the city. Every weapon should be wiped with salt.

You busied yourself with that.

Without asking permission, you knelt down in front of a crate full of swords, pulled a bucket of salt closer and started the process of applying salt to the blades. Then, you put the “salted” ones into another empty crate.

It was an obvious task, but it ended up calling more attention than you expected… maybe because, again, there weren’t many other women around the headquarters of the Revolutionary Commune. Most women and children were being led to the outskirts of the city or locked inside houses that had basements as part of the evacuation tactics. You vehemently ignored the looks sent in your direction and just kept working.

Some moments later, you noticed that a young man started imitating you. He sat on the sidewalk and took a crate of weapons himself.

And then another man joined.

And then an older woman.

You heard her husband try to shush her back home, but she sent him an annoyed look.

“I won’t sit down and watch everyone fight. If there’s something I can do, then I’ll do it.” She retorted. He wasn’t brave enough to argue with her any further.

You were glad someone else shared this feeling.

It seemed to awaken some sort of camaraderie in that street, at least. Before, only the men that intended to fight were busy with the preparations. Then, you started to notice more people joining in; women and elders. They brought water, food, fruits, helped carrying crates from place to place.

Hours went by. You busied yourself with many other tasks after all the weapons were ready. The situation was beyond serious, but it was… nice. It was nice to be so busy doing something that you didn’t notice hours passing by. It was nice to help others. It was nice to not feel so useless for once. Under imprisonment, you didn’t have much to do other than sleeping. You weren’t used to this feeling of being so focused on a task that you could somehow brush your worries to the farthest corner of your mind, at least for some hours.

The sky got clear, but there was still much to be done. You only stopped for some minutes to eat an apple before going back to work.

“Aren’t you tired, mademoiselle?” One of the soldiers asked. He was probably around Richter’s age, which made you remember him and hope he was safe – but the similarities stopped there. This boy, Henri, was shorter and not even close to being as muscular as the Belmont. Curly ginger hair fell over his forehead; his fair skin was peppered by freckles.

“I’m fine. Thank you for worrying,” you dismissed politely.

“Are you sure?” Another young soldier asked; his name was… Charles? Yes, you thought that was it. His hair was black and he was a tiny bit taller than Henri. “You’ve been working the entire night, mademoiselle. You should rest.”

“I don’t get tired easily,” you dismissed again, smiling awkwardly.

“Do you want water? Do you want to eat?” Another soldier asked… what was his name? You didn’t remember this one. “Please, if you need anything at all, let me know.”

“L-Let me know, too,” Henri, the ginger, intervened. Why did he send this other soldier a slightly annoyed look? “Actually, I asked her first.”

“And? I’m just worried about mademoiselle’s well being.”

“I am more worried than you are.”

“I doubt it.”

You slipped away from them quietly before they could notice.

Well.

The men here seemed to be very eager to protect you.

All the attention you were receiving was awkward. You weren’t used to so many people wanting to talk to you. Especially not men. Erzsebet never let any men get too close to you for some reason. The guards that kept your quarters and dragged you to places weren’t allowed to talk to you.

These soldiers were… nice in an odd way.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to consider the intentions behind their kindness, because every time you looked at them, you thought of how low their chances of survival were.

You knew Erzsebet’s forces. She had many powerful vampires under her control, not to mention the night creatures. The Vampire Messiah herself was enough of a threat; whenever she summoned Sekhmet, it seemed that air got heavier, as if the atmosphere around her submitted to her power. You couldn’t even imagine how powerful she would be after reuniting with the second half of her soul…

The human forces, on the other hand…

A bunch of civilians wearing soldier uniforms didn’t make them real soldiers. And in between the soldiers, there were barely any warriors. Warriors have expertise in real battle. Warriors carry in their eyes and in their postures the readiness to kill – not because they like it, but because they understand that in order to keep, sometimes you have to take. A real warrior is easily spotted in a crowd.

Other than Alucard? There were barely any.

You doubted many of these men had ever killed a chicken, let alone a vampire.

You tried to be positive, but it was impossible as you distributed more uniforms on the street and analyzed the “soldiers”. A big line was formed in front of you. Smiley man after smiley man. You handed them the uniforms, trying to smile back, but it was quite impossible. Not muscular enough. Not enough callouses. This man is frightened. This man has no idea what he’s getting himself into. This man has awful posture. This man won’t last a second in the battlefield. This man… why did he wink at me?

It was so, so bad.

Maybe if the city had time to actually prepare, to reunite a real army instead of counting on its citizens last minute… maybe they’d have a chance then. Hell, you were trying to be positive, trying to not be frightened, but it was getting hard…

The sound of someone cleaning their throat caught your attention.

You lifted your gaze once again to an unknown man. He was short, wore simple clothes and had a lot of hair missing… but a kind smile adorned his features – kinder than most of the men that stood in front of you, actually.

You forced yourself to smile back and handed him another uniform. The man took it in his hands and inhaled.

“Mademoiselle,” he started, and it somehow caught the attention of the other men that stood nearby. None of them had really spoken to you, just resigning themselves to saying ‘thank you’ and leaving the line. “Y-Your efforts into helping all of us and your kind smile will be what fuels my courage in the battle to come.”

Completely taken by surprise, you froze and stared at him for some seconds.

“Uh… thank you,” your smile got awkward again. Why was everyone looking at you? That wasn’t very comfortable. “I-I mean– I am glad to be an incentive for you to fight, b-but your biggest motive should be to protect your freedom, isn’t it?”

The man got speechless for some reason.

Oh. Maybe I should’ve kept my mouth shut.

You already felt your fingers shaking and your heart beating faster with embarrassment–

“Beautiful!”

What?

Another man behind in line said loudly. Why were his eyes glowing as he looked at you?

“Beautiful words!” He started clapping.

What?

“You are right, mademoiselle! What encouraging words!” Another man boasted.

“We are fighting for the liberty of our country!”

“Vive la Révolution!”

And then they were all chanting with their fists in the air.

You stood there with your mouth opened, not understanding what the hell just happened. Beautiful words? Weren’t you stating the obvious? You just wanted to take his attention away from you. Why did they all get so excited all of sudden?

What was wrong with these men?

But then, a familiar voice caught your attention, making you forget about the entire embarrassing situation completely.

Richter’s voice.

You turned around to see him and Annette approaching at fast steps.

Immediate relief washed over your body.

You looked around. The line was still pretty long… oh! There was Henri. You waved at him, and the boy approached like an excited puppy. “Would you take my place? Thank you,” you didn’t wait for him to reply, however, not did you notice that the other men waiting in line didn’t really like that you ran away from your position.

You met each other on the sidewalk.

“Are you guys okay? Did you get hurt?” You blurted out immediately as soon as you got close enough. Both of them looked tired, but other than that, no injuries.

“How are you asking that?” Richter seemed to be in disbelief. “Last time we saw you, you were bleeding to death. Are you okay?”

You instinctively looked down at your own body and extended your arms, as if to show them that there were no wounds.

“I’ve healed,” you said with simplicity. Because it was that simple, and you didn’t understand why they didn’t understand that yet.

It didn’t seem to ease any of Annette’s guilt.

That was what you wanted the least.

The girl in yellow dropped her shoulders, the corners of her mouth turned downwards.

“I am so sorry, Ruby,” her voice was somewhat shy. “Because of me, you got hurt. I… I should’ve been more careful…”

She looked up at you again when you rested your hand on her shoulder hesitantly.

You weren’t good with physical touch, but that seemed appropriate at the moment.

“That’s not what happened.” You started in a calm voice. In fact, that was the most level headed you’ve ever heard yourself… where was that coming from? “I jumped in front of you because I didn’t want you to get hurt. I did it. There’s nothing to feel guilty about.”

Annette seemed a bit surprised by your actions. Well, you were surprised, too. But it seemed to ease whatever she was feeling, even if just a bit; she managed to offer you a tiny smile.

Richter put his hands on each side of his waist and looked around with a frown. “The city is in chaos. What happened?”

“Robespierre called for all citizens to join battalions in their neighborhoods.”

This new voice startled you slightly.

You hadn’t noticed Alucard approaching. You knew he was close – in fact, he stood somewhere around you the entire time; Alucard himself was too busy, but he was always somewhere in your field of view, although you didn’t really interact the entire time.

“Legions of volunteers are taking positions around the city,” he concluded. It was interesting how his voice became just a tiny bit less dull now compared to when he talked to soldiers or other unknown people.

“Do you think they’re ready for what’s coming?” Richter asked.

Alucard hesitated.

You exchanged a knowing look.

They weren’t. He knew it. You knew it. But… that was all you had for now.

He looked back at Richter with his eyebrows slightly turned upwards. “...An impassioned speech can make even the weakest man believe he’s brave.”

There was no better way to describe the current situation.

Richter and Annette eyed each other. The Belmont boy seemed to hesitate for a moment and cleared his throat as if building up courage – and then you remembered that the last time he saw Alucard, they weren’t exactly on good terms.

“So… I know things didn’t work out at the Louvre, but maybe all isn’t lost.”

Alucard quirked one eyebrow up. You held your breath in anticipation.

“I have a plan, and I think it’s going to work,” it was Annette’s turn to speak.

“If we work together,” Richter concluded.

The white-haired vampire observed them in silence for some moments, while the three of you looked at him in anticipation back.

Finally, he closed his eyes for a moment and nodded.

“Very well. What’s your plan?”

The Tailleur de Jordan was a small establishment you had hidden your scepter the night before, just two streets away from there. As the citizens were being evacuated, places like that were empty and ready to use. It would be perfect for what Annette needed to do – though it immediately filled you with worry.

“That was what the spirits were trying to tell you?” You asked.

Annette nodded. “...I believe so. It’s difficult to be certain about anything, but this is the best chance we have.” Alucard unlocked the door and stepped aside. Annette walked in first. “This will do,” she stated after a quick look.

The tailor shop was small. It had a couple of chairs, a large windowsill, a table, a desk, cabinets filled with all types of fabric in multiple colors, threads, needles, scissors… it had somewhat of a cozy atmosphere. You hoped whoever owned it was somewhere safe – and you hoped they’d survive the incoming battle to take this place back.

As the two men pushed furniture from the center of the room, you rushed to find Annette some chalk. When you turned around to hand it to her, she was eyeing the scepter with curiosity. It was leaning on a table in the corner of the room, exactly where you left it.

She looked at you with one quirked eyebrow.

“...It’s hard to explain,” you said.

Annette shrugged and took the white chalk from your hand.

She knelt on the floor and started to draw an intricate symbol you’d never seen before. It resembled a fleur de lis, though it was much more complicated. After she finished, she put the chalk aside and sat in front of it with crossed legs.

Then, she took a deep breath.

“My soul may be away from my body for a while,” she explained quietly.

Richter folded a piece of fabric and placed it behind her, offering Annette a gentle smile, before sitting by her side on the floor.

“Just in case.”

She reciprocated his smile.

You sat down on a chair in the corner of the room beside the scepter, watching the entire scene in silence. Alucard stood near them in the other side of it.

Annette looked down again. For the first time, you saw a hint of fear in her eyes… and you felt fear for her, too. She was going to walk into a path where no one could follow or help her. She’d be truly alone in this – and if she failed, then you’d really have no chance. You already knew the “army” out there was hopeless.

“Cécile always warns that our souls mustn’t get lost in the spirit world,” she explained in that same quiet tone.

“What happens if they do?” Alucard asked.

“...I will never wake up.”

Richter gasped.

He rested his hand over hers. And then… it was happening again. That intimacy they shared that made you feel like an intruder. It seemed that, in these moments, they were alone – but in a delicate, pure way; it wasn’t as if they were ignoring you and Alucard. They were simply… too lost in each other to care about anything else.

It was beautiful to witness, in a way.

“We’ll be here. Don’t be afraid.” Richter’s voice was barely a whisper. “Maybe it’ll help you find your way back.”

They exchanged a final sweet look before the Belmont moved away.

Annette inhaled deeply. She pressed her hands together in a praying position and closed her eyes before chanting something in a language you didn’t understand.

She chanted a few times. Her voice got slower. She opened her eyes – but they seemed empty.

“Annette?” Richter called.

She stopped talking. Her body stopped moving. Her chest moved almost imperceptibly – the calm breathing of someone asleep. Her eyes were opened, but she wasn’t seeing anything anymore.

Her soul was gone.

It was a chilling sight to witness.

Richter held her hand. He knew she wasn’t there anymore, but he kept repeating “I’ll be here” anyway.

The care he had for her was deeper than you first assumed…

You crossed your arms and rested your back on the chair. It wasn’t going to be a fast process. So… there was nothing you could do but wait.

Wait…

And wait.

A part of Sekhmet’s soul must be in the spirit world, Annette had explained. If I find it and retrieve it, we may have a chance.

A third part of Sekhmet’s soul…

If Annette was right, than it’s impossible that Drolta didn’t know about it already. She was the goddess’ priestess, after all. Could it be that she tried to retrieve this third part of Sekhmet’s soul before? Maybe it was impossible for her, as it was a spiritual journey, not physical. Perhaps that’s why she didn’t succeed and kept looking for Sekhmet’s mummy.

Time went by. Minutes turned to an hour. Richter walked from side to side nervously, biting his nails, while you and Alucard didn’t move or talk at all. After a few more minutes, Alucard approached and leaned on the wall beside you with his arms crossed.

“You should try to sleep for now.”

You looked up at him and shook your head.

“I’m not sleepy.”

He sent a side eye at your blatant lie. “I’ll repeat it. You haven’t slept properly in almost four days.”

“You haven’t slept at all in almost four days, either.”

“And I can keep awake for much longer. How about you?”

...You’d never been awake for this long, actually. He got you.

You sighed and crossed your arms, sinking in the chair even more. “I don’t want to sleep. What if something important happens?”

“He won’t be quiet about it. You’ll wake up in no time,” Alucard said jokingly.

“I heard that,” Richter almost pouted. It seems he didn’t really like when both of you chuckled at him.

You dropped your voice to a whisper, hoping Richter wouldn’t hear you from the other side of the room.

“Don’t be mean to him.”

Alucard paused.

You had the strong impression he wanted to roll his eyes but held himself back. The white-haired vampire sighed and tilted his head to the side.

“I won’t if you sleep for a bit.”

It was your turn to let a deep sigh. “No promises.”

“No promises on my part, either.”

He sent you a last lighthearted look, the hint of a smile on his lips, before walking back to the windowsill.

The thing is, your eyelids were heavy. But you genuinely didn’t want to miss anything. One week ago, your life was basically a long, confusing sleep; it was the first time you’d been awake for so long, experiencing so many new things – good and bad – and it was the first time your mind was so clear. No memory lapses, no confusion; you knew where you were all the time, there were no blank spaces in between events. You didn’t want it to go away. If Alucard could keep awake for much longer, you could too, right? Maybe your brain would heal the sleep. Maybe if you pushed a little longer you wouldn’t feel tired anymore–

Pitch black.

“Come back here!”

You run around the alleys after that little rat. Heavens, why does ??? have to be so disobedient?! Although he’s screaming, you’re pretty sure he likes being chased like this. He loves pissing you off for some reason.

But his legs are much shorter than yours, and without much effort, you grab him by the collar.

??? looks at you with the round eyes of a scared pup.

“What are you doing here?!” You hiss, crouching down to get to his eye level and holding him by both arms. “I told you over a hundred times, you’re not allowed inside!”

“I was curious!”

“I don’t care!” ??? shrieks at your loud reprimands. You can’t bring yourself to soften; he has to understand that his actions have consequences once and for all. “There are places you’re not allowed to get in! Do you want me to get into trouble because of you?!”

??? crosses his arms and looks down, pouting. “I-I just wanted someone to play with!”

You huff and roll your eyes. “Oh, please. You have plenty of friends. You can’t fool me with that.” He sticks his tongue out at you; you ruffle his hair violently in return. “Go back home right now. And if I catch you here again, I’ll hang you by your feet and let you dry in the sun like a peace of meat. Did you understand?!”

“You’re annoying! I hate you!”

??? runs off. You gasp out loud, outraged.

“I’ll kill you when I get home!”

You woke up with a soft gasp.

For some seconds, you were completely disoriented. You blinked several times, trying to understand what was happening.

Oh.

You were exactly on the same spot as before. Sitting on the wooden chair. A long, soft fabric was put over your body, serving as a blanket.

...You ended up sleeping, after all.

And for a long time.

You knew it not only because your body ached from sleeping while sitting in a hard wooden chair – your neck was especially painful –, but because the Sun was gone. Judging by the height of the moon in the sky, it was already a little over midnight. It brightly illuminated the entire tailor shop through the large window, bathing it in silver light; one candle was lit over the desk, but it wasn’t really necessary.

You massaged your neck, frowning, and looked to your right side. Richter was sleeping over the desk right beside you, snoring softly and drooling a bit. It made you chuckle. Annette hadn’t moved a centimeter. You wondered if she’d feel pain when she “came back”; not moving for so many hours, not drinking water or eating…

“You should sleep a bit more.”

Alucard’s quiet voice reached your ears and immediately made you shiver… for some reason. He was being quieter than usual as to not wake Richter up or disturb Annette.

The white-haired vampire was comfortably sitting on the windowsill with his arms crossed, one of his legs over the wooden platform. The usual serenity adorned his features. Moonlight bathed him directly through the window, making his hair look like strands of pure braided silver. His long eyelashes cast a soft shadow over his golden eyes.

You rubbed your eyes and forehead. Of course, you were trying to brush the sleep away, but you also were trying to pretend his sole image didn’t make your stomach feel funny.

“I already slept too much,” you whispered back.

Alucard observed you in silence for some seconds. He pointed at something with his finger; a basket with some apples right beside Richter’s head.

Sure. You needed to eat. You haven’t had lunch at all. You held one of the apples and took a bite.

You munched in silence for some moments.

A silent battle took place within you.

You… wanted to approach him. You hadn’t really talked the entire day, too busy in your tasks to have a moment – and as stupid as it was because, well, he’d been near you the entire time, you… missed him. But you didn’t know if you should approach him at all. What if Alucard didn’t want to be disturbed? There was no reason for you to leave your spot in the room.

The hesitance only got worse because now, every time you looked at him, you remembered the hug. It was so comforting at that moment… why did you feel so embarrassed of yourself about it now? Alucard took the initiative to hug you first. There was nothing wrong with that, was it? Wasn’t it common for friends to hug each other? Well, you never had a friend before, you couldn’t tell if it was true...

Were you his friend in the first place? Did Alucard consider you a friend?

The truth is… you felt that something shifted in your “relationship” with him since that hug, even if it was all just in your head. You couldn’t tell exactly what. Maybe you were acting like a fool. Alucard probably didn’t stop to think about it even once.

You took another bite.

Alucard wouldn’t be mean to you, would he? He hadn’t been until that point. Not even once. So, why were you hesitating?

You gulped and got up from the chair.

Still holding the blanket, you crossed the room, tip toeing to not make much noise. Your eyes were glued on Annette’s immobile figure, both because you didn’t want to touch her by accident and because you didn’t want to make eye contact with Alucard yet. You knew he was watching you.

You sat on the other side of the windowsill, facing him. As the window was large, it was a considerable distance, which made the situation a bit less awkward for you. You put both legs over the windowsill and brought your knees close to your body, covering them with the blanket.

The only sound filling the room was of Richter’s soft snoring and your quiet munching.

It was peaceful. You didn’t expect you’d feel any peace in the hours that preceded the hell that would unleash upon the city. It was even a bit ironic how beautiful the moon looked that night.

After finishing eating the apple, you placed the stem aside and stayed in silence for some more minutes.

It took courage to speak up.

“Do you think they still need help out there?” Your voice was quiet.

Alucard didn’t take his eyes off the window.

“We already did everything we could to help them.” His deep, husky voice sounded even more soothing than usual for some reason. It was truly admirable how relaxed he could be in that moment, considering what awaited you in the near future. “They have all the instructions. They’ll know what to do.”

It was kind of him to include you in this. Your “help” wasn’t as significant as his; Alucard not only gave instructions, but led the entire defensive strategy. But you decided not to feel bad about that… not at that moment.

You put your hands over your knees and adjusted your posture a bit better.

“...Can I ask you something?”

Alucard turned his gaze to you for the first time, nodding.

“What did you mean back there at the square? When you said you don’t appreciate hypocrisy?”

The white-haired vampire exhaled softly; his expression got a tiny bit tense. You were under the impression he was expecting you to ask something else…

“That whole speech about liberty.” He started. His voice became more serious, a slight hint of annoyance once again. “It’s all surface level, you see. Very selfish. They talk about fighting for freedom whilst still keeping colonies under their power, refusing to let them be independent.” Alucard’s eyes landed on Annette. “Annette’s home country, Saint-Domingue, is one of these colonies. They are currently battling for independence over there. Annette herself was a slave; she had to fight for her own freedom.”

You widened your eyes and immediately looked at her as well.

Annette used to be a slave?!

Suddenly – many things about her started to make sense. The mark on her right hand… her words to you at the forest; “I understand how you feel”, she said. “Those people… they keep haunting you. On your sleep, or even when you’re awake”, she said.

“To be truly freed is to not be afraid.”

You tightened your hands on the blanket. Annette… she really could understand you better than anyone else. And she still came to this country to fight for the people that wouldn’t fight for her…

“Why did she even agree to help them?” You wondered in disbelief.

“She understands that Erzsebet will become a much bigger menace to the whole world if she’s not stopped in time.” Alucard tightened his eyes. “The people of France, like Richter and Maria, aren’t wrong for fighting against the monarchy. But it’s the leaderships of the Revolution that are hypocrites. If it’s not liberty for all, then it’s no liberty at all.”

You looked at Annette again.

She was so much stronger than you imagined… not only because she was a powerful witch or because she was, at that moment, wandering alone in the spirit world; Annette had a noble soul. She was strong enough to overcome her fears and fight for herself.

You wondered if you’d be like her one day.

You wanted to be like her.

To be truly freed is to not be afraid.

Well… if you wanted to be like her, you’d have to overcome your fears, too. And your hesitancy.

You hugged your own legs and stared at the fabric of the blanket, gathering the courage to speak these next words out loud. If you spoke them, they would become more real. A part of you was scared of that fact.

“I… I think I have a son.”

Alucard immediately whipped his head at your whispered confession.

Although he was visibly surprised, he didn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue.

“...Or a brother. I’m not sure.”

The white-haired vampire narrowed his eyes; he was the one that seemed to hesitate now, choosing his words carefully. “What makes you think that?”

You scratched your head nervously and frowned. “This dream I just had. I barely ever dream about anything… my sleep is usually empty. B-But I dreamed of this little boy that looks like me and…”

And I loved him.

I loved the little boy I saw in my dream with all my heart. I missed him the moment I opened my eyes and realized he wasn’t real.

You gulped, passed your hand over your face again. “Or maybe I’m still emotional over what happened to Oliver. I don’t know.” You shook your head, immediately feeling regret and embarrassment for admitting something so personal. Why would Alucard want to know about that anyway? “F-Forget about it. Just a dream, right? I guess it’s not important…”

“If it’s important to you, then it’s important.” Alucard held his chin and looked down, pensive. “Perhaps your memories are coming back in the form of dreams.”

It was a bit amazing how Alucard could reassure you with a blank expression on his face – as if he didn’t understand the impact his words had on you. You looked down at your knees again, that familiar heat already increasing on the back of your neck and cheeks.

“I-Is it common?” You tried to act like his words didn’t make you feel even more emotional.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell. I’ve… never suffered of memory loss before.” He shrugged. “But the mind works in mysterious ways, especially if we consider that your memories might’ve been taken away by magic.”

You exhaled and grabbed some strands of hair at the top of your head nervously again, as if trying to forcefully grab a memory from your brain.

“Why can’t I remember relevant things? Or at least straightforward things?” You whined to yourself. “Small, useless things come to me, but nothing that could help me find out who I am.”

Alucard leaned forward slightly, seeming interested.

“What type of things do you remember?” He asked softly.

You hummed.

“...I can’t call these things memories. They’re more like… things I know. Like…” You pressed your lips together. “I know the difference between a poisonous mushroom and an edible one. No one taught me that, I just know it. Or… there’s many animals I know of, though I don’t remember ever seeing them before. And…”

You looked out the window towards the sky. Alucard watched you with curiosity.

You pointed towards a specific star.

“That’s Mars.” Alucard looked subtly surprised. “Right in the middle of the Gemini constellation. Pollux, Castor…” You searched for something else in the sky. “And there… Betelgeuse, Bellatrix... the Orion constellation. And right over there–“ You pointed a bit downwards. “That’s Jupiter, in the middle of Taurus. And that star right beside it… it’s…” Your frown deepened and you hummed, trying to remember its name. “It’s…”

“Aldebaran.”

You looked back at Alucard.

He had the tiniest of the smiles on his lips.

“Yes. Aldebaran.” You confirmed, unable to hide your tiny smile that mirrored his.

“That’s why you look at the night sky so much? You were remembering?”

Oh.

You didn’t know Alucard paid attention to that.

You averted your gaze from his, trying to hide your shyness. “M-My point is: why do I remember these small things, and nothing more relevant… like where do I come from or my real name?”

Alucard leaned his back on the wall once more and looked out the window. You watched as serenity took the lead over his features again – being accompanied by quiet sorrow. That was new. You hadn’t seen him show an expression like that before.

...He looked quite vulnerable at that moment.

“My father… was many things,” he began, which immediately surprised you and locked all your attention over him. Alucard was finally letting one more piece of information about him; these moments were rare. You cherished them deeply. His voice was featherlight, mirroring the quiet vulnerability of his expression. “A scholar, a philosopher, an alchemist… and he was also an astronomer. He was passionate about the stars.”

A small sad smile appeared on his lips.

That was another new expression.

That was the same man that led an entire room full of generals with unyielding authority; the same man you’d seen kill vampires ruthlessly. A real warrior. And yet, at that moment, locked inside this small tailor shop with no more witnesses other than you, Alucard was letting himself be fragile for a moment.

Perhaps it was inappropriate of you to think this way – but at that moment, with the silver moonlight kissing his saddened image, he had never looked more beautiful.

The intricate paintings you’d seen at the Louvre did not compare to him.

“He taught me all about it when I was a child,” Alucard continued softly. “Constellations. Comets. Planets… I never forgot any of it.” He closed his eyes for a moment before looking down. “What I mean with that is… I don’t really use this knowledge in my life other than to know the seasons of the year. Some magicians are benefited by the positions of celestial bodies, but they don’t affect the type of magic I use. And yet…” He finally looked up at you again. “This knowledge isn’t small or useless to me; because it was taught by someone I loved.”

For some reason, you felt your heart ache at his words.

Of course, you understood what he meant; he was trying to help, to change your perspective, to not deem that your simple “knowledge” was useless. However, what you noticed the most was the quiet sadness in his eyes, the quiet longing. You remembered, once again, the fact that Alucard was centuries old. Still, he visibly talked about his father with some sort of affection. Longing.

...He’d been missing someone for centuries?

But you remembered, once again, that his father was Dracula. The name that evoked primal fear in you; the vampire that, according to Richter, almost wiped out mankind. He must’ve been as dangerous as Erzsebet or even worse. Even so, Alucard seemed to miss him… it made the whole situation so much more painful.

Did Alucard have to kill someone he loved…?

Why did it make you so sad?

Maybe it wasn’t that serious to him; maybe it was a scar that had already healed long ago. Maybe you were being too emotional again. But the simple idea of Alucard having to go through something so horrible ached. You… you wished there was something you could do for him. If you could comfort him the way he comforted you so many times.

...You wondered if he’d mind if you came closer. If he’d be surprised if you draped your arms around his shoulders; if he’d push you away if you made him rest his head on your chest, the same way he did to you yesterday. You wondered if he’d appreciate if you held him like that; if he’d like if you caressed his hair, tangling your fingers on his silvery strands. You… you wondered if it would make him feel a bit better. If he’d sigh, if he would cage his arms around your waist and reciprocate it.

You didn’t just wonder it; you craved it. Because as much as his touch and his gaze and his eyes burned, you craved that burn. It wouldn’t hurt you – at least, not in the ways you were used to.

It was scary.

If you were a little more brave, you would’ve moved. You would’ve made your imagination come true.

...But once again, you were reminded that there wasn’t time for any of that.

You felt a cold shiver run your spine, which immediately snapped you out of your trance. What surprised you, however, is that you weren’t the only one; Alucard also frowned and immediately straightened his posture, putting both feet on the floor again.

Both of you turned to Annette.

Both of you watched in quiet shock when she started to float in the air, keeping her meditation position.

Both of you stood up.

“...Is this normal?” You whispered.

“I don’t know.” He whispered back.

“What do we do?”

“There’s nothing we can do.”

“I should wake–“

“No.” Alucard held your arm softly before you took one more step. “Let the boy sleep. There’s nothing he can do, either. He’ll just be even more stressed.”

You gulped and nodded, sitting on the windowsill again and hoping that whatever battle Annette was facing, she’d be strong enough to win.

Hours went by. The sun raised in the sky again – and with him, apprehension beyond words.

Before, Richter was the only one walking from side to side and biting nails; now, you felt like a pile of anxiety yourself, watching as Annette didn’t send any sign that she was close to coming back. Two hours ago, she had gasped for a moment as if she was underwater; after that, her expression went back to being blank and she stopped levitating, her body slowly getting down on the floor again.

No more reactions after that.

The streets were packed with soldiers once more. You looked out the window and back to her nervously. What if she got lost in the spirit world? What if she never came back?

Even Alucard was beginning to show hints of anxiety. He chose to stay in the same spot by the window, but his eyes wandered outside as well. He had taken responsibility over the entire operation, after all. Despite what he said past night, you knew he also worried for everyone.

You stopped beside him with crossed arms. Richter couldn’t stay still for a moment. The three of you watched Annette in silence.

You didn’t want Richter to hear your question. Hell, you didn’t want to voice that yourself – but it had to be asked at some point.

“Alucard, what if… what if she…” you whispered; yet, you weren’t brave enough to finish that sentence.

What if she doesn’t make it?

Alucard understood anyway.

“We’ll fight.” He replied with simplicity. “There’s nothing else we can do.”

You closed your eyes for a moment. Annette never coming back… Erzsebet possessing the true power of Sekhmet… all the unprepared soldiers out there… you were experiencing the worst case scenario. You wished there was something else you could do. Anything to help her.

Minutes went by. Minutes. Minutes…

You… started to feel a strange weakness in the pit of your stomach.

Your legs felt wobbly. It wasn’t due to hunger or anxiety this time; you knew it. This sensation was familiar – albeit much weaker than the other times you had felt it.

You gasped and turned around to face the window.

“No.” You whispered in disbelief.

Alucard and Richter were surprised by your sudden reaction; then, they focused on the window as well.

On the sky.

The sun was beginning to be covered by a shadow.

Slowly, the sky got a sickening red color as the eclipse progressed; sunlight was starting to vanish. You heard rushed voices and screams out there, people running on the streets, locking themselves inside their homes, soldiers yelling orders. A sentiment of fear grew almost palpable over the whole city.

Alucard’s suspicions were right.

With the second half of Sekhmet’s soul, Erzsebet did not need you anymore to summon an eclipse.

You already knew he was most certainly right, but you foolishly tried to be positive. Maybe she won’t be able to summon an eclipse anyway.

All your thin hopes were shattered.

It was impossible to ease your aching heart or calm your shaking hands. The eclipse was the bad omen that indicated her approach. Was Erzsebet close by already? Was her army marching near the borders of Paris?

You couldn’t take your eyes off the window anymore or shut your loud mind – and that’s why you didn’t notice Richter calling Annette behind you.

Suddenly – heat.

You turned around in a jump in time to see Annette being involved in golden light.

Richter was sent flying back and hit his back against a cabinet. Wind made everyone’s clothes and hair sway; you had to protect your eyes with your arm to not be blinded. It became hot hot hot hot inside the atelier; you felt goosebumps roam your skin, your stomach drop, a certain dizziness – the effects of standing near so much power.

Finally – the light diminished. You put your arm down slowly and opened your eyes.

A shocked gasp escaped past your lips.

Annette levitated in the air some centimeters away from the floor; her hair suddenly got longer, her braids cascading over her shoulders like a beautiful lion’s mane. She wore an ancient Egyptian red attire adorned with details in gold. Her closed eyes were painted with blue and red kohl. She had a golden aura around her; the temperature inside the atelier increased significantly.

She carried so much power that the air trembled.

“...Annette?” Richter called hesitantly – but you already knew, and he knew as well, that this wasn’t Annette anymore.

“Where is she?” she spoke; her voice was distorted – beyond her normal voice, there was another female voice speaking upon it, too.

Annette finally opened her eyes. They looked like ponds of pure melted gold; her pupils, vertical like a cat’s.

“Where is this Erzsebet?” she demanded with the authority of a queen.

No… not a queen. A goddess.

Annette wasn’t in front of you anymore. Sekhmet was.

It made all the tiny hairs in your arms and at the back of your neck raise; your breath got difficult. This sensation was familiar – you had witnessed Erzsebet being possessed by Sekhmet’s power before. And yet, it felt slightly different now. The fear wasn’t accompanied by menace or cruelty. It felt more like witnessing a raging tornado coming towards you.

Annette had succeeded.

Great, this was great. Your chances in battle increased significantly with such a powerful ally; more importantly, Annette was alive. Maybe the goddess had possessed her body for a while, but it meant that her consciousness was still there somehow, maybe watching everything in the back of her mind…

Annette– Sekhmet extended her arms, watching everything with a high chin.

“My three souls must be rejoined and the cosmic balance restored,” she said in that same chilling, proud tone. “Though this mortal vessel might be too fragile for the souls of a god.”

Richter tightened his fists; sweat dripped down his temples. You’d never seen him look so worried as in that moment. The Belmont boy stepped forward.

“We will lead you to her. Erzsebet is coming to this city.”

Sekhmet did not show any reaction. It was a bit unsettling to see Annette’s face carrying that ferocious, yet soulless expression–

But then, she laid eyes on you for the first time.

Her gaze was piercing. It made you feel exposed for some reason; as if she was able to see inside of you, inside your soul.

Her eyes scanned your face, then laid on your chest for some moments.

Sekhmet frowned like a feral cat.

It was the first facial expression she showed.

“She must not be close to me.”

You froze in place, absolutely speechless.

W...What?!

Both Alucard and Richter looked from Sekhmet to you rapidly, as shocked as you. What did she mean? Why couldn’t you be close to her? She– She didn’t like you? Did it have anything to do with your involvement with Erzsebet? What was the problem?!

“Don’t make me repeat myself, human,” Sekhmet hissed again, this time addressing Richter; the tailor shop trembled at her anger. Alucard was the only one that didn’t flinch or move. “Where is this Erzsebet?! Lead me to her!”

Richter looked back at you one more time, sending you an apologetic look. The goddess was impatient – and it wasn’t a good idea to make her wait, especially while she inhabited Annette’s body. No one had any idea if it’d be harmful for her to be possessed for so long.

The Belmont boy gulped and walked towards the door, unlocking it and walking out. Sekhmet followed him, levitating out of the atelier.

You stood there, shell-shocked, not knowing how to react.

Alucard’s touch took you out of that state.

He put both hands over your shoulders, blocking the sight of the floating goddess out there and forcing you to lock all of your attention on him. Severity weighed on his features; he had an accentuated frown, his jaw was tightened. And yet, he somehow still looked down at you with care.

“It’d already be best for you to keep out of sight,” his tone indicated that he was not willing to debate this.

You tightened your fists, your shoulders dropped. You knew he was right regardless of Sekhmet’s demand. You knew you didn’t know how to wield a sword or a rifle; you knew you’d be useless in battle. You weren’t a powerful magician or a warrior like these two. You weren’t even like the civilians in uniforms out there – they’d be more useful than you.

But even so… even so…

Alucard cupped your cheek softly.

Maybe it was the fact that you weren’t in panic as you were before that made his gesture burn right away. It burned burned burned much more than Sekhmet’s hot power out there; it spread warmth through your body, made your chest tighten. Heavens, it burned so much; his caring gaze, his gentle touch, his sweet smell… everything burned–

But oh god – how you wanted to burn in this fire.

The rushed voices and steps out there got muffled. It seemed that time itself slowed down for a moment while you looked into each other’s eyes.

“I’ve failed you two times before,” Alucard said in a smooth, yet determined tone; his thumb caressed your cheek gently. “I promise I won’t fail you again. Erzsebet and Drolta won’t get anywhere near you.”

You didn’t know what to answer.

Alucard was the first person to ever stand up for you; the first person to ever protect you, to make you feel safe. Yes, maybe you were being too emotional. Maybe you were letting your emotions take the lead instead of sanity. But how could you not feel this affection towards him in situations like this?

You believed him. You trusted him.

You nodded.

Alucard managed to offer you a small smile. He let go of your cheek and held your wrist softly, passing his finger over the red string. He still wore his.

“Remember.” He patted his finger over it. You nodded yet again.

When Alucard stepped back, the world started moving at the normal pace again. The noises became clear. The city was loud now – and you felt incredibly cold.

He sent you a last significant gaze before turning around and leaving the atelier, closing the door behind him.

And then – you were alone.

Minutes went by. You walked from side to side with crossed arms. The city was painted in an eerie red hue due to the eclipse; you saw many soldiers running through the window. You tried to calm down, control your breathing, focus on a single thing– but fuck, you couldn’t. Not anymore.

You hoped Alucard, Richter and Annette were safe – especially Annette. You hoped everything would get solved fast so the goddess could leave her body. You hoped Richter would find the strength to fight. You hoped Alucard would succeed in his strategy. You hoped the civilians out there, courageously wearing uniforms and standing up to fight for their families, would survive; as many as possible, at least.

You hoped there was something you could do.

You sat on the windowsill and leaned your head on both hands, gripping your hair nervously. You couldn’t help but shake. You knew Alucard was right; you didn’t want to get hurt or to cross ways with Drolta or Erzsebet. He was being rational. He was correct.

But even so… even so–

Your thoughts got interrupted by the sound of an explosion.

The floor shook. Multiple screams echoed in the night, followed by shots. More explosions – these were somewhere near, probably a few streets away; you heard more distant explosions too. Cannons being ignited.

The battle had started.

You got up again, unable to control your anxiety. More screams more shots more explosions more earthquakes. The sky lightened up with different colors – blue and red and yellow – for a few seconds. Your heart raced, sweat already covered your forehead, your fingers trembled. Pure chaos had unleashed upon the city.

Erzsebet and Drolta were somewhere out there fighting.

This perception frightened you, made you want to dig a hole on the ground and hide there forever. You couldn’t be seen or caught by them – death felt like a more merciful future, but you couldn’t die, and that was the problem.

At the same time, another feeling increased. Burned.

Anger.

And urgency.

Everyone was fighting out there. Everyone was contributing somehow, putting their lives on the line. Humans against vampires and night creatures; they were much more courageous than you were. All of them were risking their fragile mortal lives. You were reminded of how easy it is for a human to die – while you, with this strange healing condition, were hidden there, too scared to get hurt.

You were tired of feeling useless and even more tired of feeling scared.

Fuck, there should be something you could do! Anything actually useful. You held your head again, once more hating your stupid empty brain, wishing you could find a relevant memory despite what Alucard said before–

Your eyes stopped on the scepter.

It was in the corner of the room exactly were you left it. You weren’t brave enough to touch it again.

You stood there and stared at it.

Explosions. Screams. Earthquakes. Shots. Multiple steps. Everything had a red tone to it. You kept your eyes locked on the golden artifact, the symbol of the sun; you stared and stared and stared and–

You remembered.

Once again – it wasn’t exactly a memory. It was more of a feeling; a knowledge. The scepter seems to be reacting to your feelings, Alucard said that time. It shone and burned the three vampires alive as if they were standing under the sun.

You somehow caused this reaction.

And at that moment, something deep within you told you that you could make that again.

You could make it bigger.

Your fists tightened. You gulped and straightened your posture.

Alucard told you to keep out of sight. Sekhmet said you shouldn’t be near her.

But you looked out the window and saw these soldiers running with rifles in hand; the fragility of their lives didn’t stop them from fighting. Maybe there was something you could do. Maybe you could help them somehow in a truly effective way.

You crossed the room and held the scepter; it was cold, lifeless. You’d find a way to make it work again – you had too. You stood in front of the door, your hand hovering over the doorknob. It was shaking.

You closed your eyes for a moment.

You were scared. You were frightened.

But Annette’s voice echoed in the back of your mind:

To be truly freed is to not be afraid.

You opened your eyes, turned the doorknob and ran out of the atelier shop – stepping into the red chaos.

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

348 notes · View notes

sombrashe · 2 months ago

Note

I just read the namgyu fic you posted and it's incredible 🫶❤️

Would you write something like that with Jun-ho or Dae-ho like he is taking out his frustration out on her or on her throat

suffocation ∿ dae-ho x reader & jun-ho x reader

smut

content x fem!reader for daeho & x gn!reader for junho, angry daeho & junho, bratty!reader, "crybaby"reader, reader has a vagina in daehos, rough smut, use of pussy, pussy slapping, throat fucking, overstimulation, not edited

notes im so glad people are enjoying that fic because honestly i got worried i didn't make it horny enough somehow 😭 / also i'm sorry but you can really tell who my fav is lol

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ long post ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

it takes a lot for this man to get frustrated in his day-to-day life and it's nearly impossible for him to get frustrated with you. that is of course if you didn't know about this one secret hack.

“I love you.”

“Heard.”

“... Heard …”

your ears perk up at the sudden change in tone. harshness sleeping into his every syllable. rolling your eyes you go back to scrolling on your phone. you had a dream that he cheated and despite knowing it isn’t real you need to be alone for a little to get over it. you may have been a little rude, and despite the unsettled feeling stuck deep in your brain stem you go to apologize. looking up he’s staring at you, honestly, it threw you off and you blanked. opening and closing your mouth you try to formulate something as simple as a sound. he doesn't look at you like this often, deep dark eyes piercing your very cerebrum. suddenly the room feels cold despite the shallow fever settling right under your skin. you learned real early on that doe eyes and a puffed-out bottom lip will get you nowhere with him when he has this look. nothing short of begging would get you even a chance to be heard. you never beg, it would go against the feeling deep in your abdomen.

“Come here, please.”

you're frozen in place. you can't seem to make yourself move. you don't want to piss him off further but for once you're not sure how severe your punishment will be. god, what if he doesn't let me cum for like a week, wtf… asshole. actually, let me calm down. standing, you obediently slot yourself against his side. he very gently grabs at the back of your neck and guides you in your room. pressing a single kiss to the crown of your head he bends you over the bed. smothering you he shoves your head further into the comforter. you don't fight until you feel a sharp sting. gasping, you attempt to remove yourself from his grip. another sharp sting and your voice is muffled. letting go of your neck you spring up and rub at your butt. frowning up at him you start to speak. he places two fingers in your mouth and you gag at the sudden intrusion. keeping your head in place with fingers gripping your chin he continues teasing you. pressing down on the back of your tongue he watches as tears prick the corners of your eyes. the gag that follows is brazzy and he coos at you. pulling his fingers out of your mouth a thin line of spit connects them to your bottom lip.

“Get on the bed for me. Ah, not like that. You know better.”

stripping for him you make a show of it. the hope that it will help lessen your punishment dies out halfway through the striptease. crawling into the bed he coaxes you on your back. one large hand splays itself across your thigh as he holds your leg open.

“Hold the other one. More.”

when you’re sure you can't feel any more embarrassed he brings his free hand down.

“Dae-ho!”

he shushes you and does it again. it’s not as painful as you thought it would be. a third slap and you actually start to feel it. you clit throbs every time his hand connects with your pussy. whining out you slap a hand over your mouth. he raises his hand again and again and again. you lost count somewhere when the pain morphed into pleasure. your eye starts witching and you don’t know how much more you can take. oh. holy fuck. he plunges two fingers into you and massages that gummy spot right inside of you. biting down on your cheek, you taste blood. ripping the feeling from you he goes back to slapping long fingers against your clit. you feel so empty and your pussy clenches around air. he smiles down at you so sweetly as he rubs soft circles against your clit. breathing heavily, your noises are muffled behind flesh. he spends a few minutes rewarding you, your pussy warm under his touch. slapping his hand down he listens as his fingers connect with your spread hole. your soaking pussy glistens as he smears your slick. the sob that rips its way out of your throat is violent. a gasp, sob and choke all in one with a nice gag to go along with it. he looks down at you and raises an eyebrow.

“Doing okay, rabbit?”

you furrow your eyebrows in silent protest. it would take a lot more than that to- huh. he leans down and takes one sensitive nipple in his mouth. arching your back he continues slapping your pussy until those harsh sobs start to take over again. he listens intently as you sob below his touch. your attitude drains out of you. your tears stream down to tickle your ears. panting your eyes unfocus and lazily blink. he switches nipples and your hips buck into the next slap. jesus christ. you were quickly becoming overstimulated. every feeling was too much and it rips a hole in your chest that was temporarily filled by the next slap.

“Come on beautiful, use your words.”

“I’m sorry. Dae-ho. I am. I promise. Please. Please.”

he sighs and kisses your temple. a particularly harsh slap has you crying out.

“Thank you. I love you. I’m sorry.”

his eyes brighten as he listens to your apology. he leisurely pushes three fingers into you. the moment his fingers are notched deep in you he speeds up. the few thrusts it does take you to cum are fast and rough. fingers massage that spot right inside you every time his fingers reach their hilt. when you do cum you’re shaking. covering your face, you smear snot and drool across your cheeks. you gush around his fingers and your essence pools in his palm.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you. So so much. Thank you, I love you.”

he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. reaching down you focus on his hand undoing his belt.

“Go ahead and relax.”

you shift and spread yourself open for him. your dripping hole is on full display making his cock jump in his briefs. climbing onto the bed he knocks the tip of his cock against your puffy clit. turning your head you gasp and shakily exhale as you attempt to relax. your hazy mind starts to form a thought but it immediately slips away as he slides his cock into your feverish pussy.

junho doesn't go out of his way to take his frustration out on you. he just knows how eager you are to help him. your soft expressions and gentle smiles always make it difficult for him to get upset with you. so when something pushes him over the edge and your wonder amazing boyfriend-pleaser self is sitting curled up on the couch you bet your ass he’s dragging you onto your knees. he loves watching as your expression changes from anger at losing your phone, to confusion as he lifts you to your feet, to understanding as he pushes you down. he loves how devoted you are, taking the initiative and undoing his belt for him. your way of seeing how rough he’ll be. oh how well you knew him because not even three seconds after you’ve touched his belt is he growing and shoving his pants down for you. you start to relax, your mouth starts to passively make saliva as your thighs squish together. he absolutely adores the way your eyes crinkle as he slaps his cock against your cheek.

“Open up for me, angel. A little wider. Just like that, good job.”

he slides the tip of his cock in your mouth and you whine at not being able to tease him a little.

“Don't worry. I’ll still get off in your mouth. How’s that sound, huh? Good? Damn, I always forget how tight your throat is like this.”

he bottoms out without giving you much time to prepare and the stretch is uncomfortable. you close your nails into your palms and try your hardest to relax your throat. breathing is impossible and so you're stuck crying as your body struggles. salt burns your waterline and you rock back in protest. he cups your head in his hands, hair puffing around his fingers. curling your toes, you whine and gag softly around his shaft. he keeps his thrusts shallow and any air that you can gather is filled with him. blinking up at him, your cheeks puff out. he bends over slightly and fucks your throat, his pelvis squishing your nose with every deep thrust. your gags are frequent and they vibrate against his cock. he lets up after a few minutes and goes back to slow thrusts. you can feel your nose start running with as much frequency as your eyes when he starts fucking your throat again. the intermission between slow, gentle thrusts and deep, rough thrusts becomes shorter and shorter until he doesn't let up. his cock is so far down your throat you can’t even swallow without him showing. rocking your hips against the air you close your eyes and relax into his thrusts.

“You feel perfect, angel. So tight. You want me to cum in you?”

you squeeze at his thigh and hum as best as you can. he nods and with blurry vision you take in his disheveled look. whisps of hair sticking to his slick forehead, deep eyes squeezed shut, and a beautiful shade of red covering his neck. closing your eyes again, you sniffle and gag. the feeling of your throat constricting pushes him over the edge and he cums down your throat. letting go of your head he finishes on your face and hair as you gag and cough up cum. he stands above you breathing heavily. his eyes closed and his hand finishing himself off with abandon. when he finally comes back to it your coughs have downgraded to raspy breathing. mumbling he goes about the house half naked and collects a few things. coming back he hands you a cup full of water and an empty mug. taking the glass you chug the water until it’s empty. he busies himself by wiping down your hair and face with a damp towel. he finishes with a deep kiss and you have to cut it short as you're still out of breath.

261 notes · View notes

homestylehughes · 1 year ago

Text

boyfriend quinn headcanons

pairing(s): quinn hughes x fem!reader

summary: headcanons of bf!quinn!

wc:703

warnings: fluff, cute soft quinn, smut 18+!

authors note: hi guys!! i randomly had this idea this morning so i thought id write about quinn and how i think he'd be as a boyfriend! hes been taking up too much of my mind recently LOL. i hope you guys enjoy!! more fics are coming up later this week! like and reblog if you like <3. as always much love <3

happy reading <3

Sfw/fluff:

Bf!quinn: quinn would be the type of boyfriend to wake you up with kisses all over your body, tracing his hands all over your back. Quinn would love looking at you while you're sleeping, not in a creepy way, in a loving way, that he couldn't believe that you're his.

Bf!quinn: he would give you one on one skating lesions, holding your hand whenever you feel like you're going to fall. He'd insist that he put on your skates, tying them extra tight and patting your leg to make sure you're okay. Quinn would laugh at you when you get excited about skating on your own finally, giving you a forehead kiss, saying he's proud of you.

Bf!quinn: After a long day at work, when he knows you've had a bad day, he'll cook you your favorite meal. Even drawing you a bath, that you then insisted that he had to get in with you. He would ask you about your day, you would tell him as you lean comfortably into his touch as he runs his hands all over your body to help you relax.

Bf!quinn: quinn lovesssss when you wear his jersey to a game, he loves seeing you in the stands in his jersey, cheering for him and the rest of the team. He loves the support that you always give him. Waiting for him by the locker room, giving him the sweetest hug and kiss. Always letting him know that you're proud of him, win or lose.

Bf!quinn: quinn loves how you are around his family, how you think of them as your family. How you laugh and joke with his brothers, talk hockey with his dad, how you embarrass him and smile with his mom. He loves the relationship that you have with them. His family jokes that if you guys ever broke up, his family would be more hurt than you or quinn.

Bf!quinn: quinn would definitely get baby fever when seeing you around children. Imagining if they were your kids, wanting nothing more than to pull you home, and make his dreams come true.

Bf!quinn: quinn loves to be babied, he loves when you let him be the little spoon. His favorite way of being babied is when he comes home after a long road trip is throwing himself into your arms, dragging you to the bedroom, quickly getting changed and laying down on top of you. His face finding its way to your neck, nuzzling himself in your body breathing in your scent. He'd quickly fall asleep as you play with his hair, and rub your hands up and down his back.

nsfw 18+ below:

Bf!quinn: quinn is definitely a munch. He could spend hours in between your legs, even when you try to push him away he always comes back. He could never get enough of your cunt.

Bf!quinn: He loves marking you up, showing everyone that you're his. He can't help but feel a sense of pride when he looks over the marks. Smirking to himself, knowing you'll yell at him when you see how dark they are the following day.

Bf!quinn: quinn is obsessed with your boobs, he considers himself a lover of both ass and boobs equally but his downfall is your boobs. Any chance he has to kiss, bite, lick them he takes advantage of it. You can't even count on your fingers how many times you guys have been late to dinners because your boobs are “calling his name.”

Bf!quinn: quinn loves when you take control during sex, it's a side of you that he doesn't get to see a lot but he loves it when he does. The view of you on top of him riding him, never fails to take his breath away.

Bf!quinn: Your moans? Oh gosh your moans. They make his knees weak, He loves hearing how responsive you are. His favorite is when you moan lowly in his ear, feeling your warm breath fan his face. When you drop your head back and your mouth is hanging open as your body shakes in pleasure.

Bf!quinn: loves everything about you.

#nhl fanfiction #nhl hockey #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl fic #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes #vancover canucks

661 notes · View notes

moonybelgug · 2 months ago

Text

warnings: fem!reader, children lmao, not much really, being referred to as 'mother', no smut, no romance, we're world building guys. setting up the plot. i've always envisioned the tsaritsa to play matchmaker with her friends(?) so thats what this is based off of lmao part 1 part 2

Arlecchino didn’t want a “motherly figure,” and the children didn’t need a “motherly figure” to raise them as soldiers, either. And yet, here we are. Arlecchino sits in the main room of the House of The Hearth, waiting to greet the new “mother” and can’t help but be reminded of the last one the house had. Even the older children seem apprehensive about welcoming someone under that name back to their ranks.

“I’m only assigning you a helper, someone more motherly to perhaps guide the children into being more obedient,” the Tsaritsa smiled. “You yourself have said that this latest batch of kids have been especially hard to keep in line.”

“No offence, my lady, but I hope you are not questioning my abilities…” Arlecchino replied, setting her tea cup down after taking a sip. “I assure you, I am capable of handling my kids.”

The Tsaritsa smiles again, too sweetly. “Yes, dear… just humor me. If she hinders more than she helps, by all means, send her back.” And that was the end of all conversation about the new mother.

Arlecchino shook from her day dream when a knock sounded through the sleeping hearth. The kids had all been put to bed and only the servants remained awake, tending to the chores left until it was lights out. Arlecchino stood and brushed off her suit, walking to meet the woman at the door. A servant had already welcomed her inside, taking her coat and laying it over her arm. To Arlecchino’s surprise, this was… not what she was expecting. It was you. A girl from her past that she had not only thought she’d never see again but someone she hadn’t thought about in many years. When you lift your eyes and meet Arlecchino’s dark ones, she suddenly feels weak. This is just another bomb for the already radioactive battlefield of her mind. The Tsaritsa is playing games, she realizes.

“Peruere!” You say way too loudly as you run to her, throwing your arms around her neck as you hug your long lost friend. “It’s been so long! I can’t believe we’re working together, can you? I like your hair, it’s short now- oh wait! No it’s not!” You go on like this until she silences you with a hand raised.

“The children are sleeping,” she says softly, though her voice is cold. “I did not expect you to see you.”

Perhaps you are a new maid, there have been some that retired recently, maybe that’s why you’re here and she won’t have to deal with this much enthusiasm everyday.

“I know right? But I had been offered a job that pays way more than the old babysitting gig I had, so I thought- hey why not?” You beam at her and then take a step back to examine what she’s wearing, making Arlecchino smirk a little as she holds her head high.

“Ground rules. Follow me to your room and I’ll explain.”

”You can call me “Father,” or Arlecchino, but do not call me Peruere.” You nod, wishing you had something to write these down as she speaks them.

“No leaving the grounds without somebody knowing where you’re going. This is for your safety and ours, as the Fatui has a reputation.” You nod, thinking about how fun it will be working with an old friend.

“You cannot invite people over. Do you have any close family members or friends who may want to visit? Make sure you let them know that they cannot simply drop by for tea.” You nod once again, thinking about tea.

“If you get sick, this is the in house hospital,” Arlecchino gestures to a door with a window. You stop to peer inside and you can see two boys sleeping soundly in separate cots. They look comfortable… for being in a hospital. “Broken leg and a fever,” says the Father beside you as she gazes in at the two for a moment before continuing her tour, gesturing you along. She has only taken you down the east wing and you’ve passed mostly just sleeping quarters and the hospital. Suddenly the lights turn off and you gasp at the surprise, running into Arlecchino’s back as you adjust to the darkness.

“The maids must have finished their work,” she murmurs, reaching for a candle on a high (higher than the children,) shelf and lit it with a set of matches beside it. Arlecchino led the way with candlelight, staring straight ahead as if looking at you would cause her to turn to stone.

Eventually she stops at a room, nearly at the end of the hall. “This is yours,” she says, unlocking the door with a key from her pocket she must have had in preparation for your arrival. She hands you the key after unlocking and opens the door. You step inside, looking around the dark room. You can’t make out much, but as Arlecchino begins lighting the candles with her own, you can see that the place is very plainly decorated but still homey at the same time. There is a large, plush bed, windows, even a little study area and lots of doilies.

“Can I decorate?” You ask, sitting on the bed, placing your suitcase beside you on the floor.

Arlecchino smirks again, but nods. “However you wish. I’ll show you my room another time, but I trust you are tired and would like to rest after such a long commute,” she turns and shuts the door behind her, but as she walks down the empty, dark hallway, she hears you unlatch the door behind her and call out “Goodnight!”

The next morning you awaken to your alarm, set for six. The sun shines through your window and you can’t help but feel cozy in bed, warm, finely crafted sheets bunched around your body and the large windows of the highest floor allowing sunlight to peek through and embrace you as you blink away the stupor of sleep. Then you remember where you are, and the duties laid out for you. You are to be Peruere- no, Arlecchino’s right hand. Her partner, if you will. Support her decisions and help her to raise the children with dignity and fighting spirits. Or that’s what you remember being told, anyway. You dress yourself and then begin your descent down the long hallways and steep stairs of The House, seeing more open doors than last night. Some of the children are still in their rooms, talking to roommates, some are playing with toys, and some stare at you as you walk by with wary eyes. You try to smile as sweetly as you can, but they only shrink further into their rooms. It will take time, you suppose…

Arlecchino is in the kitchen, sitting at a little table with a mug in one hand, the paper in the other. Beside her sits a little boy, holding a little penguin toy on the table as it bounces mechanically.

“Father,” you say, taking the first step in conversation and starting it yourself. The cooks look up at you, staring before continuing their job when Arlecchino snaps her fingers. “My night was very comfortable. Thank you for showing such hospitality.”

She hums into her mug as she takes a sip. The boy looks up at you, his head cocked in a curious way. You tilt your head back at him and he smiles shyly.

“Who is this?” You ask as you sit beside him. He glanced nervously at Arlecchino, who watched silently before sitting up to turn the penguin toward you.

“His name is Pers,” he says softly, twisting the wind on his back to make him jump around. The penguin is so lively and loud, unlike this boy before you.

“He’s so cute. I’ve never seen anybody like him before, is he unique?”

“I made him,” says the boy bashfully, tugging the penguin back into his arms, hugging the mechanical bird to his chest.

“And what would your name be?” You ask, resisting the urge to overwhelm the boy with affection. He was too sweet. You couldn’t imagine a boy like him being a part of the Fatui, but he’s clearly very skilled if he could make Pers at such a young age. It’s likely he’s just as skilled with more dubious hobbies as well...

“Freminet,” he murmurs softly. Freminet looks up at Arlecchino, who seems to silently answer his own silent question and then hops off the chair and runs into the other room. Arlecchino chuckles into her mug, gazing at you over her paper.

“He will need time to warm to you. If you wish for immediate friendship, I can show you some others who will take to you.”

“Well, I don’t expect that of the children,” you say, leaning to look at the paper she’s reading. She watches you with intrigue, how you effortlessly lean into her personal space like it means nothing at all. “I would like it if you introduced me to them, though. Maybe if it came from you, they would feel more comfortable around me.”

She hums noncommittally and sets her mug down. “Do you have any idea what your job is here?”

You blink at her, then smile ever so slightly. “Be a mother?”

Arlecchino laughs, a low raspy sound. “Neither do I…”

#divider by cafekitsune #moonywrites⋆˖☾₊‧⁺˖⋆#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x female reader #arlecchino x y/n #arlecchino x you #genshin impact x you #genshin fanfic

188 notes · View notes

twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 2 months ago

Text

PLEASE, PLEASE, DON’T TOUCH ME WITH YOUR DIRTY HANDS ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; from the corner of a dim-lit host club, you catch the gaze of a handsome monk.

word count; 12k

contents; suguru geto/m!reader, cult leader!geto x host!reader (<- non-sorcerer), reader is described as considerably smaller than geto, the host club culture in this fic is kind of butchered / twisted to suit my own agenda i’m sorry :’3, friends with benefits, bittersweet hurt/comfort (emphasis on hurt), angst, open ended, very suggestive (constant sexual tension; vague dirty talk; very light nipple play; sex is alluded to and briefly shown both in passing and in present, though the descriptions are vague and no explicit terms are used. basically: sexuality and eroticism are present all throughout the fic, but actual smut is evaded.) reader has implied mental health + self-image issues, geto is in denial and repressed and kind of mean, you both refuse to admit what you really want and suffer more for it. heavy satosugu implications + switching povs. unrequited love (but not really.)

a/n; this is the closest any of u are getting to smut. from ari... this fic is not at all typical of me (both with the suggestive /borderline explicit tone, m!reader and a part of geto’s character i don’t often focus on) but still very much up my own alley of tastes and queer longing; i feel like i was born to write this fic …. in a way. and i’m proud of myself for finishing it!! hopefully it’ll make your heart ache in the most pleasant of ways <3 dedicating it to my lonely soulcrushed gays i hope you look at the sea tomorrow without wishing you could wade right in

spit it out, darling /

quietly exposing a double-layered facade /

so, that’s the kind of person you are.

everything you see before you — belongs to you alone.

golden lights, dim flickers of neon, an elysian field of artificial luminescense. music that thrums under your skin, beats along with your heart, crawls up your windpipe with erratic thump, thumps that have the hair on your nape standing on end. there's alcohol in your system, tobacco clouding your mind, a giddy smile on your face. bright lights, loud music, men's voices clouded in deceit. yes, all of this is yours.

every nerve in your skull dances along to the devil's waltz you're in. excitement, lust, pure adrenaline. sweet, so sweet, you could lap it up from the floor.

"why don't you sing us a song, sweetheart?"

you're tipsier than you should be, when you're still on the clock. you can barely recognize the voice, barely tell if it comes from the handsome bartender or your boss or one of the regulars — it doesn't matter, either. your lips grow into a grin.

"sure, sure."

it's a fever dream, a haze, stumbling up to the stage with blood pumping in your chest. your skin feels hot and cold at once, but it's a good feeling, fuzzy, your head stuffed full of cotton. bliss. your hair is tousled, your tie undone, adam's apple bobbing as you grab onto the mic — as your bleary eyes grow focused on the video screen up above. you feel like a beautiful mess, but your vocal cords remain intact.

the music stops, comes to a halt, changes tune. someone shuffled the playlist and now another song is playing. familiar, a heavy baseline, and —

you start to sing. it comes to you naturally, you scarcely need to look at the lyrics.

golden lights, grinning men, your own voice in your frazzled ears. it comes out with a rasp, quickly peeled away, stripped, silky vowels sifting from the base of your throat. you've yet to lose your touch, a sound so beautiful it stops belonging to you the moment it's left your lips. the world looks mesmerizing, when it's confined to a raunchy indoor sunset; your world. center stage, all eyes on you, greedy, lapping at your exposed skin, the smudges of lipstick on your neck. shining under dusty starlight.

everything feels so possible, from here.

this is — vaguely, partially, at the very least in spirit — why you do this. not for the back-alley rendezvous, rough hands pulling at your flesh, the blooming of hydrangeas on your injured skin. not for the alcohol, or the money. actually, you're lying to yourself, it's all of that combined — but this is where your heart lies.

this is where you spit it out for all to see.

their gazes feel good, on your neck, your chest, your waist and your hands. the attention is fuel. you feel like a spectacle, like someone else entirely, shedding skin, just for a couple minutes. you meet their stares, you're sure you're smiling, gleaming through the fog of it all. the chorus melts on your tongue, as your eyes glide through the lounge. all-seeing.

in the corner of the room, a lone shadow flickers.

(and the beating of your heart halts at a pitfall.)

you sing, despite the interruption. meeting the golden, shimmering gaze, catching his eye. the man is seated at a lone table, no host to entertain him. it's hard to see, from here, with the lights and the haze and the whiskey in your veins, but you can make out his figure — wide, clad in heavy garments — just the barest contours of his face. handsome, though, you can tell, can see it in his gaze and the way he's sitting, comfortable and poised. elegant. a beautiful, beautiful jawline.

lowlidded eyes staring deeply into yours.

the song continues, lyrics rolling off your breath, perfectly timed with your overlapping gazes. for just a moment, something sinks its jaws into you.

darling, vague complaints and fridays

this sickness makes me want nothing more than to hurt you.

you think you catch the hint of a smile, on that shadowed face. the lonesome man raises his glass, brings it to his lips. you hope he’s drinking you in just the same, gulping you down, devouring you.

the moment splits in half. another gaze, another man. you're content, to perform for as long as your lungs will allow — until you hear the first clap of hands after a job well done. when it comes, you can only pant into the mic, savour the strain on your throat. the room is spinning. you think you need to sit down, for a while. everything feels like a blur.

"aghh, my shoulder is killing me…"

slim, pretty hands pass you a glass of water, cool against your heated fingertips. you accept it, swirl it around for a moment, just to hear the satisfying clink of ice cubes colliding. slumped against the headrest of a leather sofa, maroon, blinking sluggishly as if to rouse your mind into a working state.

"shouldn't have tuckered yourself out so early. the night is still young."

"i know, i know," you hiss, digging the heel of your palm into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. it stings, like someone pressed the butt of a cigarette against your naked skin. when you tilt your head back, a thank you on your tongue, the host is already gone, off to entertain a guest. you're pretty sure someone just asked for a champagne bottle to pop. ah, the noise is bound to grate you…

a raspy sigh pushes past your lips, as you empty the glass with one big gulp.

"what a beautiful voice you have."

a different voice. not one of the hosts. when you look up, still keeping the rim of the glass against your lips — you see a sliver of gold.

for a moment, you wonder if it's…

— nope. it's a tooth.

a big, bulky man, clad in a sleazy red suit, lips curled into a similar grin. your eyes glide across his features, tallying the damage; blonde hair, fat biceps, chest hair exposed… a big nose, that's not bad. the gold tooth is certainly a choice. you wonder if he's going for dirty rich, or classy poor. you're half tempted to ask what bank he co-owns with his father.

instead, you smile.

"ah, you flatter me." the glass clinks when you put it down, scooting over to make space, not-so-subtly. you tilt your head, angle your body until you feel the fabric of your undone blouse start to slip down your shoulder. his eyes drink it in, a moth to a flame. "are you here to spend time with me, mister…?”

a part of you wants to laugh, at how successful the pure, youthful flower schtick is to men like him. it's how you make money, though — you lie successfully.

and he takes the bait. "i think i just might be, yes,” he plops down next to you, legs comfortably spread — his elbows finding purchase on the headrest.

"i'll have to make it worth your while, then, won't i?"

a rumbling chuckle. the man fishes a cigar from out of his pocket, hands you the lighter and waits. you need no instruction, leaning forward, flicking your fingers against it until the bottom catches ablaze. he puts it in his mouth, fat and thick, the scent almost overpowering. you've built up a resistance, but you still need a moment to exhale, withholding a cough. maybe that would appeal to him, though…

he keeps it between his lips, exhales through his nose before pulling away to speak. "well, i pay good money for your company. i'd say it's only fair."

a breathy chuckle. "that's true…"

there's a hunger to the way he looks at you. a kind of gaze you've learned to associate with filth, desire. he's still smiling, too wide, that golden tooth gleaming in between the yellowish-whites. smells of gin, underneath the tobacco, and something else. vodka? it's hard to tell. his size advantage is stark, when you're thigh to thigh like this — he looks like he could snap you like a twig. looks like he’d want to. one of his hands slithers around your hip, suddenly, squeezes the flesh and lingers just to feel you shudder. his grin widens when you can't withhold it.

(… ough, you lament. one of the brutes.)

with a muttered sigh, underneath your breath, your lips drag themselves up — it's voluntary, takes effort to push back the urge to run from his grip. a perfect smile, sweet and coy, still leaving much to the imagination. a hint of mystery, intrigue —

a glint in your eye.

no room for mistakes. your shoulder still aches, but it's bearable. you’re just about to part your lips, cozy up to him, say a pair of sultry, well-picked words, when —

”may i have him, for a moment?”

a smooth voice cuts in through the fog.

deep, velvety tones, rubbing against your ear drums. sweet and saccharine, honey dripping down your chin; it sends a shiver down your spine, heat to the back of your neck. he blooms in your mind before you even tilt your head to meet his dark gaze, sharp and low-lidded. you can picture him before you even see him. voices carry weight, they always do, but his is special. you haven't heard anything quite like it.

wine and tequila. oil and water.

two voices speaking, all at once.

a tall man is standing just before you, hands tucked into the long sleeves of his haori, gazing down at your touchy customer. it’s the strange, shadowy figure from before. up close, he looks more like a monk; a gojogesa wrapped around his abdomen.

you were right, of course.

he is handsome.

with greed, you etch his features into your mind, lap it up. a sharp jaw, nose, well-defined cheekbones… obsidian eyes, with flecks of tinted gold, though you can hardly see them under these dim lights, with their narrow shape. pretty, pretty monolids, crescent moons. his hair is the real kicker, though, silky locks that flow down his back and shoulders, stop around his waist. looks like it’s been pampered, oiled and brushed, how lovely. one of his hands slip out, to dust off his sleeve, and fuuuck, they're —

— a grumble resounds to your left.

”i have him for the next hour. you can piss off,” spits the wild boar next to you, abandoning your hip to curl possessively around your neck. and uh oh, that doesn’t feel too nice. would he get hissier if you pulled away? ”fuckin’ monk.”

catching tells is a skill that takes honing. observing, attention to detail, a reward for one’s attentiveness. you like to think you’re good, very good —

though you only barely catch the twitch of the monk’s left brow. the way his eyes coil into slits.

a hum buzzes in his throat.

then he’s leaning forward, one big, beautiful hand coming to rest on your customer's shoulder, like he’s using him as a step stool. bending forward to look you in the eye. two abysses, gazing into you.

swirling gleefully.

his lips curl up into a sly smile. ”i’ll pay you double,” he whispers, for only you to hear. ”what do you say?”

for a moment, your breath stills in the back of your throat. that same halting of your heartbeat as before, enraptured by his gaze, hook line and sinker. because he’s close, you can nearly feel his body heat, almost pick up on his scent, warm and rich.

(and, well —)

”… sounds good.”

he rewards you with a smile. crescent-eyed.

”wonderful.”

(you’ve always been weak to a pretty face.)

the man on your left grows silent. stunned, you think, and — oops, he looks pissed. a booming voice spills out, the smoke from his cigar still fattening the air with toxins, making your eyes water. ”hah? that’s not how this works, you gold digging —”

”leave.”

a flick of his wrist. his robes sway, with the motion, like a curtain being drawn shut. the gesture itself is a command; elegant, there's no need for shouting. the way his voice drops says enough, exudes casual dominance, ripe as golden fruit on heavy branches.

a shiver, a phantom hand counting the vertebrae on your spine.

and, naturally — what you expect is a brawl. a very angry customer, one very injured customer, none of them a blessing upon your paycheck this month. casual dominance is sexy, sure, but not much else — it won't save you from a fist kissing your teeth. and, well, just going by the size of their arms alone —

… the man on your left stands up.

and leaves.

you watch, blinking owlishly as he heads for the exit, steps measured — controlled — as if guided by a puppet string. the thought makes your shoulder itch. the bell rings out, across the lounge, a pleasant chime. he's gone, he actually left. just like that.

one moment of silence, and then a breathy exhale.

"i hope you don't mind," comes a tender voice, softening, woven with silk. "but you seemed a little… uncomfortable."

the stranger takes the now empty seat, but keeps his distance, hands still tucked comfortably inside his sleeves. robes fluttering with the movement, spilling across the leather cushions and draping down to the floor. they look expensive, well made, not cheap cosplay or an elaborate joke — is he actually a monk? at a host club? sounds like the headline for a trashy porno. black hair frames his face, a single silky bang, and you can't even really call it odd because everything about him is already so out of place.

your mind spins with questions. but he's handsome, and he chased away what you're sure was the beginning of a really bad night —

a smile slips onto your lips, cheshire-esque. your eyes crinkled at the edges as you breathe out a chuckle. "no, not at all," you purr. "thank you, kind stranger."

smoothly, you cozy up to him, your thigh ghosting his own, hand about to curl around his bicep — just to feel his build, from under all those layers. he doesn't let you. doesn't say a word, but his brow twitches, a silent tell to back off.

so you do.

(maybe he's one of the look, don't touch types? some kind of power fantasy?)

you don't mind. smile still sweet, your expression doesn't falter. it's fine, this distance is tantalizing in its own right. like he's a painting on the wall, or a holy sculpture — something you'd get in trouble just for smudging with your fingerprint.

the handsome monk remains silent. watches as you fix your blouse, absently, it's in your nature to adjust to the whims of whoever you're servicing. a few buttons are undone, the fabric only covers one of your shoulders. exudes anything but elegance. your fingers curl around the fabric, ready to fish it back up.

that's when he speaks.

"do i not strike you as the promiscuous type?"

it's half a question, half a jest. there's a gleam in his eye when you meet it, something like a silverfish in a pool of dark water. an amused smile on his lips. his voice is light, and you can't help but mirror his expression — something slightly devilish.

"oh, are you?" you grin, tongue swiping against the back of your teeth, tasting the faded cocktails, a spark of syrupy flavours. "i'll leave it as is, then."

your fingers part with the soft linen, reaching instead for the empty glass on the table. putting it to your lips, sipping up what little has melted off the ice cubes, excess. then the clink, and you're turning towards him, smiling with a tilt of your head.

"what would you like to order, handsome?"

a quirk of his brow. "saké," comes his answer, flat.

"classy."

"is it, now?" he doesn't seem impressed. gazing at you with something familiar, but you can't pinpoint it. even though it's right at the tip of your tongue.

no matter, no matter. the sensations of this world have already tainted what remains of your common sense. "and can i get a name, with that order?" you ask, instead, raising yourself up into a standing position; ready to go grab his drink.

"geto," is all he says. smiling, but it's surface level; almost mocking. "just geto."

夏油. summer oil.

you think of autumn, bleeding sunsets. bottles of whiskey poured into a boy's waiting mouth.

(suddenly, you feel like weeping.)

"that'll do, that’ll do.” you give him a wink, before heading for the bar. before you know it, you're pouring the saké into his cup, the scent of fermented rice soothing the sting of tobacco still biting at the back of your throat. old and expensive, your nose picking up a roasted fragrance, fruity undertones.

geto didn't seem intimidated, by the price. you suppose he wasn't joking when he said he'd pay you double.

"how is it?" you ask, maintaining a distance while watching him drink. his eyes are closed, in what you hope is contentment, lips cupping the rim as he sips.

"… good," he hums, appreciatively, swirling the cup in a controlled motion, a gentle vortex. "no, not bad at all. i suppose money really does pay for service…"

another sip. your gaze drinks in his hands, practically dwarfing the cup, thick fingers keeping it safe and steady. would he hold your hips, like that? make sure you stay afloat? or would he drop you to the floor and watch you shatter…?

"are you really a monk, geto-kun?"

"san," he corrects, a cut of his tongue. he's smiling, though. it's hard to tell if he's genuinely bothered by the prefix. "and yes, i am. does that surprise you?"

"a little," you admit, pouring the beverage into your own cup. you watch it fill, swirl around and shimmer, letting out a humoured breath. "i mean, it's not often i get to service a holy man…"

a low noise, almost a snort. eyes of burning cedar flit to your face.

"mm, i see. your usual customers are more of the barbarish kind, are they?" he leans back, keeping eye contact, voice like the weights of a scale, judging. he tuts, quietly, a click of his tongue. "that's not good, you know. men like that don't know how to treat what's fragile."

"fragile?" you laugh, can't help it, teeth gleaming under dim lights.

"yes."

teasing words die on your tongue. something like, maybe i can take more than you think? but no, it's gone, sputtered out somewhere between your gums. because geto says it like he's talking about the weather.

like it's not a challenge; like there’s nothing to prove.

like it's fact.

(you're fragile. you'd break under pressure.)

"… if you say so. anyhow…" you lean forward, a pang of heat flashing against your nape when you catch his lips twitching upwards. "what temple?"

geto breathes out a chuckle, sweet saké on his tongue. "why?" he asks, raising a brow, hand coming to rest against your skin. you remain still, as he drags a thumb against the smudge of lipstick right below your throat. the sudden contact does something to you, makes you pliant, like a kitten being lifted by the scruff. "you don’t strike me as the devout kind. could it be you just want to see me hard at work?"

dark eyes crinkle with mirth — your heartbeat sputters like a firefly crushed under a boot. ah, his voice is like a balm to your ears. honeyed vowels, spinning a sticky web in your mind, just the slightest hint of a rasp underneath. it sneaks into his speech, makes him sound like a sexy dad, and you're screwed, you realize — totally and completely.

"maybe," you say, playing coy. "can't i?"

"i'm not sure how my congregation would feel," he hums, gazing down into his cup again. tapping his fingers against his knee, rhythmic, from forefinger to pinkie. "a little thing like you, hanging off my arm during a sermon…"

another hum, as if he's tasting the thought on his tongue, but you get the feeling he's mostly trying to tease you. a perfectly still smile on his lips.

"i suppose you'd make for good eye candy."

"oh, i’d be honoured to."

this time, his smile feels somewhat genuine, the golden glow of the bar lighting his eyes on fire, makes you think of his name and all its flavours. honey, whiskey, bramble berries eaten under summer shades. he grins, just barely, and your shoulder aches again. pangs of pain, sparks of pleasure. makes you want to lean right in.

makes you crave more.

you drink with him, or more like you watch his measured sips, because for once you don't want your mind completely sullied, want to remain at least slightly lucid, enough to hold a conversation without embarrassing yourself. it pays off. geto is intelligent, well-spoken, an intellectual. absolutely morbid. he stays for an hour, take it or leave it, but it feels like dusk has already bled into dawn by the time he’s gone, everything blurring together until he's all you can see. his pretty lips, the cupid's bow above it. silver tongue peeking out with every syrupy word.

when he stands up, you’re expecting him to ask you to accompany him. tempted to ask yourself. but he tells you of business he must attend to, with graceful poise, as if cutting a firm line between himself and this establishment. him and you. you know that tone, it's like a boyfriend telling you to not be clingy while he's working. a sense of overstepping.

another smile, and then he's leaving. you get the feeling that it falls as soon as his back is turned. call it a gut feeling, but liars know each other like the back of their own hand — and so-called perfect men are always wearing one mask or another.

it doesn't matter, either way. your heart still clenches pitifully, when the bell of the store sings its tune. you watch his back until it's no longer visible.

and then you exhale a sigh. left alone, with a half-full bottle of saké and a strange sensation in your bloodstream, something that pulls and tugs restlessly at the nerves of your brain. muddied, but somehow clear, the room not so blurry anymore.

you feel cold.

(the pain in your shoulder is gone, too.)

fingertips trail along plasticized polystyrene.

cup ramen, stacks of surimi sticks, and a can of beer. you eye the products in your arms, silently counting up the price. it's dark out, the lights of passing cars and the city illuminating the world beyond your local konbini; occasionally, the store's bell will ring, but otherwise it's silent. you're spent. you need this, an unhealthy midnight treat, you deserve it after all the drinks you poured last night.

this world, the real world, is different from the host club. less flashy.

depressing, really.

your feet carry you to the freezer, to eye a bundle of honeydew popsicles. you could eat one on the way back, but by then it'll have melted — you could eat it before slurping up the ramen, but that would make you feel even more like a mess. hair a mess, face a mess, bags under your eyes and a hoodie draped around you, sweatpants and sandals. you can't be bothered to perform on a day off. couldn't be bothered to put on makeup, give the cashier anything more than a vague nod on the way in.

there's no one here to see you like this. no one to see you at all. you're allowed a moment's respite.

"my, my."

…

a voice rings in your ears. you stiffen, standing by the freezer, staring at popsicles and tubs of ice cream; a shiver trailing down your spine. a familiar, familiar voice — honeyed, the slightest hint of a rasp.

and when you look up, you see them. eyes of rusted gold.

sharpened into crescents.

"what a pleasant surprise." he tilts his head, bangs gliding along his skin. "out shopping this late?"

fuck, it's him, it's actually him. of all the people —

"sure am," you exhale, smiling wearily. peering up at him through droopy eyes; fatigue clinging to your voicebank. "are you stalking me, geto-san?"

a chuckle bubbles past his lips. he's still wearing the same robes, eyes gleaming, lips curling up and exposing pure white teeth. "ah, you caught me."

you can't even tell if he's joking. but you breathe out a matching chuckle, as he steps to the side, walks towards another aisle, passing you by. your eyes follow his broad back, trailing after him — ice cream can wait for another day — until you're taking up the empty space at his side. his hand slips from out his sleeve and reaches for a wakaba brand pack of cigarettes, cream-coloured, his fingers flexing as they curl around it. a blink, your lashes fluttering, ravens taking flight from a lamppost outside.

"… you’re a smoker?"

an absent hum. "oh, yes. occasionally."

when geto walks up to the counter, you follow. still carrying your hastily chosen snacks, digging up your wallet from the pocket of your sweatpants, ripping it open with your teeth. you give him a glance while the cashier scans your items, one after the other. "isn't that, like… against buddhist values, or whatever?"

"i'm not buddhist."

beep, beep. you swipe your card, still staring at him out of the corner of your eye.

"… huh."

he clicks his tongue. "i dabble in… a religion of my own making," he adds, smiling. "one could say."

the cashier bows. you return it, gathering your products, turning on your heel to scope out the tables by the windows. not one seat occupied, that's good. you walk towards them, a hum on your tongue.

”sooo… you're a cultist?"

just a joke, to lighten the mood. geto only chuckles, doesn't answer — when you turn your head he's looking at you like you just said something funny.

it shouldn't put you ill at ease.

(you’re fascinated.)

the view from where you plop down to stretch your weary legs is soothing, familiar, twinkling stars dimmed by light pollution and cars whooshing by, blinking street lamps, a river running farther ahead; from the old train station to a faraway clearing of woods. the night sky is vast and wide, the moon hidden behind a cluster of blue clouds. a word sits on the back of your tongue and stays there, heavy like lead, you swallow it while tearing the plastic off your ramen — geto takes a seat besides you, rests his elbows on the table and watches you, chin poised against the heel of his palm. robes hanging off the small chair, meeting the floor. a puddle of ink.

a minute passes. you pour hot water into the cup, crack open the can of beer, exhale when your fingertips meet cool condensation. then you take a swig, throat bobbing gently. geto watches. waits.

"did your business go as expected?" you ask, finally, peeling back the lid of your meal as steam wafts into the air. smells of shrimp and tom yum, the noodles swimming in foam. just about done.

"it did, yes," geto responds, closing his eyes. "did i leave you wanting?"

the bell jingles. a glance in the direction of the entrance tells you it's a group of schoolgirls, out past their bedtime. anxiety swirls in your gut, gnaws at your fragile ribs, little fish nipping at strings of seaweed. they shouldn't be here this late, but what can you do? nothing but stifle it, chew at a surimi stick while breaking apart your chopsticks — the moon peeks out, briefly, paints the city blue.

and, well.

he did, but that doesn't mean he has to say it.

"you wish," you breathe in the broth, choke on a grin. "i have other customers. not nearly as handsome as you, but it'll do."

”hm… should i be flattered?"

you bring a mouthful of noodles to your lips, slurp them up with fervour. a series of beeps resound behind you, idle schoolgirl chatter having died down into hushed whispers. you can't see them, your back turned, but you could wager a guess as to what, or who, they're whispering about. it makes you chuckle through the bite, which makes geto stare at you.

a quirk of his brow, his upturned lips. he tilts his head, lazily, a wilting bud.

"it's just —" you swallow, failing to stifle a humoured breath. leaning forward, to sip at the beer can, just to feel the burn at the back of your throat. imagining yourself and him, from an outside perspective — a shady, hooded guy eating cheap ramen with a monk. "this probably looks like an intervention."

geto hums. doesn't laugh along.

"it could be."

a spark of body heat, hints of bergamot and incense. he's leaned closer, close enough that everything else feels like a shadow, you're encapsulated in his gaze, hidden by the curtains of his robes and silky hair. it sticks a pin inside your heartbeat. falls to the floor with a clatter. he's close, and he smells good, and you're sleepy.

and his voice ghosts the nape of your neck.

"do you need a cleansing, my dear?"

a deep, rumbling purr against your ear. there's the rasp, the baseline, the moment where your mind shatters on the konbini floor. it echoes, thrums under your skin, makes heat gather in your abdomen. for once, he's being serious, you know what people sound like when they want you to be theirs for the night. when you meet his eyes, it's even more clear.

deep pools of desire.

geto stands up. dusts off his robes with steady hands, gives you crescent eyes and a sly smile before turning on his heel. broth clings to your lips, the taste of beer, you've barely touched the surimi. your limbs feel tied up in knots, strung along by a puppeteer.

and you follow.

he could be a murderer, for all you know. a serial killer. maybe he'll take you to some shady love hotel, wrap his hands around your neck, say something about sin before twisting with all his might — you think of all the threats you've heard over the years.

but he’s handsome. beautiful, like this, when you’re a little tired, a little too sloppy to act well. a mess, you must look pitiful, but he wants you. he wants you, he's fascinating, looks like an angel when the light hits just right. if it brings his hands upon you, would sinning be so bad? it's too late, you've already stood up, there's no need for a wager when the loss is just as sweet. you follow; follow him outside, to where the stars barely twinkle and crisp air cups your cheeks, follow him until your heartbeat is racing so fast you can scarcely hear his voice.

messy sheets, steady hands, golden eyes.

that’s the first time you sleep with him.

geto is… an odd guy.

a month has passed since your first meeting. a handful of nights spent under covers, or dim lights, at a host club he's become something of a regular at — though it never takes him long to bring you to a different, emptier bar. he waltzes in with his fancy robes, pays no mind to any of the other hosts — you know they're jealous, too bad for them — and calls you over. doesn't even need to speak, the moment your eyes meet his you're already walking his way. he pays well, buys expensive bottles of saké, brings you with him when he's gotten bored of sneering at the other guests. it’s always just a matter of time.

everything about him spells disaster — spells out something like poisonous berries, or rotten cadavers on an open fire when you’re on the verge of starving.

something a little too good to be true.

he's good in bed, for example. very good. if the monk shtick wasn't already so ridiculously out of place, you're sure it would have shocked you even more — how he knows exactly what to do, where to touch, how to explore the crevices of your body like a lock skillfully broken into, solved, elegant twitches of metal before the door knob loosens. geto is weird, probably a cult leader, but god, is he good at sex.

it's been a while since you felt so truly satiated. every part of your body tended to, filled, ruined and stitched back together again; your mind successfully turned off, painted blank, only blissful clouds and cotton left in your skull by the time he's done. when he steps into the dim-lit lounge, you know you'll be sleeping well into the morning. you know you'll get to see the way his biceps flex and twitch, the tattoos on his back and shoulder, paintings of ink, red flowers and white dragons — that you'll get to feel his weight and see into his brown eyes and paw at his chest, plush and fat, gape at the thick set of scars carving an x inbetween them. the body is a temple. you've never truly understood that, not until now.

not until him.

and it's silly. stupid, naive; it's never good to get a crush on someone who's made what he wants from you abundantly clear. your little arrangement is set in stone — no will he won’t he, no second guessing.

but no one has ever treated your messed up body with that kind of reverence.

so, forgive you for having a bit of a crush on the weird, perverted monk guy. forgive you for being deliriously predictable and easy. for being a little enamored by the way he keeps his distance, how your wants fit together so perfectly — bodies pressed together, minds lodged apart. no strings attached, only sweat and sex and chemicals making a mess of your muddled brain. he wants nothing more, you want nothing less. he pays no mind to the pills on your nightstand, you don't ask about the scar.

it's a silent give and take. he's handsome, takes only a little more than he's given every time. you've found you don't really mind. he's not insatiable, just greedy.

and, well. you've always been eager to excel.

(always the type to get caught up in a backdraft.)

"goddd, that fucking shift…"

a wince twists your throat, spills out when you crane your neck and stretch your limbs above your head — waiting for a crack that never comes. try as you may to get the knots out of your joints, the ache remains — your nerves frazzled, wrists bruised from one too many rough grips, fatigue sticking to your bones. geto sits on a couch in the corner, watches as you slump onto the bed, limbs like dead weights.

"… i need a raise."

a breathy chuckle. "do you, now?" he asks, a glint in his eyes like the cityscape outside. this view isn't bad, your hotel room a few stories high, overlooking the empty streets. ”and here i thought my tips would be more than enough to keep you afloat…"

"well, afloat…" you murmur, shutting your eyes for a moment — voice carried by a sleepy rasp. "i'm afloat. but don't i deserve more than that?"

"do you?"

you can practically hear his smile. he loves that, answering a question with another question. you think it's insufferable, and somehow still enough to have heat twisting in your gut. "i do," you groan. "believe me, i do."

geto hums, absentminded. you can hear the turning of paper-thin pages, a newspaper left for guests to flip through. with a sigh, you raise yourself up on your elbows. "and god, that dick… i swear he tried to throw me under the bus today.”

flip, flip. "who?"

"you've seen him… you know, the tacky guy?" weary limbs move across silken sheets, help you into a sitting position, so you can gaze at him properly. black hair, firm facial lines, big, beautiful hands. that's your geto. "cheap dye, piercings? looks like he's got a rich daddy?"

"what kind?"

his wry response pulls a chuckle out your lips. "both, probably." you mutter. "ungrateful little shit…"

finally, geto lifts his gaze. pools of amber, sloshing summer oil, burns on your hands and neck. he meets your eyes with a calm glint in his own, setting the newspaper back on the table in front of him.

"i don't know who you mean," he smiles, and you think he must be lying, trying to avoid work talk — either that, or he really does only pay attention to you. the thought is sweet, intoxicating, too good to be true. ”but i take it he's giving you a hard time?"

a scoff.

"understatement of the century…"

slowly, he uncrosses his legs; lets his sandals meet the carpented floor, and stands up to his full height, before walking over to your place of rest. you watch him, lazily, eyes never parting from the swooshing of his heavy robes, the way that he moves, like he's following a path carved just for him. you've met men who take up space, who do it like it's easy, like it’s their birth right — this is different. his steps are not heavy, loud, nor flashy. he moves quietly, like a serpent, a mesmerizing slithering across the floor. geto stops in front of you, and tilts his head; slips a smile onto his lips. crescented, a half-moon.

”would you like me to take care of him for you?”

(it lights up his expression.)

”… take care?” you echo, blinking sluggishly. ”what, you gonna kill him?”

”would you like me to?”

…

a hum. you stare off into space, for a moment; feeling his gaze weigh you down and split you apart, he doesn't need his hands for that. it's a tantalizing proposition — you can't tell if he's joking, but you know he likes it best that way. you also know your job would be a whole lot easier without a little brat messing up your monthly quota. ”kind of.” it slips from out your lips, a deadpan reply.

and a chuckle rumbles in his throat.

"he really is bothering you." his smile splits itself further, white teeth showing for a second before he laps over them with his tongue. "i suppose i'd be doing you a favour."

you snort, raising a practiced brow, meeting his gaze head on. "what, did you think i was exaggerating? lying? i'd never."

”of course you wouldn’t.” he exhales, a husk to his breath — amusement buzzing behind closed lips. "there'd be no need. you're easy to read, after all."

(ouch.)

the comment has you wanting to laugh, call him a dick, roll your eyes in a show of discontentment. what a callous thing to say to such a dedicated actor.

then again, you haven't been doing a very good job of it, recently.

to geto, you must be nothing more than a fruit wanting to be peeled. he undoes your layers with ease, and it's humiliating — irritating — has warmth blooming under your bones. grime doesn't dissuade his appetite, after all. there's no real need for acting. not when he looks at you just the same regardless. not when you're fairly sure he wouldn't so much as stir, even if you killed someone in front of him; he'd listen to your reasons, your motives, not saying a thing. he'd look into your eyes without flinching.

geto probably knows how empty you are. you don't think he minds; think he might even prefer it. you think you could tell him anything, but you won't.

(you have some pride, after all.)

”i think you’re the only one who can see through me at all," you admit, words coming out softer than you meant them to. a slip of the tongue.

for a moment, you regret your words. avoiding his gaze, though you feel it searing into your skin, the tip of a cigarette burning tender flesh. the hotel room is quiet, the cityscape glitters and gleams, sways softly in a dark night, a shattered mirror world. geto hums.

”keep it that way.”

his voice drops, an edge to it — a jolt down your heartbeat. there it is, the edge of a kitchen knife making itself known. the words make your throat run dry, a few seconds where you can only feel the air leave your lungs, enter, leave again. but you plaster a smile onto your lips and meet his eyes. perhaps a little too cheery to be convincing. ”… yes, sir."

you're being studied. your flesh is being cut into. soon, he'll dig into it with hands and limbs, more than just his eyes — soon, your ribs will split apart to make room for him. and his gaze carries all of this, it's like he's telling you himself. eye to eye communication. his cornea tells you there's nothing you could hide from its all-seeing gaze. you're inclined to believe that; doesn't make any it less terrifying. exhilarating.

geto seems pleased.

when he leans in, you aren’t ready. a stutter building in your throat. close, close, now you can smell the green tea off his breath, dried leaves and boiling water, like the pools in his eyes, rising steam, his breath ghosting your lips. he's going to kiss you.

how rare.

”easy to read," he repeats, voice a quiet whisper, gravelly against your ear. "and easy to trick."

a gasp. a sharp jolt, a spark of pain burning down your spine, your chest — your mind works overtime to catch up to the sudden sensation, lost in his voice and his gaze and his warmth — he just pinched your fucking nipple. the burn blows your eyes open, parts your lips, his thumb and forefinger applying pressure through your thin shirt. it hurts, not letting up.

and geto smiles. light and easy.

”… and sensitive.”

it's a dull remark, like he's still reading from the newspaper, listing off this weekend's weather patterns. heat blooms in your gut. you feel like something small, molded just to fit his hands, waiting to be exposed and split into halves. it's humiliating, to be seen, you're not sure if you want to flee or stay right here — if just the weight of his palms make up for the sting accompanying them.

”… just for you,” you hear yourself speak. a hitch of your breath, yet you force the words out, mustering a smile — sleazy, flimsy, as long as it looks convincing it’s fine. you won't make it easy for him. not today.

but geto smiles. the corners of his eyes crinkle like ginkgo leaves, melted gold, like he knows something you don't. a slow, delighted exhale. "idle flattery won’t save you, this time.” he tuts, and twists, waiting for a jolt. ”not when it’s so obvious.”

a strangled wince claws at your lips, but you swallow it down — inhale, exhale, try to steady your breathing, try not to shiver or pull away from his cruel grip — geto watches your silent endeavors, your attempts at staying afloat. you expect him to laugh.

instead, he cups your chin. tilts it up, up, up, until you're looking into his abyssal eyes, baring your bobbing adam's apple, your vulnerable throat.

he looks admonishing.

"tsk, tsk. whatever shall i do with you?" he clicks his tongue, a chastising purr to his voice. "so careless with your body, but dishonest about what it wants. are you ashamed just to live, darling?”

an involuntary gulp. the question makes your heart constrict, a guilty twist. sends a pang of pain into your veins, a downward tug at your lips, has you falling silent.

a moment where you cannot fully hide the pain in your expression.

(shah mat.)

geto tilts his head, then, silky bangs across soft skin, a flicker of satisfaction in eyes like golden fruit. ripe for plucking. he graces you with a smile, the branches of his lips curling up, up, blooming like a grotesque flower — like he knows exactly what you're thinking. like he knows you, in and out, like he's already seen every ghost in your skull, tasted them on his tongue and taken them down his throat.

there's no scaring him off.

at last, he lets you go — takes a moment to get seated on the edge of the bed, and pats his lap. a heavy hand, a silent cue. you lick at the back of your teeth, savouring the burn his fingers leave behind.

"come here," he croons, as if taking pity on you. ”let me give you some relief.”

he doesn't have to ask you twice.

so you end up beneath him — you always do — his weight bearing down on you, big hands dwarfing your hips, heated pants and the creaks of a worn out mattress echoing in the empty hotel room. a cacophony of filthy noise, skin on skin, bone on bone, you've done it all too many times before. he's so close you wonder if you've morphed together. so close you don't know where he ends and you begin.

geto inhales, heavy, a dark look in his eyes.

"maybe i should just buy you off," he rasps, breath hot against you, sweat dripping down his brow, "keep you at my temple… always within reach."

any ability to speak has left you, at this point, any coherent method of speech. you can't say anything — not, hey, that’s a pretty fucking strange thing to say, or — you would have me entertain a bunch of monks? seriously? not even yes, yes, please, i don’t want anyone else to ever see me like this again. i don’t want to be ruined by anyone but you.

only a breathy whimper makes it past your lips. it makes him chuckle, into the hollow room.

(and he’s gone again, the morning after.)

geto would not consider himself a fickle man.

every action has a consequence. every choice must be weighed, considered, carefully plucked apart.

there is value in the act alone. weight is synonymous with heart, and geto, despite himself, cannot help but cling to his; worn out as it may be, soiled with fingerprints. there is weight behind his every action, care. choice means being human. choice means weight, which means heart, which is all he needs.

all this to say — geto suguru does not bet on losing dogs.

how he ended up in the corner of a dim-lit, shady host club is honestly beyond him. a grotesque sort of happenstance. the air smells of champagne and cologne, handsome hosts and guests chattering at every table in sight. all of them vermin.

what would his family say, if they knew what he was doing? ask if he's come down with a fever, no doubt. he can practically hear their voices — geto-sama, with a bunch of monkeys? willingly? no way. he could barely take the train to osaka last week! they'd be right, that's what grates him — that he's sitting there, and people-watching, still entirely uninterested in choosing his host for the evening. uninterested in drinking. cheery voices, sultry whispers, the popping of bottles and buzz of a karaoke machine. everything is loud, everything sparkling with the mere illusion of glamour.

disgusting. but he stays, only crinkles his nose and soothes his senses with the scent of his own robes, mellow incense. tries not to picture the walls red.

that's when he sees you.

a stumbling, giggling figure, clad in flimsy clothing, reaching for the mic. you're pretty, he can tell even at this distance. but stained, with lipstick and alcohol, a rotten smile on your face — rotten in the sense that it's so obviously hollow. it's only when you part your lips and sing that he is pulled out of his stupor, that his eyes narrow in an attempt to focus on anything else. your voice rings out, like the chime of a bell, clear and bright — the song doesn't match your vocals, doesn't do it justice. you stand on stage, a spectacle, and he cannot bring himself to look away.

(that's how it starts. the beginning of his fixation.)

geto finds himself thinking that he likes the way you look like this. sparkling, glowing, golden rays surrounding you — it creates a crescendo of light, from where he’s sitting, something like a halo, makes you look almost holy. makes him want to laugh, because that couldn't be further from the truth. you're a bug. a bug that gets paid to be of service.

pitiful, he thinks. you're pitiful. you're swaying like a drunk angel.

but your voice carries a longing he finds impossible not to indulge. to gaze at, silently, until your eyes happen to fall across his own, splatter on his brow — a flicker of light, in the middle of a too-small stage. he captures them. keeps them there.

and he swears your smile grows brighter.

(jaws snap against his ribcage. a spider weaves a web of silk.)

darling, vague complaints and fridays. he tastes the lyrics off your tongue, white noise. has already sicked the curse on you, almost on autopilot, call it morbid curiosity. it curls around your shoulder, and yet you do not falter. do not flinch. can you not feel the sting?

this sickness makes me want nothing more than to hurt you.

a smile splits his lips bloody.

everyone else has their eyes on you, follows your swaying, your shimmering skin. he wants to kill them, itches to. leering leeches. but that would surely make you stop singing, so he allows his fingers to twitch without purpose, makes no move to call on another wretched little puppet. listens to you until the song is over, until he can see the pain in your expression. does it hurt, little one? do you finally feel it?

he wonders. but he doesn't ask, even when he has you seated beside him, tipsy, shirt nearly slipping off your shoulder — he pictures your skin smudged, soiled, bite marks and bruises. it does nothing but add to his growing revulsion. his first night with you is over in the blink of an eye; a failure, on his part.

before he leaves the bar, he swipes his thumb across the back of your neck. watches the curse unclench its jaw, unlatch its decaying gums, a sickly purple against your ruined skin. leaves behind sticky saliva, droplets dribbling down your collarbone. filthy. he can scarcely remember why he came, why he stayed. to satisfy his curiosity, his mind supplies, only part-lie. to fill the gap. to see what it's like — men with men, dim-lit glamour, icecubes swirling in glasses half-empty — a useless endeavor. it's cheap, he feels nothing. no real desire. not the burning kind he used to fantasize about, tangled limbs and spit.

… not until you say that.

"you wish," he watches you breathe in the broth, choke on a grin. "i have other customers. not nearly as handsome as you, but it'll do."

he wonders why that's what makes his patience snap. bug on bug, the thought of something rotten catching you between its teeth. the knowledge that you don't mind — that you want it. filthy, pitiful, he feels sorry for your bones and your skin, at the mercy of your heart, swaying to and fro without a thought. feels sickly at the thought that it exists, that it beats.

that the same bundle of flesh slumbers beneath your ribs as his. heavy, weighty; a bleeding lump of flesh.

so he takes you to bed. out of practice, it’s been a while, but if you notice you're a better actor than he gave you credit for. he feels your heart beat against his own — yes, it's there, right there, squirming around. disgust. exhiliration. a way to pass the time.

that's what you are. what this is. he tells himself, in a soothing voice, that it means nothing; that it's not a betrayal, not if he's just using you.

not if you're just a source of warmth on nights his hands feel cold and need something to tend to.

he’s gentle, the first time you sleep together. not as much the other times, but you need it, don’t you? he can tell. you get this look in your eye. like you enjoy being along for the ride, having all thoughts pushed out of your body. it would not do, for him to leave you unsatisfied — sorcerer or not. would not do for his pride, the satisfaction he feels when you bloom in front of him, shatter and curl into yourself like a rhododendron in the precipice of summer.

what you are is a distraction.

(but you're beautiful, when he unmasks you.)

no, geto certainly is not a fickle man. he weighs his options with care; he calculates; he does not bet on losing dogs. your whines are sweet, though, your mind a lid he wants to uncap. it feels good, to be above you. to see you in your entirety, knowing the other men you sleep with don't get the opportunity, don't care to in the first place. wouldn’t want to.

you haven't been loved properly. he can tell.

"please don't go…"

words aren't necessary. your limbs, wrapped around his waist, say enough. the dew at your lashline says enough. you aren't lucid; it's the most primal part of you, clawing its way out. that says enough.

he soothes you before leaving. makes sure you're sound asleep.

you're his, he thinks, watching your poor body seek solace in silky sheets. feels it seek out his touch when he runs a hand over your hip. you're beautiful, and you're his. those other men don't know how to treat you, but he does. he knows what you need. little things like you should be treated like glass, spoiled —

then broken into splinters.

they don't understand. how could they? horny, mindless apes. he should kill them. slaughter them, for having laid a hand on what he owns. what he bought. he should wrangle their corpses for every set of handprints they've left on your delicate wrists.

he should. he will. their time will come.

one last glance, before he leaves for the compound. when you're bathed in moonlight, sick thoughts cloud his mind; when he wraps his gojogesa around heavy robes, and watches you slumber in the king-sized hotel bed. a dangerous indulgence.

it's something in the way you move. maybe he's always sensed it, maybe that's why he wanted you, the thought often eats him alive after you've slept together. something in the way you move, yes — your disposition, the way you carry yourself — like nothing could hurt you, even though it already has, the world has left its mark on you, he can see it in your eyes. try as you may to conceal it. rot knows rot.

even now, he sees it. something in the way you glow under dim lights. when all that surrounds you is gold, blinding white — he can almost delude himself into thinking that your hair is the same. strands of white, like a summer sky — pink lips and a clear voice —

it reminds him of someone.

honestly, suguru… i think you're the only one who understands me at all.

(he crushes the thought before it can shatter him.)

what you are is a distraction. he repeats it, chews it between his teeth until it tastes like nothing at all. a way to spend the time. wish-fulfillment, maybe, at best — there is no room for anything more. no room to think thoughts like if only you weren't what you are, if only you were like him — no room for second guessing or digging himself deeper into the ground.

he's already slipped deeper than he would have liked.

a shake of his head, and the thought is vapour. he scrubs the image of your sleeping body from his mind; reminds himself, dully, of what you are.

he thinks he can go on, like this. just like this.

there is no danger in the web he's weaved you.

”i wanted to be a singer.”

a gentle breeze, clouds covering the sky. you say it so casually, he’d think you were mentioning the weather if it wasn’t for the sadness in your voice.

you fail to keep it out.

bathed in salty air, clouds of smoke, facing the sea with a forlorn gaze — your elbows rest on the railing overlooking it. a cup of bitter coffee stands on the cafe table behind you, abandoned, left to cool. espresso steam blends with roasted nicotine. tobacco stings your eyes, he’s sure; would you blame your glassy eyes on that, were he to point it out?

(oh, how he wonders.)

”is that so.”

geto lights his own cigarette. one, two flicks of his thumb before orange sparks at his fingertips — he delights in the jolt of his nervous system, the way it burns. delights in the rush of dopamine that follows, when he inhales, feels it flood his lungs and sting his windpipe on the way out. a heavy exhale, his trail of smoke mingling with your own, in the crisp and solemn morning air. he can't tell which is which.

the world is quiet, here. like you’re the only ones awake. hidden under a bleak sky, murky blue, nearly gray. he likes it better when it bursts with colour, but this is just fine. you look pretty when your eyes lack light.

geto flicks the butt of his cigarette, ash crumbling on his thumb. his voice comes out with a rasp, laced with thick smoke, but it doesn’t waver, deep and silky even still. the air smells a little like disease, but he finds he doesn’t mind it. finds he likes the contrast. polluting an air that smells too much of summer. ”well, you certainly have the vocals for it.”

you let out something like a scoff. it lingers, in your throat, drags against the walls of flesh.

amused.

when you turn your head to meet his gaze, eyes just slightly red, smile dipped in sardonicism — he thinks you’ve never looked more lovely. not even beneath him, satin sheets spread out like an altar of worship.

or an altar of sacrifice.

sweet as the bite of a ripened peach.

”do i?” you ask, irony tinged on your tongue. wearing a flimsy smile, that seems to fade the longer he looks at it. he watches your cupid’s bow sway, the drag of an arrow. ”you’ve worn them out, you know.”

a breathy exhale. he hides it with his cigarette, takes another drag just to feel the burn at the back of his throat. he smiles, though, can’t help it.

”… you’ll live.” and he exhales, air rushing to flood his lungs, greedy. the salt burns more than the tobacco. ”you still have time. it’s not too late to try again.”

a sudden, eerie silence.

”… i don’t know about that.”

he thinks he could love you, just like this.

"i think i might be out of time."

there's a sad, sad look in your eyes. it makes you look older than you are, more weary, like a pillar of salt left to face the sea. hair swaying in the air, gently, tousled locks and pursed lips, a painting just for him. you look tired. you look exhausted, broken down.

something about it makes him soften.

"do you feel hopeless?" he chuckles, a breathy noise, it scatters into the open air and then disappears. "you haven't seen the world. in that sense, you might as well be a child."

smoke slithers from the butt of his cigarette. everything is silent. no scoff, no click of tongues or scraping of nails against ceramic cups. nothing fake, about this moment. time is all you have, he wants to add. there's no escaping it. but he hesitates, for a moment too long, taken by the suffering in your gaze — geto wonders what you're thinking about, with such a blank expression. wonders what kind of pain you must be feeling. you look like you could shatter where you stand, just a sheet of broken glass, or a fish out of water — a lost soul, flecked with seafoam and cigarette smoke — a pretty little thing, watching the sea like you’d like to wade right in. like there is nowhere you belong, nowhere on this earth.

nowhere to seek solace.

he could love you, when you look this fragile. could allow himself a moment to taste it on his tongue, dip his toes into the first syllable. just to feel the chill.

(even just for a little while.)

you don’t bite back. neither of you speak. only the dull scraping of ocean waves fills the empty air.

”i love you.”

you are the first to step over that boundary.

it’s whispered into his neck. broken, quiet, more of a shallow breath than a sentence. so small, so quiet he thinks he must have heard you wrong. words get lost on both of you, when blood is pumping in your ears, through your veins, when skin meets skin. you’re too tired to speak properly, speak at all. he’s being hard on you tonight — couldn’t think clearly, only saw one of your other regulars try to cop a feel, and, well —

that doesn’t matter, now.

”i love you…”

— there it is, again.

the breathiest, most silent little whimper he’s ever heard.

(geto inhales. curses himself.

a lump forms in his throat.)

you aren’t coherent, you don’t know what you’re saying. he knows that. of course, he knows that. you’re just trying to stay afloat in whatever way you can. just babbling nonsense into his ears like it'll make him go a little easier on you, like you just want his affection —

he thinks he might throw up.

moonlight flits in through the window blinds, illuminates his back, lotus flowers blooming where ink meets skin on his left shoulder. the dragon curls around his back, coils up in anger, disgust. curses crawling in his stomach, hot with irritation.

this was supposed to be a distraction. he was never planning to keep you, you're no human — certainly no partner. the tremors of his heart mean nothing, it's all chemical, all a masquerade. you are nothing.

once the fun has run its course, he'll kill you.

that's what he's been telling himself. he'll slaughter you, etch the sight of red blood against satin sheets into his memory, taste the excess dripping down your waist — he’ll drink it in and throw it up.

but you love him.

(you love him.)

geto wants to hate you.

what he hates most of all is that those words disarm him. peel his skin away, leave only the flesh. he can’t help it, though he tries — a futile endeavor —

”you’re okay.”

a tender, tender, whisper, spilling from his parted lips. when did they part? when did making room for you become as natural as breathing?

”you’ll be okay.”

a weak whimper, nestled against his throat. arms go slack around him, your body peeling itself of guarded skin, allowing him to do as he pleases. so good, so pliant.

(his poor, poor boy.)

geto tastes iron, bursting hot and heavy on his tongue. sinks his teeth into his lower lip, as far as they can go, until the sting itself fades away. keeps going until you pass out, softly, silently, tenderly. kisses your neck, shushes your cries. keeps a big palm on the back of your neck the entire time. rocks you to sleep, as if it's muscle memory.

tender, he reminds himself. when someone tells you they love you, you treat them tenderly, suguru.

(a burning, rotten memory. his mother’s voice.

he feels like dying.)

once all is said and done, he watches you slumber under blue light. dim, it casts a shadow over your features, but he can still see it clear as day; the creases on your face, the lines of your jaw and cheekbones and the way your chest rises and falls.

for once, he doesn't leave.

instead, geto tucks himself behind you, drags forgotten covers over his frame, pulls you against his warm chest, a mother to her newborn — your sniffle-like breaths safe in the boundary between his throat and sternum. he holds you, and closes his eyes. your heartbeats soften, gradually, in tune with his own, clammy skin sticking together. he wants to clean you. wants to give you a bath, scrub the stains away.

you look so very fragile.

he swallows the bile, and keeps his eyes shut. he can allow himself a moment of pretending.

(but this farce will have to end, soon.)

some days, geto doesn’t miss him at all.

some days, hues of cherry pink and bright-sky blue remind him of nothing more than fruit and summer. on even better days, fruit and summer don’t remind him of boys biting into ripe peaches, or napping in the sun, or tickling his ribs while on the back of his bike until they both tumble to the ground.

some days, geto doesn’t linger in the past.

(most days, it’s all he does.)

you’re lying in bed, on your side, curled up with your knees against your chest. naked and unguarded, a newborn fawn. he thinks of how your legs shake after a particularly rough session. almost cracks a smile, but he's too tired, mind too tangled up in knots; he didn't sleep a wink last night. can only watch you from across the room, in silent contemplation, map your features into his mind. he feels fondness for you, like this, only like this. (especially like this.) when you’re entirely bare. a freshly plowed field, a peeled fruit, ready to be carved into halves, willing to be split. breathing very softly into sheets left dirtied.

the world has yet to wake, outside the window.

in moments like this, he indulges in the thought. not enough to suffocate, just sting. he pretends that your hair is white, like marble flooring, like specks of dust collecting light. pretends you're in another country, another life, with no weight on your shoulders. the thought tastes sweet — tastes like bramberries and sunlight and whiskey, tastes like a breakfast well-served. a life where meaning frames the world.

but that sunlight makes its way through your shut blinds, one way or another. no matter how tightly he closes them. and, in turn, your lashes flutter apart.

geto closes his eyes, and pretends he cannot see their colour. pretends that they’re blue, blue, blue, a blue so staggering it makes the sky look white.

a blue that dyes the whole world monochrome.

(if it was him — would he be like this? sleeping soundly, satiated, nuzzled into his chest instead of a pillow? would he be as good as you? as willing to be ruined?

would he want to ruin anyone but you?)

”… geto…?”

you sound surprised. voice a broken tune, raspy and high, like splintered glass. he's bewildered that he finds it charming. that it makes him feel anything at all. you raise your hand to rub at your eyes, groaning softly, twitching like you're having trouble just to move your limbs. geto stands by the door, rests his back against the wall, and watches you. isn't sure how long he's stood there and contemplated leaving.

"… you're still here?"

hope. he can practically taste it, off your breath.

a low click of his tongue. he takes a step forward, towards your bedside, sunshine gliding across his skin, his robes. he's fully clad, no sight of scarring or tattoos, the barest of marks you left when you nipped his neck in your sleep. he won't let you see it.

and he towers above you like a scarecrow on a hayfield.

doesn't say a word. only reaches out to grasp your jaw, palm flat against your chin, trails his hand down your neck. two fingers, dragged between your fragile ribs. neither rough nor gentle. you're pliant, there's no fight in you, a lamb making itself soft for the blade of a dagger. you let him explore you, while a frown threatens to break through his pursed lips — thick brows furrowed together. you don't jolt, or yelp. you trust your body with him. silly, stupid, naive.

can't you see what he's made you into?

"... maybe i should cut your heart out," he breathes, surprised by how sincere he sounds, the shadows that covet his voice. "save us both the trouble. hm?"

that makes you scrunch your nose. eyelids too droopy, too weighty to keep themselves up, they just flutter shut again. oh, whatever shall he do with you?

"… my heart…?" a soft sigh, a noise in the back of your throat, like a cat awoken from its nap. you're mumbling, he has trouble hearing you, isn't sure if you're fully lucid or if you think this is a dream. a yawn spills past your lips. "y'can have it…"

… bare. unguarded. heart ripe for plucking.

any man could steal it. rob it from its branches. you don't seem to understand your own appeal, your true appeal; it's aggravating. your ribs are so easy to peel apart. when someone speaks softly to the confines of your heart, they just fall open, all on their own.

so very guarded, yet trusting even still. so, so eager to let the right one in.

”… you remind me of a friend.”

the words have already left his lips. it's too late, now.

sundrops splatter against your nose, the corners of your bottom lip. he could picture them crimson, camellia and spider lily, grows sick at the thought, a macabre twist of his guts, like he just swallowed something terrible. sunshine frames your expression, the way it shifts in the light, shadows passing by and painting your teeth when you speak. pink gums, pink tongue, swollen from abuse. a flicker of knowing, of remembering, when your pupils dilate; coil into slits.

"… friend?" you echo, a breathless mutter. "or boyfriend?"

geto twitches, from the tips of his fingers. still resting just where your ribcage ends.

they leave your skin, his thumb brushing gently against your navel before parting, a tender feather-like flick. you're sensitive, there; he knows your body like the back of his own hand, sees the shudder that slithers through you before he feels it.

sometimes, he wonders if you know him just as well.

silence. only quiet, quiet breaths. any answer geto could give stays clogged at the base of his throat, full peaches blocking his windpipe, keeping the words from bubbling up and erupting. fuzzy fruitskin against red flesh. he wants to taste the nectar. wants a lot of things he can never have, not in this life.

hey, suguru. peel it for me.

… huh? what's with the attitude?

"it’s complicated, huh."

geto swallows.

"… i suppose it is," he breathes, eyes straying from your own. deep cedar, bright honey, enclosed in globes of amber, finding solace in your sullied bedsheets. will you clean them? would you keep them as is, if you knew you'd never see him again?

what was he hoping for, all this time?

an exhale. you're smiling, you're sleepy, he wonders if your body is still blissed out enough to save you from the heartache. "am i the rebound?" you ask, a hint of humour, stretching your limbs out like a sleepy feline.

a sigh.

"… essentially."

the soft rustling of sheets. your skin is dyed golden, by the silent sun, illuminated against pure white. an altar, marble flooring, specks of dust and sodium light. you let out a little noise, something like a hum. as if struck over the head. a moment passes, and you still, eyelids falling shut. a chuckle breaks your silent death.

"it hurts that you’re so straightforward." sincerity always brings nothing but pain, he wants to tell you. if you'd never opened your heart to me, you wouldn't be feeling this way. if i had never held it in my palms, perhaps i wouldn't be feeling so empty. this is the price humans pay for loving so callously. "you're a pretty cruel guy. has anyone told you that?"

geto smiles. he closes his eyes, and steps away from you; voice a quiet breath of air.

"just once."

there is nothing to be done about a heart of stone.

geto turns on his heel, and does not look behind him.

he will leave. leave, and leave no trace, leave your home untouched, only purple marks smudged across your nape to prove his greed, to prove he ever sunk his claws into your tender flesh. imprints of teeth on your chest. fingerprints on your hips. marks will remain, and fade with time. soon enough, you'll forget about them. he will make his way past the second street, and think of neither you nor satoru.

he will not think of blue eyes, or summer. he will not think of your eyes, bleary with forgotten dreams, lost potential, speckled with what he knows to be love — a word so heavy he wishes he could spit on it. a word he wishes he did not revere.

he will not think of you, even as he crosses the main street with the fountain you like, glittering under a sun just about to break the world into halves. even as he watches a man play the violin by the train station, listens to the thin strings bend and bow just like your vocal chords under the dim lights of a trashy bar he’d never have gone to if it weren’t for you. he will not think of the way you glow.

he will think of nothing, and no one.

"… see you, geto."

(he thinks he’ll be okay.)

#pretty dividers by @/strangergraphics-archive & @/hyuneskkami !!#geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto suguru x reader #geto x male reader #geto suguru x male reader #geto angst

324 notes · View notes

love-at-first-sight-23 · 3 months ago

Text

Love like a Fairytale ˚₊‧ა❤︎

JJ Maybank x Fem!Virgin!Innocent!Reader

Warnings: Unprotected sex, heavy smut, minimal cursing, fluff, reader is a virgin, first time sex, fingering, size kink, corruption kink, friends to lovers, cum licking, way too many pet names

Word Count: 3.7k

Plot: JJ Maybank is your best friend. You find it hard to believe he could be anything more. But when you both confess love to each other, your world takes a romance-story like turn. You have no previous skill in dating, but JJ is more than willing to guide you along.

A/n: I think I went into a fever dream while writing this. Anyway, enjoy this soft!JJ moment! (P.S. Reader loves reading in this, so if you don’t pretend it’s your favorite video game or smth)

The sun dipped slowly behind the horizon. The trees in your yard shone with the orange-tinted light. Your legs swung back and forth as you sat on the hanging bench on your front porch, reading a book. A glass of lemonade, almost empty, sat by your feet on the wood floorboards. You were wearing a yellow checker-patterned dress that was tied with a white bow in the back.

You heard footsteps on the front walk and looked up. It was your best friend, JJ Maybank. Strands of his blonde hair, slightly tinted from the sun, hung into his eyes.

You waved to him and set the book down in your lap, smiling. He waved back and stepped onto the porch, his hands in the pockets of his shorts.

“What’s up?” He greeted you, his familiar voice a welcome sound in your ears.

You shrugged. “Just reading. What are you doing here?”

“I was bored.” He sat down on the bench next to you, resulting in you swinging back and forth a few times.

His eyes trailed over your dress quickly. “You look nice.” Just like JJ to compliment you. He was always nice to you.

“Thank you,” you replied. You had met JJ and his friend group of Pogues at school back in elementary, and you had hit it off from there. You can’t remember a summer you hadn’t spent with him going swimming and laughing at his bad jokes.

“The sunset is nice, isn’t it?” JJ looked out over the houses, where you could just make out the blue shimmer of the ocean.

Kind of reminded you of JJ’s eyes, which had just moved to look down at you.

“It is.” You looked away after a moment and back at your book, still open on your lap. “Would you like to hear about the book I’m reading?”

“Sure, why not.” This was another thing you had always liked about JJ. He always acted interested in the things you did, even if he didn’t particularly enjoy them himself, such as reading. No matter what it was, he still gave you his attention.

Reading was an activity you loved. It took you away to faraway places, where dragons, fairies, and witches were real. It had always been a comfort since your mom told you fairytales when you were younger.

You turned the cover over so he could see the front. “Okay, so…” You began telling him about the book, diving into the plot, the characters, the storytelling. JJ watched you intently the entire time, nodding here and there and asking questions. Another person might have gotten tired of hearing you chat on and on, but with JJ he would pay attention to you for hours. You always felt comfortable with him, like all of your worries and self-consciousness had drifted away.

When you finished your explanation, JJ grinned at you. “Thanks for telling me about this book. You really know how to make someone feel part of a tale.”

You felt yourself blush slightly. “No problem. You probably have to go, don’t you?”

JJ nodded, his gaze lingering for a few seconds longer. “I should get going then. See you tomorrow.” He got up off of the bench and left down the street. You watched him go until he was too far away to see. His face was still fresh in the front of your mind.

You saw JJ again the next day, reading the same book on the porch in the heat of the afternoon.

He smiled at you as he joined you in your favorite sitting place. “Hey there. Care to catch me up on that great book you’re working on?”

“Of course.” Your cheeks flushed a little as you turned to the book in your hands. You started describing the new chapter to him and the events that had unfolded since you left off with him yesterday.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur with JJ while he watched and listened calmly. By the time you stopped talking, the sun had already begun to set.

JJ checked his watch then looked back at you apologetically. “I’ve got to head home right about now. I’ll see you around, ‘aight?”

You nodded. “See ya.” There was something warm simmering in his eyes as they met yours. It matched the feeling in your chest. Before you could decipher what it was, he tore away from your gaze and walked away from you down the concrete path.

You couldn’t speak. Something about him left you speechless and pondering long after you spent time alone together.

You sipped your soda at a table in the local fast-food restaurant with your friend, Kiara. You hands were folded underneath your chin.

Kiara munched on a cardboard container of fries. “So I heard JJ’s been coming over recently. What’s that all about?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really. I’ve been telling him about the books I’ve been reading.”

“Really? Because he sure visits an awful lot. And you’re the only one he seems to want to talk to nowadays.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumbled, averting your gaze.

“Oh, c’mon, just admit you like him already. It’s pretty obvious you guys are a thing.” Kiara teased.

Your head snapped up to look at her, shocked. “I— no, we’re just friends, I promise. That’s all,” you said firmly.

She sighed and shook her head. “Whatever you say.”

There was an uneasy emotion in your gut. You and JJ had always been best friends, nothing more. You would admit, over the years of evenings spent in each others presence, you had grown closer. But you didn’t have much experience with relationships in the first place. How would you know if he liked you?

Kiara’s words rang in your head as you lay in bed that night. What if she was right after all, and the countless times you saw that look in JJ’s eyes, tender and longing, and he brought over your favorite candies and the new novel by your favorite author when you were sick, had all meant he had fallen for you?

Or, a voice in your head said, you were delusional. Which was likely. Why would someone like JJ like you? You weren’t pretty enough. You weren’t smart enough. You weren’t good enough for anyone. But what if… what if you were good enough for him?

Your heart wanted you to believe. But you couldn’t. Not until you knew for sure.

It was beach day for the Pogues. The sun was shining and most of your friends were catching the waves, surfing while shouting “Woo!” and laughing whenever someone wiped out.

Not you and JJ though. You were sitting on a beach towel facing the ocean, the seagulls squawking and trying to get into the sandwiches in your bag. You shooed them away, purposely scooting further away from JJ as you did so. You hadn’t been talking to him for the most part. You were afraid. Afraid to ask him about his feelings for you. It was embarrassing. And you couldn’t do it.

JJ noticed your silence. “What’s wrong? You’ve been less talkative than I’m used to you being, princess.” The way the nickname slid so easily off his tongue made your heart stutter in your chest.

Your tongue tied in your mouth. You couldn’t bring yourself to say the words. Your courage had left you wholeheartedly. Could it be because… you were scared what his reaction would be?

You forced yourself to look at him. His blue eyes, always so bright, reflected your own. The concern that had fallen over his expression gave you the push you needed. “Can… can I ask you a question, JJ?”

“Whatever you need, cupcake.” There. Another nickname. Your breath felt like it had been sucked out of your lungs. You mustered up all you had as your fingers dug into the coarse sand.

“Do you like me?” You blurted out. JJ looked taken aback. He was at a loss for words. Then, slowly, he softened.

“Y/n, I… I have for the longest time. Ever since that day, when we were at that party, and you were in that dress, with the light from the disco ball shining in your hair, I wanted so badly to be with you. Since I first saw you, actually. More than… more than anything.” His voice wavered. There were so many emotions spilling out of him at the same time. You were speechless. His eyes held nothing but genuine love and gentleness towards you.

Your shoulders felt weak. You sat frozen an inch from JJ’s face, feeling like your spirit was drifting away like a bird. As his words sunk in you came to.

“JJ, I— I think I like you too.” There was hesitation in your voice, but you were certain of the meaning in your words. You didn’t know how your relationship with JJ would change, or what would happen, but now you knew you were meant to be with him. Maybe you always were.

JJ’s arms wrapped around you, and you flung yourself into him, letting the feel of his heartbeat take you away. The smell of him, warm and like the sea breeze, comforted you.

Just then Pope walked up the shore. “Uh, did I miss something?” He asked in confusion at the two of you embracing. Kiara walked up behind him.

“They do this all the time, trust me,” she assured Pope then winked at you. You blushed redder than you had in your life. She knew. Then again, you reasoned as JJ’s hand brushed against yours, you didn’t care too much.

It was like your life had taken a turn and became one of the romance stories you engulfed yourself in. Except it was real. You were Cinderella and JJ Maybank was Prince Charming. Your Prince Charming. Your head was always in the clouds now, dreaming about those sea-blue eyes and the affirmations he had spoken to you that you hardly believed even now.

This was love? If so, you never wanted to fall out of it.

Your phone rang in the other room, taking your attention from your thoughts. You went into the dining room where it was sitting in the middle of the table. You picked it up and saw it was JJ. Excited, you hit the answer button and held the receiver to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, sunbeam.” JJ’s voice came from the other end. Your heart picked up its speed.

“Hi, Jay.”

“Are you home right now? I was wondering if I could, you know, come over.”

“Yes, I’m home. Why do you want to come over?” You asked shyly.

“I want to see you. Can I come right now?”

“Yeah.” What would the harm be? You wanted to see him too.

“Awesome. Your parents aren’t home, are they?”

“No, not right now. Why?” You questioned.

“Oh, no reason. Just wondering. See ya soon.” There was no way JJ was going to tell you the real reason he wanted to make sure you were alone. Not when he wasn’t even there with you yet.

After you hung up, you went into your bedroom to look in your mirror. Did you look good enough? You smoothed down your hair and adjusted your shirt, which was a pale pink today. You had put on a bit of makeup earlier when you had woken up, and you checked to make sure nothing was smudged.

When you were satisfied with your appearance, you sat down on a couch in the living room to wait for JJ. Nervously, you played with your thumbs and watched out the window continuously.

When you finally saw JJ coming up the driveway, you stood up and opened the door for him happily. He beamed at you as he entered your living room. “Good to see you, baby.”

You felt yourself turning pink again. But you beamed back. Then you gasped as he picked you up and swung you into his arms, where you giggled in your bridal-style position. He leaned down and pecked you on the lips. A sigh left your mouth without meaning to. JJ laughed and put you down on the couch.

“So what do you have planned for us?” He asked casually.

You hadn’t thought about that, you realized. “Oh, I don’t know…”

“I’ve got a couple ideas,” he murmured lowly as he pulled you into him suddenly and pressed his lips to yours once more. You leaned back on the couch as euphoric sensations ran up and down your body. Now he was on top of you, kissing you again and again and muttering “I love your lips so much” during short breaths of air.

You had never experienced something like this before. Even a week ago you never would have guessed you would end up here, JJ kissing you feverishly and making you feel like the only girl in the world.

JJ pulled away, making you whine in protest. You found yourself wanting more.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby. I… I know we just started dating and all that, but I was wondering if… you wanted to try something new?” There was a flicker of apprehension in his gaze and something else that you couldn’t quite read.

“Something new?” You asked, wide-eyed gaze searching and curious.

JJ scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Have you… had sex with someone before?”

Sex? It was a foreign concept to you. You hadn’t been to many parties, and the only boys you knew well were Pope, John B, and of course JJ. An idea as broad and unknown to you as sex was one you’d never considered. The thought rarely even crossed your innocent mind.

“What?” You were confused.

JJ looked guilty. “Shit, never mind. We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I completely understand. It’s just… no, no. I know it’s still early.”

You let yourself mull over his words for a few moments. Then, gradually, you shook your head. “No. It’s just I’ve never tried it before, that’s all. I’m willing to do it with you.” You looked up at him with certainty, pushing away your doubts. You loved him, and you wanted this. More than anything, you told yourself.

“Are you sure?” JJ was taken by surprise.

You nodded. “Yes.”

“Alright then,” he said softly, moving closer to you again. He kissed you more slowly this time, peppering your jawline with kisses and drawing out a mewl from you. His hands moved underneath your shirt and stopped before they lifted it up. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked again, his eyes nitpicking for any form of uncertainty.

“I’m sure.” The fabric was lifted over your head, then the clips of your bra were undone as he removed it delicately. You shivered as the cold air hit your exposed breasts.

JJ’s eyes widened as he took in your chest in its full glory. “You— you look like an angel,” he breathed out. He had, without admitting it, pictured in his head many times what you looked like, but he hadn’t expected you to look nearly this good. Restraining himself from tearing the rest of your clothes off you, he gently slid your shorts down your legs and stared in awe and amusement at the wetness that had soaked through your panties.

Your gorgeous eyes were filled with a trust that made his heart ache. So much that it almost him regret what he was about to do to you. Almost was the key word.

You weren’t used to being this bare in front of anyone. You were chilly except for a heat pooling between your legs. You trusted JJ, though, and were sure that he would never do anything to hurt you.

JJ pulled off his t-shirt, showing off his toned and tanned chest, abs and all. Even though you saw it frequently at the beach and pool, drool collected at the corner of your mouth.

Your thighs pressed together, making you wonder why. JJ unbuttoned his shorts next, and when he took off his boxers, the place in between your legs throbbed. You hadn’t seen his cock before, but now you wanted to suck it, lick it, feel it. And it was so big… and it looked like it was hardening, too, as he focused on you.

And hard he was. “Okay, baby, first I have to get myself ready for you.”

“Okay.” You responded instinctively, unable to take your eyes from his erection.

He chuckled and started to fist his cock, up and down and picking up pace. Pre-cum leaked from the tip and landed on the rug. A small moan left his lips and the hotness between your thighs heightened.

Your impatience was growing. You didn’t quite know what you were waiting for, but you needed it, and soon. “J— JJ,” you complained.

“Mmm, doll?” Sweat dripped down JJ’s forehead as he continued to stroke himself.

“I— I need you,” you stammered. You didn’t care if how dirty you sounded anymore. In fact, you think JJ liked it…

“Don’t worry, babe, I got you,” JJ was turned on immensely by your pleading. He finished pumping his dick and moved to join you on the sofa, directly above you.

You stared up at him, desire thick in the air between you. It was in your breath, your soul, your blood.

“Are you ready?” JJ asked in a gentle manner. No matter how much lust was bending him to you right now, he wanted to be sure you were comfortable. You were a virgin, after all.

“Please,” you whimpered. Immediately you felt JJ’s fingers make contact with your clit. Your mouth dropped open at the feel. He made circles on your sex, stimulating you and gathering the wetness that had been accumulating for several minutes. You moaned out loud, and you slapped your hand over your mouth, ashamed. JJ removed it without pause.

“Don’t you dare, beautiful. I want to hear your sounds.” You obliged, gasping more and more as the pleasure down below built. He slipped his pointer finger inside you, doubling the volume of your cries. He added a second finger and found your particularly sensitive spot that made you squirm. He hit the same spot over and over again. Your hips bucked up involuntarily into his touch. JJ smirked at how your body seemed to react seamlessly to his every move.

You cried out as the pleasure took over your body, riding over you in waves and racking you with violent shudders. You had never felt pure bliss like this in your life. It was better than any fairytale you had ever read or heard. But it would be nothing compared to JJ’s cock, which he was lining up carefully with your waiting pussy.

His tip pushed lightly into your entrance, and you whined. “It’s okay, baby. You can take me,” he encouraged you. He groaned as he slid further inside you, stretching you out bit by bit. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” The way you were squeezing around him was driving him insane.

Your head fell back onto the pillow as he reached the deepest point inside of you. Your walls clenched and fluttered around him. He sputtered your name while he watched his length disappear almost to his balls.

JJ rolled his hips, keeping a steady rhythm, cautious not to push you too far. The movement made your mind hazy. You could no longer think straight.

“You doing alright?” JJ asked you in between ragged gasps, his voice deep and husky. Your breathing was faster than if you had been running for miles. “Don’t stop!” you begged in response as you came again, calling him by name.

Your voice was music to JJ’s ears. It was the only thing he wanted to hear, ever. He would fall asleep to it, get drunk on it, get himself off with it every hour of the week.

You bit down on JJ’s shoulder, making him grunt at the sting. He barely noticed the pain however. He was drinking in how your hips snapped in unison with his and your back arched backwards perfectly.

This was your first time sleeping with each other, but already neither of you wanted to cease the harmony you created. JJ pulled out just as cum spurted forward from his cock. It landed on your belly and breasts; some even landed on your face. Closing your eyes you licked it from around your mouth. The liquid you couldn’t reach you reached up and collected on your fingers, then sucked it off. He tasted salty with a hint of creaminess. You decided that it was your new favorite taste.

JJ watched you do this with his eyes blown with newfound obsession and arousal. You were no longer the innocent girl he knew. He found he liked this version of you better. Once you finished lapping up his release, he slammed back into you, no longer being gentle. He thrusted in and out hard, making a different kind of ecstasy. Bolts of lightning traveled through your veins at the speed of light. This was so good. Better, even.

“Sh— shit.” JJ let out a curse. The two of you came again quickly, at the same time. Your face was buried in your pillow and sweat, tears, and cum covered your skin.

JJ, hair messier and stringier than usual, got up off the couch, taking all his strength not to pass out. He found a cloth in your kitchen drawer and ran it under the sink. Coming back into the room, he used it to wipe you off, rolling you over with care and cleaning your thighs and stomach.

Gratefully you batted your eyelashes up at him. He felt adoration blossom in his chest and kissed your forehead. “Feeling ‘aight?”

“So tired. But better than since I was born. Thank you, JJ.” You meant it. Now that you knew what sex with him was like, you were never turning back.

“Anytime, sweetheart. Now since your body isn’t used to this sort of thing, it might be a ‘lil sore in the morning. Mind if I stay the night to make sure you’re all taken care of?” His voice was convincing, and full of affection.

“I don’t mind.” You wouldn’t say no to spending a sweet night with JJ. You were certain your parents wouldn’t mind.

Header: saradika-graphics

Tag list: @idfcaboutaname, @dirtyslag96, @gillybear17, @agnxstic, @scrappybear89, @redhead1180, @k-k0129, @lucifersgirl, @immyowndefender, @eddxemxnson, @siriusly0guys, @outerb4nkss, @lanasturns3, @code-canine, @diffidentphantom

#jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x you #jj maybank #jj x y/n #jj x you #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank outer banks #jj outer banks #jj obx #outer banks #obx #smut #fluff #jj

219 notes · View notes

inevesgf · 6 months ago

Text

BITE ME • CHARLES LECLERC

the vampiric nature of charles slips into the depths of intimacy as he lets his desires lead the way, treating you to a night of pleasure.

content + warnings: +18 vampire!charles, pure smut, p in v, oral (female receiving), table sex, slight fingering, dirty talk, praise, creampie, no use of a condom (practice safe sex!). word count 1.5k.

decided to write a little vampire au since i love all things vampires (and charles leclerc)! if you would like to find other works from this special or read my other works, click the link here ⋆·˚ ༘ * happy fictober! notes + reblogs are heavily appreciated. yes .. title is an enhypen ref soz.

a vampire’s ability to seduce was incredulous — all it gave was a look of the eyes, a glint of desire in them, to get you soaked.

your boyfriend, charles, was a blood sucker — a monster, even — though his heart was anything but malicious. charles loved deeply, heavenly, peppering you in any form of love you desired. smalls gifts, forehead kisses, acts of service — he would feed you the appreciation he knew you deserved.

charles was aware when you wanted it, he could practically smell the desire radiating off of you. the way your pulse quickened in your neck, your blood pumping through your veins. he was a vampire — of course — but he would never dream of sinking his teeth into your pretty skin unless you wanted him too.

your body laid sprawled on top of the dining room table, legs spread as charles laid between them, sucking on the sweet flesh of your thigh. the feeling of his fangs dancing delicately around your skin made you gasp, your muscles tensing in an attempt to keep you from squirming as he worshipped your body like a saint.

vampires were sexual creatures of the night, their touch possessive and firm as they stalked their prey. to charles, you were anything but prey, yet a snack who had willing given themselves to him. despite his vampire nature, charles was one to please, mapping the skin of your body as his lips made their descent.

“you’re so sweet, amore,” charles’ voice hummed between your legs, his stubble brushing softly against your thigh as his lips swam inches away from your cunt. his words sent a shiver up your spine, your darkened eyes of desire pooling into his as you caught your bottom lip under between teeth.

his lips kissed softly on the side of your cunt, eliciting a moan from your pale lips as they parted into an o shape. “just like that,” you hummed, a soft whine slipping through as you praised the man. your body grew desperate, waiting impatiently or his tongue to work his feverous magic exactly where you craved him.

charles chucked dryly at your words, his eyes sparkling with a readiness to please as his tongue darted out, flicking the bud of your cunt painfully soft. a moan escaped your widened mouth, manicured nails digging into the doily below that sprawled upon the table.

charles’ mouth opened to suck on your clit, his tongue flicking the bud as his teeth pressed against you, his fangs tickling your sensitive skin. “fuck,” you moaned out, an exclamation of your pleasure falling from your mouth so eloquently despite the brutality of the attack on your cunt.

charles hummed against your dripping core, the saliva trailing from his mouth coming to soak the table below as his tongue dipped inside, sitting snug between your tight walls. his curved nose pressed against your clit, the sensation doubling as your hips slightly rocked, your body desperate for the attention you ensnared.

as charles ate you like a man starved, the familiar sensation pooled in your stomach, your cunt throbbing as it twitched under his mouth. before you could exclaim your undoing, charles’ lips pulled away, his fangs glistening as his hungry eyes looked into yours.

a whine fell from your lips at the loss of contact, your legs shaking as a hint of disappointment ruptured through your body. you were so close, teetering on the edge of complete pleasure from the consummate elegance of his mouth against your pussy.

“why’d you stop?” you grumbled, the disappointment evident in your voice as you stared up at him, your eyes widening in a sense of confusion. all charles did was laugh softly, his calloused hands coming to rub the smooth skin of your thigh.

“what’s the fun of having you cum on my face when you can on my cock instead?” his filthy words had you reeling, your stomach turning in excitement as the glance of his green eyes danced around the curves of your body. you nodded in agreement, your cunt pulsating in need as charles began to rid himself of his pants, pulling the waistband of his boxers down in its wake.

“fuck,” you grunted, the need overcoming every ounce of your body as charles’ undressed himself, “need you so fucking bad.” despite your usual elegant facade, you had a dirty mouth on you, and charles ate up every word as if they were a full course meal as he took his hardened cock in his hands. his stroked it teasingly, letting his pupils pool into yours as he egged you on, desperate for the begging tone to fall from your lips again.

you knew what he wanted as his cock twitched under his fingers, the precum glistening which only excited you more. “need you to fuck me full,” you begged again, the dirtiness laced in your words eliciting a soft groan from charles, “please fuck me, charlie.”

all it took was an utter — a whine — of his name before charles aligned his hardened cock with your entrance, your slick decorating the tip more as it pressed into you. a sharp hiss escaped your mouth as he entered, the stretch of your cunt welcoming and warm. taking a hold of your hips, charles’ eyes found yours once again, a glint of desire decorating his pupils as he groaned. “look at me while i fuck you,” he instructed, his hips starting their rhythmic rock as he began to fuck into you, your cunt consuming him whole.

charles’ pace picked up quickly, his body slamming into yours as the sound of skin slapping filled the dimly lit dining room. small grunts and curses fell from his pale lips as he thrusted in and out, his fangs poking through as he bit down on his bottom lip.

“fuck, so good—“ you moaned out, your eyes drifting to where you met as the desire in your stomach only bubbled more. a glistening ring formed around his cock from where you cunt had swallowed him, your excitement visible through the slick decorating his base. the comparably pornographic scene had you stirring, little whines and moans escaping your parted lips in pleasure and enjoyment.

“feels good, amore, huh?” charles grunted, one hand coming up to grip your chin as you pulled your gaze back to meet with him. the eye contact was erotic, charles’ pace only growing as your eyes stared into his. “mhm, yeah,” was all you could moan out, the parted o of your lips still plastering your visage as pleasure rocked your body.

when charles was content with your matched gaze, his hand fell from your chin, his hips still fucking into you with great speed. his thick cock slipped in and out of your cunt feverishly, hitting the spot that made your body tremble over and over again.

charles’ fingers delicately traced the flesh of your thigh, making intricate circles around the bruises and bites he had decorated you with previously. his cold digits slid up your skin, sending your body into a shock as they began to finger at your clit.

the combined feeling of charles cock fucking into you and his fingers dancing around your core had your body trembling, the moans ringing throughout the air louder than before. “making me feel so good,” you grunted as charles’ pace began to speed up, the rock of his hips mimicking that of a maniac as he chased his high alongside yours.

in response to your subtle praise, charles hummed, sweat beading around his forehead as his skin slapped against yours, his fingers working their magic around your reddened clit. “so close, aren’t you?” charles groaned, his tone laced with a teasing desire that pummeled through his whole body. all your fucked out brain could work out as a response was a nod, the moans telling the same tale as your stomach twisted into a tightened knot.

“cum for me, bella,” charles demanded, a slight hint of a beg drifting through his words as his cock twitched inside, ready for his own release. you didn’t need charles’ order to push you over the edge, your own slick already leaking around his cock as you finished, the help of his fingers melting you in his grasp.

charles fucked you through your high, his cock throbbing as he pumped his cum deep inside of you, his body shaking in pleasure and satisfaction. pulling his cock out of your tight cunt, the milky liquid slowly leaked out, pooling underneath you and onto the wooden table that had taken the role of the bed in a time of need.

the air smelled of sex, the filthiness of it all overpowering as you came down from your high, a small smirk decorating your lips as charles hummed. “everybody will know you’re mine, amore. they’ll know how much fun we had when they see those marks on your neck,” charles’ teased, his words a bit breathless as he composed himself. in an attempt to match his tone, the tinge of desire still lingering in your body, you pursed your lips. with a glint of mischief in your eyes, the challenging words fell from your mouth in a whisper:

“oh, you love it? then bite me.”

346 notes · View notes

missaengg · 6 months ago

Text

Between Two Villains

Day 26 of Kinktober: Visions of Temptation hosted by @xxsycamore found here Featuring: Ikemen Villains | Ellis Twilight x Jude Jazza x f!reader Tags: mdni, smut, pwp, threesome - f/m/m, oral sex, spitroasting, cum swallowing, p in v sex Prompts: Spitroasting | “Oh, you'll regret letting me know that you like this.” A/N: I’ve been wanting to write this ever since the Between Two Villains event. While I don’t think Jude would be willing to ever have a threesome, especially with Ellis, it doesn’t hurt to dream about being sandwiched between your two villain faves, right? 🙃 ao3 link here.

They’re so close… You can feel the sweltering heat of their bodies smothering you like the stifling humidity of a hot, muggy summer day.

The bed’s wide enough to fit three adult bodies comfortably, but Jude insists on sleeping in the center of the King size bed, there’s no way he’ll scoot over to give you more space, and Ellis is acting like your bodies are glued together.

You groan, feeling your body temperature rise from the heavy comforter and the two men pressing into your sides. While the mission has been completed successfully, the assassination on the Queen’s life thwarted and those involved taken into custody, it’s the middle of the night. All that’s left to do is sleep, but…

Do they have to insist on sleeping in your – the Queen’s – bed?!

The heat is suffocating, though some of it may be due to the proximity of the two men sharing your bed.

“So damn warm… Feels like you’re burnin’ up with a fever,” Jude grumbles from next to you.

You want to scream then move, but you refrain because knowing Jude, he’ll just shove you further into Ellis – who’s curled around you like a clingy cat nuzzling his sweet, innocent face into your shoulder – and take up more space like the twisted villain he is.

“She’s warm, and she feels good… Hey, why won’t you hug me back?” Ellis asks.

Even if you want to, you can’t move, sandwiched so tightly between the two of them you can’t even properly breathe. You keep your eyes trained on the ceiling because if you turn either way, you’ll be embarrassingly nose-to-nose with one of the two members of Crown.

Your cheeks flush from the relentless heat and the absolute ridiculousness of your current predicament.

“Heh… What’s with the red cheeks? What kinda indecent thoughts are ya thinkin’?” Jude jabs you with his elbow, and though you can’t see him, you just know he’s smirking that sadistic little smirk of his.

Trust Jude to find a way to make this even more awkward.

“Aren’t you the indecent one, climbing in someone else’s bed?” you shoot back.

“Not me. What kinda villain’d do such a thing, huh?”

Ugh.

“Oh, do you want to do something indecent? Sure, what would you like?” Ellis eagerly jumps into the conversation having completely missed Jude’s sarcasm.

“What?!” Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. Out of all the Crown members who are likely to even make such a lewd suggestion – aka almost all of them – you never expect Ellis of all people to make it.

Ellis looks at you earnestly as he asks that outrageous question, but your look of disbelief and bewilderment is lost on him as he continues.

“Maybe you’d prefer doing it just with Jude? Or with both of us?”

You can hardly believe what you’re hearing, what he’s suggesting. It’s the first time you’re hearing him suggest something so immoral, other than insinuating he’ll kill you when you’re at your happiest, which honestly just seems like a side effect of his Curse.

“Oi, quit draggin’ me into this mess,” Jude says. “If ya wanna do it, go ahead. I’ll just watch. That’s what you’re into anyway, ain’t it?”

“Really? Hm, if you insist,” Ellis hums.

Your face is growing hotter and hotter as the conversation progresses. Not only do they barge into your bed after catching the assassin, now they’re talking about such illicit things like you’re not even present!

“Would you please get out of my bed and sleep in your own rooms?!” You want to hide under the covers from the awkward humiliation, but also to conceal the strange flutter of excitement stirring within you, especially from Jude.

“But I’m too worried to leave you alone,” Ellis sweetly protests, as Jude quips, “Bed here’s comfy so I’ll pass.”

Technically, Jude is right. The Queen’s bed is the most comfortable bed you’ve ever slept in. The mattress is plush, stuffed with the highest quality down, and the blankets are soft, made of the highest quality fabric, but…

“Ugh, honestly!” You’re too tired to deal with this… blissful indecency and arrogant selfishness, and you decide to give up on trying to get them to return to their rooms. “Fine, just stay here then. Good night!”

You pull the covers up all the way over your head blocking them from view. It’s clear they won’t leave, and you have no choice, but to try and get some sleep – if you can get any sleep, the tingling sensation taking residence in between your thighs likely to keep you up for some time.

“Oi, why’re ya tryin’ to sleep like a damned corpse?”

“She’s hiding, now I’m sad…”

Jude scathingly grumbles, and Ellis whines. Ellis shifts away, finally giving you some space, and you sigh in relief, but your relief is short-lived when Ellis joins you under the covers.

“Hey, this mission was hard for you, right? I can make you feel good, if that’ll make you happy.”

Ellis’s suggestion is tempting. So very tempting. Your thighs rub together unintentionally, trying to relieve the tension that’s building from what his soft, melodic voice is whispering in your ear.

You realize the movement isn’t lost on Jude when he clicks his tongue and mutters, “Knew it. Nasty woman,” under his breath with a hint of what sounds like amusement.

Great, just… great.

It’s so dark under the covers, you can’t see Ellis, but you feel his large hand slip under the Queen’s silk nightgown you’re wearing, reaching until he’s cradling your bare breast in his palm.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers.

He kneads the soft tissue, brushing his thumb against your firm nipple. His other hand comes behind your head, guiding you to him, and he gently captures your lips in a series of feathery kisses.

Your head protests at how inappropriate this is… You’re in the Queen’s bed wearing the Queen’s nightgown, but Ellis’s kisses are so sweet and so tender your body’s betraying you, and you’re melting into his tall frame.

“The covers are too heavy, aren’t they? I’ll remove them for you.”

Your eyes snap wide open. Pushing the covers back will mean Jude can see what Ellis is doing, what you’re doing, how exposed you are with the nightgown bunched around your chest. Before you can even speak, Ellis is already lifting the covers, and you can feel Jude’s piercing amethyst eyes boring into the back of your head, judging the living fuck out of you, but your mind goes blank when Ellis recaptures your lips with his. His fingers are doing things to your breasts that make you shiver and moan and want more, more of his honeyed touch.

Jude shifts from behind you, and you realize with a start he’s groaning – groans you assumed were coming from Ellis – and… Was he stroking himself?!

The idea of Jude getting off on watching you and Ellis is thrilling. You throb at the thought, thighs clamping tightly together, rousing tremors vibrating throughout your hot, bothered body.

A cold hand – which can only be Jude’s as Ellis’s burn – slithers up your quivering thigh. His hand is like ice on your flaming skin, a welcome respite from the inferno you’ve turned into. His finger hooks into your underwear and pulls it down in one swift movement before probing your slick crease and circling your aching clit.

Your hips violently jerk when he slips two fingers in.

“Naughty princess,” Jude snickers.

Your cheeks burn, but Jude curls his fingers, and the moment he does you’re moaning. His fingertips caressing that heavenly spot has you arching your back and curling your toes, and you’re writhing from the hot and cold hands exploring your wretched body. You reflexively push your hips back against Jude, silently begging for him to go faster… deeper… Between Ellis and Jude, you’re losing control, caught in an overwhelming whirlwind of lips and digits and limbs.

Ellis notices Jude’s entrance and pulls away from his quest to conquer your lips. “Oh, Jude. Do you want to go first or should I?”

“Tch… I’m already down here, ain’t I?”

Jude snakes his arm around your waist and fluidly pulls the two of you up until you’re bracing yourself on all fours. Ellis warmly smiles, slipping out of his clothes and re-positioning himself by your head.

His erection stares at you imploringly.

And what a pretty erection it is… His cock looks just like him. Tall, slender, pleasantly safe yet enticingly manly.

“I want to feel you. Can I feel you?” Ellis innocently asks, and you’re so mesmerized by how alluring he looks, you lick your lips and part your mouth, curious as to how he’ll taste. Ellis takes that as an invitation and pops his twitching member into your waiting mouth.

He tastes salty. Pleasant. His fragrant musk overtakes your senses, and you swirl your tongue around his smooth tip, eagerly bobbing lower and lower down his shaft until he’s tickling the back of your throat, and Ellis is closing his eyes with a blissful, dreamy sigh.

You hear rustling from behind you – Jude removing his clothes. Something long and firm slides through your folds, probing your inner lips and coating itself in your syrupy arousal. He sinks in without warning – not that you expect anything less from him – and you lustfully whimper as Jude buries himself to the hilt.

“Foolish lil bird…”

He’s stretching you deliciously open, the friction of his cock in you electric. While Ellis is allowing you to take the lead, Jude is bullying your dripping cunt, grasping the sides of your hips in a bruising, vice-like grip. He callously pounds into you like a madman, almost as if he’s punishing you for your depravity, and the dichotomy of their demeanors muddles your hazy mind into a torrential, dizzying spin.

“Ngh… you feel so… so nice…” Ellis breathlessly rasps. His fingers tangle themselves in your hair, jerking uncontrollably as your mouth works its sinful magic sucking along his full length.

The room fills with the sounds of your desperate moaning, Ellis’s ragged gasping, Jude’s angry grunting, and a degenerate, wet squelching, a cacophony of debauchery.

You’re drowning, caught in roiling, turbulent waves violently crashing against the shore of your inflamed body, but you want – no, need – more. You can’t tell up from down, but it’s not enough, and before you know it, your trembling finger is reaching for your clit.

“Whaddya think yer doing, huh?” Jude growls. “If ya wanted me to torture ya some more, all ya had to do was ask.”

There’s a dark, twisted edge to his words, and he forcefully shoves your hand away. His arm wraps around your waist for leverage so he can continue furiously rutting into you while his other hand finds its way back to your swollen pink nub. His movements are rough, but they only add to the storm brewing in your center. Jolts of lightning course through your veins.

You’re teetering on the edge, one tiny push of pleasure away from falling.

“Mmm… I–I’m close… I…” Ellis tenses in your mouth. His breathing is labored, needy whimpers humming in his throat.

Ellis looks absolutely breath-taking. A rosy flush covering his cheeks. Sweat beading along his brow. Unruly, wavy hair sticking to his forehead. Twilight eyes fluttering closed. A pretty, pouting mouth dropping open.

He’s beautiful.

“Catch me in your mouth, okay?” Ellis’s voice cracks as he pleads achingly, and before you can make sense of what he’s asked, he pulls taut, passionately crying out your name and feverishly convulsing, spilling onto your tongue.

You swallow rapaciously, milking every last drop out of his spasming cock. He tastes bitter, salty, and sweet, and you don’t want to miss a single drop.

The taste of him… the sound of his ecstatic cries… the daze of his glazed-over eyes push you over the edge, and you fall, careening into a deep abyss. Your fingers curl desperately into the sheets, your vision explodes with stars, and staggering shockwaves rip through you so ferociously, you’re blinded. You tremble and quiver and shake, and you clamp down around Jude so hard, he hisses savagely.

You don’t know whether you should scream ‘Ellis’ or ‘Jude’, but your mind is so addled, it doesn’t matter, and you’re only capable of deliriously mewling instead.

As the tension leaves your body, you dissolve into a puddle of rapturous exhaustion. Your arms can no longer support you on their own, and Jude’s hold around you is the only reason you haven’t crumpled into an unraveled mess.

Ellis soothingly runs his slender fingers through your hair, delicately stroking your scalp with his fingertips, mumbling sweet nothings in your ears while Jude nips your neck and sneers…

“Oh, you’ll regret letting me know that ya like this.”

You barely register the promise of torment laced under Jude’s sinister words or Ellis gently pulling out of your slack mouth and switching places with Jude, your trance breaking only when Jude looms inches away from your face. Something wicked gleams in Jude’s eyes, complementing the arrogant smirk splayed on his lips.

“Hope yer ready, Princess, cause I ain’t gonna be so gentle with ya.”

You shudder. The threat of his words aren’t lost on you, and as Ellis slowly slides into your abused cunt and Jude abruptly shoves his cock between your parted lips, only one thought runs through your mind…

It’s going to be a long night.

#missaengg writes #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #visions of temptation 2024 #ikevil smut #ikemen villains smut #ikemen villains ellis #ikevil ellis #ikevil #ellis twilight smut #ellis twilight #jude jazza smut #jude jazza #ikemen villains jude #ikevil jude #ikemen villains #ellis twilight x reader #jude jazza x reader #ellis twilight x jude jazza x reader

238 notes · View notes

greenandsorrow · 5 months ago

Text

ΦΙΛΗΔΟΝΙΑ. (i)

HENRY WINTER X SHAPELY!FEM!READER ⏳

☞ Here I am, writing spontaneous filth, a wet fever dream if you will... instead of getting the real work done (my tsh au with an oc). This one is quite suggestive, but I tried to incorporate nice prose in it as well! What if you take what you're about to read as an apology for not making any progress with 'What once was' yet ?? 🥺

☞ I know there are times I say that some smut fics of mine belong in the 'no plot just porn' category, even when it takes many paragraphs to get to the spice. But listen, I write and pace my smut like a female orgasm. (Iykyk☕) I was ovulating when I wrote this and it shows -says the luteal me.

☞ OOC!Henry??, adult themes, kinda slow burn, descriptive, teasing, masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, public setting, the more you read the hornier it gets, cliché tension-heightening tropes, my first time writing for Henry specifically and for tsh generally

You're a good friend of Richard.

Neither of you was born swimming in money and as a result of your humble upbringings, you both share a sense of wonder at making it into a place like Hamden. However, the main thing that connected you and the brunette Californian when you first met, was your shared desire to become part of the Greek class. Richard wholeheartedly believes that you deserved to be accepted by Julian far more than he did, but the eccentric professor has his own unique -or rather, peculiar- way of thinking and evaluating who is worthy of becoming his pupil and who… simply isn’t.

Unfortunately for you, you didn't manage to enroll in Greek. You didn't quite fit the mold, so to speak. Oh well... French, sketching and sculpting are fine. And Richard makes sure to keep you up to date with his new experiences as part of what essentially is a clique of wealthy twenty-year-olds.

To the untrained eye of a bystander, the brooding umbrella bearer, the ginger fashionista, the blonde twins, and the Edmund guy all appear equally obnoxious and hoity-toity. Still, Richard has given you a retrospective of the Greek class -or at least he tried- because you can't help but poke fun at pretentiousness when you see it.

The first few weeks were relatively calm. You only ever saw the group when they walked out of the Lyceum and you were waiting for Rich. During those moments, you took the chance to observe them more closely, but you were still unsure whether you liked what you saw. Camilla, the only girl in their little clique, would always shoot poisonous glares your way, while Bunny would give you a nod, accompanied by an acknowledging half-smirk.

You first met Francis, by mere luck. You were over at Richard's dorm room when the ginger paid him an unexpected visit -and even though you weren't entirely sure if he was kind out of politeness or sincerity, you liked him. Francis is a nervous man with a great sense of humor and style.

As time bled into the heart of autumn, you started going out with your classmates. There was a cozy little bar hidden in an alley on Vermont where you'd enjoy a couple of drinks, when you didn't have early lessons. While there, you spotted Francis and Charles sharing drinks together. There were some 'scandalous' dating rumors... and you had a feeling they were indeed hooking up. You caught them once on your way back to Hamden. Francis must have noticed you, but the twin was likely quite drunk. You didn't tell a soul and Francis was silently grateful for it.

Weeks turned into months...

And boom! You, Francis and Richard started hanging out around campus. It didn't become a daily occurrence overnight, but when it did, Charles would also join you from time to time. You even started talking to Bunny through your light interactions with his girlfriend, Marion. He definitely stood out from their polished social image, but in a way, he was the necessary ingredient that balanced out their measured and cut off demeanor.

You're not part of the group. If anything, you're even more of an outsider than Richard. The thing with you, though, is that unlike him, you aren't trying to fit in. Bunny is talkative to a fault, so you have no trouble entertaining him. We've already covered Francis. Charles is surprisingly chill and friendly. But despite that, his sister might mirror his appearance, but she certainly doesn't mirror his personality. She seems to tolerate you more than anything.

When Charles casually invited you to their apartment for dinner, her expression had turned so sour that you almost wanted to strangle her.

However, the cherry on top is that mountain of stoicism, Henry Winter. He always seems to be in his own world, his piercing gaze often fixed on something far beyond the crowd. You can't help but notice how he will occasionally glance in your direction, but these moments are fleeting, gone as quickly as they come. There is an intensity in his eyes that makes your heart race, yet he remains an enigma, shrouded in layers of indifference.

While Francis and Charles are engaging and willing to include you in their conversations, Henry's aloofness is what stimulates your curiosity. You sense he is aware of your presence, yet he never acknowledges you, as if you are just a mere afterthought in the grand narrative of his life.

The dinner was a catalyst experience.

As you arrived at the twins' apartment with Richard, Henry's presence loomed large but distant. You felt eyes on you, but it was only Bunny, Charles and Francis who greeted you with cheerful banter, while Henry remained in his corner, a book in hand. His gaze did flicker to your shapely figure, lingering just a moment longer than he intended before he quickly averted his eyes, dismissing you as nothing more than an unimportant distraction.

"Well, well, don't you look like a million bucks tonight!" Bunny called out with a grin, his eyes openly trailing down your curves. "That dress is working overtime, sweetheart. We should get you to wear that to the next charity event!"

Charles chuckled -though there was a slight awkwardness to it- and Francis rolled his eyes. You forced a smile, used to Bunny's crude remarks. Your attention was elsewhere anyway...

Why did Henry refuse to engage, even when you found yourselves under the same roof? He frustrated you as much as he intrigued you.

The atmosphere in the twins' apartment buzzed with lively chatter and the clinking of glasses. As you settled into your seat at the table, you were acutely aware of Henry's presence at the far end. You wore a fitted dress that accentuated your curves, the fabric clinging to your defined figure. You could feel the warmth of the others' gazes, but when it came to him, it was as if a cold, impenetrable wall stood next to you.

As the meal progressed, conversation flowed easily. Bunny dominated most of it, animatedly recounting stories from campus -with Richard often his chosen victim. Occasionally though, Bunny's attention would drift back to you, making some offhand comment about how you should consider a career in modeling. "No reason to hide those killer curves, darling" he'd say with a wink, making Francis groan in exasperation.

Through it all, Henry remained silent, his attention fixed on his plate or the flickering candlelight at the center of the table. Though he said nothing, there was a tightness in his jaw that suggested he was aware of everything -and perhaps disapproved.

You caught glimpses of him out of the corner of your eye -the subtle shift of his gaze when he thought no one was watching, the way his fingers twitched when Bunny's voice grew loud and lewd.

It was maddening. He was magnetic and repelling all at once.

"Henry, what do you think?" Charles asked at some point, finally drawing him into the conversation. For a moment, hope flickered within you that he might engage. But Henry merely shrugged, dismissing the warmth of the moment...

As the evening wore on, you tried to focus on the camaraderie of the others, but you couldn't shake the feeling that Henry was watching you from behind that wall of polite ignorance.

His silence only amplified the tension that crackled between you.

Tension, tension, tension... Or is it your wishful thinking?

Since that dinner, things have warmed between you and the Greek students. You often find yourself in their company -whether it's studying together in the library, thrifting with Richard, going to the opera with Francis and even Camilla, or awkwardly using the coffee machine in the cafeteria with Henry.

Henry has shifted from not acknowledging your existence to silently accepting it. It's a delicate situation and you know better than to push for more. He's far from an average Joe. Initiating small talk with him would feel almost like a personal insult.

Let's focus on today though, shall we?

It's early morning and you're both making coffee in the still empty cafeteria. The small space in front of the coffee maker forces you to stand close, too close. As you reach for a cup, your fingers accidentally graze his much larger ones, sending an electric jolt through you. Henry's hand lingers for one delicious moment before he pulls away, his expression neutral, though you catch the subtle clenching of his jaw.

Is he annoyed... Or did he feel the same tingling sensation you just felt? You apologize quietly and he nods, not saying a word, but the air feels heavier now.

A pause.

You turn to say something -anything!- but he's already walking away, his umbrella and Gucci coat perfectly in place.

It was a mundane thing to happen, really. Boring and normal, unimpressive and simple. Ordinary and meaningless... Something that could happen between absolutely anyone. And yet, you spend the rest of the day replaying it over and over in your pretty head, unable to focus on your classes.

In the blink of an eye and after several cups of mediocre at best coffee, you find yourself waiting for Richard at your usual spot. He emerges with Bunny. Dammit... They appear to be engrossed in conversation. Looks like you're heading back to the dorms on your own...

You sigh.

There's no hurry so you don't leave right away.

The cold evening air bites at your skin as you stand outside the Lyceum, watching as the others come out of it. Francis waves at you and Camilla gives you a brief smile, but neither lingers. And then there's Henry, the last to leave. He steps out into the dim streetlight, his dark coat wrapped tightly around him as he makes his way down the steps.

You hesitate for a moment, debating on saying something or staying silent as always, but frustration gnaws at you and your tongue wins control over your brain.

"Why doesn't he want me there?" you ask, not moving from your spot.

Henry pauses. His eyes -sharp and piercing- meet yours and for a moment you wonder if he's going to ignore you, as he has countless times before. But then he walks over, his steps measured and his expression unreadable.

"You mean Julian" he states in a low voice, but there's an edge to it like he's already thought about this.

You nod, your breath visible in the cold air. "Yes. Everyone else... but not me. Why?"

He regards you for a long moment, his eyes tracing your face... and for the first time you're acutely aware of his smell -expensive cologne and aftershave mixed with tobacco. His presence is imposing, even though his demeanor remains distant.

"Julian is..." he begins, then stops as if searching for the right words. He then looks away, towards the dark street, the silence between you thick. "Particular. He doesn’t take everyone."

The words sting, even though they were spoken with a calm detachment. You cross your arms, not entirely sure if it's to block out the cold or the weight of his indifference.

"That much is obvious. But why not me?"

Henry's jaw clenches, a flicker of something unspoken passing in his dark blue eyes, but his voice remains steady. "You don't need Julian's approval in order to spend time with us."

And then a bit more earnestly "You already know that."

You scoff lightly, taken aback by his response. "You didn't answer my question."

"I did."

His gaze snaps back to yours, something new surfacing behind those cold orbs of his.

You feel like you're standing on the edge of some cliffhanger, but before you can push him any further with your questions, Henry takes another step dangerously close. He looks down at you, taking in the curve of your upper lip, your jawline, the shape of your nose.

"You're not like the others" he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. There's no judgment in his tone, just the acknowledgment of a fact. You blink, taken completely off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

"Is that why Julian won't let me in? Because I'm not like all of you?"

Henry doesn't answer immediately. The tension between you feels fragile, like it could shatter at any given moment. Then, in a voice softer than you've ever heard from him, he replies "Maybe it's better this way."

His words hang in the air, loaded with a meaning you can't quite grasp. You search his eyes for something more, some explanation, but before you find anything, Henry steps back, his face closing off once again.

"Goodnight" he says, the tension breaking as he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there confused and more intrigued than ever.

A bottle of cheap wine and late night thinking is your next step.

"When Henry told me that Julian's judgment isn't everything, he revealed a small crack in his otherwise impenetrable loyalty to the professor. He respects Julian and his selective nature, but he doesn't entirely agree with my exclusion.

So Henry has protective instincts... whether he's aware of them or not. He senses that keeping me out may shield me from whatever lies ahead in Julian's world, which he must know isn't as glamorous as it appears...

I am such a philosopher..."

That evening, Henry remained by his car for a good while, watching you as you stood alone in the cold. He couldn't quite explain why your question had unsettled him, why your presence had been bothering him in ways he hadn't anticipated. You unsettled him -not because of what you said, but because of how acutely aware of you he had become.

You frustrated him.

Henry's need for control manifests in how he maintains a physical and emotional distance, even as the tension between you grows. He's hyperaware of how your interactions could escalate if he lets them. That's why he chooses to leave at the end of every single conversation you have. By walking away, Henry reasserts control over the situation, both over himself and you. He's not ready to let his guard down, so he retreats in order to keep the tension simmering rather than boiling over.

It was foolish, he told himself. He had no time for such petty distractions. Still, there was something about you that cracked the surface of his carefully constructed world.

You weren't part of Julian's circle, so you shouldn’t matter. But you did. He hated that you did.

Sexuality and romance... these are things Henry has never cared for. He can analyze them, dissect them from a distance, but the reality is different. He has observed enough to know how they work in theory, yet practice remains foreign to him.

Intimacy is something he has never sought, perhaps because it seems beneath him, too messy and unpredictable. But when standing before you, Henry realized something he hadn't expected... He was curious. Not in the detached, intellectual way he usually is.

A few days pass, but the memory of him looking at you outside the Lyceum is still annoyingly persistent. It's hard not to think about the odd tension between you. You tell yourself it's nothing, but it's not working, not really.

So you decide to head to the library. Not because you expect to see him there, but because your classes are starting to pile up and you need to focus. At least that's what you tell yourself as you step into the quiet, echoing halls. But as you move through the aisles, you spot him.

H. M. Winter

He's seated at a table near the back, away from the other scattered students, his serious expression fixed on a thick book in front of him. The mere sight of him -sharp jawline and tailored coat draped over the back of his chair- sends a jolt of something through you. You hesitate for a moment. You should leave, avoid him. But instead you find yourself walking over, heartbeat quickening, the air between you already charged before you've even said a word.

He doesn't look up immediately when you approach, his eyes still fixed on the book in front of him, his fingers carefully tracing the edge of a page as if he's deliberately keeping his focus there. But then, as you step closer he finally glances up, his gaze moving over your face and then lowering to take in the rest of your body, outfit and all.

Without a word, you pull out the chair across from him, the scrape of wood against the floor cutting through the heavy silence. You take your time, moving slowly. Your body brushes against the edge of the table as you sit, the fabric of your skirt clinging to your curves in a way you know he notices -even if he doesn't allow himself to look.

The scent of old books and cologne in the air adds to the heat building between you. You cross your legs, shifting slightly in your seat while you unpack your bag.

Time goes by.

The quiet hum of the library envelops you both as you sit across from each other, textbooks and notes now scattered on the table. You focus on actually studying for the most part, though you can still feel his bespectacled eyes shift on you from time to time. When you move in your seat, the hem of your skirt rides up slightly, revealing just a hint more thigh. His eyebrow twitches in response before he sharply returns his focus on his book, but not before you catch the encouraging micro expression...

You pretend not to notice, but the warmth crawling up your neck betrays you.

As the minutes tick by, the space starts to feel smaller than it should, the quiet charged with something unsaid.

Without the presence of the others, the air between you feels different -more electric and less restrained. With no one else to see, neither of you has to pretend anymore. Henry's usual detachment falters, his eyes lingering longer than they should, tracing the curve of your leg that has been exposed. This time, instead of shying away, you let the moment stretch.

Alone with him the rules feel different, unspoken boundaries becoming temptations to cross.

You lean forward ever so slightly -the movement causing your blouse to dip just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of cleavage. You pretend to adjust the papers in front of you, but you know exactly what you're doing... The corner of your mouth quirks up in the faintest hint of a smirk when you catch the way his stormy, blue eyes flick down momentarily.

Henry adjusts his glasses, the subtle motion giving him a moment to compose himself. His eyes narrow. His voice is steady, level, as he finally addresses you -but there's clearly an edge to it.

"What exactly are you trying to do?"

His gaze locks onto yours now, no longer avoiding the obvious. It's a challenge spoken softly but laced with a mix of curiosity and frustration. He's intelligent enough to know what's happening, but inexperienced enough that your boldness throws him off balance.

His hand tightens on the spine of the book.

It's a good thing you put on this little lacy bralette in the morning, because it does your assets more than justice. You sit up straighter.

Henry's gaze falls on your generous cleavage again, before it darts back to the forsaken book he's been pretending to read for the past hour. His ears turn a slight red, an indicator of his flustered state. And oh, the way he clears his throat... It tells you everything you need to know.

"I was just wondering if I could see your notes. You know… so I can get a glimpse of what Julian teaches you lot. Or is that Latin? Richard mentioned you're working on a translation or something..."

"Yes… It's Latin."

"Can I see?"

Was that a provocative thing to ask? Maybe.

Indeed, Henry stiffens at your question, the directness of it catching him off guard and you even catch a brief flash of uncertainty behind his gaze.

"I… suppose you can" he mutters after a small pause. He fumbles slightly with the pages in front of him, which seems like an unusual action for him -to fumble. His square-nailed fingers brush over the worn paper of the translation he's been working on, but you can tell his focus isn't on the text. As he slides the notebook toward you, you notice the almost imperceptible tremble of his upper limbs.

"Thanks" you say, offering him a small smile. Then, you lean even closer, supposedly to examine the translation -to expose more cleavage.

...he bites the bait. Henry swallows hard and you don't need to look up to know that his eyes are fixated on your supple bosom. His breath hitches audibly as he sees more of your assets than is appropriate.

After another charged moment, with you still 'reading' from his notebook, Henry straightens up, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as the hardness that has formed in his pants becomes impossible to ignore.

He's never felt anything like this before. The sudden arousal surges through him, unwelcome and overwhelming, making his skin prickle under his usually immovable composure. Crossing his legs, he tries in vain to hide the evidence of his arousal. It's a humiliating thing to be so out of control, to feel his body reacting when his mind is frantically trying to impose some order. He disappoints himself by being so... so affected by something as simple as a glimpse of your breasts.

Henry adjusts his glasses once more. His body is betraying him right now, a true traitor, a meek renegade, pulsing with a need he doesn't know how to handle.

You're delighted to see him bite his lower lip, making his internal struggle more tangible to you...

Before...

Before he blurts out... "You're not wearing a bra, are you?"

The question echoes in your ears, blunt and so so uncharacteristic of him, but his eyes are wide and his pupils dilated. You understand that the words must've slipped out before he could catch them. Still, you don't give him an answer.

His normally pale complexion flushes a deep shade of red, the realization of what he just said hitting him like a freight train. His hand tightens even more around the notebook -knuckles white- and he looks like he wishes the ground could swallow him whole.

For a second it seems like he might apologize, but no words come out of his mouth. Instead, he shifts again, the discomfort of his confined erection making him painfully aware of what he assumes are your bare breasts under the fabric of your blouse...

Henry's mind is working without his permission as it tries to decide how your skin must feel against his hands. You've clearly gotten under his skin and he's struggling to maintain the control he's so used to wielding.

He can't help but steal another peek at the dip of your blouse, admiring, longing. He also can't help but imagine running his palms over your unconstrained breasts. The breath he takes does little to calm his racing heart, or the stirring in his expensive dress pants, the ache becoming harder to ignore with every passing second.

His hand moves to close his notebook, as if to signal that this study session is over, but the awkward energy still crackles between you. On top of that, you're not ready to give up, not now that you finally have him wrapped around your finger.

"Are you leaving already?" you ask, something playful in your voice.

Henry hesitates, fingers lingering over the notebook, his usual confidence visibly shaken. He clears his throat, glancing at you and then quickly away, as though torn between staying and the uncomfortable predicament in his slacks.

"I… hadn't planned on it" he murmurs, speaking more to himself than to you. He uncrosses his legs, the icy gaze returning to meet yours, betraying a mixture of reluctance and undeniable attraction. "But maybe I… should."

With a touch of sultry innocence, you turn your attention back to your own book, supposedly accepting his sudden departure -while also positioning your arms so they press your breasts together, accentuating your already tantalizing cleavage. Of course he tenses as he sees what the new position does to your body...

You turn your focus away from Henry to glance around, noting the empty chairs and half-abandoned tables. It looks like most students have left -or are leaving- for dinner. It's just the two of you now, tucked into a secluded corner, as if the quiet solitude of the library is conspiring in your favor.

Time has slipped by unnoticed, a realization for him as much as for you.

The soft glow of the lamps casts long shadows across the rows of books. The library has quieted. The world outside is fading into dusk. The room feels still, almost intimate. The building's ventilation is the only sound left, along with your breathing.

Henry isn't sure if he should feel relieved or more uncomfortable now that it's just you. The absence of others only sharpens the tension, leaving him acutely aware of his body's betrayal. He aches with need, his arousal throbbing painfully against his zipper, each pulse a reminder of how far out of control this has spiraled.

As if on instinct, his hand moves to his lap, fingers brushing against the strained fabric of his pants. His gaze is fixed on your cleavage, drawn to the subtle rise and fall of your chest with each breath.

Your luscious skin has Henry's breath growing shallow, each muscle in his body tensing as if bracing against a storm. His thoughts also betray him -he wants his face there, buried between your soft mounds, suffocated by them, losing himself in you as if he were a Roman indulging in the decadence of an orgy.

His breathing grows even more labored as his eyes fixate on your hands, now massaging your plump assets. This is unfair. Unbearable. Infuriating. Under any other circumstances, he'd be appalled by such lewd behavior. Yet, in all honesty, his frustration is less directed to you and more to himself -for being weak enough to succumb to such a primal, lowly instinct.

Lust.

Lust...

But… is it really so lowly?

Lust for a woman. Lust for a man.

Lust for food. For alcohol.

For a sports car, a tailored suit, an ancestral estate.

Lust for knowledge. For the thrill of experience.

Lust for life.

It has always been about hedonism. The pursuit of satisfaction, the fulfillment of one's desires. Yet Henry had never felt it like this before, not in its pure, unrefined carnality. Even the excitement for Julian's praise pales in comparison to the one he experiences now -with his face contorted in pleasure, as he stares at your coy expression. His chest tightens as his gaze shifts from your cleavage to your face, struck by how utterly radiant you look. He's never truly taken the time to notice it before, let alone appreciate it... The fullness of your cheeks, their youthful glow, their intoxicating freshness, healthy and ripe like apples.

It's a stark contrast to his own face, or even Camilla's, or Richard's. Their cheeks are hollowed from sleepless nights, their skin pale, only flushed when warmed by too much wine. But you... oh, you. The blood flows effortlessly, naturally, deliciously to your face as you meet his gaze with that knowing expression.

He feels more sweat forming on his brow and his hand -oh, damn him- is already moving, rubbing slow, small circles over his aching crotch.

It dawns on him, then.

A revelation as visceral as it is absurd. He's never quite grasped why literature so often wields cannibalism as a metaphor for love, for lust. But now, with his pulse racing, his breath faltering and his thoughts consumed entirely by you, he understands. He wants to devour you. Consume you wholly, utterly, and without remorse.

"You look so... so..." he gasps, his voice strained and trembling with unspent desire. "Play with your... play with your- Oh God!"

You can't help but grin at his unraveling. You've done it. The mighty Henry Winter reduced to a needy mess, his carefully cultivated composure shattered like glass. He's acting like some desperate, hormonal teenager and the power you feel is almost dizzying.

Teasingly, you raise your top just enough to give him a good glimpse of what's going on underneath. His eyes widen, hunger and disbelief etched across his face as he's treated to the sight of your lingerie-clad breasts, the delicate lace doing little to hide your hardened nipples.

A hoarse groan escapes him, while his hand strokes his length -the slacks barely covering anything. Whatever hesitation or awareness of his surroundings he had before has vanished. At this moment, he doesn't care who might see the two of you.

The mix of pleasure and frustration is overwhelming him. His underwear has become far too tight for his engorged member and with a muttered profanity, he unbuckles his belt. In one swift motion, he shoves both his pants and underwear down -just enough to free himself.

His thick, hard cock springs forward then, standing tall and heavy. The sight of it catches even you off guard.

"Henry, what-"

"Shut up!" he growls in a voice that's low and rough, dripping with need. His hand wraps around his hard length, giving himself a few slow, deliberate strokes. "Just sit there and look beautiful while I take care of this."

His eyes aren't their usual icy blue anymore. They're darker -almost molten- and they fixate on your cleavage with an intensity that sends heat pooling in your stomach.

You glance around, a flicker of apprehension sparking within you. The thought of getting caught lingers at the back of your mind, but the darkness outside and the deserted library reassure you. Thank God your table is tucked away in a secluded corner.

With a teasing smile, you lift your top again.

Henry's reaction is immediate. His eyes glaze over, his head tipping back slightly as his mouth falls open in a silent moan. The sight of your perfectly-rounded breasts seems to unravel him entirely. His hand moves faster over his pulsating shaft, the tension in his body building with every passing second.

"Please… please" he rasps, his voice almost breaking.

The desperate plea sends a jolt of heat through you. You press your thighs together -the throbbing between them is growing more and more. You lean forward just a bit, your tone dripping with feigned innocence.

"Please what?" comes your whisper.

His lips part again as he struggles to form words. "Please... touch yourself... Your n- nip-" He can't even finish his sentence, his composure completely shattered as his cock throbs violently in his hand.

"Now, please!" he gasps.

You feel a flicker of shyness at first but decide to indulge him, pinching your nipples gently between your fingers. Henry's gaze is unwavering, his breath hitching as your fingers close around your hard, (color) nipples. The groan that escapes him is loud and unrestrained, his hand now moving furiously over the length of his leaking cock.

When your hands push your breasts together, his expression shifts entirely. He looks hypnotized... Utterly transfixed by the sight. You can tell he's imagining his face there, buried between your mounds and lost in the warmth of you.

His body begins to tense, every muscle coiled tight as his release inches closer.

The moment is abruptly interrupted by the sound of footsteps and you immediately hurry to cover yourself, just as a boy approaches to retrieve a forgotten notebook. Henry's hand also retreats and he straightens in his seat, doing his best to appear somehow worldly. The boy barely glances at either of you before leaving, blissfully unaware of what he nearly walked in on.

Once the intruder is gone, you turn your attention back to Henry. His chest heaves. He's still catching his breath, face still red and damp with sweat. Ebony hair disheveled, round glasses slipping down his nose. With a shaky hand, he pushes them back into place, looking almost... human for once.

In this moment, he's not the calculating and untouchable Henry M. Winter. He's just a man -a flushed, trembling and utterly undone by you man.

"Show them again."

With the intruder now gone, silence blankets the library once again, thick with boiling tension. Still, you don't give him what he wants right away, liking the control you have over him.

"You were saying?" you murmur with a sultry undertone.

Henry's eyes snap back to yours. His hand hasn't stopped and it's picking up speed again, moving with urgency.

"I… I can't-" he breathes, his voice tight.

"Don't hold back." Your words are laced with mischief. "Let me see you, as you see me..."

That's all the encouragement he needs, really.

"You're-" he gasps out "going to-" another gasp escapes his lips "make me... ah- c- come..."

Henry's words are broken and almost incoherent, as he dangerously teeters on the edge. His breathing is ragged, every muscle in him taut with anticipation.

His grip on his erection tightens, his thumb brushing over the swollen tip, smearing pre-cum as his breathing grows more erratic. Oh Lord, he's so so close, his mind utterly consumed by thoughts and images of you -your breasts, the tantalizing curve of your perky nipples...

The weight of your gaze -intent and deliberate- feels like a physical touch and the unique cadence of your voice echoes in his head, soft yet teasing, pulling him closer to the brink.

His movements become frantic, his breath hitching as the coil inside him winds tighter. He's watching you, every detail of your parted lips and flushed skin, your teasing smile as you slowly trail your fingers over the tops of your breasts.

And then he falls apart.

Henry's hand freezes over his manhood as he looks into your eyes, his body trembling with need. "Can I...Can I come on them? Please?"

The raw need in his tone sends a shiver down your spine, igniting the flicker of power within you. You lean forward quite a lot, giving him an even better view of the soft curves he's begging for.

"Are you asking nicely?" Your is voice soft but also dripping with seduction.

Henry's jaw tightens as his restraint slips further away. This is embarrassing, it's debauchery, but he's in too deep to back away now.

"Please" he repeats, his voice breaking, the desperation evident.

His hand resumes its movement, jerking himself harder now, his focus entirely on you and the unspoken permission you haven't yet given.

You glance around quickly, the library as quiet as it's been the whole evening, the shadows growing darker as the last traces of daylight fade completely. A thrill courses through you at the sheer audacity of the situation. Meeting his gaze again, you slowly tug your top down to expose more of yourself -your cleavage a tempting canvas for his impending release.

"Alright, Henry" you purr. "Go ahead."

His head falls back at that, a strangled moan escaping his lips as the tension in his body reaches its peak. His hips jerk forward and his hand works in a frenzy, chasing the release he's been holding back for what feels like hours. His entire body tenses, veins standing out on his forearms and neck as his climax overtakes him.

The first thick, hot streak spills out, landing on your breasts, followed by another... and another. His release is messy -almost overwhelming- each pulse marking your skin in stark contrast to your flushed complexion. The sight alone seems to prolong his orgasm, his strokes slowing only as his body begins to shudder with overstimulation.

For a moment after that, the library is filled with nothing but the sound of his heavy breathing and the soft hum of the lights overhead.

Henry blinks, his gaze dropping to where he's left his mark, his lips parting in something like awe. His glasses have slid down the bridge of his nose, his hair tousled and for once, he looks completely undone.

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his eyes still locked on you, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. Finally, he manages to adjust his glasses, his voice coming out hoarse and unsteady.

"You're… incredible" he mutters, almost to himself.

You lean back slightly, satisfied and victorious, watching as he shakily adjusts his clothes. The post-climactic haze softens his usual sharp edges.

But then his gaze snaps back to yours, -vulnerable and searching- like he's trying to understand what just happened, or what it means.

You grab a tissue, breaking the tension with a teasing smirk as you clean yourself off. "You're not going to forget this, are you?"

Henry's lips twitch as if he's fighting a smile, but his eyes remain serious.

"No" he says simply, his voice steady despite the faint tremor of his hands. "I don't think I could if I tried."

His answer causes you to chuckle softy. You begin to gather your things, breaking eye contact to avoid lingering too long in the still charged atmosphere. As you stand, you glance back at him, offering a small smile.

"See you around, Henry."

He doesn't respond, only watches you stand and leave, his expression a mix of longing, frustration and something deeper he hasn't fully realized yet.

As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't help but feel a spark of exhilaration. You've rattled him -really rattled him- and something tells you this is far from over.

ΗΔΟΝΟΘΗΡΙΑ. (ii)

Soon.

Thank you for reading!!! I appreciate you so much! 🤎

Support a struggling uni student ☞ PayPal link

🍂my masterlist

The pumpkins are by @saradika-graphics.

'What once was' taglist accept my sincere apologies; @futurecorps3 @gxdsmonsters @waterisnotreal0 @breathingstarlight @anonymousewrites @sunlightempire @f4iriypng @yourlocalloser-core @riddledarkness @lady-darknessa

Do not copy, do not repost my work anywhere.**

158 notes · View notes

honeysickledream · 6 months ago

Text

Who's Who, Darling? Part 2 | Poly141 x F!Reader

Tags / cw: NSFW (Smut) fivesome (F/M/M/M/M), fingering (f!receiving), p in v, protected sex, blindfolds, finger sucking, a bit of spanking, light pussy slapping, edging (ig?), orgasm denial of sorts, birth control (IUD) mention, Reader is referred to as Pet a handful of times (mainly by Price), offscreen masturbation, polyamory discussions and agreements, no use of Y/N, no descriptions of reader | if i missed anything, let me know! MINORS DNI (18+) w/c: ~3.4k Pt. 1 | AO3 A/n: this whole thing got away from me, it’s a long one. I’ve been slowly writing it as life hits me upside the head with a new pan every other day. If parts feel rushed, that’s predominately why. Proofread in the middle of the night so ignore typos, please. Also, happy Halloween! divider by @/saradika-graphics

The guys are making coffee and tea when you manage to pull yourself out of the bed and stumble into the kitchen. You’re flashed a smile by each and given pecks on the cheeks as you rub the sleep from your eyes and try to adjust to being alive and having them in your house—last night seeming like some mouthwatering fever dream. Soap suddenly proposes that he make breakfast for everyone and you whine, knowing just how inept he is in the kitchen. The little kitchenette in the break room on base has been closed down more times than anyone can count because he manages to set something on fire.

Price quickly banishes Soap to the living room and sends you along with him, but not before he hands you a warm mug filled with your favorite drink doctored just the way you liked it. There’s not much room on the couch, not with Soap sitting on the middle cushion with his legs spread out as far as they’ll go. He gives you a look—the ‘come sit on my lap, I don’t bite’ look—and you give in. It’s too early in the morning to be stubborn, to be standing honestly, and you’re chilly despite the heat being on.

His thick arms wrap around you, pulling you as close as they can, and he turns on the TV. You notice as you take small sips from your mug that Soap’s eyes are trained on your throat as it bobs with each swallow. He gives you the sweetest look as he asks—begs almost—to give your throat a kiss. Tells you he’s been wanting to do it for ages now and that he promises not to bite.

Fucking liar he is. One peck to the center of your throat turns into another, then a dozen more with faint nibbles between each one. He licks your throat, too, which causes your breath to catch and thighs to press together. The throbbing in your clit worsens when he noses at your pulse point and whines, hips jerking lightly against your ass.

Ghost’s voice cuts through the faint buzzing in your ears and you wince as your arousal dissipates. He tells you breakfast is ready, but you’re not released from Soap’s intense hold. Ghost gives him a glare and Soap’s hips buck once more in response. You’re given one last nip before Soap lets you push off him. He trails behind you, the hem of your sleep shirt caught between two fingers.

Your place at the table has been set elegantly, as if you were royalty. Price pours you a glass of juice while Gaz pushes your chair in and lays a napkin (really it’s just the second cheapest kind of paper towel you could get) in your lap. Ghost places your plate before you and awkwardly gives your head a pat when you thank him. It’s awfully charming being treated so well by them, but there’s a bit of suspicion lurking in the back of your mind.

It’s not your fault the men you’ve entertained in the past have be lackluster in…well, just about every way.

They all sit on the other side of the table, crammed together like sardines in a tin as they dig into their own omelets and hash. Your omelet was the prettiest that’d been made: no tearing along the seam, perfect gold spots across the outside. The seasonings used were light and complementary. Ghost had been the one to cook it, you reasoned. He was a maestro in the kitchen, always bringing in little bits of what he’d cooked the night before to team meetings or sharing his food during breaks in the rec room when it wasn’t under repair because of Soap.

Your appetite quickly fades as you wonder when the topic of ‘Round Two’ will be mentioned, or if Ghost and Gaz’s hints of things turning into something more will be touched on. Both have been sitting in the back of your mind since last night to the point you recall vague dreams regarding them. The anticipation of a talk makes faint nausea build in your belly as your heart keeps wondering and hoping, hoping, hoping—

Price clears his throat and your fork skids on the plate. The screeching of metal on porcelain makes your skin crawl and your teeth ache. All four of the guys look at you with concern and you wave them off, quickly taking a sip of juice. The anticipated conversation begins once you swallow, no chance of any spit takes or choking.

He puts it all very plainly: the four of them do want you. They’d been keen on you for the longest but had all agreed to refrain from making any moves to preserve camaraderie but then you’d gone and complained about your workload and not being laid. The perfect opportunity for them, for you. He tells you they’d talked about how things would go afterwards, the proposition of some kind of…situation or legitimate relationship between you and all of them.

It’s stressed that there’s no pressure, no true expectations of anything—the military’s funny that way sometimes; the expectation for anything to work out often squashed without realizing once it begins to grow. Soap becomes a little pouty when Gaz assures you they’ll all be okay if you decline round two of the bet, or if you ask them to just forget anything ever happened.

That’s when you ask if you can say your piece and you’re given the floor. You find it flattering, and jarring, that they’ve all had their eye on you for a while. You admit you can’t help but pay close attention to them as well. Sometimes you think you know their personalities, talents, and appearances better than your own. And you express that round two is something you desperately want to have happen. But, the prospect of a relationship of any kind between the five of you makes you twitchy despite the last twelve or so house of constant dreamy pondering.

You explain, not in too much detail, that your past relationships and dynamics haven’t been the healthiest. Each one adding a new boundary and expectation to an already long list. Anyone you get with in the hopes of something serious is quickly met with said list because you’ve learned to never assume that people will be good and faithful. You tell them that you’re willing to explore things with them if they’re amenable to be respectful of that list—and of course, you would be be respectful of their limits.

They hear you out when you tell them you’d want something closed, just the five of you. Everyone intertwined in various pairings if that’s what they wanted, but no outside people. Too complicated, too risky in some circumstances. No one throws a fit or even looks the least bit bothered by the boundary which settles your nausea significantly. Slow and steady is your next big point. You want to explore things with them as they come up naturally, be it kinks or troubles or life in general. Rushing to force an experience, you have found, cheapens it and leads to some form of relationship burnout that you don’t want to experience with them or have them experience with you.

It’s all quite formal, their agreeing to what you want and stating their own boundaries—no secrets, the relationship still exists but becomes second place when on a mission or otherwise at work, communication remains at the forefront of everything—which you’re happy to agree to. You’re half-tempted to get some pens and paper to really seal the deal, but you settle for pinking-promising with Soap which seems to be enough for the others.

Breakfast is through not long after, and you work with the guys to put away leftovers and clean up the kitchen. You get a kiss on the cheek or shoulder, a firm hand pressing your back whenever they pass by you. It makes your skin heat, your stomach and heart in some mild flux at the constant sweet attention that is all yours. They receive their own affections from you, a peck in return for a peck, a gentle lean into their side when their shoulders brush yours.

Soap mentions needing a change of clothes—toiletries, too—and the others echo him. They’d be gone for a while, base was a healthy distance from your home which is just how you like it, but you didn’t want to be alone while getting ready for round two. You ask if they can grab some of Price’s stuff to bring back while they’re on base so he can hand around to take part in the prep since he got so little time with you last night.

And that’s exactly what led to you trying to tune out the grating voices of sports casters while being prepped on the couch.

Price has been idly fingering you for the last hour while watching a rerun of a football game he missed during the last deployment. He slowly presses two of his thick fingers into your cunt, keeps them still for a moment or two before he crooks them and you tense around them. Then he pulls them most of the way out while spreading them bit by bit, only to push them back in.

Occasionally he’ll get a text, sometimes multiple at a time and you know it’s from the others because of the little text tones. Whatever they send him has his hips bucking, causing his hard cock to rub against your stomach for a bit of friction before he settles.

You want to bite him for being such a fucking tease but you can’t find much purchase to do so given that you’re draped over his lap and pinned there, face buried in one of your fluffy throw pillows that Soap teased you for owning. You also remember that it was you who asked him to stay behind to prep you and to do it his way.

The front door opens and you perk up to the best of your ability. You try to squirm a bit so you can go greet the others and find out what they’d been up to, but John’s hold on you tightens. He gives your bare ass a light slap, soothing over the spot as the faint burn of pain faded. The others come into view and you whine at them, but they don’t pay you any mind, leaving you to your fate with Price as they go to the bedroom, shopping bags and luggage in hand.

“I didn’t know they were going to the shop, too. What did they get?” you ask Price.

“You’ll find out when we’re ready for you to,” he says as he slowly presses a third finger into you. The stretch is bordering on uncomfortable. His free hands soothes your tensing back. “Three’s all we’ll do—that’s what we agreed on. Relax for me, pet.”

You huff, feigning annoyance while relaxing to the best of your ability. His three fingers are about as wide as your biggest toy. The same one that sits at the back of your nightstand drawer, used only when you have a fully uninterrupted day off, something you haven’t had in ages. It simply takes too long to prep yourself and when you’re ready, you’re too tired—annoyed, too, sometimes—to do more than cockwarm it for a while. It was also hit and miss if penetration did much for you.

Something thuds in the bedroom and you bang your head against the fluffy pillow. “If they break something up there—“

“Nothing’s broken, pet. Gaz probably tripped on Soap’s damn boots, or Ghost’s turned one of them into a pretzel for being annoying,” Price said.

Price gets a text and he pulls his fingers out of you slowly. He’s gentle as he grabs hold of you, a wall of muscle for you to lean on as the shaky muscles in your legs remember how to work. The bed’s been stripped down to the fitted sheet and mattress protector under it, a lone pillow is at the foot of the bed. Water bottles and a variety of snacks have been laid out on your desk, the lights dimmed and tower fan turned on to manage the temperature. Ghost hands you a lilac satin blindfold, a definite upgrade to the sleep mask he’s now tossing in the trash bin under your desk.

A quick refresher of the dos and don’ts and safe words are had before Ghost helps you lay the strip of fabric over your eyes and tie it in place. You casually drop that if the others want to toy around with you while you try to determine who’s fucking you, they should go for it.

Four sets of hands guide you onto the bed and put you on your knees, the pillow secure under your elbows. Belt buckles clank and fabric rustles, you hear whispers before a box is opened and foil is crinkled—condoms. Condoms had escaped your mind but not theirs, and you’re glad. Sure you’ve got an IUD that’s going to need replacing in a handful of months, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. None of you could afford the scare that came along with not using condoms.

The bed dips as one of them kneels behind you and you try not to flinch when a firm hands rests on your hip. You arch your back as his tip presses against your slit with the slightest bit of pressure. It’s when he slowly presses into you that you realize just how necessary Price’s three fingers were. The stretch makes you shudder and clench, your inner voice reminding you relax as he massages your hips.

You give him a quick thumbs up when you feel situated enough. His movements are slow at first, he pulls out halfway before guiding you back until your ass is flush with his hips. You feel unruly hairs scratch your cheeks and shake your head, knowing full well who it is: Soap. You may or may not have caught a few glimpses of his bush, at least the top bit, during the times he stretches his arms over his head after unbuckling his belt post-mission or training.

He reaches around and between your legs to toy with your poor clit that had been ignored by Price for a whole hour. You whine into the pillow as your body shudders with pleasure and your hips jerk to chase his teasing fingers, pulling you out of the steady pace that had been set. You hold off on saying his name because he’s at least trying to be a giving partner, but it stumbles from your lips when his pace gets faster and jostles you closer to the edge of the bed.

Per the rules of the bet, his turn is over. He slips out and carefully pulls you from the edge. You feel a little bad that he didn’t come, but then he groans softly across the room and you know he’s taking care of himself just fine. And probably sitting naked on your leather desk chair at that.

Someone gently turns you onto your back and settles between your legs, cool hands guiding them to hook around his hips. You’re given a bit of time to adjust to him before he’s leaning on his left forearm and thrusting into you firmly. There’s no way to identify him by his manscaping, or lack thereof, and he hasn’t started using his hands or making sounds, which quickly frustrates you.

Patience isn’t your main virtue, you’re learning.

You scrunch your nose and move your brows, trying to get the satin blindfold to shift so you can get a glimpse of something but you hear someone ‘tsk-tsk’. Then a hand slaps your cunt lightly—Price’s hand, it felt the same when he spanked your ass earlier. You writhe and moan as Price occasionally pats your clit while you’re getting fucked, the stimulation causing that dizzying tension in your belly to coil tighter and tighter.

Those thinner, longer fingers that tormented you last night ghost over your lips and you part them. You lay your tongue out flat and then lick the finger that prods at the pointed tip of your tongue. Your lips wrap around two of his fingers and suck lightly, moving your tongue against the undersides. The man doubles over, hips stuttering as he comes. He pulls his fingers free and you wipe the spit from your lips as you say his name—Gaz—softly. He presses a kiss to your lips before pulling away and hopping off the bed.

Either Price or Ghost take Gaz’s place quickly, resuming his pace to keep your arousal from dissipating. You’re hoisted up by four hands and you quickly wrap your arms around the man’s neck. He guides your hips to rock with his as he whispers in your ear before pressing a kiss to your cheek. Ghost lays you back down as you do what he asks and say his name. He wanted Price to have the final go, to have his fun and to make you come.

You latch onto Price like a leech when he hovers over you. That hour of prepping you taught him exactly what to do, where to press and when. As he pulls out, his thumb moves faster against your clit before slowing as he thrusts in, your back arching and body burning. Sweet praise comes at you from all sides, filling your brain with cotton as you try not to let go too quickly but when Price calls you their ‘sweet pet’, it’s all over. You’re coming around his cock, crying out brokenly as hands move across your body to limit the jerking of your limbs. For a moment everything’s quiet, then a heavy and hot weight is on top of you, panting in your ringing ears.

Price pushes off of you and helps you sit up against a bunch of pillows that are shoved under you. A water bottle is shoved in your face right as the blindfold comes off. You sip at it while you watch Soap, Gaz and Ghost bumble naked around the bedroom to find the wet wipes the apparently bought, and your backup sheets and mattress protector. Price is half holding you as he asks how you feel and if everything was done to your liking. You tell him you’re good but tired, and that it was quite enjoyable. You check in with them, as well, getting smiles along with affirmative answers.

The next thing you know, all four of them are filtering in and out of your shower, quickly washing up and helping you do the same before they tap in the next one. Dinner consists of five different pizzas, a shabby blanket fort in the living room, and a campy horror film that puts you to sleep across their laps halfway through it.

What if I put reader on leave with in an array of dildos and a new vibrator while the guys go on a mission…? I’m thinking some thoughts. Anyways, poor Soap. He hasn’t even come close to making reader come and it makes me so happy. He’s the character I love to be sadistic towards. Last time it was Ghost x Gaz who got her off, now it’s Price. He’ll get his turn eventually…

#cod smut #poly141 x reader #x f!reader #john price smut #simon ghost riley smut #kyle gaz garrick smut #john mactavish smut #cod fanfic #price smut #gaz smut #soap smut #ghost smut #honeysickledream #mars' writing #Who's Who Darling? AU

249 notes · View notes