#this one is very quickly drawn whoops

[louquettes]

mwah

[hoyoversenews]

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[lilystyles]

old friends.

part one of the no strings attached series by @lilystyles

no strings attached masterlist & main masterlist xxx

authors note i���m aussie so i have no idea what england/london (where this fic is set) is actually like. so if i get it wrong i apologise i’ve never been there! also, i know harry didn’t go to uni and became famous way younger than in this fic but for the sake of the plot pls ignore that! and gif credits to the original owner as always. make sure to follow if you want to see part two!

brief description harry and y/n are old friends who reunite and quickly pick right back up where they left off. new tensions arise and a deal is struck up.

warnings! mentions of sex, smut (m! receiving, dry humping, kissing, fingering), swearing, alcohol abuse and overall just a mature read. 5kish words (i didn't mean to make it this long whoops enjoy)

inexperienced!virgin!reader x fwb!harry

* * * * *

Maybe getting with him wasn’t the best idea. Y/n could admit that. 

She knew getting involved with one of her oldest friends and messing with the friend group dynamic was a dangerous game, they’d all been mates for years, and she had taken it into account before they struck up the deal. But there was just something about Harry that she couldn’t help but be drawn to. 

She’d known him since her they were kids. They’d grown up together from the awkward stages all the way up to now. He was this successful rockstar who the world simply adored, and she had always known he’d do something great with himself ever since she’d been old enough to comprehend the idea itself. She was studying still at university in a degree she loved. They had made it in this world! So far from their small village where they had dreamed up their futures. If only the two children could see them now. 

Though they were never best friends when they were younger they had always ran in the same circle and saw a lot of each other for as long as Y/n could remember it. It was only during University that they had become close friends. They had even been roommates for a year there. They both only knew each other then so it made sense for them to be together a lot.

Even through all those years, nothing had ever been more than platonic between them. Sure, Y/n had known he was handsome, and overall a lovely person but she knew that he was her friend more importantly. She valued that. She loved her friends, all of them. 

She’ll admit that there had been moments where she’d briefly thought of Harry in that way. Usually, when they were out drinking and he’d take care of her, only a few times when they were roommates and they shared late nights talking on the couch, but overall she kept it at bay. Knowing that friendship was more important to her than almost anything.

Not to mention Harry was a very loved man, he’d had many girlfriends in the years Y/n had known him. They had never particularly warmed to her, especially when they were roommates they all despised her. Honestly though, back then they had nothing to worry about. Y/n was too scared to try anything. 

But there was always some sort of tension there. Y/n never understood it really, not until a good friend of the both of them, James, said that it was just the way Harry treated her. He called her pet names, was constantly affectionate towards her (especially drunk), loved to make her laugh, and during Uni they were inseparable. When his fame skyrocketed she saw much less of him, understandably, and she got busy with her studies.

When he came home for a break from touring and showed up at the group’s Christmas party he saw her for the first time in about two years. They had drifted but not in the sense that it was awkward, more so that it was like when they saw each other it was like not a moment had passed. She smiled widely and stood up from the couch surprised to see him in there in front of her and not just splashed on a billboard. 

She was still Y/n, but she was older. She wasn’t in a baggy old shirt with her eyes glued to a computer typing away. She was here in a tight red jumper that showed a sliver of skin and a tattoo by her hip that he had never known about, with these jeans that hugged her perfect body. Her cheeks were just as rosy as before, her eyes just as doe-like, lips just as sweet only covered in a red gloss. She was still Y/n, but Harry felt like he was back in primary school when he’d pulled on her pigtail. She was fucking gorgeous and their history made it even better. He knew her well, so well. That would never change.

Even having not seen or heard from each other properly for nearly two years he instantly made his way to her and pulled her into a tight hug. His ring-covered hands were on the exposed skin of her lower back, as she giggled into his chest happily in a welcome surprise. 

His deep voice rumbled. “Hi, stranger.”

“Haz,” She sighed. It’d been a long time since he’d heard that nickname. She pulled back to look at him; he was just as beautiful as before, more tattooed, more glamorous but still the beautiful boy she remembered.

“Hi.” She said softly, eyelashes fluttering.

Nothing happened that night, not then. They just talked until the sun rose, catching up it was like no time had passed. He was still as charming and funny and she was still as coy and kind. 

New Year’s Eve was the next time they saw each other after reuniting. He found Y/n sadly sitting on the balcony of their friend Daisy’s apartment. She was in this little silver disco-ball dress with tall boots, a cigarette in her mouth. He’d been ordered by the others to find her. It was freezing out here.

“What are you doing out here, Love?”

She turned and he could see the glassy wash of her eyes. She looked so pretty, even when she cried. 

“Nothing.” She replied, shoulders slumped over.

“Missing the fun inside. Aren’t you cold, Babe?” His hand stroked her bare shoulder softly. He felt the goosebumps, and the warmth of his hand was welcome.

She shrugged. “I’m fine, H.”

“What’s got a gorgeous girl like you frownin’, hmm?” He knew why. Daisy had told him. The guy she had been dating recently had stood her up, without so much as a text. She’d checked his Instagram story to see he was off somewhere else with some other woman. It wasn’t that serious and after the Christmas party, she had questioned if she was even truly attracted to him. No one made her laugh like Harry, or feel so special. He made anyone feel like they were special.

“Harry?”

“Y/n?” He replied. 

“Be honest, I need a male opinion.” He walked towards her taking off his leather jacket to put on her body, she smiled up at him. Grateful for the warmth, the smell was comforting and suddenly it was years ago. The first time they went to a New Year’s party during University. Deja vu.

“Y/n, how do you wear such tiny clothes in this weather!” Exclaimed Harry. He was rugged up in a big brown wool coat, and a crimson scarf bundled around his neck, his jumper was this old led zeppelin one that Y/n loved on him. His pants were old flared jeans and he had some loafers on. 

Y/n looked up at him, they were on the balcony of an apartment complex. It was a few minutes until the countdown then it would be 2014. “Fashion is pain, Haz. C’mon. I look great don’t I?” She gestured down to her red dress which was a similar shade to his scarf. She had a tiny shawl over her shoulders but other than that she wasn’t prepared for the snowy evening.

“I can’t argue there but you are the biggest baby when you get sick, I can’t have you catching a cold.” He shrugged off his big coat and wrapped her up in it. It smelled of him; mint, cigarettes and a spicy woodsy smell.

“Says the one who I had to spoonfeed!”

“Oh shoosh. Now I need your advice about Mia she’s been eyeing me up all night….” 

“Of course, I owe you, you helped so much with my girl problems in uni.” He seemed to be thinking of that night too.

“Is…” She sighed and looked away from him to stare off at the city lights. The smell of his jacket was just like the wool one, the comforting mood was still there. “Is a girl- a girl being inexperienced…in bed…pathetic?”

He frowned, confused. “No of course not. A lot of people like to wait or don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t care, and that’s okay. It’s not pathetic at all.” Harry had a few drinks that night so he didn’t connect the dots straight away at what Y/n was saying.

“I’ve heard differently.” And she had, her experience with boys was sad.

He frowned before his eyes widened. He was honestly surprised. “Wait, Y/n, is this- is this about you?”

“Please don’t look at me like that, Harry I already feel pathetic enough.” She covered her face with her hands.

He got closer to her. “You are far from pathetic, Lovie.”

“You don’t understand. Anyway, you’ve had loads of sex your Harry Styles for god’s sake!”

“Y/n, define inexperienced,” He sat beside her, knee pressing into hers. 

She winced. “I’ve only ever kissed people, ‘never gone further than that. Never even had a boyfriend, you know that.”

Harry smiled, endearingly. She hadn’t changed, he felt like he was back in first year of university when she was complaining about how no guys asked her out. “So?”

“So the reason my date didn’t show up was because I told him I was a virgin yesterday.” It clicked now, the cold wind must have been sobering him up.

“He’s a total wanker. You are not pathetic by any means because of that. And anyway, virginity is a social construct to control and devalue women!” He said, angry at this guy who he’d never even met. It was like when one of the lads on the rugby team made a bet to get in her pants in their second year of university. 

He’d never been so angry.

“Really?” She said looking up with a frown.

He grabbed her hand giving it a tight squeeze, the metal of his rings cold against her warm hand. 

“Promise! It’s actually attractive in a way—” He was cut off by the door slamming open.

“Hey guys it's one minute till midnight!” Said Penny interrupting their moment, she rushed back inside again to hide from the cold. Motioning for them to join the rest of them inside. 

They could both hear the chanting inside. Neither made a move to go inside.

“10! 9! 8!”

Harry looked at Y/n, and she smiled gently at him leaning close to him. He tucked a strand of her hair back behind her ear.

“What happened to your date anyway?” She asked shifting the topic. 

He shrugged, to be honest, he didn’t know or care. Y/n had been on his mind the whole damn night.  “I think she went home.”

“5! 4! 3!”

“Oh.” She said, looks like they both had no luck this year.

“Can I kiss you?”

That caught her off guard, but she nodded when she heard the cheers for Happy New Year inside, remembering. “For luck, right?”

To be honest he’d forgotten it was New Year’s. When the final count happened he leaned forward and kissed her, it lasted longer than it should have between two friends. But they were too drunk to care.

When they pulled apart fireworks shot off in the sky. They watched in silence still close to each other, warmth radiating. They were in their own little world.

Y/n looked up at him when the fireworks stopped, a special look in her eyes. Mischief and drunkenness. 

“Do you want to come over to mine? I’ve moved since the last time you saw me…”

He smirked, a glint in his eye. “Let’s go.”

When they arrived at Y/n’s new flat Harry paid the cabby wishing him a happy new year. She was still wrapped in his leather coat as she waited for him impatiently on the path. She grabbed his hand to guide the way when the taxi drove away. She was on the third floor.

It was this old London apartment. Beautiful and in a really nice area. 

“You friends with everyone in the building? I wouldn’t be surprised, you are certainly a charmer.” He jested as they sat in the lift on the way up. Harry knew how she had a habit of chatting with everyone. When they lived together she made the entire floor gingerbread and Christmas cards. 

“Oh shut up, you’re the real charmer of us both. Girls scream when they see you walking down the street!” She pulled him inside. Taking off her scarf and boots before turning on one of the lamps. It gave a orange glow to the room.

“You know I don’t mind when girls scream.” He teased.

This made Y/n blush. He noticed and giggled at her pinching her cheek. 

“Oh, leave me alone.” She pouted peeling the coat off.

They took their coats off and hung them on the rack. Y/n showed him around the flat quickly. It was a vast improvement from her old place. Her old place was this shoe box, it was also in a really scary area which always worried Harry when they were friends. He helped her move in before he went on his first tour. She couldn’t afford anywhere as nice as this before. She’d kept a lot of her old stuff. It was certainly her place and if someone brought him here and he had to guess who it belonged to, he’d say her. 

First, he saw the living room. It had this great big red 70s leather couch with knitted rugs on top and a gorgeous original fireplace. He was surprised to see a photograph of the pair of them on the mantle above it. He walked over, they were probably 15 in the photograph. It was beside a few other old ones.

“Look how cute you look, Love.” He lifted it up and pointed at her face.

She groaned. “Are you serious? Look at my hair there! Was not doing me any favours at all.”

He turned to face her his hand finding her hair. “I’ve always loved your hair.”

Y/n kissed his cheek in response, it was more flirty and sloppy than she had intended. He kissed hers back. 

Then there was a moment where they just stared.

Until softly she spoke, “Harry?”

“Yeah, Babe?” 

“D’you wanna have sex with me?”

He was startled, his hand was still in her hair thumb on her jaw. “Do you?”

She flinched stepping away. “Sorry, that was stupid of me. But seriously you’re hot and funny, and I trust you more than any other guy, I mean who could be better for this? I’m drunk and your drunk, we can just say it was a one-night stand and carry on being friends, can’t we? Call it a drunken fling? A favour even.”

“Y/n—”

She was rambling now. “Oh no! You think I’m pathetic, don’t you? Begging you for sex? Jesus, what am I thinking? Look, let’s just blame the tequila and go to sle—”

He leaned forward interrupting her with a kiss to shut her up for a second. She froze momentarily until she decided to kiss him back, his hands slid down her dress as he pulled her closer to him. Her hands found his chest and the kiss began to deepen.

Only when Y/n had started to feel lightheaded did he pull away. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing her warm cheeks. “Are you sure you want this?”

Y/n nodded. “Do you want to? Don’t feel pressured, H.”

“Of course I do. You’ve been my wet dream since we were in high school.” She giggled and flung forward pushing him back onto the couch.

“I am?”

Her hands found their way to his jumper and took it off him and he grunted in some form of agreement. She moved from his lips to his neck kissing down the column of it. Sucking on the adam’s apple gently, he sighed as his hands moved to the tops of her thighs. He was totally content right now.

For the first time in a while he was the calm one and she this was raw hungry energy.

“Why haven’t we done this sooner?” He rasped moving her hips against his thigh, she whimpered at the contact. His jean-covered leg had the perfect amount of friction against her thin underwear. She may have been a virgin but that didn’t mean she hadn’t fantasised a lot about this. If anything that only made it worse.

“I don’t- ah- dunno.” She sighed into his ear.

He felt a throb in his pants. It felt like a dream, a filthy one. One he’d probably had before. The number of nights he’d masturbated to something like this was too many to count. Y/n’s tits were at eye level as she humped on his leg needily and he thought he might just cum right then and there.

Her dress was hiked up to her hips and he could see the flash of pink lace, when he leaned forward to kiss her exposed chest he saw the hint of a red bra. 

She stopped for a second hands moving from his hair to his chest. “Can I touch you, H?”

“‘Course you can. Be good f’me and touch me.” She slid off him, her clit throbbing at his voice. All deep, rough, and dreamy.

On her knees, she placed a hand on either thigh gently rubbing them. Staring at the large bulge in his pants she grew nervous. The dim lighting of the living room meant it was hard for him to see her entire face but he could see her eyes widen at how large he was. 

“You okay there, Lovie?”

She placed her small hand on it, “‘M perfectly fine, Harold.”

His chuckle quickly turned into a choked moan when she palmed him roughly. She looked up at him for approval to keep going. “Yes,” He said, head thrown back on the couch.

She unzipped his jeans revealing black briefs which she’d seen him wander around in when they lived together. He liked to be free of clothes at home. But she had never seen him fully naked before.

She slid her warm hand in there, Harry hissed when she wrapped her hand around his throbbing cock, he felt so sensitive to her touch. 

“You sure you want to do this, Angel?” She could feel how much he wanted her. He was throbbing and heavy in her hand. His body was begging for her but spoke softly with no pressure. 

“Harry, please, I really want to.” She sighed staring up at him, feeling the weight of him heavy on her hand.

This had to be a dream. He thought. She was literally on her knees begging for his cock in her mouth. Big e/c eyes looking up at his face. 

“Needy,” He teased knowing he was probably worse right now. “touch me.”

She didn’t care if she seemed needy the feelings she was having right now were too much, she pulled him out and it sprung up hitting his bare stomach. Her thighs clenched and Harry noticed, smirking.

“Jesus Christ, Harry.” She said in disbelief, hands itching to touch him, “No wonder you always act so cocky,”

He laughed throwing his head back. “You sure you want to keep going?”

“Yes, but can you..” Suddenly she had gotten all shy again, like on the balcony. Embarrassed as if she hadn’t been humping his leg moments ago and whining in his ear for him to make her come.

“Don’t get all shy on me now, baby. Say what’s on your mind.”

“Can you…” She paused again.

“Can I what?”

“Can you show me what to do? Tell me. I mean I want you t’feel good, but I’ll probably be really bad at it. I’ve never done this.”

His hand touched her cheek, thumb stroking her face. “Whatever you do I’m sure I’ll love it, I’ll tell you if I don’t like it. Just try, m’not going to judge. Don’t worry, I’m just your old friend Harry.”

“Just Harry.” She confirmed, easing the anxiety in her stomach a bit.

“Good girl.” He praised gently and she leaned forward kissing the pink tip of cock. He let out a hitched breath. 

“You okay?” She asked.

He looked at her confused. “I didn’t ask if this was okay with you. Do you want this?”

“Y/n it’s more than okay.” He replied breathlessly at the sight. “I’m so fuckin’ horny for you right now.” He laughed lightly as if this was a normal thing to do with an old friend. Like it was just a catch-up. 

That was all the confirmation she needed before spat on the head and began to stroke him with her hand, the natural lubrication making it easier to go fast. She really only knew stuff from porn. Which was always just intense and messy deepthroating. She wondered if Harry wanted her to be like that. But honestly, she wasn’t sure she could take all of him her mouth. He was just so big. 

He was moaning quietly as she kept a steady rhythm. One of his hands was squeezing the couch tightly and the other was holding her free hand that touch his knee. It felt so good. 

When she leaned forward and licked a long strip along the length of him, he groaned running a hand through his messy hair. “So good Y/n,” 

Y/n loved how vocal he was with her, it eased her worries about being bad. It made her wetter than she could imagine.

When she began to actually suck him he went feral. His hands move into her hair holding it from her face, he had to stop himself from moving his hips up and fucking her mouth. He knew he needed to be gentle right now, but it was feeling too good to believe. 

“Jesus Christ, Y/n, you’re too good at that.”

He was moaning every second and every time he let out a particularly pleasured noise Y/n made sure to do it again. Harry opened his eyes and looked down at the sight below him, Y/n’s dainty red-painted hand was stroking the part she couldn’t fit in her mouth and every now and then cupping his balls, her tongue was lapping up every inch of precum that dripped out of him. Kissing his thighs and cock whenever she came up for air. Her red lipstick was smudged and her eyes watering. 

Her legs were clenched together and every time he moaned she got wetter for him, she could feel it dripping down her thigh, she was aching to be touched and honestly, this would be something she would masturbate to later. 

She was steadily jerking and squeezing him just the right and even amount, as she grinned wickedly up at him.

“You sure you’ve never done this?” He said, whimpering when she licked up another drip of precum.

She laughed. Harry had to say she was better than he thought, not because he thought it would be bad. Simply because most people make the mistake of being too rough and using teeth or being too soft and slow. Y/n was perfect and attentive, she’d learnt in mere minutes how to get him absolutely fucked. He could hardly keep his eyes open. 

She began sucking again this time going a bit further, testing her limits. When her nose felt the tickle of hair on his lower navel, she came back up breathing heavily and repeated it a few more times. Harry was moaning even louder now.

“‘M close,” He gestured for her to stop so that he’d finish on his stomach, but she didn’t stop, she went a bit faster. He somehow felt even closer to cumming when she didn’t move, meaning she wanted him to cum in her mouth, just the thought was enough to drive him over the edge. She did a mix of everything she’d been doing and Harry was getting louder and louder each second. It took everything in him not to thrust up and push her head down. 

It was the eye contact that got him to finish. She looked up with absolute adoration in her eyes, enjoying her view of his heaving chest, and he couldn’t help himself.

When Y/n felt the hot spurts of his cum fall down her throat, his hips jutted in pleasure. He hadn’t been able to control it. He cried out, “Y/n, fuck!”

When she finally pulled away cum dribbled down her chin and she quickly swiped it on her thumb, holding eye contact as she sucked it. “Mm.” She said. 

He felt limp and breathless. “C’mere,” He said and grabbed her. Her knees ached but she didn’t care, knowing they’d be bruised tomorrow. He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her, she was surprised by that. She’d heard from friends that a lot of guys really hated to kiss after a blowjob but Harry had not one single care.

“Your fuckin’ perfect, Y/n.” He said flipping them over as he kissed down her chest. “Can I touch you now, please?”

She nodded.

He stopped looking up, “Words, baby,”

“Yes. Of course, you can.” She said. “Get me out of this please,” She gestured to the dress and he obliged happily, throwing it across the room and nipping at her skin. Kissing every stretch mark, scar and mole. God, she was just perfect. 

“You are so beautiful, Y/n. And that mouth,” His thumb touched the bottom lip.

She blushed. “Oh, shoosh.”

“I’ve never cum so hard in my life y’know, I mean it.”

She giggled. “Really?”

“Yes, now accept the compliment and let me help you out.” He almost ordered and she obeyed. 

He sucked on her neck, nipping at it as she hissed, he soothed her by swiping his tongue back over that spot. Her hands were scratching his back as he moved down to her lacey undies. A pink bow stared back at him. 

He touched the waistband fiddling with the bow. “Cute.”

“Thanks, H.” She replied, trying not to shy away. 

“He’s an idiot.” Harry muttered mostly to himself, Y/n frowned confusedly. 

Her hand moved from his back to his hair, gently touching him. “What?”

“That wanker who stood y’up, I mean fuckin’ hell, did you do all this for him? Got all sexy n’ wear these jus’ f’him do that ta’ ya’?” His words were slurring more, he was so drunk on her and tired from his orgasm.

She sighed, “It’s for you,” she whispered. If the flat wasn’t dead silent he might’ve missed it. 

“Say that again.” 

She looked down at him. “I- It’s stupid, Harry, forget it.”

He moved away from her soaking underwear. “No, tell me.”

She shut her eyes, knowing how stubborn he was, and that didn’t change even in the bedroom. “I did it for you. It’s always for you.”

“All this for lil’ ol’ me?” He teased her loving how shy she got even after what she’d just done to him. “Beginnin’ to think you only want to fuck me.” He bit the waistband of her underwear and she couldn’t take it anymore.

He knew that wasn’t true but he loved to see her roll her eyes. 

She whined, “Harry, please.”

“Please what?” He looked up at her. His green eyes were mostly just pupil now. 

She tugged his hair, “I need you to do something, please, just help me,”

“Shh, Love, I know.” He took the underwear off and saw the mess between her legs. Another thing he’d be jerking off to later, her inner thighs were soaked and she was dripping. His middle finger slid up the lips collecting the messy slick. 

“For me?”

She sighed, with a shiver. “Only you.”

He began to rub her clit at that comment, feeling her throb against him. She was whimpering and moaning softly and it was just how he imagined but even better. Her hands tugged his brown locks and he moved a hand to her mouth. Holding up two fingers, ring and middle, against her lips. 

“Suck please.” He said softly. He didn’t think they’d need it considering there was a damp spot underneath her already, he just liked to watch her do it. 

When they were wet enough he pulled them back out and slid one inside her dripping hole. She cried out, 

“Shit.”

He pumped slowly, letting her grow used to the sting. “Yours are so much bigger than mine.” She whined desperately. 

He began to pick up the pace when her hips moved against his hand and slowly added the second finger when he felt she was ready. When she began to squirm from the pleasure he used his other hand to hold her hips flat and he kissed her stomach every now and then.

Offering words of encouragement. “Yes, that’s it, you can take it.”

When she began to grow closer he could tell by the way she clenched around his fingers. 

She whimpered when he gave a rough circle on her clit. “Fuck me Harry, feels so good.”

He started to go deeper and harder, feeling her drip onto him. “So perfect like this. Takin' m' fingers.” 

He was taking mental pictures so he would never forget her face. All fucked out and filled with pleasure. When he curled his fingers inside her, grazing that spongey spot that made her scream and curl her toes, she moved a hand to his wrist not stopping him just in a warning.

“M’ close, H.”

He smirked. “Cum for me, Baby.” His other hand found her clit and sped up the process. It was seconds later that she felt it come on, a wave washing over her entire body. 

“Fuck! I’m coming!” She cried body twitching and squirming wildly as he helped her through it. 

“Harry!” She screamed, and he felt her squirt all over his hand as she finished. 

Once he finished helping her ride it out he stopped, slowly pulling his hand away and looking up at her. Her eyes were shut and she looked completely ruined. He was happy with that, it meant he’d done his job.

“You okay?”

She opened her eyes. “I didn’t know I could ever feel that good.” She said seriously and he smiled. 

“Was m’pleasure, Love.”

When she sat up, she noticed how wet his hand was and the dampness beneath before her eyes widened in embarrassment. “Oh, I’m sorry that’s embarrassing I didn’t mean to—”

“Embarrassing? Please Y/n I nearly came my pants. You’re so fucking hot. Look at you. Delicious.” 

She kissed him pulling him close too shy to say anything more.

“Do you want to stay the night?” She asked when she pulled away. He nodded and they, still kind of drunk, made their way to her bed stripping off the rest of their clothes and flopping into bed. 

He grabbed her and pulled her into his chest. “Happy New Year, Babe.”

“Happy New year.”

The following morning Y/n woke up alone in her bed. Her head thumped angrily punishing her for last night. She began to wonder if it was all a drunken fever dream but when she got up to wash her face she saw the hickey he’d left her on her neck, and she saw that the bathroom was slightly damp, meaning he’d had a shower before leaving. 

She tried not to feel hurt at him leaving without a goodbye but she did remember saying last night that it would be just a one-time thing as friends. She didn’t know what she expected really. She had a quick shower washing the night off, she was sticky and smelt of sex. 

When she got out she wandered into her kitchen in just a towel sluggishly, bent over to see the contents of her fridge all she had was off milk and a leftover Chinese takeaway container. She was hungry. She sighed, knowing she’d have to go out and buy food. When she turned she jumped letting out a small shout. 

Harry was sitting at the table with some coffee and pastries, he’d scared the shit out of her.

“Jesus! How long were you there?”

“The whole time, waited for you to notice me. I got us some food and coffee, didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful.”

She suddenly felt subconscious in just this small towel, in the daylight. Her eye bags were probably heavy and she doubted she looked pretty. He noticed her squirm.

“I hope you don’t mind that I used your shower.”

She shook her head memories flooding back from last night. She felt embarrassed. “‘Course not.”

“I’m gonna change I’ll be right back.” Before he could say anything else she’d left. 

When she came back in a knitted jumper and some red boxer shorts she’d bought for sleep, he smiled up at her. “I got your favourite, well, I hope it’s still your favourite anyway.”

He’d even gone to the effort to put it on a little china plate. It was a custard danish pastry. She smiled butterflies flooding her tummy, she placed her hand there without noticing before she turned to him. 

“You didn’t have to do all this, H. I know that it was just a drunken thing we did. You don’t have to be so nice to me. I understand how these things go.”

She remembered the times she’d have to pretend Harry was out when all he’d done is hide in her room until the girls from the night before left their flat. 

He looked up, slightly hurt by that. Did she really think that of him? “You’re my oldest friend, I wouldn’t do that.”

She frowned before sitting beside him and grabbing the coffee he’d brought. “Things won’t change, right? We are still Y/n and Harry, aren’t we?”

He placed a hand on her thigh. “Of course, always, bun.”

She smiled up at him taking a bite of her pastry, some custard falling down her chin. Harry got a flash of last night of her moaning his name and he wondered if what he said was true. Would he be able to move on from this?

if you enjoyed this feel free to check out my masterlist here! xxx feel free to request me!

[sissylittlefeather]

Kinktober Day 7: Exhibitionism

Pleasure Cruise

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, cussing, kissing, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), swallowing, public sex, boat crash

Word count: ~1k

Kinktober Masterlist

When Elvis invited you to go boating with him, you never dreamed you'd find yourself here: on the floorboard in between his thighs, your mouth wrapped around his rock hard cock. But here you are in just that position. It started with kissing and heavy petting over your swimsuit. Then he pushed your bottoms to the side and slid one of his long fingers into you, using his thumb to rub your clit. He made you cum with just his hand and you were ready to reciprocate, but he'd been driving the whole time and you couldn't quite reach him. He didn't seem interested in stopping the boat, so you stood him up, crawled into the little space in front of his driver's chair and sat him back down in front of you.

"Doll, what're you- OH." Once you unzipped his pants and pulled his dick out, he stopped arguing with you. You pumped it with your hand a little, but it was already pretty hard. Once you got your lips on it, though, little Elvis was ready to go.

And now you're here, sucking him off as he drives the boat. He groans and bucks his hips up into your mouth.

"Goddamn, baby, that's good. Just like that." He grunts and looks down at you with your pretty lips on him. He's trying desperately to keep his eyes open and focus on where he's going, but he's having a hard time keeping the boat on a straight path. Just then, he hears a quick siren whoop and turns to see the lake patrol officer pulling up beside him. "Oh fuck!"

He quickly rips his hat off and drops it on top of you to try to hide what's happening in his lap, but it only kind of works.

"Honey, stop! It's the lake patrol guy!" You freeze, his dick down your throat and pull back with his hat on your head. "Get down!"

You back away and try to hide as he grabs the hat and puts it over his cock, slowing the boat down for the officer to pull up next to him.

"Yes, sir?" You hear him holler to the cop and they go back and forth for a while. Once the officer realizes who he is, he only gives him a warning, but he seems to want to sit and chat all day. You start to get bored. Then, you realize that there's no way he can see Elvis's lap, so you snake your hand up between his thighs.

Somehow, his dick is still hard and you feel the muscles in his legs tense when you start to slowly pump him. He chances a glance down at you and his eyes are wide in a warning, but he doesn't move his hand that's on the steering wheel. You smirk. He could stop you if he really wanted to. You use your hand for a bit and then get even bolder. The officer is telling Elvis some long, drawn out story about his niece coming to one of his shows in the '50s, so you carefully move the hat and take him in your mouth again. You feel his stomach freeze and he clears his throat to keep himself from moaning. As you swirl your tongue around his tip, you feel his hand in your hair. But again, he doesn't stop you. He just moves you very slowly and very deliberately. Every once in a while he responds appropriately to the officer, but you can tell it's getting harder and harder for him to focus. When you open your throat and push him in as far as he'll go, you hear him speak loudly to cover his groan.

"WELL, I better be heading out, Officer."

"Sure. Oh, forgot to ask, you alone on this boat today?" Elvis clears his throat again.

"Mhmmm, yes sir, I sure am." His hand tightens on your hair and his hips buck a little again. You feel his cock twitch and know he must be getting close.

"Well, alright then. Enjoy your afternoon!" He nods to the officer, who pulls away to patrol the lake. As soon as he's out of earshot Elvis looks down at you in awe.

"Fucking shit, honey, what're you tryin' to do to me?!" You pull off and look up at him with your eyes wide, hoping he's not actually mad. "I didn't say stop!"

You giggle and go back to bouncing your mouth on him as he takes off in the boat at top speed.

"Goddamnit, I'm gonna cum." He mumbles as you pull him into your throat again. His hips buck for a third and final time and you feel his cock pulse as he shoots your mouth full of his release and you swallow every drop.

It's only then, mid-orgasm, that he realizes the boat is headed straight for the dock.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" He yells as he tries to put it in reverse, but it's too late. "We're gonna hit the dock, honey!"

He braces the back of your head for impact and finishes cumming just as the boat slams into the wooden dock. His body relaxes for half a second before he registers what happened.

"Oh my god, honey are you okay?" You look up at him and nod. Because of the cramped nature of where you are, you really didn't feel too much when the boat hit.

"I'm fine. Are you okay?" He laughs and puts himself away, moving so he can pull you up into his lap.

"Damn, honey, I've never been better. That might be the hottest thing that's ever happened to me." You giggle and he kisses your neck.

Just then, the lake patrol officer comes running up the dock to check out the scene of the accident. When he gets there, he sees that it's Elvis. He looks at you and then back at Elvis, who smiles as his cheeks turn pink.

"Think I'm gonna have to write you a ticket this time, son." He says, hiding his amusement. Elvis just nods. Then he whispers in your ear.

"Worth it."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @deltafalax @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @jhoneybees @polksaladava @searchingforgravity @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @your-nanas-house @theelvisprincess @mrspresley69

Anyone else want a Kinktober tag everyday?

[vodika-vibes]

Hey Vod’ika, hope you’re having a happy new year! I was wondering if you could do a f!reader x Fordo piece(or with and alpha arc really). Reader is a special ops officer and works closely with them, and has the most devastating crush on him. The thing is reader is really depressed and has a very low opinion of herself for a lot of reasons so she doesn’t think she even has a shot. The trooper himself thinks otherwise, and all it takes for everyone’s feelings to come to light is reader accidentally finding the trooper’s sketchbook which is filled to the brim with hand drawn sketches pinups of her(I like to headcanon the clones sometimes had a natch for art because Jango had a natural hand for it) and she’s shocked and honored but has a lot of questions. Que the embarrassing confession between reader and trooper ;) sorry if this is all weirdly specific pls don’t feel pressed to get every detail if you don’t want don’t mind me I’m just feeling crazy today

The Sketchbook

Summary: You've had a crush on Fordo for ages, and you're convinced nothing will ever come of it. And then you find the sketchbook.

Pairing: ARC Captain Fordo x F!Reader

Word Count: 1373

Warnings: Reader is not in the best place mentally speaking

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I hope this is close to what you wanted. And I'm sorry it took so long!

You mumble under your breath as you walk through the halls of Topica City, your gaze locked on your datapad as you quickly parse through the information from one of the special ops teams. 

Once upon a time, at the beginning of the war, you would have been with them, going over the information in real time, but after a serious injury left you with a prosthetic leg, you were relegated to having to analyze information from Kamino, rather than on the front lines.

No one blames you. Which is fine, you blame yourself enough for an entire squad.

You turn a corner, and let out a startled noise as you crash into something very solid. Red and white armor, and jaig eyes on the helmet hanging from his hands…whoops.

“Captain Fordo, my apologies, I didn’t see you.” You internally swear at yourself, of course you didn’t see him, you weren’t looking. Gods, you’re so dumb sometimes-

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have been lurking around corners,” Fordo interrupts your mental train of thought, his voice quiet. 

“Even so, I should have been paying more attention.” You say quickly, “I should know better than to try and read and walk at the same time-”

“Don’t worry about it, really.” Fordo interrupts you again, “It’s not like you would have been able to hurt me.” His harsh words are accompanied with a kind smile, and your heart lurches.

Now is not the time for your embarrassing crush to rear its ugly head, you think firmly to yourself. “Well, thank goodness for small mercies, right?” You say with a tiny smile, “But I’ll get out of your way, Captain.”

“Fordo,” He murmurs, “We see each other daily.” He clarifies, “You can just call me by my name.”

“I…of course.” You say, slightly awkwardly, “Fordo, then.”

He smiles again, seemingly pleased with something so simple, “I appreciate it. But I do have to go-”

“Right! Of course. I’ll get out of your way!” You step to the side, and Fordo steps past you continuing down the hall, and you sigh, as you continue your trek to your office. You’re not going to get anything else done today, that’s for sure.

After all, you never do when you get the chance to talk to Fordo. 

You push your way into your office and set your datapad on your desk, before you sink into your seat and press your face into your hands. 

Frankly, your crush on Fordo is humiliating. He’s literally perfect, and you’re…well you. 

You push your hands through your hair, and then sit up. Fordo will never look at you the way you look at him, because you’re not good enough, and that’s fine. It’s fine.

Totally fine.

…maybe if you repeat it to yourself often enough you’ll believe it.

You focus your attention back on your datapad, and on the information that you’ve been parsing. And you slowly reach for it. At least this work will get your mind off of Fordo.

Maybe.

Several hours later, with your eyes burning with exhaustion, you finally finish for the day, and slowly make your way from your office to your suite. You walk the path blindly, exhaustion making you pay even less attention than you normally would.

Which is why you don’t see the notebook until you step on it.

You stare at it, puzzled, and then you sigh and pick it up, opening it to the first page. Surely someone wrote their name inside the book.

The notebook falls open towards a middle page and you stare, dumbly, at the image etched on the page.

It’s…you.

Page after page of you.

Images of you sitting at a table. Of you walking through the halls. Of you standing in the rain.

And every so often, there are images of you that could have only come out of the artist's imagination. Images of you clad in lingerie, images of you sprawled on the bed, you in every state of undress that you can imagine.

Your face burns with slight embarrassment as you slam the book shut, you shouldn’t have looked at those. They weren’t for your eyes. Carefully, you open to the very first page and scan for a name.

And then you nearly drop the book in surprise.

Fordo.

Fordo?

This is Fordo’s notebook?

Maybe…you should just put it back on the floor and let him find it himself. Maybe that would be better than letting him know that you saw his drawings of you. 

Nervously you rub the back of your neck as you try and decide what to do.

You jump when you hear heavy footsteps behind you, and you whirl around, an excuse already on your tongue for why you’re just standing in the hallway, though the words die on your tongue when you see Fordo standing there.

His gaze drops to the book in your hands, and he shifts, slightly uncomfortably, “That’s mine.” He says quietly.

You hold it out to him, “Um, I found it. I stepped on it, I’m so sorry-”

He lightly takes the book from you, “Did you, uh…look inside?”

Your face burns, “I…yes. I was looking for a name-” You pause and your face heats a little more, “You’re a very good artist.” You offer.

“Kriff, you weren’t supposed to see those.” Fordo mutters, “Why’d it have to be this one that I dropped?”

“Um-”

“I can explain.” He says quickly, “About…about the pictures of you. And the…less than fully clothed pictures of you-”

“You don’t have to,” You take a deep breath, “I know there aren’t a lot of women here, and I’m flattered-”

“It wouldn’t matter even if there were more women here, because I’d still draw you.” Fordo interrupts. “You’re the only woman I want to draw. Ever.”

Your thought process derails completely. “...oh.”

“Look, you’re…” He pauses to gather his thoughts, “Gorgeous. Funny. Clever. And so very competent, which is unfairly attractive, so you know.” Fordo looks at you, and then he continues, “You also lost a leg and it barely slowed you down at all-”

“Fordo, you-”

“Let me finish? Please?”

You stop talking immediately, “I go out of my way to talk to you when I can, but you’re so busy all of the time, that all I can do is just put myself in your way and hope that you run into me.” Fordo continues, “And I know I’m just a clone, and I know I have millions of identical brothers, but I just want-...” He trails off with a sigh, “You. I just want you.” He pauses, “You can talk now.”

Millions of half finished thoughts spin through your mind, “You and your brothers aren’t interchangeable, Fordo.” Is the first coherent thought that slips from you, “And I’m hardly…I’m barely holding myself together most days. I’m not…any of those things that you say I am.”

“I disagree. If you could see yourself the way that I see you…” He trails off with a sigh, “Stars, you’re perfect.”

“I’m really not-”

“I want you to be mine.” Fordo says quickly, “I want to…to kiss you and hug you and make you believe me when I say nice things about you. I want to wake up every morning and see your face first thing, and I want your face to be the last thing I see before I go to bed, but I know that I don’t have anything to offer you except my affection.”

You stare at him, your lips parted in surprise, “I…don’t need anything more than that.” You finally say and his gaze snaps to yours. 

Fordo scans your face for a moment, and you shift uncomfortably, “You mean it.” He finally says.

“Yeah. I mean,” You nervously twist your hair between your fingers, “I’ve had an embarrassing crush on you forever it feels like, so…yeah. I don’t want or need anything more than just your affection.”

Fordo takes a step towards you and reaches out to brush his hand against your cheek, “I can do that.”

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” You ask, your voice a whisper, “I’m not the best cook but-”

“Yes. Yes, I would.” Fordo says with a small grin, “Right now.”

[straykids-97]

Ego

Part one of the Who Are You saga, inspired by Mingi’s infamous ‘Who are you?’ From Halazia 🫶🏻

‘Ego is nothing other than the focus of conscious attention.’

Synopsis: Wooyoung and San finally convinces you to try something new… and you quickly discover that it’s very taboo…

Warnings: hard Dom! Wooyoung, pleasure switch! San, sub!reader, Dom/sub dynamics, bxfxb, implied bxb, voyerism/ exhibitionism, unprotected sex, use of bondage equipment, impact play(Wooyoung smacks)

Word Count: 3.4k

You had met Jung Wooyoung first; his boisterous voice and golden retriever behavior are what drew you to him in the first place. You were quiet, shy; and he was equally drawn to you for that very reason. 

Wooyoung liked the quiet ones. 

It didn’t take long before you met his best friend; Choi San. He was like Wooyoung in the manner that he too was loud. But, he like you, was shy as well. It took a while to get him to open up to you, and vice versa. Now, you three were inseparable. 

Well, virtually, in thought. 

The only thing that could split you up would be their impending tour; one that they would be away for, at least, four months. But, none of you wanted to think about that. You had a few weeks before that even happened, and all you wanted to think about was the sun shining on your face and San curled up into your side as you lay with Wooyoung on the grass. 

You were idly playing with the ends of San’s hair, and he was peacefully dozing in the crook of your arm. Face planted on your breast as he snoozed away. Your head was resting on Wooyoung’s thigh as he read a book, I’ll Be Right There, a book recommended to him by Hongjoong. You peeked up at Wooyoung, looking at his usually smooth features. Currently, his eyebrows were knitted together in concentration, hidden partially by his glasses that were sliding down the bridge of his nose. You reach up with the hand you were using to run through San’s hair to push them up and he blinks a few times, startled at the movement. A cheeky grin spreads across his face, “y/n-ah, what are you doing?” He teases, nudging you playfully. You smile back at him, stopping when San pulls you tighter into his chest, grumbling in his sleep. “Oh, whoops. Sorry, Sannie.” You return to the motions of running your fingers through his short hair and he settles back into your arm, resting once again. “Poor baby, can’t be disturbed.” Wooyoung snorts, making you giggle. 

You decide that you could live the rest of your life just like this. 

You giggle at Wooyoung as he drunkenly tries to rid himself of his jeans. He stumbles, holding onto your table for balance. San stands, half undressed, one leg out of his pants and the other bare, looking rather proud. 

A night of drinking led to the boys staying the night, something that you were used to. 

San heaved a hefty sigh before leaning against the wall again, kicking his leg free vigorously, “San-hyung,” Wooyoung began to chastise as San leaned onto one of your side tables for stability, “Be careful!” You hold San’s elbow just as he manages to kick his foot free. He gives you a sweet drunken smile, “Thank you-u-u!” He draws out the ‘U’, singing it slightly as he begins to remove his white shirt. You start to laugh but stop when you hear a chair clatter to the floor. You and San turn to see Wooyoung on the floor, looking startled. There was silence for a few moments until Wooyoung burst into laughter, you and San following right behind. 

“Hey!” San announces, raising his hands above his head in triumph for his friend, “You got your pants off!” You join in with San as Wooyoung manages to get to his feet, bowing and nearly toppling over yet again. “Thank you! Thank you, no need to con-congratulate me!” He slurs, yanking his black shirt off with ease, “I did it myself.” You laugh at them as they wander into your apartment, gathering their shed clothes as they flop onto your couch. They begin to bicker about the TV remote as you toss their clothes into the washer and start it; not before pulling their wallets and phones out. 

You enter the kitchen to gather up water bottles and saunter back into the living area to find them both staring at the screen, engrossed in whatever it was that they put on. You smile, handing them their drinks and flopping between them. “Drink this,” you tell them, “you’ll feel better in the morning.” San immediately opens the water and begins to drink the water, “Wooyoung-ie,” San demands, “listen to y/n! She’s looking after your health.” Wooyoung grumbles as he looks over at you, frowning and narrowing his eyes. “Why are you dressed still? San and I are basically naked.” He waved his hand over your body. 

You feel your cheeks heat up, “Wooyoung!” You slap his arm, making him whine, “Ow.” 

“Don’t pressure her into down dressing, Wooyoung.” San frowns at his friend, “Well, she’s more dressed.” Wooyoung pouted. You look down at yourself, and without thinking, stand up and pull your shirt off, flop down, and kick your pants off. San cheers, “Yeah! Join the party!” 

Wooyoung didn’t say anything; he gripped his water so hard that he spilled it. 

The next morning Wooyoung woke up before San and entered your room as you brushed your teeth. You nearly jump out of your skin when you see him lean against your bathroom doorframe. “Woo,” you hold your chest and turn to look at him, spitting your toothpaste out. “I didn’t know you were awake.” He blinks at you, he doesn’t respond. “Woo?” You frown, leaning over and rinsing your mouth out. You lean back and see that he’s standing right behind you, making you whirl around in shock. 

“Woo-” You start to say, but stop when he takes a step toward you. Normal joking, playful Wooyoung was gone. You had never seen this side of him before and you didn’t know if it scared you or- 

You couldn’t think straight as his face neared yours, his breath fanning across your cheeks as he eyed you. “Why’d you go to your bed last night, y/n?” His voice was low. It almost sounded rhetorical. “Uh- because there wasn’t room-” You stop talking when he cocks his head to the side, “because-” He blinks lazily at you, his eyes darkening with an emotion you hadn’t ever seen before. 

Lust. 

“Don’t lie, baby.” He murmurs, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, continuing on, “I can tell when you lie.” Wooyoung’s eyes bounce over your face, watching for the minute emotions on your face to detect the truth. “Now tell me again,” he tilted his chin up, looking down his nose at you, “I-” you stutter before clearing your throat. “I didn’t want to make it awkward so I went to bed.” 

“Alone?” You feebly nod at his question. He frowns at you, tutting his tongue, “you should have asked us to come with you. San would have loved to cuddle you, you know.” With that, he takes a step back and you feel like you can breathe again. “Tonight, when we get done with practice. Meet us for dinner.” He says, eyeing you once more before leaving you alone in your bathroom. You stand there, utterly baffled at his actions, but something makes your skin flush hot. 

And you weren’t sure what it was that made you listen to him. 

Just as their practice ended for the day, you messaged them and asked where to meet for dinner. San told you the usual spot; a BBQ place that wasn’t far from their company that they enjoyed. 

You felt anxious as you slipped your shoes on and began the trek over to the usual spot. You could have driven and it would have taken less time, but you wanted to walk to calm down. 

You enter the establishment, greeting the older man who owned the place and requesting your usual spot in the corner by the window. The man immediately obliged and guided you to the back, “Are your friends joining?” You quickly nod your head, “Yes. I should probably ask when they’ll be here.” You admit sheepishly. The older man smiled down at you, “Ah, no rush! They’ll arrive when they feel like it.” He waves you off and you giggle as he walks away. 

However, his words don’t stop you from still messaging the group chat to find where they were. Just as you finished typing out the message you heard San yell your name from across the mostly empty restaurant, “y/n-ah!” He sounded chipper than normal. 

Your head snaps up to him, and see him frantically waving you down, a bright smile splattered over his face. You can’t help but mirror him, your anxiety instantly melting away as you stand and he wraps his arms around you, “Sannie!” You beam as he picks you up, “How was practice?” You ask as Wooyoung joins you, also hugging you. “Hard.” San sighs, sliding into the booth, “We’re blocking a new choreo,” he waves his hand as he drags the water cup toward him. You slid into the booth, Wooyoung waiting until you were settled before also joining you both in the booth. 

You all chat as dinner commences, every little worry you had disappearing as the meal continues. 

As usual, you all stayed so long that you were the only group left and the owner eventually had to tell you guys to leave, like usual. You all sheepishly leave, but San pouts, “We’re off tomorrow, can’t we come over for a little bit?” You can’t tell him no- you’ve never been able to when he juts out that bottom lip. 

You sigh, “Yes. But don’t mind the mess. I haven’t properly cleaned since last week.” You waggle your finger and he links his arm with yours, resting his head on yours, “I don’t mind. Do you, Woo?” 

“Not at all.” Wooyoung links his arm through your other arm and you all walk arm and arm down the street. The 15-minute walk feels like nothing now that you have company, and you almost forget what happened this morning. But as soon as you enter the safety of your apartment, and San closes the door, the mood changes. 

You feel suffocated again, but you try to ignore it as you kick your shoes off, “I found a new movie we could watch.” You being, trying to diffuse the feeling that currently surrounded you all. “What’s it called?” San asked, his voice sounding deeper than normal. You turn to look at him to find him a few feet away, his warm eyes regarding you carefully. As if he was watching you, preying on you as if you were a small rabbit and he a fox. Your eyes bounce to Wooyoung, who was pulling his jacket off, and hanging it up by the door. 

You clear your throat and look away, “Um. I forgot it’s on my list to watch though.” You say, shuffling to your living room, desperately trying to get some space to think clearly. You click on the TV and scroll through the various different streaming services until you find the one you are talking about. “I was wanting to watch it last night, but you guys were too drunk.” You giggle nervously.

That seemed to break the damn that was holding Wooyoung back. 

“I wasn’t too drunk. I still remember a lot,” he counters, coming to sit on your couch. “Like you going to bed alone…” 

“Yeah,” San adds, making you whirl to see him barely a foot away. You gulp; the look in his eyes is unmistakable. “I could have held you…” He trails off, implying that there is more on his mind. “And?” Your voice is barely audible. “And?” Wooyoung pried, making you turn to look at him. You felt like you were spinning in circles with these two. 

“Is there more you wanted to happen, y/n?” San asked, making you shift and look into his eyes. He pressed his chest against your back, moving your hair behind your ear, “Having dirty dreams about me, baby?” He purred. 

Your mouth falls open and you nearly drop your remote. “Wh-what? No-” You start but you freeze as Wooyoung rises to his feet and he approaches you, pinning you between his and San’s chests. “Don’t lie, y/n,” Wooyoung warns. You shudder as Wooyoung’s fingers ghost down your sides. Your mind was whirling, “I-I,” you can’t form a coherent string of thoughts as their hands paw and grope all over you. 

Your skin felt hot, like you had been drinking and the liquor was starting to get to you. “Look at her,” Wooyoung leaned in, biting his lip, “she’s all flustered. It’s so sweet.” San took a deep breath as he held your hips, pulling you against him. You gasped, feeling just how much he was enjoying this. “San,” your voice is husky, and it causes him to groan into your hair. “Woo,” he moans, biting your ear. You shudder as Wooyoung steps away, “She’s just so- fuck.” He grunts as Wooyoung pulls his shirt off, wiggling his finger at you. “Strip.” 

You gawk at him, “Strip?” Wooyoung doesn’t look amused that you parroted his question. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” You slowly start to take your clothes off, glancing over your shoulder to find San only in his underwear. You would have giggled at him any other time, but this wasn’t one of those times. Containing a shudder, you bite your lip turning back to Wooyoung just as you peel your pants off. 

“Good girl,” He gestures to the couch, “Sit.” You do as you’re told, sitting on the edge of your couch, watching Wooyoung and San like a hawk. They share a look and Wooyoung nods to you, “You go first.” 

First? 

Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets as San kneels before you, basically drooling as he places his hands on your knees. “God-” he groans, spreading your legs slightly, “I’ve been dreaming of this day.” You nearly choke on air as he places a wet, sloppy kiss on your inner thigh. 

Your head was spinning again, drunk on the feeling of San between your thighs. And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, Wooyoung sits beside you, wrapping his arm over your shoulders. “He’s good at foreplay…” He chuckles, biting his lip as he looks at you. “And I like to watch… If you don’t mind.” His cool fingertips cause you to jolt as his fingers dance along the skin of your exposed chest and stomach. 

He was distracting you from San as his mouth inched closer and closer to your drenched panties. Your eyes snap to him as San’s thumb runs up your slit, causing you to arch your back. “San!” You cry out, tears of pleasure prickling your eyes. You were overstimulated but in the best way. 

You hated to admit that, even when all they did was work you up at this point. What would it feel like when they finally did do something-

You gasp as San moves your panties to the side, groaning as he taps your wet core. “She’s so wet, Woo.” Wooyoung grunts, his eyes meeting yours as his cold fingers dance down your stomach again, pausing their circuit long enough to join San’s fingers as they played with your cunt. Your legs quiver slightly as San fingers you softly and Wooyoung rubs your clit. Both men are groaning, one in your ear and the other as he watches your wet pussy with a hungry gaze. 

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, San bats Wooyoungs hand away from your clit and latches his mouth to it instead. You gasp, going to reach for his hair. 

But Wooyoung is faster, lifting your leg up and holding it in place as he simultaneously grabs your wrists. The crook of his elbow held the back of your knee prisoner, not only keeping you from moving, but giving San better access to your weeping cunt. 

“Fuck!” You cry out, writhing as much as you can in your limited movement. Wooyoung let go of your hands long enough to slap your tit, “Enough!” He hissed, “Stop moving or San will stop.” San pulled away, “I’d hate to do that, I’m enjoying it so-” He stopped as he relatched to your swollen clit. 

You groan, biting your lip to contain the wail of pleasure that threatened to rip through you as San inserted another finger, curling upward to hit that gooey spot. Your eyes roll and your mouth falls open, Wooyoung takes the opportunity to latch his mouth to yours, muttering a quick, “Cum for us.” 

You oblige. 

You tense, your complete body washing with the most fierce orgasm you have ever experienced in your entire life. The only thing keeping you from screaming was Wooyoung’s mouth. 

You shudder as San pulls away, holding his fingers out for Wooyoung as he rises to his feet. “My turn,” Wooyoung slides off the couch, and San swaps places, grabbing your jaw and wrapping his lips around yours. You were too distracted by San’s plump lips to notice that Wooyoung wasn’t going to use his mouth to pleasure you as San had.

You feel the tip of Wooyoung’s cock rub you, causing you to gasp and look at him. San chuckles huskily, “This is my favorite part,” San groans, lapping your ear as Wooyoung pushes into you. You gasped, holding onto Wooyoung’s wrists as he pushed your knees up to your chest. San held one of your legs, and one of your hands as he used the other to rub quick fast circles on your clit. You gasped, not realizing that San had manhandled you into his lap until he spoke into your ear, “You’re not gonna walk for a few days after we’re done with you.” 

You whimper as Wooyoung pounds into you, fast, oh so fast. You squeal as an orgasm stuns you, causing them both to moan as San slaps your clit, causing you to shriek in surprise. San manipulated your head back so that he placed a sloppy wet kiss on your mouth. You whimper at his tongue, which still tastes like you, danced with yours. 

Your cheeks and neck were flushed; these two were so overwhelming, in every sense of the word.

Wooyoung never ceases his impossible pace, whimpering slightly, pounding harder. Your toes begin to curl as the sensation of yet another orgasm threatens to overtake you, but before it can, Wooyoung pulls out and sprays cum across your thighs and ass. You gasp, staring down at the mess. He takes a few moments to gather himself before San maneuvers you up, freeing his strained cock. You gasp as Wooyoung helps guide San’s cock into you. You throw your head back, Wooyoung was longer, but San had girth. 

You gasp at the sensation of spit landing on your clit, and you look up to see Wooyoung watching your pussy with a wicked glint in his eye. He watched as his spit leaked down to where San plunged into you. Your mind goes blank; San was deep inside you, a completely different sensation from Wooyoung. 

You pant as Wooyoung’s thumb draws slow, deep circles over your clit. You don’t know where to hold, San’s wrist, Wooyoung’s, or the back of your legs. “Fuck- fuck!” You cry out as San suddenly snaps his hips into yours in quick succession. An intense orgasm rips through you, and you almost jump away, but San and Wooyoung’s hands keep you firm in place. Wooyoung chuckles as San whines, “How could you last so long?” He grunts, burying his face in your neck. “I barely did. Seems like we need to get used to her tight, little-” He stops talking when another orgasm barrels through you. “God!” you scream, San’s hand slapping over your mouth before your neighbors called the cops over a noise complaint. “She’s gonna get us into trouble, Sannie.” Wooyoung sighs, and San takes that as to hurry it along cuz his hips pick up pace. And after finding a rhythm, he caused you to cum twice more before doing the same. 

The three of you pant, lying on the couch. You were lying on Wooyoung, and San was lying on you. San made invisible patterns along your hip and thigh as Wooyoung played with your hair. “As much as I would love to lay here all night,” Wooyoung sighs, “But the stench of sex is starting to get pungent. We should shower.” 

San looks up at Wooyoung, “Round two?”

©️straykids-97

[desswright29]

Don’t Leave

A/N:Here y’all go! 😉

Contains: ANGST, ANGST, ANGST, Shuri is spiraling. Word count:4k +

Pairing: Shuri X Black Fem Reader

SHAME PT.5

Prestent Day

Shuri’s POV 

I chased her. I chased Y/n, knowing I didn’t have my full heart to give. After coronation, I went to pursue her. I gave her about a month to cool off, while still maintaining my relationship with Eve. Yea, I know. What the hell were you thinking Shuri? Why Shuri? Easy answer. I was thinking about me, and it’s what I wanted. 

My relationship with Eve in hindsight couldn’t really be called that. It was very obvious early on that I wasn’t interested in men. So, Eve being the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, caught my attention easily. Obviously, there were an elite few who really got close with Wakandan royalty. Her father was leader of the Jabari tribe, and she often would end up at the palace with her father when the council would meet. Her mother had died during child birth so Mama felt a certain responsibility to Eve, since she had no mother figure. So, often the palace was where she’d spent most of her time. As we grew older Eve grew more beautiful. It was hard not to fall for her. Unfortunately, Eve was not likable to the majority. Often using her connection with the royal family to claim her superiority. But, she was good to me. We laughed, we played, we talked, and then we kissed. My 18th birthday we made it official. She went on to become a model, and we slowly fell apart. But we were comfortable with one another. She’d been through so much with me that I’d always felt that sense of loyalty to her. Until Y/n.

Y/n was, and still is very much my equal. Compatible with me in every way. I’d even go as far as saying she’s better than me, in most ways. No one would ever be able to compare. To be fair there’s not a lot of Megastar super genius singer/ scientist, that were beautiful enough to heal nations around, and could make me laugh until my belly ached, and I lost her. Let her slip right through my fucking fingers. Thinking back on those years I can’t help but feel ashamed. The way I handled everything caused so much unnecessary pain. I should’ve taken the time out to heal. Instead, I chased. I’d chased what felt good to me. I was so tender, so wounded inside; It was easier to lean into what made me comfortable. At the time my comfortability lied in numbness. The only thing I wanted to feel is what pleased me. My anger, my pleasure. 

“Shuri.” I was snapped out of my thoughts by Nakia looking at me with worry settled into her eyes. “Are you ok?” I gave a soft nod not really having the energy to speak. I’d put on my proverbial mask and had a successful interview with the State Senate about the plans for the outreach, and was now seated comfortably in the back seat of the Royal Maybach. Seated, man spread, arm comfortably resting on the console, while I gazed out of the window not looking at anything in particular. Everything seemed to be a blur until…

“STOP! STOP THE CAR!” Okoye slammed on the breaks stopping abruptly in the middle of the road causing many cars to honk, as they made quick stops to avoid hitting us.

“What in the world SHURI! What is it!” Ignoring her, I quickly opened the car door, stepping out of the car stumbling toward the sidewalk. I couldn’t stop myself from walking forward. Like a moth being drawn to a flame. My heart thumped loudly in my chest, like the beat of a sad drum before the violins began to swell, the enchanting sounds swirling around my head, swallowing me into my sorrow. It felt like a dream walk, But sadly this was my reality. 

In front of me was a beautiful building labeled “Glasshouse Chealsea”. There was an obvious wedding party, Bridesmaids dressed in the most beautifully simple flowing olive gowns. Grooms men dressed in simple black tuxes. Music was being played as a crowd of guest gathered around the stairs dancing, and clapping, whooping excitedly for the newly weds. 

Then there she was. The most beautiful Bride I’d ever seen. Transported directly from the television, to just steps away from my touch, glowing even more beautifully in person. I was stopped in my tracks. It was really her. Standing right before me. My Y/n, my muse, my reason, the one who held my heart. There she stood, with her new husband smiling from ear to ear. She truly looked happy. Embracing him, looking into his eyes with a look so familiar it physically pained me to recognize. Love. She loved him. I could feel my heart clench in my chest as they share a loving kiss; making their way down the stairs giving hugs as they head toward a red Porche labeled just married. 

Shoulders back head held high, she walked with grace. Elegant in all her simplicity. She once told me, Beauty and intelligence are one in the same, no one respects it if you’re shoving it down their throats.” Ha. She lived by that. Naturally alluring, it was in the sway of her hips, in the enunciation of her words, in her expression of her big beautiful brown eyes. The expression in those big brown eyes that were now staring deep into mine. 

I could see the many emotions run through her eyes. Recognition, confusion, hurt. I hadn’t layed eyes on her in person for 2 years. But here she was. My Y/n. Except, she wasn’t mine anymore. The constant reminders of that where ripping my heart to shreds.

 Her eyes lingered on mine a bit before she stepped back and quickly broke eye contact with me, allowing her husband to lead her to the car. Leaving me standing in the middle of the side walk. I stood awhile longer, a lone tear falling from my eye. She glanced over her shoulder at me before gracefully entering the car. I’d never felt defeat so great. This was the end. It was over, isiphelo, la fin. I turned and walked back to the car. As Queen and Black Panther, I never hung my head low, and I never kneeled to anyone. Emotions were for private. So held high, shoulders back, I slid back into the car. 

“Let’s get back to the hotel” I say, voice slightly trembling. She’s really gone.

————————————————————————

Flashback

 Truthfully,

 honestly

I need, I need, I need to believe

I wanna let go 

but I don’t really know

I heard you got a girlfriend

Shuri smiled, sitting back inside the aircraft, closing her eyes as your sensual and melodic voice lulled her into a state of relaxation. She missed you, and had been on edge since you left her in Wakanda. Everyday she hoped you were thinking of her as much as she thought of you. It had been a little under a month, and everyday Shuri went a little more insane. So, she was on her way to you. Determined to win your heart. 

I wanna go to another level with you

But before I do

I wanna know fo’ I go there with you

Apparently, you’d been busy. You had a song that was going crazy on the internet in America. Shuri had been keeping tabs on you and ran across this information scrolling on “tiktok” on her primitive American phone that she only had to keep up with what you were doing. Shuri wasn’t naive to the fact that she was the inspiration behind the song. The information makes her smile to herself. She still has a chance. 

“So what’s the plan here Shuri, what will you say? Here I am again Y/n, to waste more of your time! I know you wrote a whole song about how you don’t want to be my concubine but here I am to ask again, but I’m still with Eve?” Aneka ask as Ayo raised an eyebrow while piloting the ship, also interested in what Shuri’s plan was here.

Shuri rolled her eyes. “Eve is not a factor in this”

“Ha! Oh really! Do tell me how your girlfriend of 4 years is not a factor in this new relationship you’re trying to start?” Aneka sat up in her seat across from Shuri elbows on her knees and chin resting in both palms, face full of sarcastic yet genuine interest. 

“Easy really, I have Eve under control, she knows I want to be with Y/n and as long as she gets the lifestyle she’s fine with the bare minimum.” She shrugs.

“And what about Y/n”

“ I’ll tell her me and Eve aren’t together anymore. She doesn’t need to know.”

Aneka stares as she lets the conversation really register. “WOW! Shuri really, just wow. You know this must be some intricate super genius shit that a simple soldier like myself just wouldn’t get, because, to me somehow this just sounds….STUPID!”

Shuri smiles, before breaking into a laugh.

“Maybe so Aneka, Maybe so. It’s gonna work. Watch me.”

Aneka scoffed getting up from her seat choosing to go to sit with Ayo as she piloted the aircraft. 

“ This is gonna be bad” Aneka says to Ayo. Ayo nods and hums in agreement. 

Soon they were landing discreetly on top of the dorms at Hampton University after curfew. Perfectly timed. Shuri stepped out wearing an all black tracksuit similar to the purple one she wore when she 1st met you, her curls perfectly coiled, undercut fresh. She was now standing in front of your door with a huge bouquet of 100 roses. She takes a deep breath and knocks. 

“Who is it!?” She heard from the other side of the door. She decided against answering and knocked again. She heard some shuffling and the padding of your feet headed towards the door.

“Omg! Who tf-“ You snatch the door open to see a familiar body face covered by a bouquet of roses. You look at her and walk away leaving the door open with out saying a word. 

She peaks from behind the bouquet to see you strutting back to your bed, you placing your laptop back onto your lap, begining to type. She places the flowers down at her side and stares at you. 

“You might want to come in before someone see’s the Queen of Wakanda in the halls of Hampton. They already have me under constant surveillance.” You say with out looking up at her,  continuing your pace with typing. Shuri steps in closing the door behind her. She walks closer to you and watches as you work and continue to ignore her. She smirks and lets out a little huff of a laugh. You shoot her an irritated look.

“You’re really going to ignore me forever?”

“Why are you here?”

“Answering a question with a question.”

“Shuri leave”

“Ok ok ok” She sighs “I got these for you” she laid the flowers down next to you. You look at her with your eyebrows furrowed upper lip arched up, waiting for her to get to the point. 

“I’m sorry Y/n. I really am, I didn’t think things through, and I didn’t think about how you would feel at all. That was selfish of me to ask that of you. You’re absolutely correct. You’re way too precious to have to share. I know that I really want you and it’s been killing me thinking about loosing you completely. I can’t Y/n. I need you. I’ve grown so fond of you in such a short time. I want to be with you. Only you Y/n.”

You sat and stared into her eyes. Almost as though you were digging into her soul. It made Shuri extremely uncomfortable. You sat with your natural hair sat in a high bun, with 2 strands of hair left out in the front framing your face perfectly. Your glasses perched on your nose, a large T-shirt and biker shorts on. Shuri admired your beauty as she waited for you to jump into her arms. 

“Bullshit” was your simple answer. Shuri frowned up in shock. 

“You can take the apprehension out ya face Shuri. You know why you’re getting this reaction from me. I saw the moment you switched up. I stood by your side when that bitch left you to suffer after you lost your mother! And you ask me to stand with you while you remain with her! Fuck out of here! You enjoyed that shit, and you’re probably still with Eve! I’m not stupid. HELLO! Remember why are paths crossed. So if you came here believing I was just gonna fall back into your arms. You’re not only full of yourself. You’re full of THE most stinkingest shit an ass like you can muster. Please excuse yourself from my room.”

Shuri stood mouth slightly ajar. That’s Exactly what she expected, for you to run into her arms, grateful for her traveling all this way and apologizing so beautifully. To say this wasn’t apart of the plan was an understatement. You still being this upset hadn’t even crossed her mind.

“Y/n I-“

“I swear to God Shuri if you’re not on the outside of that door in 2 seconds I’m gonna spaz” You speak calmly looking her directly in her eye, standing firm on your word. 

Shuri bit into her lip taking a slight step back from the bed. She’d never felt so unsure of herself, this was a quick change of events.

“Go Shuri!” Your voice picked up in volume this time as you pointed toward the door. Shuri felt her eyes water a bit. So she quickly turned and headed towards the door. “You can keep the flowers” she said sadly, as she closed the door behind her. As the door shut she heard a soft thud against it.

“FUCK YOU AND THOSE FUCKING FLOWERS SHURI!!”

Shuri huffed, biting the inside of her cheek, and used her thumb to flick her nose. 

“I’m not giving up Y/n!”

“Kiss my ass!”

Shuri tapped her beads calling Aneka.

“That was quick, let me guess it went beautifully” Aneka says with humor in her voice. 

“Glad you find humor in my pain Aneka”

“I told you it was stupid idea”

————————————————————————

Four months. FOUR FUCKING MONTHS! 

Shuri had pulled all the stops. She’d stayed in Washington 2 more weeks. She’d bought dozens upon dozens of the most beautiful bouquets. Jewelry. Cartier, Bulgari, Van Cleef. Had money sent to your accounts. You’d gotten a full scholarship so that was taken care of, but any other expenses she took care of. You still weren’t budging. 

  She was now back in Wakanda rethinking her entire life. She’d let her hair grow out, her undercut long gone now, blending in with rest of her curls in an unkempt Afro. She wore sweat suits everyday. They were stylish but definitely not up to the standards of the council, but no one had the guts to say anything to her. Disagreeing with Shuri could prove to be lethal. To say her temper was short was an understatement. So everyone tried to let her be. 

She now lie in her bed staring at the ceiling in her large T-shirt and baggy sweats, when her room door was snatched open and slammed shut. 

“Usisi! Get. Up!” 

Nakia.

Shuri groaned. Ofcourse they’d call Nakia on her. 

“I don’t want to hear it! Get up. You’re wallowing in pity over a situation you caused!” 

Shuri shot Nakia an agitated look.

“ Yes I heard. And I’ve never been more disappointed”

“ I really don’t want to hear this shit Nakia”

“Well you’re going to usisi omncinci” Nakia says sitting on the bed beside Shuri. 

“Shuri you’re not healing or coping well. I don’t believe you should be with anyone let alone two women! Really. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking it was my business” She sat up, staring at Nakia intimidatingly. Nakia stands and looks over Shuri looking down at her. 

“Andikoyiki (I’m not scared of you), You can run around this palace waving your proverbial gauntlet, and scare the hell out of all of your subordinates if you’d like, but I am not them. I am apart of the only family you have left, and I will not allow you to push me away with your anger. It’s time to move towards healing Shuri, because the path you’re on is only going to leave a trail of broken hearts behind you, and you will regret it. T’Challa and Romonda would be extremely disappointed. I will remain in Wakanda for awhile. You know where to find me when you’re ready to talk.”

Shuri watches Nakia as she walks out of her room, irritation etched into her face.

“Dissapointed? Haha! Dissapointed! I don’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. IM RUNNING THE FUCK OUTTA THIS COUNTRY! Pshh. Disappointed. Fuck her!” She swung knocking the lamp on her bedside lamp into the wall. The door to the room opened and Eve walked in. 

Shuri sighs leaning forward, her elbows to her knees, letting out a sigh. She knew Nakia was right but she felt like she needed to hold on to her anger to feel anything. Y/n had successfully gotten into Shuri’s head. Shuri craved the feeling she’d felt when she was with her. She needed to hear her voice singing to her in all it’s sultry beauty. She had to go back to the one person she knew could make her feel human again. (That ain’t what Nakia said Shuri!! Chile🙄)

“We’re done” Shuri says

Eve stops, but she doesn’t reply, she just looks down at her feet.

“Did you hear me Eve!”

“I heard you.” Eve spoke softly. Shuri had broken Eve down to fraction in the months passed. She’d treated her so poorly, having no real love to give to her, because her heart was obviously somewhere else. Eve had become a shell of herself watching the one she loved love someone else. “ I knew it was coming. You’re clearly infatuated with her….Shuri I never meant to hurt you by not showing up after your mother died. I-I just couldn’t watch you hurt anymore. You’ve been through so much and Romanda was like a mother to me. It hurt Shuri. I wasn’t strong enough to be there for you, and I’m sorry. I would’ve never thought it would’ve been so easy for you to give your heart away.”

Shuri stared at Eve emotionless “Please Eve, spare me the speech. Do you want to gather your things now? Or should I have them sent to you?” 

“FUCK YOUUUUU!!” Eve screams at the top of her lungs tears streaming down her face, Body trembling causing the Dora to barge in. Shuri made no move from her spot on the bed as she watched Eve crumble. 

“Please remove her from my room. I will be taking a trip. Please see to it that all of her items have been removed from my area before my return.” The two Dora look at each other and proceed to walk towards Eve.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me! I can let myself out!” Eve picked herself up from the floor. She looked at Shuri. “I pray you feel every bit of pain you caused me. You’re a peice of shit!” With that she barged out of the room. Shuri looked to the Dora.

“ Prepare transport, to Washington”

————————————————————————

Shuri found herself in Washington, standing in front of a club, in her sweats, hood pulled up over her head, hands fidgeting in her pockets as she paced. She had no idea what she was gonna do or say. All she knew is that she wanted you. She’d found out that you started taking up singing gigs on the side as your name started to pick up traction. She found out you were performing at The black diamond tonight and now here she was. No plan just her.

  She battled with going in, finding you and pouring her heart out, but being so vulnerable in front of so many people had her anxious. So when the doors opened and the familiar sound of your laughter filled her ears, her heart lurched. Her head shot up in the direction she heard the laughter come from, to find you with two guys dragging musical equipment, and a girl with guitar slung over her shoulder. You walked front and center as they trailed behind you goofing off, excited about a good set. 

Shuri admired you in all your glory. Your waist length Afro textured hair worn loose. Body glistening in your short gold cowl neck halter dress. It draped on your body perfectly, the shiny, stretchy fabric clinging to all the right parts of your body. And just when she thought the dress couldn’t get any sexier she noticed a a split at the hip. She could’ve melted into a puddle right there. 

Just as she was about to punk out, you felt yourself being watched and your head turned in the direction of what looked like some random weirdo in a sweat suit staring you down. Before you could get creeped out Shuri removed her hood. You were stuck a moment, as she was now sporting a full fro, she looked tired, bags under her eyes, and skin looked a bit dull. Even with all that Shuri still managed to be beautiful. You frowned immediately turning to get to your car bidding your friends goodbye as more people began to file from the club. Shuri knew it was now or never. She took a step forward towards the direction you were walking. 

 “Y/n! Please!” She yelled, causing heads to turn. You stopped, but kept your back toward her. She took a few more steps toward you. 

“Look at me.. please look at me.” she says and you slowly turn to look at her.

“Shuri I-“ You began but she quickly cut you off.

“Please let me speak this time…. I’m here y/n, no bells and whistles, no holds barred, just me.” She remained where she stood stretching her arms out to the side and then quickly dropping them.” I get it now. I hurt you more than I was prepared to deal with and I’m sorry. I really am baby girl. Everyday I’m paying for it. Knowing I want to be with you and being shut out is killing me. I’m a mess. I can admit that. I can’t think straight, and I don’t know what else to do. I cut ties with Eve, and I’m not asking you to hop into a relationship with me immediately, I’m asking you to give me the chance to prove that I’m worthy of it. Because I need you. I like me better when I’m with you. So please..” She walks toward you now entering your space, silent tears escaping her eyes. “Please let me fix it.” She reached out for your hands, and you looked at her hands as a stray tear fell from your eyes. “I’m begging you”

You look into her eyes seeing the sincerity. You inhale and let out a wet exhale. You slowly reach and take her hands, you pull her body into yours wrapping her arms around your waist. You take her in your arms wrapping your arms around her shoulders, and allow her to break as she buries her head into your neck, sobs racking her body. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, I promise I won’t fuck this up this time.” She whispered into your neck as applause from the crowd that had formed rang out. You pulled back grabbing her face with both hands bringing her face up to look you in the eyes. 

“Let’s get there first. Hm? One step at a time.” 

She nods, truly grateful for the chance just to fix things.

————————————————————————

Present

Shuri POV 

She gave me my second chance. And I did everything right. I went back to my undercut and curly top. I started therapy. And with Y/n by my side I genuinely did run the fuck out of my country. We created so many amazing Technological advancements together. Y/n doing all of this at the same time as her music career began taking off. I showed up to as many shows as possible. Became apart of her musical process. The nights in the studio with her and her crew grew to be some of my favorite memories. I’d order food, drinks, have the best weed Wakanda could grow, and it would be like a movie in there. The sex we would sneak off and have was crazy. We were the true definition of what a power couple was. The world loved us together, my country was probably more excepting of her than they were me. Our love was beautiful. So tell me. How did I fuck it all up?

Taglist: @imjusthere2readbruv,@6-noir,@oceean,@sleepynggafr,@blacksapphhicmaddonna,@bbbbbbrilliantly

[mordenheim]

You were the first

Gabriel slowly shuffled his way through the ice cavern, wrapped from head to toe in cloth and furs.  Almost every inch of him was protected from the deadly cold as he picked his way through the newly excavated cave.

The ice was not slick beneath him, it was far too cold in there to melt at his mere touch.  He held his lantern high, skirting around the winding tunnels that had formed naturally in the ice so many years ago.

Finally, he saw something in the ice.  A shadow, shaped like a man but so much more.  It was massive, powerful.  Even as just a silhouette he just knew that they had finally succeeded in their task.

Whooping with joy, he raced back to the entrance of the cave.  The whipping wind almost took his breath away as it tore at his clothing.  The sun glaring off of the shifting snow nearly blinded him.  Holding up a hand in front of his eyes, he called out to his brothers.

“Azrael!  Abaddon!  Quickly!  We have found him at last!”

Two more shapes, similarly wrapped up against the elements, made their way towards Gabriel.  One of them had a pick in his hands which the man immediately slapped away.  “No, you fool!  We have to do this properly!  If we damage this treasure, father will never forgive us.”

It took weeks of backbreaking labor.  They spent many nights huddled together in their threadbare tent, listening to the wind tearing at the thin fabric as if it were some great beast sent to kill them all and end their task.

Inch by inch, they carved out the ice around the figure locked in the ice, feeling drawn to it as though they were family.  They lovingly lowered the block to the frozen floor and carefully started sliding the frozen tomb back towards the entrance.  They often stopped and took time to chisel away at the walls of the cavern, opening them enough to slide their cargo through.

Once they reached the surface, they knew time was of the essence.  Not even waiting to pack things properly, the trio tore down the tent, wrapping it around the block of ice and using the corners to drag it through the snow behind them.  

The pace was brisk and torturous.  More than once it looked as though one of the men would fall and not rise again, but driven by an almost supernatural force they pressed on.  After three days they could finally see the icebreaker that had brought them to this arctic hell.

They whooped for joy, calling out to the ship that they were half sure would have left them behind, figuring them all for dead before they reached it.

“Raguel, Jophiel, drop down the ramp!  We have him!”

The two men on the ship leapt up from their duties maintaining the ship in the freezing cold and lowered the ramp for their brothers.  Racing down onto the ice, they all threw their backs into getting the giant block of ice onto the ship.  Getting it up onto a table and setting it up so that any ice that melted would drain off before it could speed the thawing process, they strapped it down and immediately set off for the Port of Bremen.

Day by day they watched over their precious cargo in shifts.  THey tightened the straps as the ice melted away slowly.  More details of what was frozen within became visible.  It was a man for truly towering stature and muscularity.  Thick scars wrapped around and slid down the lengths of his limbs and torso where his flesh was visible.

Sliding off his wrappings as the weather grew warmer, Gabriel knelt down beside the colossus and touched the ice almost reverently with his own scarred hands.  His arms were covered with similar scars, though his very flesh seemed mismatched, pieced together like some mismatched jigsaw puzzle.

“You were the first,” he whispered reverently.

As they reached the port, they covered their charge with the rags they had used to keep themselves warm, protecting the remaining ice from the harsh rays of the sun.  Renting a wagon and fast horses, they made their way home.

Within days, they finally arrived at the castle they had awakened in.  They guided the wagon into the courtyard and awaited the arrival of the one who had sent them.

A decrepit old man made his way down the stairs and pulled aside the rags to gaze upon his prize.

“Ah yes… Adam..  We have found you at last..”

Jophiel approached the man with a smile on his face, reaching out as if for a hug, “Did we do well, father?”

The elder shot him a withering glare that caused the younger man to pull up short, backing away as if he feared being struck.

“I have told you time and time again to NEVER call me that.  Do I make myself clear?”  His glare swept over each of them in turn, causing them to back away.

As one, they nodded to him, almost bowing as they spoke in unison, “Yes, Dr. Frankenstein…”

[karatekels]

TIGmas Day #2 - Saturnalia

This fic is for @cortmac1989, who has asked for Valek romancing Reader at a Christmas masquerade! I’ve taken a bit of liberty with the request to stretch it out a bit longer – hope you don’t mind and that you all enjoy!

TW: Stalking; Voyeurism; Blood-drinking (due to vampirism); confession under duress (mesmerization); dark, rough sex; References to violence and murder; Gratuitously going against the lore (or lack thereof) of vampirism from the book/movie to fit my own agenda

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Saturnalia

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Valek’s POV:

He takes care to press down with every step, ensuring that a footprint is left behind in the snow. It was important to never give the humans a reason to suspect he was anything more.

Jan Valek had always embraced the winter months; the loss of hours of sunlight giving him the opportunity to surround himself with people going about their lives as usual beneath the blanket of darkness. Christmas was quickly approaching, and Valek always found himself wistfully thinking back to his human life at this time of year. His family, their traditions, all long dead… watching people all around him, bright and alive and happily thinking of their loved ones could make him feel either moved or horribly depressed.

Tonight it has him feeling empty.

He makes to leave, to return home and to his lonely, meaningless existence, when something suddenly catches his attention: an intoxicating scent on the wind that washes away all traces of his melancholia.

Curious and almost unable to help himself, he tracks the scent. He knows that the aroma belongs to a human, but he can’t remember the last time he was so tempted by the bloodlust, feeling his canines start to lengthen and sharpen as his mouth waters. He pauses in his search of the source of the appealing scent, getting himself under control – he was able to relatively blend in with the humans when his vampiric instincts lay dormant, his features only revealing their true form when he was making use of his abilities to fight or feed. There would be time for that, once he had isolated the victim…

Nicking his tongue on a still-sharpened fang, he lets his own vampiric blood flow into his mouth, helping to distract him from the scent until he is able to continue his pursuit. Eventually, he comes across a small group of people bundled up for the weather and chatting amongst themselves. One woman, the source of his temptation, stands slightly apart from the crowd, watching the others talk with a slight smile rather than participating in the conversation.

“Everyone is coming on Friday night! No excuses!” one woman’s voice drowns out the others, resulting in a cacophony of whoops and groans from the others.

“Do we have to wear a mask?” someone complains, murmurs of agreement echoing him. “Halloween was months ago!”

“Yes!” the woman insists. “It’s going to be a fancy Winter Solstice masquerade, and you’re all cooperating. We haven’t all gotten together in years, and this will be fun!”

“Your version of ‘fun’ is very different from the rest of ours, Roberta,” another person chimes in, and the woman, Roberta apparently, scowls at the group.

“We will have my family’s manor to ourselves, with full access to their liquor cabinet. Am I really asking for so much here?”

A hush falls over the group for a brief moment.

“Masquerade ball it is!”

“Great idea, Roberta!”

“Can’t wait for Friday!”

Roberta smirks, pleased that the group has been won over, but Valek finds his gaze drawn to you, the wallflower, as you roll your eyes at your friends.

“Hey, how did you get Y/N to agree to come? There’s no way alcohol would be enough to win her over!” someone asks with a laugh, and you jump as you become the new topic of conversation. Roberta throws a friendly arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer.

“She’s staying with me while she’s here; she has to!” the woman announces smugly, and you give a bashful, reluctant smile.

“Plus, she described it to me like a Saturnalia celebration, so I’ll just hide in the corner and observe from a safe distance,” you add, your smile fading as no one recognizes the word or asks about it. Valek himself is surprised that you’ve mentioned the ancient Roman festival – it has no current cultural relevance that he’s aware of.

“Ugh! No nerd stuff, please!” someone chides you, and you scowl. “You’re supposed to be taking a break from all that, Y/N!”

“And you will not be hiding in a corner during my party!” Roberta insists. “Hopefully you and Michael will hit it off before then so that he can help you have some fun!” she winks roguishly at you, and Valek hears your heartbeat speed up as you blush.

“You’re going out with Michael?” someone asks excitedly, and the other women in the group burst into giggles.

“Roberta–” you hiss at her, yanking yourself out of her grip. “I’m not talking about this. I’ll see the rest of you on Friday!” you snarl, stomping off down the snow-covered street, clearly upset.

Valek ghosts after you, staying in the shadows. Perhaps the opportunity to feed will present itself to him – he wants to savour you, just the once, and if he wasn’t rushed at the thought of being discovered, there was less chance for an… accident.

“Y/N, wait up!” Roberta calls, jogging to catch up with you. You reluctantly stop to wait for her, tapping your foot impatiently. Valek takes the opportunity to move to the other side of the hedges that line the sidewalk you were on, allowing him to eavesdrop and watch you through the snow-covered pines without being spotted himself.

“I can’t believe you,” you grumble as she approaches, and from what he can see, the woman has the grace to look abashed.

“I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t thinking,” she says, and you two set off down the path together.

“Why are you insistent that I go out with him while I’m here?” you ask quietly after a minute or two of walking in silence, and your friend peeks over at you, concern in her eyes.

“I just… I worry that you’re alone, Y/N,” she admits. “Your parents have been gone for a few years now, you’re away from your hometown and busy with school, and I know you’re not the most social person… I just want you to be taken care of, hun.”

You let out a deep sigh, your breath coming out in a spiraling, misty cloud.

“I’m fine by myself, Bob,” you tell her, and both your mouths twist into a smile at what Valek presumes is a nickname. “I appreciate your concern, but trying to force the issue isn’t going to get me into a relationship that lasts. The right person will show up when it’s time; I don’t want to rush it.”

“I get it, I get it. I won’t do it again, I promise. Just please give Michael a chance? For me?” she asks you hopefully, and you roll your eyes.

“Fine,” you give in with a reluctant smile. “But just a quick cup of coffee – I don’t want to be stuck at a restaurant for hours if this goes south.”

Your friend nods, a wide smile on her face, and skips off ahead of you, whooping into the night.

So, he wasn’t the only one that felt alone during this time of year, Valek muses to himself as he follows the pair of you to the elegant manor house where you’ll be staying. It was unfortunate, but truly made you the ideal ‘victim,’ loathe as he was to use that word. But you had no family, you were here for a short period of time… it would be easy to make you disappear in the event that he got carried away.

He doesn’t think he will – sure, your blood was inviting, but he finds himself equally, if not more so, interested in your brain.

---

One Day Later…

Reader’s POV:

You force yourself out of Roberta’s home, bundled up against the cold. You really don’t want to go on this stupid date, but you had promised, and you didn’t want to be rude to Michael.

You stifle a yawn as you make your way to the coffee shop, grateful that you’d at least be able to wake yourself up a bit with a nice, hot beverage. You hadn’t slept well the night before, and as twilight turns to dusk the darkness isn’t helping with your fatigue. Still, it’s a beautiful, clear night, the snow still thick on the ground and the treetops, so you do your best to enjoy it. Perhaps Michael would be late, and you could take some time to yourself; your journal and a bag of poetry were in your bag.

Unfortunately, you see him waiting for you outside the coffee shop as you approach, and he gives you a beaming smile that you do your best to return. No time to enjoy the night on your own, then.

Michael wraps you up in a friendly hug as he greets you, the embrace lasting slightly longer than you are comfortable with. You two weren’t complete strangers; he’d been a year above you in high school and you had seen each other at the few social events you had attended with your friends in the years since.

Once you grab your drinks you decide to make your way to the nearby park, making small talk along the way. Michael is… fine. He’s friendly, not leering overtly as he checks you out (you’re grateful again for the cold weather and the layers of clothing it affords you), and he even offered to pay for your coffee, but there’s just… nothing between you. You feel no spark, no real interest towards him, and every attempt you’ve made to tell him about your hobbies and interests he couldn’t be bothered to indulge you, always steering the conversation back to himself.

You’re disappointed, but not surprised. Like you had said to Roberta yesterday, you aren’t going to hit it off with someone by being set up with someone else. You’re old-fashioned, romantic, reserved, with a bunch of interests that people rarely wanted to hear about. Finding someone that you would connect with would be like finding a needle in a haystack, especially in this tiny town.

You sigh internally, trying to turn your attention back to Michael instead of counting down the minutes until you can go home.

---

You manage to make it an hour and a half before you start laying it on thick with the exaggerated yawns, and Michael eventually takes the hint, walking you to the entrance of the park.

“I hope I’ll see you at Roberta’s party on Friday,” Michael asks with a boyish grin. “I’ll be the one in the mask!”

You let out a genuine laugh for the first time that evening. “Yes, I’ll be there – she’s insisted on it!” you reply wryly, avoiding the subject of seeing him there. You’re bad at rejecting people – you hate disappointing anyone, for any reason – and are hoping that you can just go your separate ways without having to formally announce it.

Fortunately, Michael just wishes you a good evening with another hug that you force yourself to return before he turns to head home. You frown at his back. It’s not like you need him to walk you home – or even want him to – but the gesture would have been appreciated. Letting out the sigh you’d been keeping inside all evening, you turn to head back home.

“Excuse me,” comes a smooth, deep voice behind you that makes you jump; you hadn’t heard anyone coming up behind you. Turning around, you’re taken aback by the massive man that stands just a few feet from you. He must be nearly six and a half feet tall, with long, pitch-black hair that flows to his shoulders, blending in with his dark clothing. In contrast, his skin is incredibly pale, and his eyes were a piercing blue-grey that you can’t look away from.

You take a reflexive step backwards and bite back a gasp, and the man tracks the gesture before taking a few steps back. You feel guilty immediately – he seems polite, and you hope your jumpiness didn’t offend him.

“I apologize; I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says gently. “I merely wanted to ask if this was yours.”

He holds up a book which you immediately recognize as your poetry collection; it must have fallen out of your bag somewhere.

“Oh, yes! Thank you so much!” you exclaim with a smile, accepting the book from his gloved hand and returning it to your bag. “How did you know it was mine?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Nobody else is here. Someone was just leaving as I arrived, but he did not seem like the type to read poetry.”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing – no, Michael was definitely not the literary type. This man, on the other hand…

“He’s not – not for my lack of trying, anyway,” you say with a wistful sigh. “I’m Y/N, by the way,” you introduce yourself, extending a mittened hand to him.

“John,” he returns, taking your hand in his large one to shake it. Your skin never touches his, but you feel a thrill of electricity race from your palm up your arm, making you tingle.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” you breathe, finding yourself reluctant to step back from his personal space.

“And you,” he replies, not taking his eyes off of yours as if considering something. Your heart is thumping like mad, and you’re glad there’s no way he can hear it.

“So, the not-poet is a friend of yours, then?” John asks with an amused smirk.

“Who?” you ask, momentarily confused. This man’s presence is very overwhelming, and you find it hard to focus on anything else. “Oh, him! No, not really,” you say, rushing to get the words out. “We haven’t seen each other in years and were just catching up.”

“That makes a bit more sense,” he replies, and you cock your head at him inquisitively. “Someone closer to you should have the decency to walk you home, especially so late at night.”

You feel yourself flush, and hope that he attributes it to the cold.

“I don’t mind,” you say shyly, unable to look him in the eye as you speak. “It’s let me talk to you.”

Braving a look up at his face, you see him smiling down at you, his blue eyes glittering like the snow under the lights that line the sidewalk.

“May I walk you home, then?” he asks quietly, seeming nervous himself. “Provided that I would not be imposing.”

“You’re not imposing!” you say quickly, hoping that you’re not coming across as too eager. John merely grins at you before asking you to lead the way.

You slowly make your way back to Roberta’s home, trying not to shuffle your feet, but you can’t help it – you don’t want this walk to end. You and John talk about literature the way that you haven’t been able to with anyone outside of a college lecture hall, and it feels wonderful. John is knowledgeable, opinionated and thoughtful, and you’re both firing off questions one after the other. You can’t remember the last time you’ve felt so comfortable with a stranger; he doesn’t even feel like a stranger!

All too soon, you make your way to the front gate to Roberta’s home, turning to John with a sigh.

“This is me,” you inform him reluctantly, trying not to let your disappointment show. “Thank you so much, for giving me my book, and walking me home.”

“It was my pleasure, Y/N,” he replies warmly, before giving you that look again that has you desperately wanting to know what he’s thinking. “Have a good evening.”

“You too, John,” you say, giving him a timid smile. “I’m really glad that I met you.”

You fight the urge to look over your shoulder to see if John is still there, forcing yourself to walk up the driveway and to the large, ornate front door. The moment you close the door behind you, you press your nose to the glass of the window to check, but you can’t see him standing there. Turning, you lean your back against the door with a sigh.

What an absolute dream…

An encounter with someone like that, even just a one-off as this was – and your heart twinges at the thought of not seeing him again – made you believe that your approach to romance was correct. Why settle for just anyone when you now had evidence that someone like that existed?

“You look like you had fun.”

You jump, a guilty smile spreading across your face as Roberta enters from another room with a smug expression.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie flatly, and the woman rolls her eyes.

“Oh please, you look positively smitten. I’ll admit, I didn’t think things would go quite this well when I set you two up!”

You open your mouth before snapping it shut again, weighing your options. Telling Roberta that your good mood was from spending time with anyone other than Michael would beget a hundred more questions that you didn’t want to answer. A large part of you wants to keep John a secret, keep tonight something that belongs only to the two of you.

You hide a smile behind a feigned yawn, moving towards the stairs and the privacy of the guest room you were staying in.

“I’m not talking about this right now. Goodnight, Bob.”

“Sweet dreams,” the woman replies, her tone thick with implications. “I plan to see this romance for myself on Friday night!”

---

Friday Evening…

Valek’s POV:

He feels he’s making a mistake, but he just can’t help himself.

Entering a venue amongst a large group of people, their inhibitions lowered as they celebrate, their collective blood pumping in their veins, and your mouth-watering scent among them… For all his centuries as a vampire, Valek finds himself doubting his self-control.

He’s been taking precautions, to be sure – feeding far more than usual in the days leading up to tonight, the Winter Solstice. Tempting as you are, he finds he no longer wants to feed on you – he doesn’t think of himself as worthy.

He remembers that quote about the flower by Osho – about not picking a flower that you love, as it then ceases to be – and finds it appropriate for you. As much as he wants to take you, consume you, that would deprive the world of the beauty and life that you bring into it, should he get carried away.

Despite that, he’s going to see you tonight; he can’t bring himself to stay away.

You’ve made him feel nearly alive again, ever since your meeting a few nights ago. He’s been plagued by desires; for your blood, yes, but also for more of your conversation, your smile, your essence…

He has been tempting fate these past few evenings, needing to be close to you and content to just watch from a distance as you appear at one of the manor’s windows or walk into town with your friend. He doesn’t let himself approach the home, not wanting to torment himself, even as you sleep. Instead, he has left deep red roses on the doorstep every night for you to find in the morning. Somehow, you rightly knew that they were intended for you.

He adjusts the cuffs of his blazer, still unaccustomed to this type of modern clothing. He’s chosen a black three-piece suit and tie, his shirt a deep blue that matches his mask, his hair down, and finds himself feeling only mildly foolish. Based on the conversations he’d overheard when he had first spotted you, he assumes that this is customary.

Valek is not sure what he wants from tonight beyond getting close to you – again, this all seems like a risky endeavour – but he hopes that one night will be enough to tide him over for eternity.

It would have to be.

He makes his way to the party, the path to the manor familiar to him by now, and joins the throng of people. It doesn’t take him long to find you by scent alone, avoiding attention and standing off to the side, his wallflower. You’re wearing a floor-length, strapless blue dress and a swirling mask of blue, white and gold, your hair in an elegant twist that emphasizes your graceful neck.

Tonight will be difficult.

 ---

Reader’s POV:

You watch the party from a respectable distance – it’s truly a sight to behold, but not really something you want to partake in yourself. You promised Roberta you would stay downstairs and in the ballroom until at least midnight, but you’re finding it difficult to keep that promise, and it’s only just past 10.

“I did not take you for someone that would attend this sort of bacchanalia, Y/N.”

The voice sends shivers down your spine, your memories and dreams over the past few days not doing it justice. Your heart immediately begins hammering away as you turn to face him, and he is utterly resplendent in blue and black – your costumes compliment each other.

“John!” you exclaim, trying to keep the overwhelming joy you’re feeling inside. “I was coerced into coming. What’s your excuse?” you ask, curious, and he smiles secretively as he holds out a glass of wine to you. He is wearing gloves, even indoors, but you don’t comment on it as you accept the beverage. Your mouth is suddenly very dry, and you take a healthy sip of the wine, feeling warm.

“I’m quite certain that the entire town was invited. I recognized the address as your own and found it difficult to believe that you would be hosting something like this; I should have known subterfuge would be involved.”

You giggle, the wine going right to your head. “This is my friend’s parents’ place; I’m staying with her while I’m in town. She demanded I stay down here until at least midnight as a lodging fee.”

“You’ll have to introduce me to her at some point tonight. I have to thank you for ensuring your attendance,” he teases in his deep, smooth voice that has your cheeks flaming beneath your mask. “You are dazzling.”

You try not to hyperventilate, pressing yourself against the wall for support.

“So do you!” you reply quickly, trying to recover. “You look…” Stunning? Gorgeous? Delicious? Like a dark prince straight from my indecent fantasies?

“…noble! Plus, we match!” you tack on hastily, trying to move right past your corniness.

John doesn’t seem to mind, giving you a dashing smile that has you nearly swooning. Instead, you quickly finish the rest of your wine, needing the courage to continue having a conversation with this unattainable entity. Your talk quickly returns to your passionate discussion of literature, and you find yourself relaxing in John’s presence, almost unaware of the party surrounding you.

Looking back up at John – you find your eyes need to take frequent breaks from gawking at him to allow you to maintain some degree of focus – you see that he is looking at you with an amused expression.

“What?”

“You’re practically dancing,” he comments, and for the first time you notice that you are indeed swaying to the music, an orchestral version of one of your favourite pop songs. “Would you like to?” he asks, and you immediately start to panic.

“No!” you cry out before it occurs to you how the rejection might be taken. “Not because you asked, I mean; I just can’t dance.”

“Nonsense,” he counters immediately, stepping closer to you and making you tilt your head nearly all the way back in order to keep looking up at his handsome face. “It’s all in the leading. May I?” he asks, extending a hand towards you. You bite your lip, setting your empty glass down on a nearby table before placing your hand into his much larger one, your fingertips tingly as they brush against the supple leather of his glove. That same feeling of electricity shoots up your arm and nearly has you letting out a moan; the alcohol clearly isn’t helping you keep your composure.

John leads you towards the edge of the dance floor, then turns and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer but not flush against him. He raises his other hand, still holding yours, then moves his gaze pointedly to your left shoulder, your arm still nervously pressed against your side. You slowly lift your hand up between your bodies, placing it on his broad shoulder, and he gives you a pleased smile. He guides you through the slow dance, his palm pressing yours in a way that somehow has you moving the right way.

“Wow, you were right!” you exclaim in surprise, hardly able to believe it. “It’s all in the leading.”

“You are also a very good partner,” John croons down at you, his eyes twinkling beneath his mask. “Very responsive…”

His words have you blushing and feeling nearly dizzy as you sway to the music under his guidance. You could happily get lost in this moment, in his blue, blue eyes forever…

But after a few songs, you’re feeling overwhelmed and need a break; it’s almost hard for you to breathe. Reluctantly, you remove your hand from his shoulder, and he respectfully releases you.

“I’m going to go get some water if I can, provided Roberta hasn’t replaced it all with vodka. Can I get you anything to drink?” you offer with a smile, wanting to do something, anything for him. John’s lips twitch in amusement, but he declines your offer, and you move through the crowd, trying not to stumble in your haste to get to the refreshment table and back to him as quickly as possible.

You gulp down the cool water greedily, still feeling so warm all over. You’re desperate to return to John – you feel a tangible ache at being apart from him, and while you’re not sure that it’s a good or healthy thing, it’s not something you’re willing to endure any longer than you have to.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Whirling around, you’re disappointed to see not John, but Michael, his black and gold costume a bit too ostentatious for your liking. But you suppose you’re being a bit unfair; there was nothing this man could do to hold a candle to John in your eyes.

“Good evening, Michael. Enjoying the party?” you ask politely, even as your eyes scan the ballroom for John – he’s not where you left him.

“I am now. Would you like to dance?”

You hesitate before giving your answer. You really don’t want to give Michael the time of day, but you’re not comfortable with rejecting him, especially surrounded by people you both knew. And even without alcohol, him possibly seeing you with John, or any other factors, men could be unpredictable when they were jealous or rejected. You look for John somewhat desperately one last time, hoping he’ll come save you, but he is nowhere to be found.

“Okay,” you agree noncommittally, unable to feign even a shred of enthusiasm. Unlike John, Michael pulls you tightly against him as he dances with you, his hips chasing yours in a way that makes you feel dirty and uncomfortable. You try to step away after the song ends, but he tightens his grip on you, giving you a pleading expression, and you resign yourself to another dance. He isn’t even bothering to try to speak with you, content to occupy your body rather than your mind, and you’re not upset about it as it allows you to keep your thoughts on John.

You manage to talk Michael out of asking for a third dance, but he doesn’t get the hint, attaching himself to your side as you move through the ballroom, still looking for John. He was so tall, so impressive, so utterly impossible to miss, that you’ve all but accepted that he’s left the party. You hope he hadn’t seen you dancing with Michael and gotten the wrong impression…

The large clock chimes twelve times, and you’ve never been more grateful for the sound. You’ve held up your end of the bargain to Roberta, and are now free to leave the party, and without John’s presence, there’s nothing to keep you here.

You fake a yawn, trying to look at Michael with an apologetic expression that you know rings hollow.

“Oh, I didn’t realize it had gotten so late. I’m exhausted,” you say. Michael looks pleased to hear this information, and the hair on the back of your neck stands on end at his expression.

“Would you like me to walk you to your room?” he purrs, and you suppress a shudder, certain that he will misinterpret it.

“Oh, no thank you,” you say clearly. “It was wonderful to see you again, Michael. Have a good night.”

You move past him without another word, not wanting this conversation to go on any longer, and hurry to the staircase and your bedroom. You slip inside and immediately take your mask off, feeling dejected. John’s presence at the party had been such a wonderful surprise, but his disappearance has left you feeling hollow and surprisingly upset.

There’s a knock at the door and you reluctantly open it, expecting Roberta to be chastising you. Instead, John’s tall form looms in the doorway, his dark mask still concealing his face. You briefly stop breathing, your heart thudding against your ribs.

“John!” you cry, the joy evident in your voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw you leave after speaking with that man from the park, and you looked upset. Are you alright?”

“I –” you start to say, but you pause, wanting to choose your words carefully. Were you alright? Probably not, considering you were head over heels for a mystery man you barely knew.

“I thought you had left, and I didn’t want Michael bothering me anymore,” you tell him instead, keeping things vague. “Where did you go? I was kind of hoping you would come rescue me.”

“Well, that wouldn’t have been proper.”

“Regardless, it would have been appreciated.”

John opens his mouth to continue your banter but freezes, his head turning to the stairs. After a moment, you hear the footsteps that had undoubtedly caught his attention; he must have excellent hearing. Feeling brazen, especially seeing as you don’t know if or when you would see him again, you take John’s hand and tug him inside, closing the door and turning out the light. You press your ear against the door, listening to the approaching footsteps. John watches you, an amused smirk on his face, and you glare at him in the silence. Eventually, the footsteps retreat, and after a moment or two of waiting, you conclude that Michael has gone, flicking the light back on with a sigh.

“You know, you could consider telling the man you are not interested,” John suggests with amusement. You growl at him.

“I shouldn’t have to outright reject him to keep him from trying to follow me to my bedroom,” you snarl, and he raises an eyebrow at you. “Plus, men aren’t always the most accepting of a rejection.”

John is visibly upset by the implications of your words, and something about his slight shift in demeanour has you feeling wary.

“Are you suggesting that someone hurt you as a result of you rejecting them?” he hisses, the sound making you shudder.

“It was a long time ago, and it wasn’t that bad,” you reply quickly, wanting him to settle down. “Loads of my friends have experienced way worse! It’s fine, John, really,” you add, trying to reassure him. His jaw is still clenched, but he takes a deep breath, clearly trying to calm down.

“Why would anyone respond with such anger?” he asks, sounding appalled. Perhaps the culture where he was from was vastly different from America.

“Most people only want to hear what they want to hear,” you say with a shrug. “No one is interested in honesty. I mean, I think I prefer the truth, but even I lie to people if the need arises – I’ve accepted that it’s necessary.”

“Do you mean you would always prefer the truth?” he asks, his eyes locking with yours with a serious expression.

“Yes.”

“In every circumstance?” he presses, clearly fishing for something. It has you feeling nervous.

“Yes, I think so,” you breathe, your eyes at his back as he walks across the room to look out your window. After what feels like an eternity, he turns back to you.

“I have not been honest with you, Y/N,” he confesses, looking deeply into your eyes with a pained expression, and you immediately feel yourself choke up. Of course this wasn’t real; there’s no way that somebody like him could truly exist.

Best get the truth out of him now, then, so that you could move on. You can already feel tears pricking your eyes, so immediately affected by his deception.

“W-What do you mean, John?” you ask in a weak, timid voice, and he takes a deep breath before responding.

“My name is not John,” he begins, and you tense up, the blood in your veins turning to ice. “I am Jan Valek, the first and oldest vampire.”

Neither of you blink or say anything for a long moment, your eyes locked. Finally, you let out a breathless, slightly hysterical laugh, the alcohol burning away your nerves.

“T-That’s a good one!” you giggle, unable to contain yourself, and John surveys you with a mildly irritated expression.

“I could prove it to you, if you’d like,” he offers.

“Oh by all means, go ahead!” you agree, beginning to laugh harder.

In a movement far too quick for you to see, he closes the distance between you, taking you in his arms and lowering his head to the side of your neck for a long moment, inhaling deeply. Your laughter dies in your throat immediately. He releases you, taking a step back before reaching up to pull away his mask. Blue veins beneath his pale skin are now prominent around his eyes, and he opens his mouth, revealing a rapidly growing set of sharp fangs.

You scream, stumbling backwards, but then he is on you once more, covering your mouth and nose with a gloved hand and lowering you to the ground gently.

“Calm down, Y/N,” he commands you, a strange light shining in his eyes, and against all rational thought you feel your body start to relax, your heartbeat returning to normal.

“That’s good,” he murmurs approvingly. “Speak quietly,” he adds, his eyes doing the glowing thing again, and you feel the scream you had been building up fade away. He removes his hand from your face, and you wrench yourself out of his grip, scampering back and away from him.

“What…” you begin, clearing your throat as your voice comes out hoarse and soft. “What did you just do?” you demand, the alcohol helping you push past your fear into anger.

“Mesmerization – it’s a sort of hypnosis,” John – Valek, apparently – explains, his voice calm.

“You hypnotized me?!” you hiss, injecting as much venom into your voice as possible since you are unable to yell at him.

“I didn’t want you to draw anyone’s attention, Y/N, I apologize,” the vampire offers, somehow sounding both sincere and unrepentant.

“Why? Are you going to kill me?” you ask him, whimpering at the thought. Strangely, the thought doesn’t upset you as much as the fact that he has been lying to you.

“No.” His reply is forceful and immediate; he looks anguished at the mere suggestion.

“Then what do you want?!” you cry out as loudly as you can, tears streaking down your face. You’re very aware of how the cut of your dress and your updo leave your neck completely exposed, and you pull your hair out of its twist to fall past your shoulders, concealing you. You know that it’s a completely pointless gesture, but you can’t help yourself, the instinct to cover yourself overwhelming.

Valek watches you with a pained, sad expression.

“It is not your blood that I desire, but your heart,” he confesses, longing and desire filling his eyes. “When I first came upon you, I did want to feed on you. Your scent is… intoxicating,” he groans slightly, his eyes rolling back into his head. Goosebumps erupt over your body as pure, primal terror courses through you.

“But as I heard you speak, as I watched you, as I spoke to you myself, you captivated me,” he continues, as though he hadn’t just admitted to wanting to drink your blood. “I have never been drawn to another as I have been drawn to you, Y/N. I have lived over seven hundred years, and in you I find a kindred spirit for the first time; you make me feel alive in ways I long thought were impossible. I have never wanted another the way that I want you, and I know that I will never find another like you as long as I live. I would happily spend the remainder of my existence by your side, and you would be the only thing in this world that I would cherish.”

There is a prolonged silence between you as you struggle to think of something, anything to say in response. Eventually, you give up.

“What am I supposed to say to that?” you ask, your voice slightly hysterical. How could you believe any of this?

“Do you desire me in the same way? As a confidante, a partner, a lover?” he asks bluntly. “Please, beloved, tell the truth,” he adds, and you feel the mesmerization at work once more. You’re upset that he’s controlling you with his strange magical abilities, but the urge to answer builds within you, creating a pressure so great that you are quickly forced to respond.

“Yes,” you moan out the truth, the intense feeling immediately dissipating as the words leave your lips. “You have been everything I have waited for, everything that I hoped a soulmate could be.”

The look he gives you is that of a man seeing the sun for the first time, awe and euphoria practically pouring out of him.

“But this is too much!” you continue, brushing aside the guilt that makes your heart clench as you watch his own break at your words. “You wanted to hurt me, to kill me! You’re not even human! And you lied to me – how am I meant to trust anything you say, to trust you with my life, when I’m… I’m so scared of you right now!” you sob hysterically, wrapping your arms around your knees. “I don’t want to feel this way for you, I don’t want to love you!”

You force yourself to look back up at him, scared at what your rejection might cause him to do. He is frozen in his crouched position on the floor across from you, eerily still, an expression of pure agony on his face. His eyes flit to yours, and then he nods, standing up in a flash of movement that causes you to let out a strangled yelp. He lifts you to your feet before you can protest, his movements gentle and controlled, and you find yourself trembling in his grip.

“Sleep, beloved,” he murmurs, and your eyelids immediately feel heavy. He guides you to your bed, helping you onto it but making no move to join you. You know that you should feel upset, angry, terrified – who knew what the extent of his strangely hypnotic powers were? – but you find yourself trusting him against your better judgement. He covers you with the blanket, looming over you, and you close your eyes – it’s too difficult to look at him right now. Still, you feel a tear escape and trail down your cheek at the mess of emotions that would be overwhelming you right now if you weren’t so tired.

“Be at peace, my treasure,” he coos softly as you drift off. “I wish for nothing more than your happiness.”

---

The next few days are hard and lonely. You had steadfastly rejected Roberta’s invitation to spend Christmas and New Year’s Eve at a nearby ski lodge with your other friends, desperately needing to be alone. You’re grateful for the time to yourself – you know you wouldn’t be able to hide the turmoil of your emotions from anybody. You had initially wanted to get a flight back to school when you woke up the day after the party, wanting to be away from this place and anything that made you think of him, but a snowstorm had grounded all flights.

You’ve been too scared to leave the house, afraid of running into him despite knowing that he wouldn’t need to lie in wait for you in town if he wanted to see you. Regardless, you’re grateful for the fully stocked fridge and pantry – there was no reason you would have to leave the little bubble of safety you had encased yourself in.

You yawn once again despite it being the middle of the day, rubbing your eyes sleepily. The days since the masquerade have been devastating – you’ve floated around in a fog, confused and heartbroken and exhausted. You can’t get Valek out of your head; you dream of him, you think you see him in the shadowy corners of the manor… you recognize the symptoms of lovesickness and heartbreak from your favourite old romance novels, but you never expected that the pain could be quite so intense.

You’ve taken to jotting your thoughts and feelings down in your journal, just needing to get them out of your head – this isn’t exactly the sort of thing that you can talk to Roberta about. A shame, really; she’d been wanting for you to have a love life for years now, and now that you actually have a situation you can’t even come to her with it.

You wander around the manor, eventually ending up in the ballroom – you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to visit it since the night of the masquerade. You wrap your arms around your body comfortingly – the large, open space is incredibly drafty and cold when not filled with people. Your eyes instinctively move to the wall on the far side of the room where the two of you had stood, and you again feel overwhelmed by your emotions. You miss him terribly; not just his presence, but the way he made you feel worthwhile, hopeful for the first time in a long time.

But, as much as your heart aches with regret, you can’t stop the shiver of fear that runs through you at the thought. Valek was a vampire, immortal, lethal; he had wanted to kill you before you had even met!

You force yourself to head back to your room, the ballroom bringing up too much for you to handle just now. It’s dark again already, and you turn the bedroom light on as you enter. Your eyes flit to your journal, still laid open on your desk, bits and pieces of your handwriting jumping off the page at you.

… It isn’t only the feelings he sparks in me, but their depth; I never would have believed such intense emotion existed, let alone that it could be felt so much, and for so long…

… I haven’t had a restful sleep since that night, and it’s starting to affect even my waking life. I see him in every shadow, anticipate him around every corner; he has consumed me entirely, and I fear that it will go on forever…

You grimace down at your messy cursive, feeling pathetic. Who’s to say that he had even been genuine about his feelings for you in the first place? You could be mourning the loss of a relationship that he never even wanted.

You turn to sit on your bed, and as you do you notice that your book of poetry is open on your bedside table, a deep red rose placed along the spine as a bookmark. You freeze. You had buried that book in your luggage the morning after the party, and tossed the roses away immediately afterwards, not wanting to see anything to do with him, and you have been alone in the house for days now. Against your better judgement, you pick up the book, moving the rose to rest on the table and reading the poem on the open page.

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

You find yourself tearing up as you read the poem with fresh eyes, Valek’s choice both beautiful and heart-wrenching. You’re still unsure if you can believe his feelings to be genuine, but if they are, you both share the same intense angst of an unrequited love. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself as you prepare to confront him.

“Valek?” you call out, your quiet voice still echoing through the silent old house. It was the first time you had said his real name; you haven’t allowed yourself to since learning it.

There’s a light breeze behind you and when you turn, Jan Valek is standing in the middle of your bedroom. Your heart races immediately, both in fear and longing, and you’re unable to tell whether you want to run into his arms or to run away. You survey each other in silence for a long moment, and then he finally opens his mouth to speak.

“Don’t!” you growl out, your voice not betraying any of the nervousness and fear you’re currently feeling. His mouth snaps shut.

“Don’t even think about trying your mesmerizing hocus pocus on me, Jan Valek!” you snarl, and he presses his lips into a thin line; you think he may be trying to keep himself from laughing, which only fuels your anger.

“Who the hell do you think you are? You follow me around because you want to… kill me, or eat me, or whatever, you spy on me, you hyponotize me into confessing that I’m in love with you, you break in, you read my journal, you go through my things!” you pause mid-rant to catch your breath, angrily tossing the book of poetry at him, and he lets it smack him in the chest, remaining perfectly still. “How am I meant to feel about all of this, Valek?! I’m scared, I’m angry, I haven’t slept in days, I don’t even feel like a person anymore! You’ve ruined me!” you sob, unable to look him in the eye, instead staring at the ground in front of his feet.

“But I don’t need to tell you any of that; God knows you’ve been watching me suffer this whole time,” you whisper softly, your anger completely drained from you and replaced with a painful emptiness. You hear a sharp intake of breath that makes you look up at him through your tears; he looks completely devastated.

“So what do you want?” you ask, bracing yourself for the answer, be it in the form of words or his fangs piercing your flesh. “Why are you here?” you demand, crossing your arms in front of you.

“I could not bring myself to stay away,” he admits in a quiet, pained voice, looking at the ground just as you had during your own little speech. “At first I was merely being selfish, needing to see you again. Then, I saw you suffering as I have been, and I needed to know that you would pull out of it, that you would be alright. But it has been days, and you are in such pain… I do not know what I can do to make it stop, but I will do anything you ask; I cannot bear knowing of your heartache any longer.”

Your heartbreak takes on an entirely different level of hurt as you watch this giant, otherworldly man come undone at witnessing your suffering. So much of your soul longs for Valek, your love for him rivaling all other emotions, and you find yourself needing to ease his pain, so intertwined with your own. But how to do it?

“Give me a minute,” you tell him quietly when he looks like he’s becoming agitated with your lack of response, “I’m trying to think.” He nods, seeming relieved that you’re planning on answering him at all.

You force yourself to confront all of the negative feelings that this man – for he was still a man, at least in some regard – to try to figure out where they were coming from and how they could be rectified. There was just so much that was completely unknown to you: who he was, what he was, what he wanted with you… perhaps getting some answers would help clarify things for you.

“You forced me to tell you the truth,” you remind him bitterly, and his mouth twists into a grimace. He certainly seems to regret his actions. “Will you do the same for me? Answer my questions honestly, no matter what?”

He nods immediately, the corners of his mouth turning up in a small smile. “I will never lie to you again, dear one. Ask me anything, and I will tell you true. And if at the end you wish to be rid of me, I will never bother you again.”

Your heart twinges painfully at the mere thought of never seeing him again, but you push your feelings down for the moment, giving him a nod.

“Sit first, please,” he implores you, gesturing to your bed. “You are exhausted, beloved.” You move back, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, not wanting to get too comfortable and fall asleep. Now that Valek is here, much of the pain you had been enduring had gone away, being replaced with overwhelming fatigue.

“What about you?” you ask, crossing your legs under yourself.

“I do not tire as you do; my kind has no need for sleep.”

“Well, sit for my sake then, if you would. Looking up at you will hurt my neck after awhile.”

Amused, he looks around the room at his various seating options, then neglects them all in favour of kneeling on the carpet before you, looking up at you with pure devotion.

“V-Valek,” you stammer, peering down at him. “I meant in a chair…”

“I am where I wish to be, Y/N. Now please, what answers are you wanting to hear?” he insists, gazing up at you expectantly.

You decide to start with some of the safer, less personal questions – namely, the ones about vampirism.

“So… you’re a vampire,” you begin hesitantly, worrying your lower lip between your teeth.

“I am,” he answers, smiling at you indulgently.

“Does that mean that you kill people regularly?” You hold your breath, bracing yourself for the answer.

“Not regularly,” he clarifies. “I have killed vampire Slayers who attempted to kill me and mine, mostly.”

“There are vampire slayers?” you interrupt him, incredulous.

“Yes, they are a part of the Catholic Church.”

You blink down at him, stunned as you process that piece of information. “That’s… er… alright.”

“I do not make a habit of killing humans, Y/N,” he continues, returning to your initial question. “I have, on occasion, gone too far while feeding, and lost myself to the moment, but not for many years. It is largely an issue of self-restraint, and I have had centuries to develop that.”

You mull this information over.

“So you don’t normally kill people to feed on them?”

“Rarely, and never intentionally.”

“And how often do you feed?”

“Every week or so.”

“And do your… victims know about it?”

Valek looks away from you with a contrite expression. You wait him out for a long moment, staring down at the top of his head, but he doesn’t respond.

“You promised,” you remind him, and he looks back at you, ashamed.

“They do not,” he admits, and you find yourself reflexively leaning away from him. His eyes track your movement with an unhappy expression. “Please, may I explain to you why?”

You nod; if he’s willing to give you the truth, the least you can do is listen to it.

“Once we have fed, it is common practice to coat the wound in our saliva. It seals the wound and expedites healing. By morning, they will have a faint bruise, and the area may feel tender for a day or two, but nothing more. I typically mesmerize the victim to sleep beforehand; they never realize anything has happened.”

“You mesmerized me to sleep,” you point out with a cold expression. “Did you feed on me?”

“No, beloved, I assure you. I knew from the first minutes of our conversation that I would never in good conscience feed on you,” he reveals, sincerity ringing in every word. “Without your permission, that is.”

“Why would someone give permission to be fed on?” you ask, confused. “What good does it do them?”

“Companionship between vampires and humans is not unheard of, romantic or otherwise, though I have no personal experience with that sort of thing,” Valek says, and your heart skips a beat. “Some humans offer themselves to be fed on in place of unwitting victims, believing it to be easier on their conscience for befriending one of my kind.”

He rests his head on your mattress next to your legs, looking up at you with a scorching gaze that has your knees going weak. “I have also been told that the sensation of being fed on is nothing short of ecstasy.”

Your mouth goes dry, and you busy yourself by adjusting your position – namely so that you can clench your legs together, darkly seductive images coming to mind. Perhaps Valek’s vampirism was yet another reason you had been drawn to him, your sexual fantasies far less innocent than your relative inexperience would suggest.

“Regardless,” you say, trying to get back on track – or at least away from the current topic. “Just because you heal someone up afterwards and they never know about it doesn’t justify feeding on them without their knowledge.”

“I agree with you; my reasons are entirely selfish,” Valek concedes, looking regretful once more. “But think of how you responded when I showed you what I am; how you are still afraid of me now.”

You swallow, thinking back to the primal fear that flowed through you as you had seen his true form for the first time.

“I do not enjoy being a monster, Y/N,” Valek admits, his voice filled with anguish. “I do not want to cause harm to humans, to see their fear and revulsion in their eyes. Not even if I can compel them to forget it by morning.”

You pity him, seeing the toll that the centuries of suffering he has endured has taken on him. It wasn’t his choice to be a vampire, you presume, and watching others be terrified of you for doing what was necessary to stay alive must be intolerable. Perhaps there is some logic to his approach…

You pester him with further questions, each of his answers only bringing up more questions. He tells you about his abilities – you grill him particularly aggressively about mesmerization – and how many of his kind there are, which prompts questions about how someone is Turned into a vampire. The interrogation goes on for ages, and you find yourself fighting your fatigue more and more as the night stretches on.

“You said that you were the first vampire the other day - How did you become a vampire if no one was around to bite you?” you ask, immediately feeling horribly guilty as the question has him nearly cringing. “I’m sorry! You don’t have to tell me.”

He looks back up at you appreciatively, slowly lifting a gloved hand to yours, stroking the back of your hand. You snatch up one of his fingers, giving it a squeeze with a shy smile, and his gaze softens at the gesture.

“I said that I would tell you the truth, my treasure, and I will. But thank you for your grace, Y/N,” Valek coos, and you feel yourself blush. He summarizes the brutal and unjust exorcism gone wrong, and you feel a vicious rage building within you that you haven’t experienced before.

“That’s horrific,” you hiss, nearly shaking in your anger. Valek reaches up without having to look, reclaiming your hand once more.

“Do not be angry, beloved – it was very long ago, and I have made peace with it.”

“How?!” you ask incredulously. “What could possibly help you get over something like that?”

“It enabled me to meet you.”

His tone is casual, as though it should be obvious that knowing you was worth torture and a warped, twisted life of immortality, though he can’t bring himself to look into your eyes. You’re sure he can hear the way your heart is hammering under your ribs.

“Valek… you can’t mean that.”

He smoothly gets to his feet, turning to look down at you with reverence. “I do mean it, little one,” he croons. “I may have accepted this existence centuries ago, but I have never been grateful for it until I met you. My heart no longer beats, but I feel as though it could for you, Y/N. I desire you in any and every capacity you would allow me to have you, my love."

The confession is everything you dreamed of hearing one day, and so much more.

“The other vampires that you mentioned before, the ones that were involved romantically with humans… how did those relationships end?” you ask hesitantly, and Valek’s eyes light up at the implication that you aren’t completely shutting down the idea of being with him.

“Some go their separate ways, some live out their partner’s mortal life with them, and others go on forever, the vampire Turning the human,” he explains, laying out your options. “I would never Turn you unless it was something that you wanted, Y/N,” he assures you. “I will be with you until your dying breath if you permit it, be that as a mortal or a vampire.”

You’re not sure when you moved off the bed, but you find yourself slowly closing the distance between you until you’re nearly in his arms.

“You are mesmerizing me, Jan Valek,” you accuse, looking up at him with unbridled longing. “You have to be. This can’t be real.”

“I assure you that you have the same hold on me, my treasure,” Valek purrs, his presence seeming to surround you, though he makes no move to touch you, as though worried the gesture might scare you away. “You have me completely at your mercy, Y/N. I will give you anything, you need only to ask.”

“I… I want everything that you are, Valek,” you confess, feeling as though a weight has been lifted from your shoulders the moment you get the words out. “I love you; I need you.”

Valek slowly reaches for you, drawing you close to him with an arm around your waist, his other hand gently brushing a loose lock of hair behind your ear before cradling the side of your face.

“Kiss me,” you beg in a whisper, and he immediately obliges, bending to capture your lips with his own. The tingling sensation that had raced through you when your hand had touched his gloved one in the past pales in comparison to the sheer electricity that courses through you as your lips meet. Your desire fully overwhelms you as you throw yourself at him, leaping into his arms to twine your arms around his neck, your bodies flush with one another as you kiss him with everything you’ve got.

Valek seems briefly taken aback by your ferocity; it takes him a moment before he lifts you right off your feet, holding you against him with ease as you devour one another. His lips are surprisingly soft and warm, and incredibly inviting – you find yourself getting dizzy. Valek lowers you back to the ground, trying to break the kiss, but you cling to him; he ends up having to forcefully pull you off of him.

“You stopped breathing, beloved,” he explains with a chuckle when you pout at him, not even aware of your body frantically trying to catch its breath. You blush, horribly embarrassed, and he scoops you up, carrying you to the bed and sitting you down on it, moving to stand back from you, intent on waiting for you to calm down.

“That’s hardly my fault,” you say huffily, staring up at him with dark, hooded eyes, and he smirks down at you in a way that has your whole body trembling with need. “Please don’t stop!”

Valek has you on your back on the bed quicker than you can blink, looming over you with his larger form but pointedly not touching you. Impatiently, you reach up to pull him down but he thwarts your attempts, gathering your wrists and pinning them over your head gently with one hand. Such a little act of dominance has your eyes rolling into the back of your head, completely ready and willing to give yourself to him in any way he wants. 

“Tell me what you need, my heart. I want to taste your desire in your words,” he purrs, lowering his body closer to yours but remaining just out of reach.

He makes you want to let go and lose control and just feel, and you tell him as much, shamelessly begging him to take you and do all the darkly romantic, sensual things you didn’t think you’d ever be able to bring yourself to ask for. The heated look he gives you assures you that he will give you them all and nearly has you delirious with lust.

He moves agonizingly slowly, his hands controlled and precise as he undresses you. Every inch of your flesh exposed to his gaze is looked upon with adoration and awe, and he doesn’t stop to give into his burning desire to touch you until he has fully divested you of your clothes, relying on every shred of patience he’s developed during the course of his existence. Having not had his centuries of experience, you eagerly try to push his heavy coat off his shoulders, your fingers moving to the buttons on his shirt as he chuckles and moves to help you take off his coat.

“Patience, my dear,” Valek croons, taking hold of your hands once more as you squirm underneath him, chilly and impatient and desperate for his touch. “I fully intend to savour every moment of this as I make you mine.”

“But I want to see you!” you whine, pouting up at him and batting your eyes. He looks down at your naked form, desperate with need for him, and the pale blue veins around his eyes start to appear as he gives into his carnal desires. He licks his lips, and you see his fangs sharpening in his mouth.

“Fuck,” you moan wantonly as his vampiric side comes out. Instead of the fear that you had felt the first time you had seen him in this form, now it only sends a thrill through you; somehow, you want him even more because of the danger he poses. Valek, however, misunderstands and immediately moves to soothe you.

“It is alright, Y/N, just the similarities between bloodlust and my lust for you that bring this side out of me. I can stop if you are frightened, but I assure you that I am still in control of myself.”

“I’m not!” you pant, unsuccessfully trying to squirm out of his grip and pounce on him. “Please, Valek, I’m not scared of you doing anything except stopping.”

He leans down to kiss you once again to silence your complaints, and you happily oblige him, letting him kiss you into submission, his dark hair falling around you like a curtain. Still with his lips on yours, Valek tears his gloves off to reveal his long, slender fingers and sharp nails, running them lightly up your sides and making you arch up off the bed with a wail, your cries swallowed by his mouth.

He releases your lips, allowing you to catch your breath while he lays kisses all over your face as though he wants to claim every inch of you. You hope he does; you’re already all his.

“Your skin tastes of sunshine,” he murmurs seductively, his lips moving lightly down your neck to one of your shoulders, then slowly making their way along your collarbone to the other. “I would bask in your warmth forever if you would let me, beloved.”

“I will, I do,” you moan, reaching between you to try to finish taking off his shirt. A loud, purring rumble emanates from within him as your fingers stroke his bare chest, giving you a fluttering sense of pride. Feeling more confident, you slide your hands up along his neck to hold his face, tilting it upwards so that his eyes meet yours. He cocks his head at you with an inquisitive expression.

“You know that I love your old-fashioned approach to romance, Valek,” you tell him seriously, “and we will have my entire lifetime – if not forever – to take things slow. But I need to be yours right now. And I don’t want you to be gentle; show me that you desire me the way I do you – don’t hold back.”

He gives you a nearly feral look, his hands curling into fists as he tries to control himself; somehow, you are able to sense the energy he’s fighting to keep inside of him instead of tearing into something.

“You wish for a taste of darkness, beloved?” he asks, pulling off his shirt and tossing it to the side. You gawk at his broad, pale chest, trying not to drool, and lick your lips. Valek hisses at the action, adjusting himself over his pants. You sit up, your hands moving to his belt; this time, he doesn’t stop you.

“I wish for a taste of you, Valek,” you tell him in a fierce whisper, looking up at him as you remove his belt and move to the button of his pants. “If being rough with me will make you feel half as good as I know it’ll make me feel, then yes, please. Claim me, my love. Make all of me yours.”

He pins you back against the sheets with a growl, his sharp nails drawing teasing patterns across your breasts, your nipples peaking as if to demand more of the rough treatment. You arch your back, thrusting your breasts into his hands with a needy cry. Valek is utterly merciless in his torment, bringing you to the threshold between pleasure and pain and keeping you there. You are practically vibrating with need as one of his hands trails down your torso to your thighs, parting them with ease. One long finger slips between your slick folds, grazing your clit, and you shriek, bucking your hips towards him. You hear him snicker softly against your chest, his lips and tongue continuing to tease your breasts as his hands move lower.

“You are otherworldly when you are giving into sin, Y/N,” he croons, his fingers insistent as they explore your entrance, slick with your arousal. You let out a whimper that he swallows into his mouth, his fingers working at your clit and not relenting until you’re on the precipice of orgasm before he backs off, only to repeat the action, edging you over and over until you’re nearly delirious. And still, all you want is more.

“Please!” you manage to beg him, your hands guiding his face to your neck, wordlessly trying to convey what you want. You’re losing all sense of lucidity, clinging desperately to your sanity as he brings you so close to the edge. Valek turns his head to the side, his tongue reaching out to lick the outer shell of your ear and making you shiver.

“Please what, my sweet? I want to hear you say it,” he whispers, and you can tell he is enjoying prolonging your torture.

“Bite me! Feed on me!” you demand shamelessly, your eyes shut tight as you try to focus on the feeling of his mouth on your skin, seeking any indication that he will give this to you. “Make me scream for you.”

You hear him inhale deeply, his nose lightly running up and down the side of your neck, and you turn your head to the side to give him better access. His fingers have stopped their endless teasing of your swollen clit, but you are still trembling in anticipation. You feel his tongue dart out and give your sensitive flesh a sinful lick, making you gasp for breath.

Finally, you feel him bite you, the only pain being a slight sting that only adds to the overwhelming pleasure that courses through you. You’re not even sure that ecstasy was an accurate enough description for this feeling coursing through your veins – the pleasure is absolutely indescribable. Your eyes roll back in your head, the parts of your body not currently pinned in place by his body thrashing out of your control as you come violently. You hear yourself distantly shrieking in rapture, moaning and whimpering his name, babbling for more as he feeds on you, his fingers relentless at your clit and drawing out your climax – or maybe he was just making you orgasm again and again without interruption.

Eventually, he ends his torment, licking your wound to seal it before lifting his head from your neck, traces of blood on his lips. He stares down at you with a satiated expression, trying to remove his hand from between your clenched thighs, still spasming and out of your control. You’re sure that your inner thighs will be bruised from how you had squeezed them against his firm hand, and the idea only adds to your bliss. He leans down to kiss you but hesitates, unsure of your willingness to taste your own blood. You’re able to gather enough strength and lucidity to force yourself to sit up and kiss him, pulling him down to lay on top of you. There is a slight metallic taste to his lips, but it is largely overshadowed by the intoxicating taste of Valek, an indescribable flavour that you’re sure you’ll never get enough of.

“Finally satisfied, my little temptress?” Valek asks teasingly against your lips, your body completely relaxed beneath him.

“Nearly,” you hum through a yawn, blindly reaching to remove his pants once more. He groans, rolling over with you and cradling you on top of his chest.

“You are exhausted, beloved,” he points out, stroking your hair affectionately. “There will be time enough for that later.” Stubbornly, you ignore him, pushing yourself up onto your knees and tugging his pants down his legs, trying and failing to dodge his hands as they snatch up your wrists.

“Valek!” you whine, pouting down at him. His lips quirk into a smile at your persistence, and you narrow your eyes at him before throwing one leg over him and straddling his narrow waist, inches away from where you really want to be. Valek stills, transfixed, and you slowly bend down until your face is right above his, feeling decidedly naughty.

“I believe we agreed that you would be rough with me, my love,” you murmur, one hand drawing teasing patterns across his bare chest. “I hope you don’t think I’m so delicate that I’ve already had enough of you tonight. I need you to defile me, inside and out.” You grind yourself against his firm abdominal muscles, and he growls. You decide to try the innocent approach next to get him to give in.

“Please?” you ask, batting your eyelashes down at him with the most innocent expression you can muster, and he lets out a wild snarl, rolling you onto your back again and tearing off the rest of his clothes hastily before positioning himself between your legs. You can’t see his cock, pressed against him as you are, but you can certainly feel it, the silky hard length rubbing against your thighs enticingly. Eagerly, you wrap your legs around his waist, trying to line him up with your entrance by feel alone.

“You will be my undoing, my treasure,” he tells you, his blue eyes locked with yours, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him towards you until your foreheads touch.

“And you will be my forever, Valek,” you reply, kissing him passionately. He thrusts into your wet heat in one fluid movement that has your toes curling and sets about claiming you yet again; you have only so much time before the sunrise.

---

[FYI: The poem Valek chose for her is “Somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond” by E.E. Cummings]

Hope you all enjoyed! Day #3's fic is looking to be more depraved than this one, if all goes according to plan... 👁️👄👁️ (It's a carry-over from Dark Desires October I didn't get to; sue me!)

[hoyoversenews]

subscribe to my telegram - t.me/AratakaBattleBeetlesItto o((>ω< ))o

[little-red-fool]

I wanna learn about silver tongue I love abyss lore

Heehee I’ll gladly talk about Silvertongue and his backstory. I don’t know as much about Forgotten Realms lore as I would like to so correct me if anything seems inaccurate, also I haven’t fully fleshed out his lore yet but this might still be quite long because I like rambling lol so I’ll try to summarise it a little (also I might have changed some of the Dark Urge lore to fit his backstory too whoops).

*cracks knuckles* Ok so as a bit of an overview of his character, Silvertongue originally started off as a half-elf bard when I made him, he was also chaotic good but I was able to develop his character a lot more when I decided to ship him with Raphael and made him chaotic evil instead because I thought two evil bards would be really funny, which then led me into researching into Forgotten Realms lore; I found out that cambions can also be half demons in some versions of D&D so that’s why he’s like how he is now.

I’ll talk a bit about his backstory now that you have a brief summary of his character. Whilst Silvertongue’s a half-demon cambion, he’s still a half-elf in game so I decided to make his mother a high elf, although like other cambions she died during childbirth, and I like to think that the reason is because like some animals (such as spiders) he ate his way out of her womb rather than being delivered naturally. Although he was born in Blood Tor, he was very quickly transported to Toril where he grew up in an orphanage in human society (possibly in Baldur’s Gate but I haven’t decided), and for the most part his demonic heritage wasn’t prominent and he fit in well with the other children despite the odd outburst and rampage which were few and far between and wouldn’t last long—he was always drawn to music as a child which lead him to learning how to play violin and flute, and that started his career as a bard when he was a teenager. As he grew older though it became harder to hide his heritage and his urges grew stronger and more difficult to manage, he became more malicious and deceitful, as well as more sadistic, which then escalated and led to him attacking and killing a few people. After this happened he was hunted down like an animal when people discovered his heritage so he fled the city. It wasn’t long after this that his father—a demon—managed to track him down and bring him to the Abyss, saying that he would fit in better there and that his talents would be appreciated more.

This was when he came back to Blood Tor, where he spent his mid twenties to his late fifties. Whilst there he was a vassal to Beshaba and served as a manservant in the court, sometimes directly assisting Beshaba. When he was older he was drafted into the Blood War as a soldier and was trained to fight. He was originally sent on raids with other demons to the City of Strife to steal souls from the Wall of the Faithless, but later on he was sent into proper battles in Oinos, and much later he was stationed in Avernus up until recently. Whilst Silvertongue had a few mortal friends on Toril, he didn’t really have any in the Abyss due to the untrusting and malicious nature of most demons, however he was close with a couple of other cambions that also served under Beshaba at the same time as him. They were also drafted into the Blood War alongside Silvertongue, however one was killed during a baatezu attack in Bloor Tor, but he managed to save his other friend from an orthon attack, however this meant that he suffered many injuries and his clothes were tattered—he still wears the coat he wore from the orthon attack as he views it as a symbol of pride and a reminder that he saved his friend. Silvertongue is probably around 300 or so years old (give or take) so he served in the Blood War for over 250 years, and he was a decent soldier. He was often picked on due to his diminutive stature compared to the other demon soldiers, however what he lacked in strength and size he made up in agility and stealth. That isn’t to say he’s weak though he could still easily rip a human in half.

Now that I’ve given you most of his backstory I’ll talk about the events that took place recently to when BG3 starts. This part is also linked to the Dark Urge backstory, which I altered a bit for Silvertongue’s backstory. Although he was still fighting in Avernus, he started going on missions to Toril in order to disrupt devils from gaining souls from mortals, and for this he went to lots of different cities, one of these being Baldur’s Gate. This is when he ran into the cult of Bhaal, and long story short he ended up becoming involved—he didn’t worship Bhaal but he thought that having the Bhaalists on his side would be useful. Not too long after he met Gortash, and he found out about his affiliation with Bane, and learned about the Crown of Karsus and the Elderbrain, which is when Silvertongue forged the plan to use the Elderbrain and the ilithid tadpoles to turn the people into mindflayers as it would completely destroy the devils’ ability to recruit mortal souls as mindflayers were soulless. Him, Gortash and Ketheric carry out the plan etc etc and during these times Silvertongue keeps occasionally returning to Avernus to continue fighting in the Blood War.

This is right before the events of the game, as he was in Avernus when the nautiloid passed through it at the beginning, and due to being half-elf and therefore somewhat mortal he was swept up by the nautiloid and infected by a tadpole. Similar to some of the other companions—such as Wyll and Gale—Silvertongue’s stronger abilities and a lot of his power were sealed due to the tadpole’s influence, and he was trapped in his mortal aspect with very little magic. His current goal, like the other companions, is to get rid of the tadpole in order to regain his demonic aspect and his powers so he can continue to fight in the Blood War, although reluctantly—he recognises that it’s his duty and it gives him the opportunity to maim and kill others, but he’s still quite connected to his mortal lineage and he likes the thought of retiring, or at least living in Toril rather than continuing to fight in the Blood War.

Alright now on to him and Raphael (and a bit of Haarlep). Their first meeting was interesting, Silvertongue immediately clocked Raphael as a devil and tried to attack him, whilst in my interpretation of Raphael he’s never fought in the Blood War himself and has only witnessed it from afar so he can’t easily distinguish a demon when they’re not in an easily recognisable form, so he just thought Silvertongue was a bit jumpy and paranoid. I haven’t gotten Silvertongue past Act 1 yet, so whilst these events haven’t taken place yet I’m still going to refer to them in past tense for ease. Raphael manages to figure out that Silvertongue’s a half-demon at Last Light and that he was a soldier in the Blood War, which is what prompts him to get Silvertongue to kill Yurgir. In Act 3 I think Raphael’s contract would be slightly altered for Silvertongue, instead offering to remove his tadpole rather than giving him the Orphic Hammer. In exchange Raphael still receives the Crown of Karsus. Since Silvertongue has spent most of his life in the Abyss and hasn’t encountered any devils in a peaceful or conversational setting, he doesn’t really know how tricky they are and the weight of their contracts and how binding they are, so he signs Raphael’s contract; Raphael keeps his word and removes his tadpole. Unfortunately, with Silvertongue having grown attached to his companions and hating authority figures, he decides to break into Raphael’s home to nick the Orphic Hammer so he can free Orpheus, but he doesn’t take his contract as he just thinks it’s some old piece of paper, he doesn’t think that it actually holds any power over him or his soul. As you might know if you break into Raphael’s home without stealing your contract he, uh, incinerates you. My interpretation of this is that the player character then becomes one of his debtors trapped in his house, which is exactly what happens to Silvertongue. Fortunately his companions were able to escape with the hammer, however Helsik then closed the portal because let’s be real who wants a rampaging devil chasing after you into Toril, so essentially Silvertongue is stuck there as his soul is bound and his companions currently had no way of breaking him out.

Raphael doesn’t have as much power over Silvertongue as his other debtors due to his Abyssal heritage and not being fully mortal, so Silvertongue still has some freedom and is (mostly) sane (or as sane as he was before becoming a debtor), he’s mostly just bound to the house and unable to harm Raphael. Silvertongue is not happy about his situation and spends the first couple of weeks essentially throwing a huge tantrum and destroying half the furniture. He meets Haarlep during this time and since I headcanon Haarlep as being an enslaved tanar’ri (thanks to this post which completely hey this place isn’t too bad, it’s warm, I get a bed aechanged my outlook) they hit it off well pretty quickly, so they became quite close and shit-talked Raphael. It took a few weeks but Silvertongue realised that hey this place isn’t that bad, it’s warm, I get a bed and free food and I’m not constantly praying for my life and I don’t have to kill devils 24/7 for hundreds of years so he very quickly becomes a lot like a house cat, although he also realises that whilst he might be stuck with Raphael, Raphael is also stuck with him, which gives him the motivation to be an absolute prick but in a petty and mischievous way rather than an overly destructive and murderous way. Raphael absolutely hates this at first but over time they get more comfortable with each other and less antagonistic, which then evolves into a slight fondness (well more of a mild love-hate relationship), and I think that’s all up-to-date.

I’m so sorry that was so long ajdnshdndn but I really enjoyed infodumping about Silvertongue’s backstory, thank you so much for this ask!

[kanerallels]

📓Which of this year’s theme/s are you most drawn to?

🖍️Which of this year's theme/s do you find most challenging/least likely to try and incorporate?

📖 If you’ve previously participated, have you ever been disappointed by which team you’ve ended up on?

📚 If you’ve previously participated, have you ever been excited by which team you’ve ended up on?

📘 If you’ve written multiple stories (finished or not) for the challenges, which is your favourite?

📙 If you’ve written multiple stories (finished or not) for the challenges, which is your least favourite?

💾 Have you read any of the challenge stories that have really stuck with you? (Any stories you still think about/go back and read)

💛 Have you made any friends through reading someone’s story? (In/related through the challenge)

📓: Which of this year's theme/s are you most drawn to? Hmm I'd say counsel the doubtful is up there, but also forgive all injuries. I am a sucker for forgiveness as a theme, because it's so hecking important

🖍️: Which of this year's theme/s do you find most challenging/least likely to try and incorporate? Probably pray for the living and the dead? But also admonish the sinner. That said, I'd love to see how some people write those!

📖: If you’ve previously participated, have you ever been disappointed by which team you’ve ended up on? I've only participated one time before, and while I was initially a little sad that I didn't get Chesterton, I got excited about being on team Lewis really quickly lol!

📚: If you’ve previously participated, have you ever been excited by which team you’ve ended up on? I won't lie. The dorky side of me got very excited to see that some Tumblr people that I thought were really cool were also on team Lewis last year lol. So yes!

📘: If you’ve written multiple stories (finished or not) for the challenges, which is your favourite? Thankfully, I've only ever written one story, so I can't answer this! Because it would be really hard (but I do love The Waystation a lot)

📙: If you’ve written multiple stories (finished or not) for the challenges, which is your least favourite? See above! For now anyway lol

💾: Have you read any of the challenge stories that have really stuck with you? (Any stories you still think about/go back and read) As I said in the other ask, yes LOADS of them. "The Last Immortal of Evitra" by @taleweaver-ramblings was a super good one! It had my favorite trope of all time. Found family my BELOVED. Also, because I don't know if I'll get this ask again and I love talking about the Inklings stories, I'll throw out one more: "The Silver Stars" by @confetti-cat was just. So hecking good. Absolutely amazing story, I should reread it again

💛: Have you made any friends through reading someone’s story? (In/related through the challenge) edit: whoops got so excited about talking about the stories that I forgot this last one. Truthfully, I don't know? I feel like the answer might be yes but I always get so hecking nervous about if someone considers themself my friend or not and if I'm calling them a friend and they don't think I'm a friend, that kind of thing. So I don't really know. I do know that I had a lot of fun reading and commenting on people's stories, and got some very nice replies!

[differenteagletragedy]

hjfkfbhfjf yknow what'd be funny? an mc w pink hair having dated bax in step 3. like:

baxter: enters Xake for the first time

Xavier, w pink hair, being all nice to him: hello! ^^

baxter: LEAVES.

I love Baxter with a bright and colorful MC! LOL, he'd just be like *straighten jacket straighten jacket, hand in hair, abort mission* bless his heart!

I couldn't help but write a lil bit about it on account of who I am as a person whoops!

During the summer you spent together, Baxter was completely enamored with you. He liked you so much that he kept busting through his own walls that he'd kept putting up, not caring about how much harder that would make things when he inevitably left. He couldn't get enough of you.

One of the things he liked best was that you were, in so many ways, his complete opposite.

Where he was closed off, you were wide open. He did things so carefully, but you threw your heart into everything. And while he was all shades of black and white and grey, you were a rainbow.

When he first saw you on Cove's porch, right as he stepped out of the taxi, he was drawn to you. Your long pink hair, your clothes, as bright as the smile you directed his way. You mesmerized him.

For a long time after he left you and cut all ties, just the color pink reminded him of you. After he'd grown up more, graduated college and got a job, he thought he'd moved past that.

But a trip to a certain bakery in Prism Vista City quickly proved him wrong.

He'd been working with some clients that were awfully particular -- not in an obnoxious way, but they certainly knew what they wanted. They made it very clear that they wanted their cake to come from a specific bakery, one Baxter had never heard of. The location was close enough to his office though, so instead of calling to schedule a tasting he decided to just pop by one afternoon.

He bristled a bit at the entrance, but not enough to really consider why. When he walked in, he saw a figure standing behind the counter with their back facing him. They were wearing pink jeans, a pink flannel shirt, and cascading down their back was long pink hair.

He froze.

When the person turned around, they gave him a wide smile and a "Hello!" They said something about the bakery, he thought he caught that they were the owner, but he couldn't be sure. Pink was the color that haunted him in his dreams, if he was being dramatic -- which he usually was. And in this bakery, he was drowning in it.

Finally, the person asked if he was ok, and that finally got through to him. He ran a hand through his hair and turned on a fake smile.

"Yes, of course, my apologies," he said, stepping forward to offer his hand for a firm shake. "My name is Baxter Ward, I'm planning a wedding for a couple of your regulars and I thought I'd stop by to schedule a tasting."

"Of course," they replied. "I'm Xavier, the owner. But are you sure you're all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."

'That's because I did,' he thought, but of course he pushed that thought down like he did with everything else.

[simonskizm]

A little one-shot I tried to write and probably failed. I had motivation to write this, but most of it was at like, 3-4 am? I just wanted to write Izzy getting his ass handed to him by a bard (Frenchie) with very little swordsman skills. That's a lie, I have a headcanon Frenchie is actually really good with a sword, just prefers more... manipulative tactics or close combat tools, and by extension likes to make opponents think he's a clumsy idiot who can't hold a sword. (Turns out, he can and will rip you a new one)

Same rules go for this one, btw! Critique- both good and bad- is invited and urged. I want to better my skills.

Inspiration: conversation regarding server members and how they got together ❤️ also me wanting Izzy's ass whooped (an Izzy enabler, apologist, and lover)

○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○

Israel Hands doesn't lose duels.

That's what he had been thinking as he stepped up on deck with his rapier drawn and twirling languidly as he let the weight become an extension of him again. It was a part of him, his identity and his being- "born to wield a blade" he had been told many a time in his life.

It was how he lived as long as he did, how his captain used him. A sword, right hand man, the like. First mate. Izzy's near permanent scowl remained as he heard the shuffle of feet and a small mumbled curse as the sharp clatter of metal on wood made him turn to face his opponent- the damn bard that resided with the Revenge crew.

Izzy scoffed in appallment. He didn't know how this crew lived as long as they have. He had previously assumed the deft fingerwork this man had while playing a mandolin would extend into holding a sword, but he was proven wrong.

"Pick up your fuckin' sword."

"Right... yeah. Sorry."

Izzy's eyes follow the bard's hands as they reach for the sword, lifting it up and testing its weight in his grip before giving a couple aimless swings. Another scoff leaves Izzy, a look of disgruntled judgement on his face now. He couldn't believe he would have to duel this atrocious example of an opponent.

As they took their places, Izzy a few paces from the bard, they get into their stances. The one thing that caught Izzy off guard slightly was how firm the man's posture became, the excitement glimmering in the warm chocolate depths of his eyes. Like he was preparing for this moment. Like he was waiting forever just to have this chance.

It was the bard that moved first. Their swords meet, Izzy easily parrying then slipping aside and taking his own offense. The opponent blocked, and the clash of metal on metal sounded like angels singing in his ears.

Izzy relished the song, and lived the dance that came along. How the bard kept up was beyond Izzy, but the effort brought savage focus to his face. Well, what Izzy had thought it looked and felt. His heart raced, the singing of the metal cacophony nothing more than music as the men viciously danced around the deck.

°°°°°°°°°

Frenchie wasn't exactly sure what had let the idea of challenging Izzy to a duel into his mind.

When he had initially approached the first mate of Blackbeard, Frenchie was sure that he'd have his head bit off by the man. Based on his experiences with people like that, he couldn't let them off the hook. An odd interaction where Frenchie had gotten irritated at Izzy being a petty asshole while the bard was trying to do daily care for his mandolin had lead to an aggressive "I challenge you to a duel, you spiteful ship goblin" and a very calm and very ominous "Challenge accepted".

Now here they were, on deck and Frenchie basically fighting for his life.

He hasn't picked up a sword since some time before Stede, to which he laid down arms and settled for his original plan- playing music to keep the time. Though, this duel wasn't much different than any other song and dance, he learned quickly. Each step was specific, him returning blows almost like it was second nature. He didn't know how he had been able to fend off Izzy for so long- he was sure his demise was imminent.

Unless Izzy was going easy on him?

The look on the man's face said otherwise- he looked thoroughly pissed, but that was an constant thing and any change from it was most likely the end of the world. Frenchie's arm came up to block the overhead swing Izzy tried to land, and the taller man ducked lower and shoves Izzy back with a pretty heavy shoulder hit to the torso. The shorter man stumbled back, Frenchie following up with a slash towards Izzy's abdomen.

It was blocked easily.

Another back and forth ensues, sweat beading on Frenchie's brow as the adrenaline wore off and he began to falter. Izzy came in hot, like a blazing fire as anger fueled each movement. It honestly had Frenchie enthralled and how fluid the older man moved.

Dancing, is what the bard akinned it to. An idea sparks, and his own offense became more focused on keeping Izzy's blade with his own. Each step was like the makings of a dance when Frenchie moved, as did Izzy in kind. Swords met, feet step into another mirrored position, the noise of clashing metal like their own tune.

°°°°°°°°°°

It was glorious.

The bard has clearly impressed Izzy, and the older man could feel his lips pull into a genuinely entertained grin. That was, until Izzy let the realization that this fucking bard could've done so much more than sit and play music this entire time during raids.

Their dance was broken when Izzy attempts a punishing slash to Frenchie's abdomen as a comeback to his previous attempt towards Izzy, the bard bringing his sword up in response and pushing Izzy's blade up and over in a strained arch, then to a clattering slide across the deck. The look on the bard's face was that of surprise, yet it was returned with Izzy's own- then clearly spiteful anger.

Before it changed to... pride?

Izzy was proud of this man, even as Frenchie raised an ever-so-subtly shaking sword tip to the first mate's throat. Izzy could easily continue this fight, but something in his being tingled with anticipation, like he could get something more from this. A small smirk settled on his lips as he heard the unsure tone in Frenchie's voice.

"Do you yield?"

"I... yield."

The look on the bard's face was near priceless. It almost made Izzy bark out a laugh at how seriously shocked Frenchie was to have bested Izzy Hands.  He actually enjoyed this look on his face. While he'd usually be more than furious someone had beaten him in a single round, this was an odd exception. His eyes meet Frenchie's, and for a moment, he felt a flutter in his chest.

"Best two out of three?" Frenchie offered, breathing coming in slightly labored. His hand had steadied slightly more in the pregnant pause of the victory, a cheeky smile now gracing his face. Another flutter.

Izzy accepted as the bard lowered his sword. His gaze follow the man as he went to retrieve Izzy's rapier, handing it to him. Izzy returned the smile with one of his own- and he took note of the subtle flush of pink across Frenchie's face.

"Two out of three, then. Don't expect to have the same luck this round. I won't go easy on you now that I know your level of experience."

He raised his rapier to Frenchie's blade, the sharp shink of metal on metal signifying his further acceptance. And with that, another round began.

To say Frenchie lost would've been a lie- it had appeared to the crew Izzy was talking out of his ass when the bard won the next two duels, albeit with more difficulty each round than the last.

[zephiraz]

Okay so in my head there lives Magus and an alternate timeline Janus. They say they don't like or trust each other, but they get along better than anyone.

(This got a lot longer than I thought it would whoops.)

There once was a king of Zeal, surely. Janus and Schala didn't just come out of nowhere. And the queen wasn't always...like that. No one really likes to talk about how the king died, though. Illness, the seneschal said, though he was newly appointed and had not the full details himself. Illness, the queen cried, deep in mourning, as she tore down the king's portraits and replaced his aides and servants and research partners. Only the Gurus remained, too vaunted to truly be touchable. It was such a sudden thing, the sickness that took him. None who had seen him believed him ill or frail, and he'd been in such fine spirits just the day before, though any murmurs of such are quickly silenced lest the queen dowager hears. You don't wish to upset the lady in mourning, do you? You don't want to disappear.

But the king had been in perfectly fine health, in fact. The only thing that wore on him was his wife's insistence on pursuing a field of research that he viewed as dangerous. The couple had argued about it, the queen proclaiming this new energy source she'd discovered would propel Zeal to ever greater heights, and the king decrying it as madness. He forbade her research entirely after one day walking into her lab to see her research assistant—one Norstein Bekkler—shatter before his very eyes, Bekkler's essence drawn into a black hole in space, ripped from his body with such force that only pulped meat remained.

For weeks the queen pleaded for another chance, defending her research and describing all the different safety measures she could—would—implement, if only she were given the chance. She was so close to a breakthrough! Eventually, the king relented. He did love his wife, and he wanted to believe in her, after all. He allowed her one more chance, on the grounds that he supervise her next experiment. Should at any moment it appear too dangerous to continue, it was to be shut down immediately.

Little Janus with his brand-new kitten in tow saw his parents wandering the halls together, oblivious to his presence underfoot. He followed them, only noticed when he tripped on robes too big for him. His father turned, a face lined with stress and worry brightening like the sun emerging from behind storm clouds at the sight of his son. The king scooped Janus up in a big hug, then set him back down on his foot and urged him away to find his sister. Mother and father have important research to do; it is not safe for little kittens!

Janus watched heavy marble doors shut behind his parents. He never saw his father again. None would ever find out what happened behind those doors.

...But time is as fickle as a kitten struggling in a young boy's arms, spurred by the tantalizing mystery of a slowly closing door. Alfador leaped from Janus's grasp and bolted after the king, the young prince hot on his heels.

Thousands of years later, a motley group of time travelers wanders Guardia's forests at the behest of the Guru of Time. From his perch at the end of all things, Gaspar had seen a disturbance in the vast darkness of time. A loose thread, forgotten in the ebb and flow, causing the weft of reality to fray. It was with great trepidation that Crono led his friends through the dense wood. A bright flash of blue light had signaled the opening of a gate, but finding the thing was proving tricky. Voices echoed amidst the trees, jeering laughter and barely-audible murmuring interspersed with the crack of magic and infrequent shouts of pain.

After long minutes of searching the party found the source of all this noise; Dalton, half obscured by hanging branches, cackling as he channeled magic, draining energy from a groaning man just out of view. It was Magus who acted first. He leaped from the forest's grasp and bolted straight for Dalton, slicing the man's head clean off with a flourish of his scythe. ...And Dalton, a different Dalton, fled into a hastily-summoned black gate with a second prisoner in tow just before the rest of the party could bring their weapons to bear.

With little else to go on but a headless, lifeless body, Crono turned to help up the Daltons' victim, but was startled to find him a spitting image of Magus. With the party too shocked to act, the man stood shakily on his own and dusted his fine robes off. He thanked the party for their timely intervention, and introduced himself as King Zeal.

Magus refuses to believe it, at first. This can't be the king of Zeal. He'd died years ago! The stranger's jaw sets at that, fists clenching at his sides. He states again that he is the king of Zeal; Janus, son of Alfard, who he watched perish before his very eyes.

Janus had pushed the door ajar just in time to see his father disappear into a black hole in space, his mother's face twisted in vicious triumph. Janus ran crying for guards, for Schala, for anyone. The queen in her panic chased him through the halls, hoping to silence the prince. She was captured, raving mad, and sentenced for the murder of the king and attempted murder of her own son. Her lab was shut down, her research burned. It fell to Schala then to lead Zeal under the guidance of the Gurus, who she later joined in scholarship when Janus was old and learned enough to take the burden of the throne from her. There he ruled with fairness in relative peace for several years, until he was recently approached by a man claiming to be a prophet. This prophet spoke of a people divided, of those without magic cast to the frozen earth to toil away building technological marvels they would never benefit from, of a ruined Zeal. Janus ushered the prophet behind closed doors so as not to alarm his subjects. He believed the prophet a madman, of course, but it was his duty as king to thoroughly investigate any potential threat to his people. It was only when the heavy marble doors fell shut behind him that he realized he'd walked into his mother's old lab, and only then that he recognized the prophet as a sycophant who used to aid her in her research. And there beside a yawning black gate stood a man identical save for the ragged patch covering one eye. The false prophet pushed Janus into the gate, and his world went dark. It felt like eternity in a single moment, terror tearing through his mind as suddenly he was a child again watching his father succumb to this same fate, and then he was himself, sprawled upon an unfamiliar forest floor. And then he was nothing, his whole being suffused with blinding pain as the two Daltons drained him of his magic. He was lucky these kind strangers intervened when they did, lest he be drained entirely.

Magus mulls this over, staring at the blood-soaked ground beneath him. Still he struggles to find this true, but... His eyes alight on Dalton's head, face-down at his feet. He gently kicks it over. Two glassy eyes stare up at him.

With no sign of the gate that brought him here remaining, the party takes King Janus with them. He is shocked to hear their tale, appropriately dismayed and awed at each turn of fate, but it is hearing what very nearly was his own fate that shocks him into silence. At length, the king resolves to accompany the party in their quest. He might not be much of a warrior, but he is the King of Magic; a peerless enchanter, his wards and barriers know no equal, and the party could surely benefit from a highly learned support mage. He takes the name Magil, after an old tutor of his. He knows that this is not his own timeline, and he defers the name to the self who truly belongs here. Magus, for his part, is hesitant to take the name himself. He is only just starting to get used to hearing it again, after all. Regardless, they both still answer to Janus, and they both share the same goal, unspoken yet firmly understood between the two of them. If one King Zeal found his way here through a black gate, then what of the first? Could their father yet live?

(This was originally a put-me-to-sleep story in my head that I revisited like five times over a few months so the details got muddled between iterations, and some got left out. In one iteration the Other Zeal timeline was literally falling apart as time unraveled from Primary Dalton fucking stuff up in pursuit of power. Also Schala was there. Anyway I just think Magus and Other Janus would hate each other and then be friends. Magus would be so so so jealous of Other Janus getting to grow up in Zeal without a lot of the bullshit. Not much for Other Janus to be jealous of except in the first iteration of this plot it was a love triangle turned half-merged consciousnesses due to time fuckery to we're sharing him now between Crono and the Januses, but that plot is All For Me. Okay goodnight)

[sandra-writes]

Harrison Slytherin is not dead!

I know, I know - one more year has passed and still no news on my little Harry Potter re-write. But I've been surprisingly productive on that front latley, so hopefully this really is the last update you'll get from me before I am ready to upload the next school year.

And what do I have so far? A whooping 233k words, so once I actually manage to finish it, edit it and post it, there should be plenty to read before the drought comes back. As for how am I doing story-wise, I am writing a scene in the second half of June 1995, so I am really hoping to be done with the school year before long.

However, there is a lot of editing in my future, so please, don't get your hope too up. Still, I am mostly optimistic about not needing to write another post in a year for fourth anniversary.

And as a little treat, I have a small surprise for you under the cut once again. Hopefully it won't disappoint.

Love, Sandra

Harry is not happy about being in the uniform on a Sunday, but this time he understands it. There are two other schools coming and since this meeting is at least semi-formal, school uniforms for everyone involved makes sense. It even makes sense for everyone to stand with their own house and by their grades. If nothing else, first years in the front means that they might even see something. What that something is going to be, on the other hand…

“How do you think they are coming?” Harry asks quietly once they’re all piled in front of the school. He has Pansy to one side of him and Draco on the other. Theo stands next to Draco with Blaise next to him and on the other side of Pansy are the girls. The fifth years are right behind them with the prefects standing at the ends of their rows and the third years are in front of them. Daniel took his place in front of Theo and Harry smiled when he saw it, unsure whether Daniel did it on purpose or just absently.

“In a flashy way, certainly,” Pansy grumbles a bit, obviously displeased how… common their display is. But then again, they’re already here and it’s hard to make an impression that way. “Maybe by water?” But she sounds uncertain as she glances at the Great Lake. Harry slowly nods.

“It would make sense, wouldn’t it? The river leads straight to the sea, doesn’t it?”

Pansy shrugs just when Dumbledore speaks up.

“Ah! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!”

With one last look towards the lake (where nothing happens), Harry looks towards the Forbidden Forest while Draco looks up, Pansy following his lead a beat after him. Excitement rolls throughout the student body, but while the Slytherins and Ravenclaws are busy looking around, Hufflepuffs whisper among themselves and Gryffindors outright yell. Luckily, Harry is so far away from Gryffindors that he doesn’t understand what they’re saying.

“There!” Draco whispers, excited, and all the people around them check to see where he’s looking. Harry catches it just when it soars above the forest, the dark shape of it quickly soaring to the ground in between them and the forest. It’s a big, powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage pulled by a dozen Abraxans. Harry can’t help his awed look as the carriage draws close. A number of first years jump back when it comes hurling towards the students, but the Abraxans touch down and then with a thud the carriage lands and they stop just in time to be perfectly positioned in front of the Hogwarts students.

A young man in pale blue robes jumps off the carriage and unstraps a set of golden stairs that unfold from the carriage. Then he steps back a bit and out of the carriage steps the tallest, biggest woman Harry has ever seen. Dressed in black satin, her tan face looks towards Hogwarts with her dark eyes, her hair drawn back into a simple, but elegant bun.

She steps out of the carriage and stays looking at them. Then Dumbledore starts to clap and Harry hesitantly joins him. He hoped there would be a better greeting for their guests than this muggle way of showing awe.

“My dear Madame Maxime,” Dumbledore says happily as he steps closer to her. And Dumbledore is not a short man, but as this Madame Maxime hands him her hand, he hardly needs to bend to kiss it.

“A half-giant?” Pansy asks in bewilderment. Harry frowns but doesn’t look at her.

“Well, she is the headmistress of Beauxbatons,” Draco says carefully as Madame Maxime exchanges pleasantries with Dumbledore in heavily accented English. “And although I am not fond of Hagrid, he is not… giant-ish.”

“There’s not much about cross-species breeding,” Harry hears Theo say softly, obviously not wanting anyone to overhear, “but there is some evidence that when it comes to wizard-giantess breeding, the child though looking… unusually big is more like a wizard than a giant.  And she is the headmistress. It will be fine.”

He doesn’t sound entirely sure of it himself, but Harry is still glad for the vote of confidence.

Harry keeps an ear on the niceties exchanged between the two heads of schools, but most of his attention is turned towards the handful of students who exited the carriage after Madame Maxime. There’s about twenty of them, all in robes or, in cases of girls, dresses with short capes in pastel colours. There are five different colours of these… uniforms; pale blue that the boy that opened the carriage for Madame Maxime wore, mint green, pale pink, light violet, and light yellow. Three girls also have matching scarfs draped over their heads, hiding their hair, and Harry is a bit surprised to see that. Isn’t hair a source of pride for witches?

There are also two adults standing with these students, a man and a woman, both wearing something similar to their students, though it’s obviously not uniform. The woman is wearing a blue dress with long sleeves reaching almost to her ankles. The dress is dark blue, and her light brown hair is tucked into a fancy hairstyle at the skull of her head with a delicate-looking headband making it a touch fancier. The man has short blonde hair and blue robes that manage to be lighter than the woman’s dress yet darker than the blue of the uniform of their students. Harry’s eyes stray towards him and a student in a pale blue dress with platinum hair. She fidgets a bit with a loose strand of silvery hair, the rest of which is braided in a half-circle at the lower part of her head, with tiny white flowers woven into it. It takes considerable effort for Harry to pull his attention away from them.

Madame Maxime accepts Dumbledore’s offer to go warm up in the castle, which gives them some moments before Durmstrang arrives. Harry leans closer to Pansy.

“Have you seen the scarfs?”

Pansy frowns a bit as she glances at him before looking around again. The whole student body is a little louder than before, everyone talking either about the Beauxbatons students or how Durmstrang is possibly coming.

“I’ve heard about that. Apparently, it’s something about religion?”

By Pansy’s confused voice, Harry guesses the religion in question is muggle. That makes him frown as well.

“How many muggle religions are there?”

Pansy smirks and shrugs, but as she opens her mouth Harry frowns and raises his hand, stopping her from speaking. He swears he can hear something…

Darkness fell slowly, so that now Harry almost can’t see the Dark Lake. But he swears that he can hear a sound coming from there.

And of course, that’s when the whirlpool in the Great Lake starts. Harry and Pansy take a second to smirk at each other, before they turn their attention to the lake just in time to watch a great ship rise from the water. It looks somewhat ghostly and makes shivers run down Harry’s spine, but it still looks majestic.

In a few minutes they can all hear the splash of an anchor being thrown in the shallows and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank. Soon after, they watch the Durmstrang students disembark. There’s also around twenty of them and as they walk up their way to the Hogwarts students, they all seem to have wide shoulders and figure to match it, but as they come closer it becomes obvious that it’s just an illusion created by their furry coats.

There is just one figure that looks slim and elegant from far away. And when they come close enough to recognize them, it’s obvious that it is the headmistress. Her coat looks sleeker and more fitted, but she does have the same warm hat as everyone else.

“Professor Dumbledore,” she curtly nods at him as she steps closer to him, her voice a little rough, but commanding respect. She offers her hand and Dumbledore grasps her forearm in greeting.

“Professor Kopachesky,” Dumbledore smiles at her, his eyes twinkling. “Welcome to Hogwarts!”

“It’s warmer than we were expecting this time of the year.” Her accent isn’t as strong as Maxime’s, but it’s still palpable. Clearly east European, but Harry is not sure it’s actually a Russian one. “Sorry for the delay. Your octopus was not too happy to see us.”

“Yes, yes, she’s a little protective of her territory,” Dumbledore laughs, and shivers run down Harry’s spine. He’s going to guess Dumbledore’s laughter is fake, then, as is his cordiality with Durmstrang’s headmistress. “Come, come. Madame Maxime already arrived, so we can start the feast.”

Oh joy.