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kamaluhkhan · 20 days ago

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HER CANINE TEETH IN THE SIDE OF MY NECK

pairing: werewolf!vi x vampire slayer!reader word count: 11.1 k summary: she's a monster, and you're essentially a monster hunter. it shouldn't work, but it does. (or — you and vi decide to escape the narrative together) warnings: ooh various mentions of fighting + blood + injuries ranging from mild to life-threatening; reader and vi both smoke + consume alcohol; rough sex (fingering [vi receiving], oral [reader receiving], tribbing, biting, spitting ++ aftercare); 18+ ! vibes are basically buffy the vampire slayer with chaotic lesbians loving each other so much it consumes them both a/n: i think i've been watching too much buffy and fantasizing about werewolf!vi for like,, too long,, and this unholy mess is the result. this has been sitting in my drafts unfinished for a WHILE but tonight is the wolf moon so it felt right to post now, i really hope y'all enjoy 🖤 i'll include credit for each subtitle in the tags too <33

♪: "bullet with butterfly wings" by the smashing pumpkins; "dig me out" by sleater-kinney; "taste my despair" by lesbian bed death; "i wanna be your dog" by joan jett; "fantastic" by king princess

i. sorry about the blood in your mouth

vi wakes up with a terrible motherfucking headache, which isn’t anything new.

she doesn’t know where she is — that isn’t particularly something new, either — but what is new is the tongue slobbering all over her face. when she opens her eyes, vi sees a 50-pound black dog standing over her.

“whoa!” vi sits up abruptly, but the dog only gets more excited and jumps up on the couch, caging her in.

“sorry. she usually isn’t so enthusiastic about company.”

the voice is coming from the other side of the room, where you’re sitting on the edge of the mattress closest to the window. there’s a cigarette in your hand, and each time you exhale, you point your chin accordingly so the smoke travels outside. a crisp breeze trickles in.

“morning, killer.”

vi swallows the heart that has jumped into her throat, takes a deep breath to steady her breathing. fuck, she literally just moved here and might already need to leave. she tries to remember if something bad happened last night.

it wasn’t the full moon, was it? no, that shouldn’t be for another few weeks. but then why are you calling her a —

“killer?” she asks, swallowing the lump in her throat.

she stares at you, eyes trailing your injured jawline as she waits for you to respond. you do look vaguely, achingly familiar. whatever happened last night, you were probably part of it.

“well, you’ve got a killer right hook,” you quip. you snuff out your cigarette and twist around to fully face vi. “and i’m pretty sure you killed my reputation as a pit fighting champion. i was undefeated before you.”

fresh blood emerges from your split lip as you speak, and you’re quick to swipe it away with your tongue.

oh. right.

your tank top is torn at the bottom, just cropped enough that vi can see the imprint of her fist on your lower ribs. she now remembers the feeling of yours on the side of her face, and has a bloody, crusted eyebrow, painfully tender cheekbone, and the outline of your ring seared onto her skin forever to prove it.

what kind of pitfighter wears pure silver?

vi takes note of her surroundings to get a better sense of who she’s up against: the place is small, dingy, but has a good amount of light. you’ve got a broken mirror, old books stacked in the corner, and an open cupboard filled with clothing and various weapons, mostly daggers and some wooden stakes. an intricate glass cross dangles from the centre of the window, filtering through multicolored light. there are a bunch of dried plants next to a mortar and pestle on the sill below — nightshade, juniper, wolfsbane. on the tiny kitchen counter is a silver vase filled with more wilted flowers.

even from far away, vi can hear your heartbeat — strong, steady — as you shuffle around and gather some things. she inhales your scent. she remembers that she was slightly taken aback, in the pit when she had you pinned to the mat, that under the musk of sweat and metallic tang of blood, vi sensed something else, something delicate and floral.

your whole apartment smells overwhelmingly of dried roses and decaying fruit, too, sweet and earthy.

“did you bring me here for round two?”

“no.” you let out a short, breathy laugh. “i brought you here so that some creep wouldn’t take advantage of you. you were pretty out of it.”

“so you’re — what an enforcer?”

“no fucking way,” you declare, and vi can practically feel rage coursing through you, your heart pumping with reignited vigor. “like an enforcer would care enough to actually help the undercity,” you grumble.

you shake your head and sit down at the edge of the couch, shooing your dog away so you can drop first aid supplies in her place. she settles on the floor at your feet.

you offer vi a somewhat bruised apple. when she hesitates, you push it into her hand.

“this isn’t a fairytale,” you say, hands busy soaking a cloth in some alcohol. “i’m not trying to poison you,” you add as if reading her mind.

“there…there are some good enforcers, though,” vi tries, trained to have such platitudes at the ready.

you roll your eyes. “if there are, i haven’t met them.”

vi’s not sure she believes what she had said, either. she feels her side ache, a phantom bruise from when caitlyn slammed her rifle into the very injury she had once helped heal.

what started as you’re not like the rest of those animals. you’re one of the good ones. became you’re all the same. it’s their blood in your veins. as soon as things went downhill.

vi bites her lip to prevent herself from wincing, and it isn’t because you’ve pressed an alcohol-soaked cloth to the cut on her nose. her sharp nails break through the skin of the apple, digging into its soft flesh until juice is running down her wrist.

“eat,” you insist, but you’re focused on removing as much dirt and dried blood from her face as you can, brows furrowed in concentration. “you ruined my reputation, so you better keep up your strength if you wanna keep yours.”

“so, you’re helping the enemy,” vi, still wary of you, wonders.

your frown softens. you place a bandage on the bridge of her nose before saying:

“you’re not my enemy.”

maybe it was the sincerity of your words, or the unconditional care you’re showing her, or the fact that it’s been so long since someone has touched vi so tenderly, but she decides in that moment to trust you, whoever you are.

she takes a bite of the apple, the sweetness invading her mouth, as you lean over to search for something else in the first aid kit, mumbling to yourself about how the wound is deeper than you thought.

“you should really be more careful,” you chide. “are you a topsider?”

vi scoffs through a mouthful of fruit. “i’m from the lanes.”

“yeah, well this neighborhood is a different level of bad,” you tell her.

“i can hold my own — ouch.”

you start stitching up the cut on her eyebrow, one hand keeping her head steady. her cheek pulses against you as she chews, your skin calming and cool.

“when you’re sober, maybe.”

“you didn’t have to help me,” vi grunts. “most people would’ve gone about their business.”

“i was going about my business. i was out on patrol; vampires never sleep, you know.”

you say it so casually, almost too casually, that vi wonders if she misheard you.

“vampires?”

you raise an eyebrow at vi. “there’s a high concentration of them around here, near the hellmouth. a lot of monsters, actually —”

vi hopes you don’t notice how she shudders at the word monsters.

“ — some of whom can and will eat you alive if they get the chance,” you deadpan. “that’s kinda what i’m here for.”

“so….what are you, exactly?”

you don’t say anything for a few seconds, your expression unreadable while you finish vi’s stitches, but your heart thumps so forcefully against your ribcage, vi almost thinks she’s seconds away from hearing the bones there crack. you start gnawing at your bottom lip, let the blood gather until it starts to trickle down towards your chin. vi swipes it away with her thumb, which she then wipes against her bandaged palm.

you inhale slowly, then exhale. your heart rate eases; still a bit higher than most people’s, but to what seems to be normal for you.

“the correct term is slayer,” you finally say, watching vi carefully for her reaction.

vi isn’t quite sure what that means, but it doesn’t sound good for someone like her. she’s wondering if she should make a run for it when you drop your voice an octave or two and add:

“the chosen one standing against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness.” you clear your throat. “if you were wondering.” you break out into a cheeky grin, teeth sparkling in the late morning sun.

“you’re joking?”

“most days, i wish i was. that’s the official tagline, actually.” your smile shrinks into a sigh. “i’m the slayer. i won’t bore you with all the details, but me saving you last night? that’s kinda just what i do. my destiny, so to speak.”

“do you normally take the people you save home?”

you blink away, wipe your hands half-heartedly on the white tank top you’re wearing, smearing vi’s mess of crimson and grime.

“no,” you admit.

vi narrows her eyes at you, shifts her body so there’s at least more space between you before she figures out what the hell to do. it’s possible that you’re lying but —

vi puffs out her chest. “why are you being so nice to me?”

you already have her blood on your body, and vice versa, and not just because you’d been fighting each other. it’s not quite trust, but it feels like something close. something you’re willing to share without even knowing much about the other.

an unspoken question: do you know what i really am?

because if you did, vi’s sure you wouldn’t be so….friendly towards her. so gentle.

“honestly?” you gesture towards the dog who’s busy nuzzling into vi’s leg. “fangs kinda hates everyone but she seems to like you.”

her jaw drops. “you decided to be my guardian angel because your dog likes me?”

“i already had a good feeling about you before.” you shrug. “i took it as a good omen, i guess.”

“i’m not sure you should,” vi advises.

you’re looking out for her, so she should look out for you. it’s better, for everyone, that vi be left alone.

she’s been good, had to learn how to be, in order to survive; that doesn’t mean she’s innocent.

on the bad days, she can’t control her anger. on the worst days, she can’t contain her hunger.

“okay, well, maybe i’ve got a thing for strays,” you reach your hand down, run it through fangs’ thick black fur. your lips curl upwards as you look at vi, all bright-eyed and beautiful, sunlight itself emanating from your smile.

something sparks in her chest that she thought would never light again. something that, like her, could be dangerous if it’s not controlled.

vi decides it’s probably about time that she left, though it's difficult to tear herself from your warmth.

“so, will i see you in the pit again?” she still can’t help but ask as you accompany her to the door.

“probably, yeah.” you lean against the doorframe, and vi is about to turn the knob when you add: “but, that pub you passed outside of? the bronze? maybe we can, uh, get a drink there, afterwards sometime.”

your heart skips a beat or two as you anxiously wait for vi to say something. her entire body heats up when she realizes what’s going on.

you were….asking her out.

the good thing is that then there’s no way you actually know what vi is because, well, would this even be allowed in your line of work?

“you promise you’re not just playing the long game? gaining my trust and then stabbing me in the back?”

you give her a playful but sincere smile and make a small ‘x’ on the left side of your upper chest. “cross my heart.”

“guess i’ll will call you my guardian angel,” she muses, her chest glowing. “i’m vi, by the way.”

you grin, then formally introduce yourself. you reach out your hand. vi holds it, delicately, even though your grip is firm.

“one more thing, though — keep the whole me being the slayer thing under wraps? it’s supposed to be a secret.”

“why’d you tell me, then?” vi wonders, raising an eyebrow.

you tilt your head, examining her. “like i said — i had a good feeling about you. slayers are meant to have good instincts, so i decided to trust mine.”

vi takes a deep breath, removes her hand from yours, and glances at you once more with a small smile. she promises not to tell a soul.

(she, of all people, knows that there are far worse secrets to keep.)

“thank you,” vi adds. “for saving me.”

she hears fangs scratching at the door from inside the apartment after she’s gone, along with the deep rumble of your voice telling fangs not to worry, our new friend will visit again soon, like you’re so sure vi will be back.

with the way you already have her sharp edges softening, her heart fluttering in her chest, vi probably will be.

except —

vi’s not quite human, hasn’t been since she started bleeding between her legs at 13, since her mother told her that this was a blessing passed down to eldest daughters in their family, no matter how many people will try to convince her it’s a curse.

it would be a few months later that her mother would be killed because of said blessing.

really, it’s more nightmare.

because vi knows what it’s like to pick ripped flesh from between her teeth, to have the metallic sweetness of blood linger on her tongue and throat-tearing screams ringing in her ears.

meanwhile, you — with your good instincts, strong fists and stronger heart —

it’s your destiny to end those nightmares.

you’re the thing that monsters like her are supposed to have nightmares about.

ii. you’re an angel / i’m a dog

there’s an intimacy to knowing how someone fights.

vi fights with bared teeth and burning rage, knuckles cracking against bone, elbows bruising skin without any remorse. her own wounds are half-hazardly hidden behind layers of gauze, her chest wrapped tightly to keep her heart from bleeding out. she doesn’t bother to clean the dirt underneath her nails, to wipe the blood from her upper lip after an opponent breaks her nose, to wash her face clean before smearing on more dark paint until all she sees in the mirror is a shadow of her former self.

you, on the other hand: you’re precise and quick in how you defeat your opponents, maybe even a bit bored. vi figures that when you fight monsters for a living, it must be fairly dull, knocking out some guy with a single, well placed uppercut, even if he is twice your size. your bandages are always fresh, and you always make vi a little dizzy when she catches a whiff of rose. you walk past her with a playful grin, easily replaced by the glint of your razor-sharp canines as you defeat another opponent in the arena. she listens as your heartbeat barely increases a beat, despite the inevitable adrenaline of battle.

you might not be as feral as her, but vi thinks you’re just as dangerous. she likes it, admires that your violence is always calculated rather than all-consuming.

she does wonder if you’d ever let anything consume you, curious to know what’s hiding under your armor.

so, a few days after she first woke up in your apartment, vi builds up the courage to suggest:

"whoever wins the most fights tonight picks up the tab for the bar."

your face brightens the dim, dirty sidelines of the pit as you’re both waiting for your turn, when you answer:

"you're on, killer."

later that night, both of your bodies are aching as vi tries to examine your injuries once you’re both done for the day, away from the roar of the crowd.

"guess i'll be picking up the tab," you smile, your lip splitting open even more, just like the morning after her knuckles first kissed your skin.

(she wants to kiss this wound closed, too, press her lips to your bloody ones, if you’d be willing to give her a taste.)

"i'll still take care of it, angel,” vi soothes. she rummages around the tiny locker room, a single light bulb flickering above you. finally, she finds a small first aid kit — poorly stocked, but good enough for now. “lemme take care of you first."

you must understand what vi’s implying, because your heart starts racing faster.

it’s a routine that becomes vi’s guiding light — the two of you patching each other up after a rough day (and, regardless of the fact that you’re both strong, it’s always a rough day). you share a drink at the bronze, and then you’re off slaying vampires or whatever other nightmares will keep you awake and fighting every night.

then, it’s another full moon, and the routine changes.

she’s able to prevent herself from turning even in the worst of circumstances, but she doesn’t want to risk any accidents, knowing that you’re out there on the prowl. vi is confident that you’d never hurt, let alone kill her, but that’s counting on you being able to recognize her.

vi locks herself in the basement of the bronze. spike, the bartender, let her crash in a storage closet, temporarily, no questions asked and a promise to keep it a secret.

she emerges from her isolation after three days, eyes stinging from the harsh morning sun. her first instinct is to head underground, search for you. she makes one stop beforehand, drops something off in the locker room before she’s ushered into the arena without any more preamble.

the show must go on, and you’re already center stage.

the lanky woman you must’ve just knocked unconscious is being dragged away. you spit out what looks like a combination of blood and saliva, and crack your neck before resuming a fighting stance, feet squared, bruised knuckles at the ready.

you falter when you see that it’s vi who’s your next opponent. vi picks up the increased pace of your heart, the muscle worrying against your chest.

you’ve had this conversation, though — about what would happen if you were ever up against each other again in the ring — and you both agreed: once the bell rings, the fight starts, because you both need the money to survive.

nothing personal. winner buys two rounds of drinks at the bronze. three, if there were some nasty hits involved.

you hadn’t needed to worry about any of that until now.

the bell rings, and vi waits for you to make the first move, like you tend to do.

but, you don’t.

the first time you were up against each other, vi dodged your attack and delivered a jab hard enough to make you bleed. you had looked at her with wide eyes, fingers touching your bottom lip and becoming stained with red as the crowd roared. you adjusted your posture with a newfound interest, and a glimmer of what vi can only describe as hunger.

this time, you drop your stance like you’ve already lost the fight. you ignore the shouts and groans from the crowd as you walk away.

….

vi finds you in the locker room — and you’re not alone.

“there a problem here?” vi asks, glaring at the guy you seem to be arguing with.

“it’s fine,” you answer coolly. still, vi sits on the bench nearest to the door, waits for you like a patient dog.

“fine?” the guy barks a laugh. he’s wearing topside clothes. an enforcer, no less. “you made me look like a fool.”

you scoff. “i doubt that’s hard to do.”

the guy suddenly reaches forward and snatches your arm. vi feels rage surge through her when his nails indent your skin. you must sense it, because your eyes lock with hers in a silent command not to do anything, not just yet.

“i don’t think you understand, bitch,” he seethes, face a pissed off shade of red. “i’m out more money than you’ll ever see in your entire pathetic life.”

“i’m sure you’ll manage.”

vi follows your gaze as it drops to his belt. he’s got his badge, a standard issue pistol, and a pouch full of gold coins.

“clearly i bet on the wrong fucking dog.”

you force a smile. “better luck next time, officer.”

you finally rip your arm out of his grip, push him away abruptly, effectively manoeuvring him to stumble between where you’re standing, and vi’s waiting. you gesture towards vi with a smirk, a taunting dare for this enforcer to challenge two of the undercity’s best fighters.

vi gets up just as he’s walking out, grumbling an incoherent string of swears. she not-so-subtly knocks into his shoulder and hip, her nimble fingers still quick.

“guess we can get dinner with our drinks, now,” she quips with a toothy grin. vi tosses you the pouch, but you don’t seem too thrilled, even as you catch it effortlessly.

“you can’t just disappear like that, vi.” your voice sharp, crossing your arms over your chest.

“i didn’t mean to,” vi lies, walking over to open your shared locker. she pulls out a bouquet of roses, the same deep red as dried blood.

vi pouts, gives you her best puppy dog eyes. “i’m sorry, angel.”

the only reaction she gages from you is a quickening heartbeat at the nickname, your face still hard to crack marble.

“this is serious, vi.”

“i know! but —”

“do you know what’s out there? i’m not the only monster hunter around here. you need to be careful,” you rush, walking over to her and talking with your hands. “i looked everywhere for you, and….and you just left without saying anything. i thought…i thought you’d been killed —”

your blood roars in vi’s ears, your pulse close to out of control, and vi doesn’t know what else to do except bring you into her arms in an attempt to calm you down.

“i’m okay, angel. i’m here. i’m right here,” vi mumbles against your shoulder, inhaling sweat and roses.

your heart starts beating steady against her own as you exhale.

“i was safe, i promise. i was in the supply close at the bronze.”

“are you kidding?” you guffaw, unravelling yourself from vi’s body. “that basement is a hellhole.”

vi shrugs. “it does the trick.”

you chuckle dryly, shaking your head.

“well, i guess now that i lost one of my best sponsors, fangs and i might have to move in there with you,” you deadpan.

you reach around vi to pull a jacket from the locker, slipping on worn leather that vi realizes is hers. you take the flowers from her with a small thank you, and vi adjusts the collar of her jacket on you, her warm fingers subtly grazing your pulsepoint. vi can’t help the possessiveness that sparks in her abdomen: you, wearing her clothes; you, heart beating rapidly for her.

“well…what if….i moved in with you?” deep down, she knows it’s not an ideal situation, but vi reasons: “we can pool our money together for rent. besides, what’s another stray in your home?”

you bite your bottom lip as you mull over the offer.

“well, you did buy me flowers, ask me out to dinner….seems like the logical next step.”

“so….”

vi wiggles her eyebrows at you, and you finally crack a smile.

it was only been three days apart and vi already felt deprived of the sunlight of your smile.

“okay, killer. as long as you don’t make a habit of disappearing on me.”

….

on paper, there might be reasons why you and vi, together, shouldn’t work, but the simple truth is that you do.

you still spend your afternoons engulfed in the darkness of the underground arena, patch each other up at the end of the day, share drinks at the bronze before parting ways.

now, in the mornings, you spend a few hours training together, moving furniture around so there’s enough space to spar. you try not to get distracted by how hot her skin is every time it brushes against yours, how solid her thigh is between your legs when she’s adjusting your stance, how a shattered moan emerges from her lips as you pin her to the floor after showing her a new technique to catch an opponent off-guard.

the nights are your favourite, though. like fangs, vi is able to fall asleep anywhere in the apartment, and is usually passed out by the time you’re off the clock from slayer duty. after the first few nights, you insist that vi sleep on the bed, and she begrudgingly agrees. now, you get home just before dawn, bone-tired, to find her belly up, drooling and snoring on top of the dilapidated mattress. the moonlight illuminates all the curves and shadows of her sculpted body, her skin shimmering with sweat because her body runs warm, even on the coldest nights. you can see the trail of pink hair disappear beneath her black underwear, while her dyed-black hair is a tangled mess you’re tempted to tug at, curious to see if she’d moan again for you. vi sleeps shirtless, nipples winking at you like two fallen stars with those titanium rods pierced through.

gods, you try not to drool when you slip under the covers and fall asleep dreaming of her, all the places you would sink your teeth into, all the places you wish she would do the same.

(meanwhile, vi tries to ignore the sound of your whimpers, the quick tempo of your heartbeat, and the overwhelming musk of desire between your legs as you sleep next to her, because she’s so sure that you would never dream of her.)

these fantasies of vi, all her warmth, all her chaos, gnaw at you from the inside out. it’s an overwhelming sense of hunger, but with vi, you also feel something else, something gentler and more fragile building between you.

it’s really the little things.

like, vi brings you fresh roses every week, and even though you keep telling her to save her winnings for better things, she tells you that pretty girls like you are worth it, angel. they should teach you that in slayer school.

she winks, makes you flustered, then has the audacity to blush when you leave her the ripest apples because you know that she likes them a bit sweeter.

sometimes you open the window as you share a cigarette, exhaling smoke into the starlit twilight as you exchange stories about your pasts, about the people you’ve loved and lost. she’s the first person you confide in about how weighed down you feel by the responsibility of being the slayer, a burden that’s cost you many loved ones, and the uncertainty of whether what you’re destined to do is truly what is good for the world. she tells you about her time in prison, the lonely nights lamenting the death of her father and brothers, but keeping her strength because she hoped to one day make it back to a sister she just ended up losing, anyways.

other times, the two of you play a game. you imagine that you’re elsewhere, that there are no such things as monsters, no reason to have to battle and bruise yourselves just to survive. instead, you have a life and a family and a home together, filled with luxurious parties, decadent dinner tables, and endless sunny days.

you comfort her and she comforts you through the dark, morbid world you both have been fighting against, alone, for so long.

it works. it works really well.

except — you’ve been the slayer long enough to know that nothing this good will last. it's nauseating — dangerous, even — this desire buried in you deeply like a knife to the gut, twisting and taunting you with what can never be.

you’re just waiting for the next nightmare to reveal itself.

….

vi’s hair has started to fade back to pink, so she asks you to re-dye it.

it’s easy to forget that she sits in a rickety chair in your decrepit but well-loved apartment because all she can think about is your body behind hers, solid and steady. your cool fingers work the dye through her hair, your nails scrape against her scalp, and you’re humming as fangs snores peacefully at her feet. she’s died and gone to heaven, pure bliss glowing in her chest and releasing through her throat as a deep rumble.

she closes her eyes and indulges in a little daydreaming:

just you and your sunburst smile and your soft, rose-petal skin.

there’s a firm knock that rustles vi out of her reverie, and you tell her to go rinse out her hair while you answer it.

she can hear you talking with someone through the rush of hot water. she tries not to eavesdrop, but…it’s difficult, especially once she hears:

“it’ll be fine. silver bullets usually do the trick,” you say, without much enthusiasm. vi bites back her hurt, keeps rinsing her hair, waiting for the water to run clear instead of sludge gray.

you’re not talking about her.

“i’m not sure you understand the severity of the situation,” a voice with a thick british accent replies. “i’ve been on the council for fifty years — five times longer than you’ve been the slayer — and i’ve never seen something quite this vicious.”

“my guess is you don’t get out in the field much,” you quip.

whoever you’re talking to clearly is not amused, ignoring your backhanded comment and instead offering the details of what has been witnessed in the past few days. it’s so gruesome and gory that vi herself is shivering as she turns off the shower, towels off, and gets dressed.

when vi opens the door, she almost trips over fangs, who’d fallen asleep just outside. she gets up immediately as vi steps out, her tail wagging. the owner of the stern voice — a man wearing a very pristine looking tweed suit — is handing you a crossbow, a bunch of silver-tipped arrows already splayed on the table. you notice vi first as your grip on the weapon tightens, and the man’s gaze follows.

“you know there’s a rule about slayers keeping….pets,” the man says, turning his nose up at vi and fangs from where they’re still standing at the doorway of the bathroom.

you glance back at the pair, jaw clenched, and then focus back on your unwanted guest.

“mr. travers, thank you for the heads up, but i believe it’s time for you to leave,” you clip, dropping the crossbow on the table.

“actually, i believe that we have much more to discuss, namely how you’ve allowed this mutt into your home —”

“get the fuck out of our apartment,” you practically growl. you walk towards him menacingly until his back is millimeters away from the door. “you of all people know what i can do.”

“you will be punished for this…this transgression,” travers warns, but there’s an unmistakable tremble in his voice.

you laugh in a way vi can barely recognize, sharp and bitter.

“fine. i’m no stranger to dealing with the council’s bullshit.” you open the door, flash an exaggerated, sickly sweet smile. “have a nice day.”

“i hope this animal is worth it,” travers huffs.

“she’s worth it,” you reply without hesitation before you slam the door on his ass, so hard that the walls shake, the vase in the kitchen toppling over and cracking on the counter.

vi’s seen you fight in the pit — hell, she’s been on the receiving end of some of your wicked moves — but she doesn’t think she’s ever seen you this angry.

your chest is heaving as you pace back and forth.

“so that sounds….bad,” vi remarks, heading over to the kitchen counter to gather the broken shards of pottery.

you freeze. “how much did you hear?”

vi just shrugs. “just that there’s something bad out there —”

“don’t worry about it,” you say with a forced smile. you walk over and push some damp hair away from vi’s eyes. “let’s take fangs for a walk before we leave, yeah? while it’s still light out.”

there are whispers throughout the next few days leading up to the full moon. the crowd at the arena starts to thin, most topsiders too scared to journey underground with rumors of a bloodthirsty monster on the loose.

you’re not sleeping anymore, still fighting during the day to a half-empty arena, out on patrol at night, your rosy scent fading from the bedsheets with each passing night. even if you get home before dawn, you spend your time scouring through books and scribbling into your notebook, mumbling to yourself theories about where and how you can stop this thing. vi tries to get you to take a break, or at least eat instead of burning through shimmer-laced cigarettes to keep yourself awake.

the best vi can do is convince you to sit down on the couch with her and share a snack. you settle for doing some research, flip through yellowed pages as you take a bite of an apple, juice dripping down your chin.

vi reaches her finger out, puts it in her mouth to suck off the juice, moaning around the salty-sweet taste of your skin. you let out a pleased hum, turning your attention back to your research, but angling your body to invite her closer. vi nuzzles into your side, puts her head on your lap, twitches in pleasure as you reach down to scratch behind her ear.

she looks up at you, and you finally give her a real smile — the first ray of sun after a pitch dark night.

a slice of paradise vi was certain she’d never find.

….

the night of the full moon is when all hell breaks loose.

vi tries — she begs you not to go out there, sensing that tonight, of all nights, it will be at its strongest. but you, too headstrong and too righteous for your own good, just won’t listen.

“this thing has killed eleven people in less than a week. i don’t care what phase of the moon it is — i’m ending this, tonight.”

“why does it have to be you? that thing is stronger than anything you’ve ever fought!”

“which is why i’ve been preparing,” you snap.

“can’t you – can’t you just call the fucking council, or something, tell them to deal with it?”

fangs is right there with vi, scrambling and whining as you’re meticulously arming yourself with as many weapons you can carry.

you scoff, notching a few silver blades to your belt. “it’s not their responsibility, it’s mine. where the fuck — i can’t go out only in this tank top, it’s fucking freezing — ”

vi swallows the lump in her throat.

“you’re gonna die if you go out there alone.”

“yeah, well, i’ve accepted my fate a long time ago,” you say stoically.

you’re fairly well supplied at this point; if vi was the monster you were hunting, she’d be running scared from a glance alone. you’re only half paying attention to vi’s pleas, and sigh in relief when you find what you’d been looking for.

“please, angel, don’t —”

“i was literally born for this, violet. if i don’t go out and stop this thing from killing more people, then my life is worth nothing.”

“you make me happy!” she shouts desperately, forcing you to pause as you slip on her jacket. “that’s worth something, isn’t it?”

a tense silence follows.

you freeze for a few moments, avoiding vi’s gaze. then, you walk over to the cabinet, grabbing something so quickly vi can’t pinpoint what it is and stuffing it in your back pocket. you clench and unclench your left fist, a tick of yours that vi recognizes from the arena.

you’re planning your next move.

in a daze, you pick up the crossbow, but you hesitate once more —

“fuck,” you exhale before letting the weapon clatter to the ground and rushing over to crash your lips against vi’s.

you’re kissing and kissing, teeth and tongue and a pleasure so guilty, vi’s sure she’ll be damned for all eternity. vi’s lungs are burning when she pulls away first.

“wait. you should know that i’m —”

“i still have to go,” you interrupt, voice determined and sharp, cutting right through to vi’s heart.

there’s a fear curling up her throat as you watch her, your eyes the darkest she’s ever seen them.

“then let me – i mean, i can help —”

you kiss her again. you taste so heavenly, better than she ever dreamed of, that vi doesn’t even care that it’s probably just to shut her up.

she almost doesn’t notice that you’ve cornered her between the kitchen counter and the front door, until she hears a distinct click, feels something heavy and burning against her wrists.

you pull away first this time, eyes glazed over as you back away to make space between you and what you’ve done:

vi, handcuffed to the exposed heating pipe. the cuffs are stronger than any vi has ever been bound by. must be made of real silver. the metal sears into her skin, down to the bone, as she struggles against them, screaming to the point of howling, watching as you pick up the crossbow and a handful of silver tipped arrows as a final hail mary.

“no!” she cries. the pipe you’d cuffed her to rattles, but it doesn’t give. “please, please don’t —”

“i’m…i’m really sorry,” you mumble, quickly wiping away a tear. vi flinches when you try to touch her cheek; she bares her teeth at you like a rabid beast, but you don’t give her the courtesy of a reaction.

“why are you doing this?” she growls.

“because….you deserve a happy ending, violet. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

you take a deep breath. you look at fangs, affectionately pat her head as she bows her head and whines, tail between her legs. “bring her the key once it’s morning,” you instruct. your eyes slide over to vi’s, for what she fears might be the last time. “take care of each other.”

with that, you’re out the door.

vi isn’t sure how much time passes. her wrists sting, her muscles ache, but still, she keeps going. she doesn’t care how, but she’s not letting you die tonight.

a sliver of moonlight shines through the window. something claws at her ribcage.

you’re not dying tonight.

and vi’s been hungry for too long.

iii. all my devotion turns violent

the streets are empty, deserted due to fear and damp from the cold evening rain.

you search through the shadows, around every corner, play with one of your daggers just to pass the time, the blade weaving between your expert fingers.

all you can really think about, though, is vi, and how scared she was to lose you, and how terribly you must have hurt her —

fuck.

you accidentally sliced through your palm, your blood emerging as thick, black tar in the darkness. you sigh and kneel down in the alleyway, dropping your heaviest weapon so you can use your uninjured hand to wrap the other.

something pounces on you before you can stop the bleeding. the crossbow — the weapon that was supposed to deliver a fatal blow — is now out of reach.

you jab one of your silver blades into the creature’s side; he howls, but you manage to kick him away long enough to get to your feet, get a better sense of what you’re fighting. you’ve never seen anything like it before: a hulking mass roughly five times your size, wolf-like features, and chemical machinery woven throughout his body, a neon green liquid pumping through glass tubes.

the beast growls at you, lunges forward once again; you jump out of his path, roll away so run, fast, and grab the crossbow. you quickly notch a silver tipped arrow, aim at his heart; you hold your breath and fire without hesitation. then another, and another, just to be safe.

your stomach turns as you watch the creature remove the arrows as if they were nothing but splinters. he lets out a roar that shakes the earth. you’ve made him angrier.

you drop the crossbow, deciding instead to propel yourself off the wall, leap onto the beast’s shoulders and stab the glass tubes with all the force you can muster. green liquid gushes out, and the beast howls in pain, but doesn’t give up. with sharp claws, he throws you to the ground, and you shriek as he tears through the skin of your ribs.

you’re very suddenly dizzy, bleeding out on the cobblestones, yet continue to struggle with whatever strength still courses through your veins. the beast looms over you, foaming at the mouth, and your vision is getting fuzzier by the second.

that’s when you see a flash of dark fur, almost fuschia in the moonlight, jump in front of you, knock the beast out of the way, tumble to the side. you glance at the creature that saved you — a wolf with a fierce set of teeth and beautiful powder blue eyes — before you fall unconscious.

iv. stitch me up (touch me inside and out)

vi barely registers that the temperature in the apartment is dropping.

she doesn’t regret how she had to rip the heating pipe from the wall — there are nasty burns, still untreated, stinging her wrists where the silver cuffs had restrained her.

she doesn’t regret transforming from human to something wild, unrestrained, in order to save you from something much worse.

she’s still burning off adrenaline, her nervous system on high alert. it’s been a while, and she’d forgotten how exhilarating it can be.

it all happened so fast. there was something oddly familiar about the beast; he seemed to recognize vi, too. that’s the only explanation — for all the ruthless, bloody stories she’d heard, why else would he have let vi take you away and just disappear into the night without so much as a growl?

vi doesn’t have the energy to answer such questions. all she cares about is you. she can’t get over the overwhelming scent of your blood, already spilling out onto the street when she showed up. she almost lost control, blinded by rage and a desire to kill the beast — but you were there, on the brink of death, and she just wanted you to be safe, wanted to bring you home.

she just hopes she wasn’t too late.

vi hyper-focuses on your labored, disjointed breaths from where she tucked you in. she tried her best to stop the bleeding and dress your wounds with combinations of herbs and flowers she frantically read about in one of your books, desperate to keep you alive.

you’ve lost blood. a lot of blood.

vi wants nothing more than to curl up on the bed next to you, but after you saw her last night, once you realize that she’s no different than the savage beast you were so determined to kill, she’s not sure you’d want her near you.

she’ll just stay long enough to know that you’ll wake up, and then she’ll be out of your life forever.

dawn breaks. the sun shines through cracked, frost covered windows, and your eyes remain shut.

your heart’s still pumping blood, which is a good sign, but otherwise….

day bleeds into night, and you’re still out cold. vi manages to drip some water between your parted lips, and watches with relief as your throat reacts accordingly. you let out a gentle sigh, eyelids fluttering ever so slightly.

“please wake up,” vi whispers.

fangs jumps onto the bed and whimpers, nudging her nose against your arm so that she’s snuggled underneath. vi drapes a blanket over the pair of you.

another sleepless night passes.

at first light, vi changes your bandages. she struggles a bit, given her injured wrists, but she’s pleased to find you healing from what might have been a fatal injury to most humans. she tries to feed fangs, but the dog refuses.

fair enough — vi can’t bring herself to eat, either.

instead, to pass the time, vi glues together shards from the broken vase and places it back on the kitchen counter. there are no more fresh roses; vi decides she’ll bring you some as a parting gift once you’ve woken up.

you’re shivering by the time darkness starts to creep in. vi piles as many blankets as she can on you and fangs, but it’s not enough. vi accepts what she had been reluctant to do: she slips into bed next to you, uses her body to keep you warm, arms wrapped around you protectively.

vi doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she wakes up late the next afternoon, to cold rumpled sheets and an even colder empty apartment.

you must have a knack for perfect timing, because just as vi’s about to start spiralling, the front door swings open and it’s you — cheeks slightly flushed from the cold, holding a brown paper bag with one arm while your other hand grasps the key. fangs rushes through the door, too, tail wagging as she zooms around the apartment, bounces on the furniture and lets out excited little yaps.

“morning, killer.” you smile like you hadn’t been knocking on death’s door since a few nights before. “i would have waited, but you were pretty knocked out and fangs had a ton of energy to burn. clearly she still does,” you chuckle, sending a warm, fuzzy feeling through vi’s body. “i got us some food, too, and i’ll contact the landlord to fix our — whoa!”

the bag drops to your feet as vi pounces on you, engulfing your body in her arms and squeezing tightly. your heartbeat is as strong as ever, steadies her own frantic pulse.

“s-sorry.” she pulls away and takes a step back. “i shouldn’t have —”

you just shake your head and press a finger to her lips to quiet her.

“i’m sorry,” you say. “i shouldn’t have — i shouldn’t have treated you like that; shouldn’t have used who you are as a weapon against you. you saved me, vi.” you take a shuddery breath. you place a gentle hand on her cheek. “thank you.”

it takes vi a minute to process what you’ve said.

you thanked her for saving you.

you apologized for using who she is as a weapon.

what did you mean by that?

unless —

i’m not the only monster hunter around here. you need to be careful.

she’s worth it.

you deserve a happy ending, violet. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

“you….knew,” vi realizes, and even as she says it, she can’t quite believe it. “how….how long?”

“from the first time i landed a punch on your handsome face.” smiling softly, you run your thumb over the faded burn on her cheek, the one mirroring her tattoo, the one left by your silver ring.

“are you serious?”

“well, fine, i didn’t know what you were, not exactly, until later. i just had a pretty good feeling that you weren’t human; you had a pulse, so you couldn’t be a vampire, which meant —”

“you knew what i was this whole time and it didn’t bother you?”

you shrug. “you knew what i was this whole time and it didn’t bother you.” while vi continues to stare at you in disbelief, you bend down to pick up the fallen items. vi crouches down with you.

“that’s different,” she reasons, handing you a soft red apple, your cold fingers brushing over her warm skin momentarily.

“i don’t think so. not all monsters are evil and not all humans are good. i saved you from a human that night, remember?”

“b-but you’re you and i-i’m me.” vi scrambles to find the right words. she’s still shocked at how calm you are. is it really as simple as you make it seem? “you weren’t….scared that i’d hurt you, because that’s who i am?”

you get up and place the bag of groceries in the kitchen, lean against the counter as you stare back at vi. instead of answering, you challenge her once again:

“were you scared that i’d hurt you?”

vi blinks at you. “never.”

“there’s your answer,” you declare, giving her that razor-sharp grin you flash whenever you win a fight.

fangs has calmed down, and she’s asleep on the living room couch, her snores the only sound between you as vi processes everything that’s been said.

she feels like her entire world has flipped upside down.

this whole time…..

it went terribly when she last told someone the truth, at least anyone outside her family, and even they would sometimes walk on eggshells around her, like they were worried she might snap.

but you….you’ve sparred and you’ve bickered and you never even flinched once.

you welcomed her into your home, into your life.

you kissed her.

this whole time.

“i was scared you wouldn’t love me, if you knew,” vi admits, a whisper so soft that she’s almost sure that you didn’t hear.

except you falter then, your confident posture melting at her confession. your lips part in a soft exhale.

“well, it’s like you said; i knew this whole time, and i still….” you swallow the rest of your sentence, but you’re looking at vi with so much adoration that it’s overwhelming. “i still want you.”

her brain short circuits, and all vi can think to do is kiss you.

it starts sweet, your lips rose-petal soft. her lips are chapped, rough against yours and already bleeding from the pressure. you run your fingers through vi’s hair, swallow her moans. she’s dizzy with anticipation, imagining how you might do the same when she’s between your legs later. you kiss the scar on her upper lip, gently like you’re hoping to heal the permanent wound. then, your tongue laves over the cut on vi’s bottom lip, soothes her, pushes into her mouth again so you’re both tasting copper.

but then, you bite down, and a desire buried deep within vi is unleashed: the desire to cut herself open for you so you can love each and every part of her. even deeper down, vi hopes that you’d want the same.

vi brings a hand up to your jaw, pushing you into her mouth even more. she lodges her thigh between your legs and shoves her tongue into your mouth when you gasp. one of your hands slips underneath her shirt to trace the contours of her abdomen, meticulously outlining each one.

“it’s been days since you’ve eaten, hasn’t it?” you mumble against her lips, pulling away slightly. your brows pinch together in worry, because you already know her body too well, can tell that each muscle is more defined, each edge a bit sharper. “you must be starving, baby. let’s eat something before —”

vi whines when you start to pull away even more.

“we can do that after.” she offers you her best puppy dog eyes as she pleads: “i’m hungry for something else now. i want you.”

to prove her point, vi guides your hand to her belt. your fingers dance along the metal and she eagerly awaits your response.

“fine,” you decide. “but whoever has the most orgasms makes dinner.”

“you’re on, angel.”

her breath hitches when your hand moves down the waistband of her pants; you play with her tangle of curls, tease the tip of your fingers into her wetness. she purrs against you.

“wait —” you pause your actions. vi whimpers when you remove your glistening fingers; you take off the silver ring on your pointer finger, grinning guiltily as you toss it on the counter behind you. “that would have been bad,” is all you say before inserting two fingers into her already slick pussy.

“ugh, ah — fuck, just like that, angel,” she moans, twitching as you ram your fingers into her.

you hum, stuff another finger into her heat, stretching her so deliciously that her legs start to tremble.

“such a good girl for me. aren’t you, violet?” you coo and start sucking the skin behind her ear. “you gonna make a mess, right here in our kitchen?”

and that does it — vi’s walls tighten around you, her wetness soaks through her clothes; she’s almost sure that it drips down onto the floor. vi whines as you remove your fingers, feeling empty. you shove your syrupy fingers into her mouth instead, her tongue greedily lapping up her own cum. a string of spit follows as you rip away your fingers and press your mouth against vi’s kiss-swollen, cum-covered lips. you feel something smouldering in the pit of your stomach at her whimpers; you’re nowhere near satisfied, but her eyes, all wide and dark and desperate, are pleading at you to let her indulge in her hunger, as well.

“what else do you want?”

vi paws at your breasts from above your shirt.

“i want to fuck you,” she declares, and you nod eagerly, your body bursting into flames.

she gestures at you to wrap your legs around her hips, and she carries you to the bed as you kiss more fiercely, teeth clacking and tongues fighting to explore every crevice of her mouth. you tear each other’s clothes off; but the cold air doesn’t faze you in the slightess, because you have vi, hot and passionate, above you, keeping you going.

your teeth gnaw on her bottom lip as vi messily thrusts against you, your cunts sliding against each other; sticky, languid bliss.

vi takes her time. she wants to savor every part of this, of you — the sting of your nails scratching down her tattooed back, no doubt leaving red marks in their wake; the familiar scent of your skin, sickly sweet roses, combined with the thick musk of your desire, dripping against hers so deliciously; the hoarseness of your voice, encouraging her to go faster, harder.

she nudges her nose against the crook of your neck, salivates at how your vein pulses for her like a tantalizing butterfly. her teeth graze your pulsepoint, but she’s trembling with the amount of self control it takes not to add any more pressure.

“v-vi,” you breathe her name like a prayer. “baby.”

a guttural moan bubbles from the back of her throat in response.

you gently run your fingers through her hair, coax her to look you in the eye, the gesture a sharp contrast to the harsh squelching of your cunts against each other, melding together with each determined thrust.

“you – ah,” you gasp as vi rolls her hips into yours with even more vigor. “you can bite me, if you want.”

vi licks her lips, swallows the hunger burning in her throat because you must be too fucked out if you’re willing to let vi fully indulge in this craving.

“but then you would —”

“lycanthropy is only transmitted when you’re in wolf form,” you explain through labored breaths. “so if you bite me now….and gods, i’m begging you to…..nothing’s gonna change.”

“i have never been more thankful for your slayer training,” she growls. “you really want that, huh? for me to mark you up really good, show everyone that you’re mine?”

“o-only if i can do the same,” you manage a smirk. “or are you all bark and no bite?” you tease, buck your hips upwards. vi is willing to die for your knife-like smile alone, so of course. she’d let you eat her whole, if that’s what you really wanted.

vi finally sinks her teeth into you, rolling her eyes back at how absolutely luscious you taste. like a good girl — your good girl — she follows your orders and bites. she bites down your neck, across your shoulders and collarbones, relishing in the imprints left in her wake.

vi knows now that she calls you angel for a reason. it’s a religious experience, watching you throw your head back against the pillow as your orgasm crashes through you. vi follows a few seconds later until you’re covered in her — she drenched the curls of your bush, her cum dripping down on your own wet pussy as she watches from above. vi can’t help it; she bends down, and you jolt slightly when her cold nipple piercing brushes against your clit. she does it again a few more times just to appreciate how you whine, rut your pussy against her perky breast, begging for more.

but, vi’s on the hunt for something else — she splits your folds with her sharp tongue, sucks any and all of your shared essence. she lets it slosh around in her mouth before hovering over you once more, silently ordering you to part your wet lips; when you comply, so obedient, vi spits into your wanton mouth, thick and velvety.

“swallow,” she orders, voice rough with lust. you do so quite eagerly.

and just like that, you’re back to grinding on each other, leaving a delectable mess along the skin of each other’s thighs. the tension in vi’s abdomen snaps when you wrap your lips around her nipple, suckling at your own wetness until drool dribbles from the corner of your mouth.

after feeling her gush against you, a feral impulse rips through you. you release her nipple with a distinct pop, the cold metal still burning on your tongue as you yank vi’s hair, exposing her tender skin, glittering with sweat in the dark golden light as the sun starts to set. you pull her close, bite around the tattoo on the side of her neck, hard. vi howls in pleasure as you taste salt and iron and her, reaching your peak.

vi waits patiently as you come down from your high, chest heaving, your neck still engraved with the outline of her teeth while yours are stained red. you crash your lips onto hers, chaotic and insatiable, kissing her like she’s your last meal. in turn, she licks into your mouth, tongue tracing your canines to savor what you’ve consumed of hers.

“you sure you’re not a vampire? that would be quite the scandal,” vi jokes later when you’re sitting in her lap, taking time to clean each other up. vi’s only wearing a shirt, but you’ve doubled up on clothes, the apartment growing colder as night approaches.

you already tended to the burns on her wrists (and apologized profusely for causing them; you also scolded her a bit for not tending to herself sooner). now you use disinfectant to wipe down her neck, where you broke skin; you quickly place a bandage that soothes the sting and vi presses a grateful kiss to your sternum.

you hum around the unlit cigarette in your mouth, which you had rolled beforehand with dried rose petals. with your hands unoccupied, you reach for your lighter. vi tilts her chin to gaze up at you; you’re backlit by the evening twilight, a silver halo around you as flowery smoke billows from your mouth.

“i’m sure they won’t be thrilled to know that a slayer’s fallen in love with a werewolf, either,” you muse, beaming at her.

vi clicks her tongue. “sounds like we’re breaking some bylaws.”

“oh, she’s worth it; i’d do anything for my charming, sexy, handsome werewolf.”

you lean forward and exhale smoke into vi’s parted mouth, lips brushing against each other as you share the same breath. you sit back once your lungs are burning and admire the view.

vi — normally all rough edges and dark shadows — blushing a delicate pink as you praise her.

“she’s got a killer right hook, too,” you continue. you offer vi the cigarette and she nods; you hold it, place it between her lips as she takes a drag. “a body so hot that it’s honestly unfair. she’s a fighter, which i love, and some people might think she’s just a scary dog, but i think she’s beautiful and brave and a total softie —”

“okay, okay,” vi coughs, the tips of her ears red. she takes the cigarette from you and stubs it out on the makeshift ashtray by the windowsill. vi rolls over so she’s on top of you, cupping your face in her hands. she pecks across your cheeks until you’re giggling; you try to turn the tables, and the two of you just end up wrestling in a tangle of sheets and laughter and tender kisses.

eventually, you both calm down.

“you hungry?”

“not really. you?”

vi shakes her head. “we’ll make breakfast together in the morning?”

“sounds heavenly.”

it’s dark outside, but the stars are out and the waning moon shines bright. vi positions herself behind you, her body curving into yours, chin notched over your shoulder and arm secure on your waist.

fangs must feel left out, because she shuffles under the covers for warmth before immediately falling back asleep, her fur tickling at your feet.

your thumb rubs against the gauze on vi’s wrist. you can’t help but feel regret, heavy like lead in your stomach.

“baby, i’m fine,” vi assures, already knowing what you’re thinking.

“i….i just hate that i did this to you,” you mumble, bringing her wrist up so you can kiss it.

“you were trying to protect me. it’s what we do, yeah? protect each other?”

when you hum in agreement, vi guides you to turn around so you’re facing each other. on instinct, she parts your legs with her thigh. your sweatshirt has ridden up, so vi starts to rub circles onto your exposed hip bone, her touch soft as velvet.

“next time you go out there, i’m coming with you.”

your breath hitches as you trace the tattoos licking up her arm. “vi….”

“this isn’t up for debate,” vi declares. she reaches her hand up to caress your cheek, thumb delicately rubbing the shadows under your eye. “you almost died. whatever almost killed you is still out there. you’re strong — gods, you’re the strongest person i’ve ever met — but you don’t have to face any of this alone. not anymore.”

you let out a surprised laugh.

“what?” she murmurs shyly, her eyes the soft, pale blue of moonlight, star-like freckles dazzling her sculpted cheeks.

“no, it’s just….anyone who’s known that i’m the slayer either calls me delusional, runs scared, or expects me to do it all by myself. hell — that’s how it was written, how it was destined to be."

vi nudges her nose against yours. her breath tickles your lips, heats up your entire being with a warmth so divine, you wonder if you actually have died and gone to heaven.

you’re both alive, though, a bit bruised and wounded. the world is dark and cold, but here’s this beautiful, strong girl with a beautiful, strong heart who holds you close, parts her full lips — like two rose petals, kiss-bitten and crimson — and vows:

“fuck destiny. it’s you and me now, angel.”

v. my heart is black and beats for you

TWO MONTHS EARLIER

it’s a quiet night. you spent most of it lamenting how you got your ass kicked earlier and fantasizing about the woman who did it, when you see a shadow of a person passed out at the corner of the street, and another trying to steal from them.

someone has to stand against the forces of darkness and evil, and the universe somehow determined that would be you — a fate you’ve had to accept through bruised ribs and broken hearts and bloody prophecies, but one you’ve had to accept nonetheless.

if that goes beyond vampires and demons, so be it.

after you’ve managed to send the creep on the run, you recognize the person you saved:

it’s her.

she looked more intimidating in the pit, honestly — all harsh and dark, furrowed brows and vicious snarls.

it takes you kneeling in front of her to be able to really see it through the black face paint. you take a little pride in the bruise that blossoms on her cheek and the cut through her eyebrow, thinking that at least you got a few shots in before she took you out with a killer right hook.

your jaw still aches and you still taste copper thanks to her, but without the roars from the crowd or the pressure of hefty prize money that you need to survive, you can see her more clearly. she’s bleeding through her bandages; she’s shivering because, gods, it’s freezing this time of year and all she’s wearing underneath a flimsy leather jacket is scrap fabric that would not be counted as a shirt; and she looks like she hasn’t eaten in days despite reeking of alcohol.

that’s when you see a burn on her cheekbone, too, just about where your silver ring would have collided with her skin. you hold your breath, lean in closer to her chest and listen closely to check — the thumping of a strong, steady heartbeat; the gentle rush of blood flowing through her veins.

so, not a vampire. maybe a human with a silver allergy, but what’s more likely is that she’s….something else.

“hey.” you whisper. when she doesn’t respond, you cup her face in one hand and tap her bruised cheek with your thumb. her skin is warm; if she were a human, you’d think she had a fever. “wake up.”

you resist the urge to jerk away when she softly takes your hand in hers, the gesture a sharp contrast to her knuckles bloodied from earlier.

“five more minutes, cupcake,” she whines, her voice echoing down the empty alley.

“look, it’s late and freezing. we should really go before —”

“please. just stay with me. i promise i’ll be good.”

your chest aches at her sincere tone. did you sound the same, when you made a similar promise before to the people you’ve loved after they found out who — what — you are? did you also look so broken, so bruised when they left?

you know the council wouldn’t approve of what you’re about to do.

but you also know well enough from years of studying and training and fighting as the slayer that their judgement should not be taken as scripture.

in other words: fuck the council.

(plus — you need a friend, or just….someone. it’s lonely, being the chosen one. and this girl, in front of you — when you fought, her body reacting to yours so fluidly, you had somehow never felt more understood.)

you manage to get her to her feet.

she mumbles something incomprehensible into your neck, her breath hot against your skin. you let her lean into your body after a weak attempt at holding herself up. it’s not much trouble for you, though. it’s a cold night, anyways; her body, solid and warm, is almost comforting against yours.

you trust your instincts and carry her home.

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swordsandholly · 9 months ago

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Fancy

Ch 2: Just Be Nice to the Gentlemen, Fancy

Previous | Next | Ao3

NSFW | MDNI

Vampire! Poly 141 x Fem! Plus Size! Reader

Word Count: 7k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life.

Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate for the better.

A/N: Y’all are getting updates to two fics in a row bc my Wellbutrin has well and truly kicked in. Say thank you to big pharma or whatever

A week passes. You tucked that wad of cash into your special hiding spot behind the vent above your bed. It still feels like it’s burning a hole through you. You made lists of things everything you could possibly spend it on, how much each item costs individually, how much it might help if you save it. In the end, you decided - rather impulsively - to get all new water filters for your entire apartment. The shower head and both sinks. It eats away most of the cash but you’ve never felt so clean - never realized the amount of sludge sticking to your skin until it wasn’t anymore.

The four men haven’t come back, at least to your knowledge. Most likely they’re done with you after that single meeting. They’ve gone back to Cherry and you’re back to working as a server - having meager tips shoved down the bust of your dress and too rough hands grabbing your inner thighs.

After the gentile treatment you received, though, you feel a bit disgusted. Reminded that they choose to be this way. That vampires aren’t just like that, they aren’t made like that, they choose to treat you - to treat humans - terribly. It makes your gut churn with anger in a way it hasn’t since you were an over-achieving teen sneaking out to attend protests in the lower city square.

It is what it is. Life goes on.

The train lurches on your way to work, as usual. News and advertisements scroll along the screens lining the top of the cabin.

TWO DEAD: LOWER THIRD STREET - BOTH EXSANGUINATED

DISAPPEARANCES CONTINUE TO GROW IN NUMBER IN THE FRENCH QUARTER

ONCE AGAIN THE CITY COUNCIL OVERRULES SUIT FOR HUMAN REPRESENTATIVE CHAIR

UNIDENTIFIED SUBSTANCE FOUND IN JANE DOE

With grit teeth you tear your eyes away. People around you whisper, conspire about what might be going on. As if you all don’t already know what’s happening. As if there isn’t a cancer in this city centuries old.

Nothing is new under the constant night.

Life goes on.

You sigh, quietly checking yourself in the mirror before locking up your things in the employee break room and punching in your time card. Before you can even step foot toward the main floor, a girl with pitch black hair begins charging toward you.

“You!” Cherry stomps up to you, voice cracking with anger. Her platform boots raise her up above your level.

You nearly jump out of your skin, instinctively backing away and against the wall. “W-what -“

“You stole my clients!” She shrieks.

“I- what?”

“Cherry.” The owner warns, appearing behind her. A shadow looming over the two of you. A man ready to grab the scruffs of two warring kittens. A few other girls who just arrived for their shifts stare with wide, nervous eyes.

The last time there was a fight here a girl got her eye stabbed out.

“You took them! They’re my best paying clients and you took them! What did you do, huh? You suck their cocks for free?” Her face is barely an inch from yours and a sharp acrylic nail pokes your chest so harshly you’re surprised it doesn’t break skin.

It’s your turn to fume - face hot and hands balling into fists. “How dare you! I swear to god I-“

“Ladies!” The owner booms, grabbing both your shoulders, effectively putting an end to this little spat before it can escalate further. “Quiet. Our guests will hear you. Cherry, go smoke a cig and cool the fuck off. Fancy, follow me.”

You feel a bit like a child on their way to the principles office as you follow the owner toward the bar, wringing your hands and glancing around wildly. Despite your irritation, fear creeps through every part of you. The other girls are staring - whispering to each other behind perfectly manicured hands.

“I - sir - I really didn’t-“ You stop when that same gold tray is shoved into your hands.

“I don’t care what you did or didn’t do.” He sighs loudly. “They’re requesting you.”

“But I don’t-“

“I. Don’t. Care.” He points at you in much the same fashion as Cherry before him. “Your job is what our guests want you to do. So go do your job”

Your jaw clicks as you shut it. Cherry is glaring absolute fucking daggers at you from the back room, her sparking red dress nearly matching the shade of her face. You can’t blame her. You’re taking her clients, her paycheck, her survival. It makes you feel a bit monstrous, if you’re honest with yourself. There isn’t any time to focus on that too much as you’re ushered to the private booths. There’s no reason for you to give this up, either. If they want you they want you, and it’s their fault for kicking her to the curb.

It’s your survival too, at the end of the day.

It feels eerie to walk down this corridor again. To stand before that heavy curtain again. Your hands don’t shake this time, though. Even with the added tension from your previous interaction they remain steady.

They’re seated the same as before. Simon’s mask is different - a regular balaclava as opposed to the skull. You realize that his eyebrows and lashes are blonde - so strangely soft for such a harsh looking man. They’re all dressed far more casually, it seems. All the way down to Johnny’s sneakers that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe based on the brand. John has traded his suit coat for a simple one with sherpa lining. Kyle braided his hair since last time.

“Evenin’, Fancy.” John smiles warmly. The way it makes your heart flutter is utterly shameful.

“Hello.” You smile, tilting your head and setting down the tray. Same as before. Rinse and repeat. They ordered liquor this time - bourbon, you think. Maybe scotch. Same difference. “You’ve gotten me into trouble.”

“Have we, now?” John drapes an arm over the back of the booth.

“Cherry isn’t exactly happy.” You fake pout as you hand out the glasses. “Thinks I did something salacious to steal you away.”

“How do you know you didn’t?” John gives you a once over. Blue eyes dragging down every curve and angle of your body.

“I suppose I don’t.” You sigh. “Nothing in my right mind, though.”

“Sorry about that, love. It’s for your own good.”

“Right.” The only thing more powerful than plausible deniability is actual deniability. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Can get yer pretty little arse over here.” Johnny grabs you by the waist, setting you down in his lap. You gasp at the sudden motion, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders for balance.

“I think ‘little’ is a bit of a misnomer, there, hun.” You snicker.

“Aye, as it should be.” His hand wanders to pinch your hip.

“You’re a dog, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Och, ye wound me, lass.”

You glance over at Simon briefly, eyes meeting his. He tilts his head forward. Those dark eyes hold no less intensity than before. They take you in like they want to eat you whole. He probably does.

John must signal him - a nod or a curl of finger - because you’re being passed into the center of the booth again and set right up at John’s side. Vampire covens are simple things. Strong hierarchies that are rarely challenged unless a leader falls or fails spectacularly.

Top dog gets the chew toy.

“I like the change of attire.” You smile, tugging at the soft sherpa of his coat.

“Suits not your style?”

“They’re nice… I see so many of them, though.” You lean into his side, letting your head fall back on his shoulder. “Besides, this fits you better, I think. Matches the beard.”

You let your hand venture up to trace along his jaw, reveling in the gentle scratch of his beard. It’s pleasant. Well cared for. You briefly wonder what his budget for beard products is. He leans into the touch. You’ve always wondered how you to feel to them. Is it a gentle warmth or a scorching flame? Either way, they never seem to mind.

“You boys planning on talking business tonight?” You tilt your head.

“Ah, not tonight.” He chuckles, taking your hand and pressing a light kiss to the back of it. “Tonight is purely about rest and relaxation. Need it after the week we’ve had.”

Somehow the other three manage to melt into the background. You might not know much - if anything - about him, but John Price is the type of man to fill a room all on his own. You felt that the first time you saw him.

“I can certainly help with that.” You grin, letting your hand trail up his thigh. You move slowly, waiting to see how he reacts, and go to hook a leg across his lap to straddle him.

To your surprise, he just grabs your waist and sets you back into your seat. “Don’t need to do all that, luv. Just talk with us.”

Part of you wants to laugh. There’s no way guys like this are the lonely, chatty type. But then, as you take in his face, you can see the exhaustion in his eyes. Vampires don’t get bags under their eyes or stress lines, but it still shows. Still swirls in their irises so distinctly.

“Wanted to pick your brain about somethin’, actually.” John sighs, taking a slow sip from his drink.

You scoff. “Me?”

“You’re a smart girl.”

“Am I?” You can’t help but laugh. “What, you need help picking out some lingerie for your mistress?”

John rolls his eyes at you. Kyle chuckles behind him. They’re far more quiet than last time. At least, the little bit you remember form last time.

“Our company has had some recent… expansions.” John mulls his words over carefully, which sets of alarm bells in the back of your mind. “We want to take the opportunity to do something for the lower city.”

“Why?” You spit far too honestly - involuntarily dropping the facade of an escort. What are they doing to pull this out of you? Is it compulsion?

Just as John opens his mouth to answer you, a phone rings. Loud and piercing through the tension in the air. Simon sighs loudly and answers, speaking so low you aren’t sure if he’s speaking at all. All eyes are trained on him. Except yours. You look around at the strain in their faces. The dread.

Simon grunts something before hanging up. “We’ve got a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” John demands.

“The kind we can’t leave til’ tomorrow.”

There’s a collective groan throughout the room. Johnny looks like he wants to smash the closest thing he could find.

“Fuckin’ hell…Sorry, darling. Looks like we’ll have to resume this another time.” John sighs loudly and takes your hand to help pull you from the booth. He pauses with you off to the side - glancing over his shoulder and nodding to the others as they pass through the curtain before turning back to you. “Can I trouble you for a kiss at least? To tide me over?”

“Always.” Once again, the response is far too automatic for your liking. Then again, there are worse things than happily kissing a good looking man. Even if he is what he is.

John chuckles. It’s low and rich and causes you to lean forward despite yourself. Sometimes you forget just how alluring they’re built to be. Made to draw you in. An angler fish. John leans forward to meet you, still holding your hand in his. His lips are cool, a little rough but also gentle. There’s a hint of almost desperation in the way he pushes closer before who you can only assume is Simon clears his throat.

“Pay for a full night plus tip - as an apology for leaving so suddenly. Take the rest of the night, dove.” John smiles down at you and presses another tied roll of cash into your palm. “Don’t want my favorite girl having to scrape by for tips after we leave. Bad look, that.”

“T-thanks…” You murmur, keeping your eyes locked on him. Almost afraid to look down at the amount in your hand. There’s a heft to it that you both appreciate and are terrified of.

John pats your hand and leans forward to place a rather chaste kiss on your cheek before disappearing out the curtain just like that first time.

You’re not sure how much more unbridled tenderness you can handle.

~~~

It’s not even a full week before they’re back. This time, it’s just Kyle and Johnny who greet you on the other side of the curtain. That fact should relax you - not having to focus your attention on so many men should make it easier. Instead, it feels foreboding after the way they left last time. It makes your shoulders tense.

Why are you worried about John? A little voice in the back of your head questions. Why are you worried about a fucking vamp?

“Hello.” You murmur, setting the usual tray on the table seemingly in slow motion. “Just the two of you today?”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” Kyle grins. “We’re more than enough company.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” You hum, passing out their drinks and sliding into the curved booth to get between them.

“Nothing to cure a shit week like blowin’ off a little steam with a pretty woman.” Kyle tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his other hand coming to rest on your thigh. Dogs without their leashes.

You hum. “Work got you down? You had that ‘problem’ last time.”

“Och, aye. Been a right bitch lately.” Johnny groans, tilting his head back and slinging an arm around your shoulders on the back of the booth. “At least we got that one bit sorted.”

“It was your own damn fault.” Kyle scoffs at him.

“Oi. Maybe if you payed attention to who-“

Kyle grabs Johnny’s lips, pinching them shut. “Price said not in front of the girl.”

You glance between them. The last thing you need is to be sat in the middle of a vampire brawl. Goodbye mortal plane if so.

That seems to be enough to get Johnny to drop it, opting to throw back his drink in one fell swoop and scoot in closer to you, strong arm looping around your waist.

Kyle’s hands trace down over your shoulders. “You’re a fuckin’ luxury, baby girl.”

“Can I have a kiss, hen?” Johnny leans close, fingers tracing your jaw.

Your lip quirks up. “Can you afford a kiss? Seeing as I’m such a luxury, apparently.”

It’s Kyle who moves next - pulling you fully into his lap and pushing you further into Johnny. “We can afford much more than that, love.”

The tip of a fang grazes your neck. It’s slow, gentile, not nearly enough to break the skin. Not quite a threat.

A promise.

It’s barely a hair of movement. A slight tilt, a minute lean and your lips press against Johnny’s. His lips are cold but softer than you expected. Your hands find his shoulders, his tongue darts across your lower lip and you part for him. A well memorized dance. Kyle’s hands drag up your hips to rest on your waist, holding you in place between them.

“D’you have any idea how good you smell?” Kyle murmurs in your ear.

“Or taste.” Johnny sighs into your lips. You pull back, snickering and wiping your lipstick off his lips. He has the prettiest, dopiest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Come home with us?” Kyle asks, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “We’ll take such good care of you.”

“You just got here.” You murmur.

“An’ now we’re askin’ if ye’d like tae come home with us.” Johnny grins.

You tilt your head back, debating on how to ask about pay. It’s a question that needs to be asked, but a sensitive one at the same time. You don’t want to offend, but you don’t want to end up walking away from their home empty handed. Just as you go to open your mouth and subtly talk rates, you’re cut off.

“How’s 5k sound, lovie?” Kyle murmurs. Are they fucking mind readers?

You pray they don’t notice the way you choke briefly, body tensing for a fraction of a second. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit! That’s more than twice what you make in month.

“I’ll take that bewildered stare as a yes.” He laughs, moving a hand from your waist to knead at your hip.

They call a car. You don’t have to explain where you’re going to anyone - being pressed between them is enough. It used to be a little shameful for you to walk out on a man’s arm for the whole club to see. When you were young and not quite so resigned to the state of the world - when you hadn’t quite realized that the only god you should care for is green and made of paper. These days you couldn’t care less. They all know, and they’re all taking part in the same debauchery (or jealous that they can’t afford to.) It’s all goods and services, at the end of the day.

Johnny wastes no time pulling you into his lap as soon as you climb into the car - a massive, black SUV that still smells brand new. At least the seats are soft on your knees as you hover over his lap.

“No, no, full weight on me, bonnie.” He grabs your hips and pushes you to sit on his thighs. “Tha’s it.”

His hand disappears under your skirt, two fingers tracing up your sex through the thin cloth of your underwear. Messily grinding while placing sloppy, open mouth kisses along your neck and shoulder. You gasp and whine as he presses against your clit. Just enough to tease, always moving away before you can properly grind down on him. Fucking tease. Kyle watches with an appreciative grin lazily spread across his face.

Your eyes widen to saucers as you pull up to the building. One of the biggest residential skyscrapers in the city. A glowing paragon. One of only five you can see at all times from any part of the city. You’re pretty sure, if you could get to the top, that you would be able to point out your apartment. If you could see it through the smog, that is.

Kyle pins you to the wall of the elevator, lips intertwined with yours and a hand twisted in your hair. Yours knot into the material of his coat. He tastes like liquor and something you can’t quite place. Something sweeter than candy and far more satisfying.

You glance over his shoulder at Johnny just as the man readjusts his pants. He grins, keeping his hand there to palm himself as soon as he catches your eye.

Cheeky bastard.

The elevator stops so gently you might have missed it if not for the dinging and the doors parting. Kyle pulls you out into a small foyer while Johnny fumbles for a keycard.

You think you might have a heart attack when they slip you through one of the two massive front doors. It has to take up the entire floor - or at least most of it. There’s a whole pool on the right side of the balcony. An area that looks like a greenhouse mirrors it to the left. Floor to ceiling windows allow you to see the faux stars so clearly up here.

“Do you all live here?” You ask quietly, staring around the massive penthouse.

The decor is simple. Dark, heavy woods and expensive, rich toned fabrics. It doesn’t have that sterile air that so many vampire homes have. It looks lived in. Used. Even with the obviously untouched kitchen. To this day you don’t understand why vampire homes have them at all. A formality, you suppose.

Johnny nods. “Och, aye, but John and Si are… workin’.”

You decide it’s probably smartest not to pry into whatever “work” means. “So, the mice will play while the cats are away?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Kyle nods, a little smirk playing across his face.

You glance away, debating on asking a possibly invasive question. You can’t ever be too careful with the hierarchy of covens. “And John doesn’t mind you… having me first?”

They blink at you for a moment before bursting out laughing. Your face heats. It makes you feel childish, as if you asked a stupid question. It’s not a stupid question. It’s perfectly valid! At least thats what you’ve heard from other working girls…

“Oh, no, doll. He doesn’t care.” Kyle grins and hooks an arm around your shoulders.

“Might be a bit miffed he wasnae here tae join in on the fun but he’s not jealous like tha’.” Johnny mimics him with an arm around your waist as they pull you to the side.

The two exchange a look briefly with grins plastered across their faces before turning you to the right and leading you down a short hallway. A large, wooden door opens into a bedroom that could swallow your apartment whole. The decor is a bit chaotic - clothes lay across the floor leading to the bathroom and two walls are covered from the floor to halfway up with drawings and paintings.

You know what you’re here for but you can’t help wandering over to them and staring. They’re so intricate. Every detail rendered perfectly. Some are from the city, others are from far away places you aren’t sure exist anymore. A few portraits of the boys here and there and some other people you don’t know. A sketch of a man with scars littering his strong face catches your eye.

“Whose are these?” You ask in a hushed whisper, as if speaking too loudly will disrupt them.

“Ah, mine.” Johnny saunters up behind you, hands resting on your broad hips.

“They’re beautiful…” You’ve only seen art like this in the museums you visited in school.

“Could do one of ye. Ye’d make a bonnie portrait.” He murmurs, pressing his cheek to yours.

Your gut reaction is to say yes. Is that how you want to be remembered, though? Just another face only immortalized on some creature’s wall. A nameless face from eras gone by. Would he write your name down? Would they remember you in a hundred years? In fifty years? In ten, even?

You settle on a gentle “Maybe.”

Johnny takes the hint, turning you toward the bed where Kyle is already leaned. “Gonnae tear a hole in my damn pants if we donnae get a move on.”

The bed is huge, to say the least. Circular and outfitted with layers upon layers of soft pillows and probably the highest thread count sheets you’ve ever seen. It’s unmade, the comforter falling halfway off one side of it. Not that you need it for what’s to come.

Johnny kneels behind you as soon as you step between Kyle’s legs where he’s sat on the bed. Deft hands unbuckle the straps of your heels. Little nips and kisses trail up your thighs. Kyle reaches around you and presses his lips to yours - so softly - before carefully pulling down the zipper of your dress.

It’s so easy to let them take charge. To be a doll for them to do as they please. There are worse things in life than being delicately undressed by two handsome (and well paying) men. Their hands are far more gentle than you expected while they strip you, muttering little appreciative hums and compliments so low that you almost miss them. You stand bare before them, letting them take you in. Hands and eyes roaming. Johnny presses a sweet kiss to your cunt before standing, sending a little jolt up your spine.

He grins like he won some game you didn’t even know you were playing.

You turn to carefully peel off Johnny’s shirt. Your lip catches in your teeth as you run your hands over hard muscle and through a layer of thick, downy hair that leads to the waistband of his pants. So distracted by the sight before you that you don’t notice Kyle pressing against your back, locking you between them as they kiss above you. A shiver runs through you as you watch their jaws flex and hands grapple for one another.

Fucking Christ.

Sometimes you forget how good it is to fuck people you’re actually attracted to. Even if they are paying customers the same as the rest.

An unceremonious squeak escapes you when you’re suddenly flung onto the bed. Not hard enough to hurt but enough to bounce until Johnny appears on top of you, fingers pinching at the soft fat on your sides and laving at your neck with a cool tongue. He keeps his teeth out of the way as he moves down your body to take your nipple between his lips. Much appreciated.

“Need a taste, bonnie. Ye smell so good. So sweet.” Johnny whines, kneeling between your legs. You watch him lower himself slowly as Kyle slots in behind you, shirt long forgone and hands tracing up your sides to knead at your breasts.

As much as you want to pout at not getting to see Kyle undress, you can’t focus on much other than Johnny’s mouth diving into you. Your instinct is to close your legs at the sudden onslaught, but Johnny’s hands keep them solidly in place - spread wide and hooked around his arms.

“Fuck.” You gasp, head tilting back onto Kyle’s shoulder. Your hand wanders down, carding through Johnny’s mo-hawk. He places a harsh suck to your clit and your fingers tighten around the hair at the base of his neck involuntarily pushing him further into you.

You expect him to be upset, for a brief moment, that you’ve been too rough with him. Took too much charge. Instead he just keens desperately against you, picking up the pace - devouring you like a man starved.

“C-Christ, Johnny!” You gasp, fingers digging further into his scalp and the sheets.

“He likes it when you’re mean t’him.” Kyle murmurs in your ear. “Got him fuckin’ pussy drunk already.”

You roll your hips down onto his tongue as he flattens it against you, grinding his face into your pussy. He shifts, never breaking contact, and slips two thick fingers inside you. You whine, eyes screwed shut as you ride it out. Kyle grabs your chin, tilting you back into a kiss. All it takes is Johnny curling his fingers to send you toppling over the edge, back arching sharply.

Johnny rears back onto his haunches just as you peel your eyes back open, chin slick and shiny. His hands desperately pull at his belt and fly. “Cannae take it anymore.”

Kyle chuckles, smiling down at you. “You’d think after two centuries he’d learn a little patience.”

You smile back, quip dying in your throat as Johnny grinds his uncut cock between your folds - coating it in your slick. Fuck, he’s thick - punching every bit of air in your lungs as he pushes in.

“So fuckin’ warm.” He moans, brow furrowed and lips parted.

Lord help you, he’s beautiful. Even beyond that statuesque perfection all vampires have, he must have been gorgeous in life. Kyle is too, you realize as you tilt your head back to kiss him. You wonder what they would look like with ruddy cheeks - with faces warm as yours is. If Johnny would blush all the way down to his chest. If they tanned. Burnt. Freckled. Ran warm or cold. All the little differences that come with a beating heart.

All thoughts disappear at once as Johnny rolls his hips into you. You gasp, “Please.”

That’s all he needs, apparently, setting a brutal pace off the bat. Pushing you back into Kyle with every thrust with enough force that your teeth nearly knock together. Kyle’s fingers continue to pluck at your nipples. You can feel his still clothed cock pressing against your back, hips twitching at the brief friction.

“Fuck. Alright.” Kyle grunts, moving from behind you - leaving you flopping back on the bed with your hands fisting the sheets. You can hear his belt coming undone but can’t bring yourself to focus on it with Johnny relentlessly pumping into you. That is until Kyle taps the head of his cock against your lips, kneeling beside you.

He’s pretty. Not as thick as Johnny but perfectly proportioned. He doesn’t even have to ask or press forward, you want it between your lips. Seek it out. It’s cool on your tongue, calming under the relentlessness that is Johnny.

“Been tae long since we had somethin’ so nice an’ soft in our bed.” Johnny whines. As if that fact genuinely pains him.

Kyle hums in agreement, taking his time fucking into your mouth. “That it has.”

He reaches over to grab Johnny by the back of the neck, pulling him until their lips crash together. Johnny’s hands tighten where they hold you and Kyle’s pace picks up.

“Fuck, she likes tha’.” Johnny pulls back just enough to speak. “Clenchin’ down on me.”

All you can manage is a whine in response - body on fire. Every nerve feels like it’s pulsing, the whole of you utterly consumed by them. Johnny lifts your hips off the bed, arching your back so that he can fuck up into you. The new angle leaves you desperately moaning. Practically singing around Kyle’s cock as your climax hits you like a train. Rocking through you and tensing every muscle.

“Thassit, love, doin’ so good f’us.” Kyle cards his fingers through your hair. It’s strangely gentle, considering the way his cock now bullies the back of your throat while Johnny’s ruts against your g-spot. “How’s she feel, Johnny?”

The man in question just babbles incoherently, fingers digging into your wide hips enough that they’ll surely bruise. At least he’s aware enough not to crush you entirely. Kyle chuckles at him, the sound cutting off in a moan as you angle to take him deeper and wrap your hand around the length you can’t take.

“G-gonnae cum.” Johnny stutters, rhythm faltering and becoming more shallow as he approaches the edge. He pulls out with a choked groan, fucking his fist as he spills onto your thigh.

Kyle mercifully pulls away, letting you gasp for air. Your voice will be raw tomorrow, but fuck if it isn’t worth it when you’re getting fucked like that.

Johnny sighs, collapsing on his back. “Gi’ me a minute…”

“Gettin’ old, Johnny?” Kyle quips.

“Feck off.” He grunts, turning to look at you as you catch your breath. You can’t quite interpret the look in his eyes - whatever it may be - before Kyle is lifting you up at the waist.

“C’mere, love.” Kyle pulls you, sitting back on his haunches and turning your back to him. Your legs tremble uselessly, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he moves you into place. He doesn’t waste time sitting you on his cock. Kyle isn’t as rough as Johnny, taking his time with lifting off and dropping you onto his cock. A slow motion of your hips while his hands squeeze the soft layer over your waist.

“Fuck, Kyle…” You sigh, head lolling against his shoulder.

“Y’like that, baby?” He murmurs, kissing up your shoulder and neck. One hand moves from your waist to travel up the valley of your breasts. It doesn’t quite wrap around your throat, just rests at the base of it - index finger hooking into your necklace.

It’s a leisurely roll of your hips against each other. A break from the brutal pace before. He’s not desperate like Johnny - instead taking his time whispering sweet nothings and dirty words into your ear. Movements slow and easy.

You think, for a moment, that this is the closest you’ve ever been to “making love.”

Then again, maybe you’re just cock drunk.

You don’t notice Johnny getting up until he’s in front of you, hands on your thighs and lips crashing against yours. Already hard and leaking again after only a handful of minutes. Even for a vampire, that’s pretty damn impressive.

“Bonnie, please.” He moans into your mouth. Cool hands take yours and wrap them around his cock, setting a rhythm to match Kyle’s thrusts into you. “Yer fuckin’ perfect.”

It’s overwhelming. Kyle’s hands roam over your body as you bounce on his cock, draping himself over your back and nipping at your ear. Johnny’s tongue continues to explore every part of your mouth as he thrusts desperately into your hands. His fingers slip down to your clit, moving in leisurely circles that have you bucking forward into him.

“Gonna cum f’me, pretty girl?” Kyle groans into your ear. “Chokin’ my fuckin’, cock.”

You whine against Johnny’s lips, eyes screwed shut. He’s close again, pace quickening. His fingers roughly grind against your over sensitive clit. Someone is chanting, begging, and it takes longer than it should to realize it’s you. “Please, please, just - fuck - I can’t - fucking Christ-“

“Thassit, thassit, fuckin’ hell look at y’two.” Kyle pants, bottoming out with every thrust.

You cum with a choked cry, falling forward against Johnny as he coats your hands and moans. Kyle isn’t far behind, painting your back with a pretty, low groan and a jumble of praises for you and Johnny alike.

Your body feels like jelly, limbs trembling and weight leaned entirely against Johnny. He coos at you and soothes down your hair. A strong arm wraps around your shoulders to steady you. Kyle comes back with a warm rag - when he left, you’re not sure - gently wiping you down with a an unfamiliar level of care.

“I can do it.” You reach for the cloth.

“No, no, love.” He says gently, taking your hands and carefully cleaning them off with precision. He stops to rub the back of your hand with his thumb, something unreadable and warm behind his eyes.

“Drink this.” Johnny holds out a glass to you. When did he even get that?

“Tap water?” You frown slightly, looking him up and down.

“What’s wrong with tap?” He snorts. Oh. Right. Upper city.

“Thanks.” You murmur, chugging it greedily. The physical exhaustion begins to creep up your bones, your legs already practically useless. Keeping up with vampires is a young man’s game and you’re just starting to see the signs of aging out. “I better g-“

“Better lay down.” Kyle cuts you off, taking the glass and pushing your shoulders to lay flat on the bed.

You chew your lip. You don’t usually stay at client’s homes overnight. Then again… the sheets seem to envelope you in a cool cocoon. Calming on your too-hot skin and tired muscles. Muscles that do not want to walk all the way to the train depot. Besides, Johnny and Kyle have been so nice. If they want you to spend then night then what’s the harm, right? You’ll just sneak out in the morning.

So, you let them crawl into the bed bracketing you on either side. Johnny’s arm slings over your waist, cool breath puffing against the back of your neck. Kyle lays in front of you, placing small kisses across your face before pulling the comforter over the three of you.

There are worse fates than sleeping with two handsome men on high thread count sheets for a night…

You wake shivering violently. Between the cold air and Johnny and Kyle’s cool skin you feel like an icicle. Your throat burns and you croak out a groan as you try to sit up. Kyle was rougher than you’d realized in the moment. Johnny has your back pinned against his chest with a strong arm thrown around your waist, not even breathing. It’s so easy to forget that they don’t have to. Kyle truly looks like a statue like this. Entirely still, solid as marble and just as perfect.

You sigh, quietly and carefully wiggling your way off the bed. You don’t pay attention to whose clothes you grab - some tshirt that’s more fitted than you’d like but covers enough to get the job done. You hiss at the slight creak of the door. Neither Johnny nor Kyle stir. If they woke up, they don’t react to you padding out to the main house.

That first door across the hall is slightly ajar, a low stream of cool toned light pooling in the floor just below it. Against your better judgement, you stop, looking around before peeking inside. Not that you can make out much other than a large bed with a dark canopy pulled closed around it. The rest of the room looks barren - the only source of light coming from what you assume to be an attached bathroom.

“Lookin’ f’somethin’?” A baritone voice grunts behind you. You squeak quietly, whirling on your heel and coming face to face with Simon. Well, face to chest considering his sheer height.

“Sorry!” You croak, voice still hoarse. “I didn’t mean- I-“

“S’fine.” The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement. You hope it’s amusement, at least. “Need somethin’?”

“J-just getting some water.. sorry to bother you-“ You begin backing away, giving him a wide birth as you step toward the kitchen. Even without inhuman strength you fully believe this man could snap you in two.

“Come on, then.” He nods toward the kitchen, stepping in front of you. You nearly protest, but opt to just follow. He already caught you snooping at best - at worst he thinks you were planning to steal. If letting him accompany you keeps you alive and out of trouble with them then you’ll gladly trail behind this behemoth of a man.

You pause by the kitchen island as Simon goes to grab… a mug? You watch him fill an electric kettle and flick it on, digging through the cabinet to produce a small packet. A tea bag labeled Honey Vanilla Chamomile.

“Y-you don’t have to-“

“How’d our boys treat you?” Simon asks as he opens the little packet with deft fingers - oddly precise for the size of them.

“Good.” You blurt, hands wringing as you shift your weight side to side.

“Johnny behave himself?”

“The picture of civility.” You snort. If leaving bruises on your hips from fucking you six ways to Sunday counts as civil.

Simon chuckles but doesn’t say anything else. Just puts together a little mug of tea for you, stirring and steeping perfectly before pushing the thing across the counter. You take it slowly, eyeing him. Waiting for some sort of tell that you shouldn’t drink this. Then another shiver runs down your spine and you grab the warm cup happily.

“Should get a heating system put in…” Simon grumbles under his breath, looking around the apartment. You wonder just how much more he can see than you in the near pitch black environment.

“Why?” You snort. “You don’t need it.”

“You do.”

You blink at him rather stupidly - brain too tired and muddled to make sense of whatever that might mean. Probably just means humans in general. They probably have plenty of women and men over on a regular basis. Even if it is just for the night. Oddly considerate, either way.

“What’s the deal with the mask?” You blurt again, the slight lapse of silence putting you on edge.

Simon just shakes his head. “To ‘ide my face.”

“Booooring!” You boo, throwing out a dramatic thumbs down. To your surprise, you’re not met with annoyance. Just a deep chuckle and another shake of his head. “Thanks for the tea.”

Simon nods and snags the now empty mug from you. You chugged it far faster than you realized. It worked, too. Your voice isn’t as hoarse and your throat doesn’t sting when you swallow.

“I should probably…” You murmur, looking back toward the room where Johnny and Kyle are assumably still sleeping away.

Simon grunts in agreement, following you back to his own door. You don’t know what possesses you to stop beside him. To turn and meet his gaze with far less confidence than you’re used to wielding. You owe him for the tea, though.

“Do you want…uh…” You murmur, glancing into the room behind him.

Simon looks from you to the bed behind him - only to turn back with those smile lines forming in the corners of his eyes once again. “Not tonight, pretty girl. You’ve ‘ad enough.”

You jump involuntarily when his large hand cups your cheek - thumb caressing ever to gently over your cheekbone. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the fact that non-sexual touches are so rare in your life, but either way you find yourself tilting into it. Just a little.

“Sleep well, sweet’eart.” With that he steps into his room, shutting the door with near deathly silence behind him.

Oh.

Okay.

You stare at his closed door for a few seconds too long, a slight furrow in your brow before turning back to Johnny’s room. The two of them haven’t moved much since you left, though Johnny has somehow ended up spread eagle across most of the bed. With some gentle maneuvering you manage to curl up in the crook of his outstretched arm with your head on his chest and back pressed against Kyle’s.

These men are going to be the death of you.

A/N: I wanted to put more into this chapter but I had to draw the line somewhere so it’s going to just have to get pushed to the next one.

Part of me was worried they’re fucking too early but then I remembered I can do what I want🫡

1K notes · View notes

reilemon · 29 days ago

Text

♥︎Amore Immortale♥︎ Ch.3

Chapter Title ♥︎ Awakening The Muse ♥︎ ch. 1 𓂂 ch.2

♡︎ synopsis: The idea of leaving feels bitter - and not just for you.

♡︎ pairing: vampire!Xavier, vampire!Zayne, vampire!Rafayel, vampire!Sylus x fem!reader (separately and together)

♡︎ tags: a little bit of fingering

♡︎ word count: 8.6k

♡︎ a/n: I feel like i need to address the setting - this is set in a mix of Victorian/Regency era, and I'm just adding what I find most fitting into the story. Also, this a fanfiction with vampires after all.

♡︎ Thanks to my dearest friend and beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @ cafekitsune

The gloomy light of late autumn morning filters through the thick curtains, barely lighting up the room. You blink awake slowly to the familiar chill of the room, a reminder of your usual morning discomfort. But today, there’s warmth—a solid, soothing presence pressed against your back, an arm draped around your waist.

Last night wasn’t a dream.

The realization makes your heart skip. The memory of Xavier’s lips on yours, the scrape of his teeth along your neck, his hips —it all rushes back in vivid detail. The ghost of those sensations makes your thighs press involuntarily. The small movement seems to rouse him. Behind you, Xavier stirs, his arm tightening slightly around your waist, his face nuzzling closer into the curve of your neck.

“Are you awake?” His soft, sleepy morning voice too disarming.

You nod, the sound catching in your throat as you lean further into him. His lips press a tender, lingering kiss to your temple.

“No fever.” he murmurs. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I feel good.” The truth slips easily from your lips. You feel more at ease, more alive, than you have in months. “But what about you?” you ask, your voice soft as you shift slightly in his embrace. “Are you in any pain?”

Xavier’s response is a low hum, his face buried in the crook of your neck, and any intent to press him evaporates the moment his lips graze your skin. He places a kiss, so gentle it feels like the brush of a feather - then another, and this time his tongue follows, wet and warm against your pulse point. A soft moan slips past your lips before you can stop it, your hips instinctively pressing backward against him. That’s when you feel it—his hard cock against the soft flesh of your ass. Your body stiffens for a moment, but the firm grip of his hands on your waist encourages you to move again.

His lips linger on your neck, sucking lightly, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. His hand slides from your waist to tease the curve of your side, skimming the silk nightgown that has bunched up around your thighs. His fingers toy with the hem, but you don’t stop him. When his hand slips beneath the delicate fabric, trailing slowly up your thighs, your breath hitches, the ache intensifying as his fingers glide over your damp underwear. You part your legs instinctively, granting him access as his fingers dip under the lace and find your slick folds.

“You’re so wet, honey.” he whispers against the saliva-slicked skin of your neck as his fingers glide slowly between your folds. “Tell me when to stop, okay?”

You nod weakly, your breath hitching as his fingers slide up and circle your clit. A soft whimper escapes your lips before you bite down hard to muffle it. Xavier’s hips grind against you, the thin silk of his pajama pants doing nothing to hide the hard length pressing firmly against your ass. His free hand grips your waist, holding you firmly in place, while his lips drag wet and hungry along your shoulder. Then his hand dips lower, before one finger slides into your dripping entrance.

“Xavier…” you pant, your hips rolling instinctively to meet his movements. His finger curls inside you, hitting that perfect spot while his hips grind harder, his cock rubbing against you through the flimsy fabric, making your mind spin.

But then—a knock.

The sudden, sharp sound cuts through the haze like ice water, and your body stiffens. Your legs clamp together instinctively, trapping his hand in place, your arousal replaced with the burning flush of embarrassment. Xavier stills immediately, his breath heavy against your neck. For a second, neither of you move, but then, Xavier groans against your neck. He reluctantly pulls his hand from your panties, the sudden loss of contact leaving you aching and flustered. But before you can catch your breath, he does the unthinkable.

“Come in.” he calls out.

Your heart stops. Pure, mortified panic washes over you as you scramble away from him, tugging the duvet up to cover yourself. Your cheeks burn, your mind racing for any excuse that could explain why Xavier is in your bed. The door slowly creaks open, Zayne standing at the doorstep, the ceramic wash pitcher in his hands. His eyes widening for a split second as he takes in the scene before him.

“Am I… interrupting?” Zayne asks as his gaze flickers between you and Xavier.

“Not at all!” The words tumble out of you too quickly, and you clutch the duvet tighter around yourself, wishing it could swallow you whole.

Zayne steps inside and sets the pitcher down on the small wooden stand by the basin, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. You can’t tell if it’s concern, judgment, or something else entirely. Your mind races as you try to fill the silence. The pitcher of rose water—a morning ritual since your arrival—had always been there when you woke. You realize now that it must have been Zayne, quietly tending to your room while you slept off the fever.

But this is the first time he’s caught you awake, and with Xavier no less.

Zayne clears his throat. “I brought the rose water, as usual.”

“Thank you.” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

Xavier, on the other hand, remains infuriatingly composed. He leans back casually against the headboard, his gaze flickering toward Zayne with a faint smirk.

“Anything else you need, Zayne?” Xavier asks, his voice smooth.

Zayne’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, but he shakes his head, turning his attention back to you. “I’ll let you know when breakfast is ready.” he says softly.

As he steps back toward the door, your eyes follow him, your heart still racing. When the door clicks shut, you let out a heavy breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You don’t speak. You look at Xavier with wide eyes and a nervous smile.

He meets your gaze, amusement flickering in his expression as he leans closer, his voice low and teasing. “Not mad at me, are you?”

You shake your head quickly. “Zayne would’ve come in anyway.” you mumble.

Xavier chuckles before leaning down and pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, before he gets out of the bed. Just as he’s about to step away, he lifts the hand that had been between your legs, his fingers still glistening faintly. Your breath catches when you watch him slip one finger between his lips, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Sweet.” he murmurs with a faint smirk.

You’re too stunned to say anything, your cheeks burning as he puts on the silk robe, heading toward the door. Before he steps out, he glances back over his shoulder.

“I’ll bring you breakfast instead of Zayne.”

You nod, still clutching the duvet. “Thank you.”

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you alone with the storm of emotions. Your fingers move unconsciously to your lips, the memory of Xavier’s lingering touch and Zayne’s gaze playing over and over in your mind.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Xavier leans back in the armchair, his pajama shirt lies over the armrest, revealing faintly healing wounds and a few scratches. Zayne sits nearby on a wooden chair, a small tin of ointment and fresh bandages on a small table nearby. Zayne’s deft fingers work skillfully, peeling back the old bandages to examine Xavier’s injuries.

“You’ve been straining.” Zayne says after a moment. His gaze flickers to a small, reddened wound on Xavier’s abdomen. “This one especially—it’s not as far along as it should be.”

“Doesn’t hurt.” Xavier says with a small shrug.

Zayne raises an eyebrow, “Right.” he says dryly. “And that wouldn’t have anything to do with an unusual exertion this morning?”

Xavier finally meets his gaze. “Define unusual.” he replies lazily.

Zayne shakes his head slightly after a moment, going back to his work. “I’m not going to pry.” Then, he presses gently against the wound, earning a brief wince from Xavier, and the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “You should stop aggravating this.”

Xavier chuckles softly but says nothing, his gaze drifting toward the fireplace.

As Zayne finishes tying up the bandages, the silence stretches between them, interrupted only by the scrape of the chair’s legs as he moves to stand. Xavier’s voice stops him in his tracks as he’s about to approach the door.

“She likes it here.” Xavier says, eyes fixed on the low flames in the fireplace.

Zayne’s brow lifts, waiting for more.

“She deserves to feel comfortable.” Xavier continues after a beat. “That’s what matters. Not...who she spends time with.”

Zayne studies him for a moment. “And you’re okay with that?”

Xavier exhales a quiet laugh, though there’s no humor in it. His gaze finally lifts to meet Zayne’s. “I’m okay only because it’s you guys.”

The weight of that statement lingers before Zayne’s lips twitch into a smirk. “Even Sylus?”

Xavier lets out an exasperated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck, but then a soft chuckle follows. “Even Sylus.”

Zayne chuckles, shaking his head as he moves toward the door. “Good to know.”

Xavier watches him leave, his gaze returning to the flickering firelight as the door closes.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You finish the last sip of tea, the clink of the cup against the saucer breaking the silence of your room. You meticulously gather the plates, stack them neatly, and pick at a few stray breadcrumbs on your lap, brushing them onto the tray on the bedside table.

The quiet gives you space to think, and your mind wanders - recklessness was never something you embraced—except once. And now, here you are again. Your gaze shifts toward the curtains, the weak daylight barely filtering through. The isolation of this mansion, the enigmatic men, their hushed conversations—it should all make you uneasy. Yet it doesn’t.

You feel a warmth spread through your chest as you think of Xavier, his soft words, and the way he held you. Your cheeks flush as the memory shifts to this morning—the way his touch set your skin aflame, the way your core was dripping for him, before Zayne knocked on the door. A sharp wave of embarrassment follows, and your hand flies to your burning face. Zayne. What must he think of you? Sharing a bed with Xavier after only a few days in the mansion.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to regret it. Something about this place, these people, makes you want to stay. Even though you barely know them, the connection feels magnetic. It’s foolish, perhaps even dangerous, but it feels real.

You exhale slowly. You can’t sit here forever, hiding from Zayne.

Just get up.

You shuffle toward the wardrobe, fingers brushing over the few dresses. You choose a modest dress this time—something simple, something that wouldn’t draw too much attention. Pulling it on, the fabric glides over your skin, and you’re stunned how this one fits you so well. You tug it into place and turn toward the golden hand mirror on the bedside table. You hold the mirror up, angling it to catch your reflection. The bruise on your forehead is barely visible now, fading into a faint shadow of itself. Your face looks healthy, but you wish you had some blush and tinted lip balm with you. Your fingers instinctively graze your lips, wishing for that hint of color, but you can only shrug.

Then your eyes widen.

A faint mark rests on the curve of your neck. A hickey. Heat floods your cheeks as the memory of Xavier’s lips on your skin comes rushing back. The gentle sucking, the teasing graze of his teeth… You place the mirror down, hands trembling slightly. He did that. You go back to the wardrobe, and relief washes over you as your eyes land on a shawl of soft Kashmir wool. You drape it over your shoulders, carefully positioning it to cover the bruised side of your neck. It’s cold in the mansion, after all. You take a deep, shuddering breath and go to pick up the tray.

Just as you reach for it, a sudden knock startles you—a rhythmic, playful tap that’s far too casual to belong to Zayne. Hoping you’re right, you turn toward the door.

Opening it, you’re greeted by Rafayel’s vibrant smile. He tilts his head, studying you with an amused gleam.

“How’s our little patient feeling today?” he asks with the usual teasing lilt in his voice.

You can’t help but return his smile, his energy as infectious as always. “Much better.”

“Good, good.” he says, nodding. Then, his grin widens. “How about a little tour? Want to see my art studio?”

The unexpected invitation takes you by surprise, but your heart leaps at the chance to explore more of the mansion. “I’d love to!” you almost squeal. “But I should return this first.” You gesture toward the tray on the bedside table.

Rafayel waves a dismissive hand, stepping back into the hallway. “Don’t worry about that. Zayne will grab it. He’s the neat freak here.”

“But—” you start, glancing back at the tray.

He’s already walking away. “Come on, cutie,” he calls over his shoulder. “While we still have some daylight.”

With a small sigh and a lingering glance at the tray, you decide to follow him.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Rafayel steps inside first, “Welcome to my sanctum!” he says with pride in his voice as he holds the door open for you.

You step inside, and your mouth falls open. The room feels like an entirely different world from the rest of the mansion. It’s intimate, bright and bursting with vibrant colors. The curtains are drawn back from floor-to-ceiling windows, and despite the gloomy autumn weather, the room feels radiant. Your eyes flit over the artistic chaos—blank canvases stacked against the walls; brushes and palettes scattered on almost every surface of the room. The walls are a masterpiece in their own right, nearly every inch adorned with Rafayel’s works. In one corner stands an easel with a canvas you assume is still in progress, and across from it is a large, plush sofa draped in deep blue velvet.

“Messy, I know.” Rafayel says, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. He stands by the window, watching your reaction with a pleased smile, his arms crossed casually. “But every artist needs a little chaos.”

You can only nod, still taking it all in. As you move deeper into the room, you find yourself drawn to the paintings on the walls. You approach one – a painting of a tranquil moonlit cove, the waters calm, reflecting the moon and the stars shining above. Your gaze shifts to another piece nearby, this one completely different. The sea is wild and chaotic, its waves crashing against jagged rocks under a stormy sky.

“The sea feels alive in your work.” you murmur.

Rafayel steps closer, his hands tucked into his pockets as he watches you. “The sea has always been a muse of mine.” he says. “It’s unpredictable. Serene one moment, devastating the next.”

You nod, your eyes still glued to the artwork as you move along the wall. “I’ve never really had the chance to see it much.” you admit quietly. “There’s no sea anywhere near where I grew up. And now…” You trail off, glancing at the forest outside the windows.

“A pity.” Rafayel says. After a moment, a smile tugs at his lips. “Next time I visit the coast, you’ll come with me.”

The offer makes your heart skip. The idea seems almost too perfect. Your cheeks flush slightly, and you look away, unsure if he means it or if it’s just idle conversation. Still, the warmth in his tone makes you want to believe him. “I’d like that.” you say softly, finally meeting his gaze again.

His smile widens slightly. “Good.” he says simply before stepping aside, letting you admire the rest of the paintings.

Rafayel walks over to the easel and sets the canvas aside to dry, its vibrant red paint glistening faintly in the light filtering through the window. Meanwhile, your attention is drawn to a desk in the corner, cluttered with pencils, charcoal, and sheets of blank and sketched-on paper. You step closer, fingers hovering over the mess, your curiosity piqued. Amid the sketches, one catches your eye. A detailed portrait of Zayne, his sharp features perfectly captured while he’s deep in concentration, writing something.

Rafayel’s voice cuts through your focus, soft and amused. “Found my rare collection, have you?”

You glance up briefly. “Is this Zayne?” you ask, your voice tinged with surprise.

“It is.” he says, stepping behind you. “He was writing reports or something like it. Didn’t even notice I was sketching him until I was nearly done. He wasn’t exactly thrilled when he found out.”

You smile at the mental image. “I can imagine.”

Rafayel lets out a dramatic sigh. “It’s always the same with them. None of them will sit for me, so I have to catch them when they’re too focused—or too tired—to complain.”

Your gaze drifts to another sketch, and you carefully pick it up. This one is of Sylus. The bold strokes suggest motion; he looks almost alive on the page. His silver hair falls forward slightly, framing his features as his fingers rest on a piano perhaps.

“Is he playing here?” you ask.

“Yes,” Rafayel answers, leaning casually against the desk now. “He doesn’t like interruptions, so he made the perfect model that day.”

Your fingers brush over the edge of the paper as you marvel at the sketch. “You’re really talented.” you say, your voice soft with awe.

“Praise me more.” Rafayel teases with a smug grin.

You laugh lightly and set the sketch aside, your eyes falling on another. This one makes your heart skip. It’s Xavier, seated in a chair reading a book. You take a moment to admire the way Rafayel sketched his fluffy hair falling loosely over his forehead, dreamy eyes lost in the pages.

You clear your throat, hoping Rafayel doesn’t notice the way you linger on the drawing. “It’s incredible how you’ve captured... all of them.”

Rafayel steps closer, peering at the sketch. “They all have their moments.” he says, his tone more reflective now. “A person’s energy comes through when they’re completely at ease—or completely themselves.”

Your blush deepens as you silently agree, the image of Xavier feeling too vivid. As you set the sketch down, you glance back at Rafayel. “I always loved the old paintings of goddesses and mermaids when I was younger. They seemed so... ethereal.”

Rafayel tilts his head slightly, his interest clearly piqued. “But not the paintings these days?”

You shake your head with a small sigh. “Not really. They’re all so gloomy. And the subjects—don’t get me wrong, they’re beautiful—but they’re always so... proper. Layers upon layers of fabric.” You smile softly. “No more goddesses, no more mermaids.”

Rafayel chuckles. “Oh, I know what you mean. Believe me, I’ve tried to liven things up around here.” He glances at the scattered sketches on the desk. “I even tried to convince the others to pose for me. Nude. Purely for the sake of art, of course.”

Your eyes widen slightly, and you can’t help but laugh. “What did they say?”

“Oh, they were mortified!” he replies, his tone dripping with faux disappointment. “I almost had Sylus. But then he changed his mind. I think he was messing with me all along.”

You laugh harder, imagining Rafayel going around the mansion and pestering the men to take off their clothes. But as the idea of nude paintings lingers in your mind, your cheeks flush a little.

Rafayel notices, of course, the way your laughter turns into a shy smile. For a moment, his gaze softens. “You know,” he begins almost carefully, “I’d be more than happy to turn you into a mermaid.”

The suggestion catches you off guard, your breath hitching. “Oh,” you stammer. “I - I don’t know -”

Rafayel quickly holds up his hands. “Only if you want to, of course!” he adds, his tone reassuring. “No pressure. I just think you’d make a stunning subject, that’s all.”

You bite your lip, glancing down for a moment as his words sink in. The idea is both enticing and a little intimidating.

“Well,” you say softly, meeting his gaze again, “maybe... one day.”

Rafayel grins, the easygoing charm back in full force. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Rafayel moves around the desk, his hands rummaging through the clutter. His lips press into a line as he searches, finally pulling free a worn sketchbook. “Ah, there we are!” he says triumphantly, holding it up. He turns to you. “Care to sit for me? I’d love to sketch your portrait.”

You blink. “Oh, um...” You hesitate, your hands fidgeting with the fabric of your shawl. “I can’t even remember the last time I had a portrait done.”

Rafayel raises an eyebrow, his playful smile faltering slightly. “Really? That’s odd.” He tilts his head, about to ask why, but quickly decides not to. Instead, he shrugs and waves a hand toward the large, plush sofa against the wall. “No matter. Sit down, get comfortable.” He flashes a reassuring grin. “We’re gonna fix that today.”

Grateful for his ever-light-hearted energy, you cross the room and sink into the sofa, smoothing your dress as you settle. Rafayel pulls the wooden chair from the easel and sets it across from you, sketchbook and pencil already in hand. He pauses, squinting slightly as he examines the light and shadows on your face. “Hmm,” he murmurs, gesturing for you to shift. “Turn your face just a bit. No, the other way. Chin up—.”

You follow his instructions, moving this way and that.

“Just a little more... turn your neck this way.”

You adjust as he asks, tilting your head, and for a moment, Rafayel pauses. His gaze lingers, catching on something just below your jaw. It’s faint, but there—a soft, blurred mark, blooming on your neck. Rafayel’s eyes narrow slightly, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips. A soft smirk forms as his gaze flickers back to yours. You don’t notice; you’re too focused on staying still, your gaze pulled somewhere to the side.

“Perfect.” he says. “Hold that pose for me.”

You nod slightly, oblivious to what caught his attention. Rafayel leans forward, the smirk lingering as his pencil begins to move, capturing you on the page. His eyes flicker to yours every few moments, studying the planes of your face, the slope of your neck, the way the light dances over your features. You try to hold still, focusing on anything to distract from how exposed you feel.

Your mind wanders to Xavier - what is he doing now? Is he still with Zayne, having his injuries tended to? The memory of his warm hands against your skin from this morning flashes in your mind. A flush blooms deeper on your cheeks, and you stiffen every muscle in your body to prevent yourself from fidgeting. You wonder if he notices the faint blush creeping over your cheeks.

He notices, of course. His pencil pauses mid-stroke, and he leans back slightly, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “You know, if you stay that stiff, I’ll have to draw you as a statue instead of a person.”

A soft laugh escapes your lips despite yourself. “Sorry.” you murmur. “I’m not used to this.”

“I can tell.” he replies. “Tell me—have you ever taken painting lessons?”

You hesitate for a moment before nodding. “I did, actually. A long time ago. My skills are… very rusty now.”

Rafayel’s eyes light up with intrigue, his fingers playing with the pencil. “Well, I’d be more than happy to refresh your memory.”

The offer catches you off guard, and your eyes widen slightly. “Oh, I couldn’t.” you say quickly. “There’s no way I could afford someone as talented as you.”

He chuckles at your words, shaking his head. “Nonsense. Consider it my pleasure. I’d enjoy seeing you rediscover those skills.”

You’re still in disbelief. “You really mean that?”

“Of course!” he says, his smile widening as he glances back at the paper in front of him. “And trust me, it’ll be good practice for me, too. Teaching someone is an art in itself.”

The warmth of his words fills your chest, easing some of the tension you’d been holding. “I’d like that.” you admit softly.

He leans forward slightly, still eyeing the very rough sketch. “So… Did you grow up in the village?”

You shake your head, hesitating. “No... I moved there a year ago.”

“And before that?” he presses gently.

You bite your lip, unsure what to say, “I – “ you pause, searching for the words.

But Rafayel cuts you off, “What about now? What do you do in the village?”

You let out a small sigh of relief. “I work at a bookstore.” you tell him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s quiet, but I like it.”

He listens to you talk about how your day in the bookstore looks like, which books are your favorite, how you pester the owner to order some newer releases. When you steer the subject towards your favorite paintings and artists, he joins you with an amused smile, revealing to you their techniques and some gossip he heard from someone or read somewhere.

You don’t even notice how long the conversation went on for until he gets up and starts lighting the candles. The sun has almost set.

“Now, stay still, cutie.” He says as he sits back on the chair.

You follow his instructions, tilting your head just so. The tension in your shoulders has eased, and you’re no longer hyper-aware of every shift of his pencil. There’s a reliance to Rafayel, beneath the playfulness— something that draws you in like a moth to a flame. His charm, which initially felt almost too dazzling to look at directly, now feels more like a beacon.

Your gaze shifts to him, unable to resist studying him as he works. The slight furrow of his brows as he focuses, the way his wavy, dusty-purple hair falls into his face, how the soft light illuminates the delicate angles of his face. His lips, soft and plump, smile softly when his gaze locks with yours. It’s not fair how effortlessly captivating he is—how he seems to belong to another world entirely. Your eyes trail over his hands, the way his fingers grip the pencil. You wonder how many hours he’s spent perfecting this skill, how many pieces of himself he’s poured into his work.

Your think of Xavier – how his presence is so different—quieter, steadier, like a peaceful spring night. Both Xavier and Rafayel are intoxicating, but in completely different ways, and the thought of being caught between them is as thrilling as it is overwhelming. You shift slightly on the sofa, the weight of these thoughts pressing on you. It’s absurd, isn’t it? To feel this pull toward them both—and not just them. The other two occupy a quieter corner of your mind, impossible to ignore. You barely know them, yet you can’t deny the way their attention makes you feel alive.

A pang of guilt stirs in your chest. Is it selfish to want to hold onto the warmth of their attention?

Rafayel glances up, his eyes meeting yours with a flicker of curiosity. You quickly look away, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“You’re awfully quiet.” he teases gently, breaking the silence. “Lost in thought?”

His voice pulls you back to the present, the playful lilt in his tone making your lips curve into a faint smile.

“Something like that.” you murmur. Then you clear your throat and ask, “How did you get into painting?”

His hand pauses, the pencil hovering just above the page. Then he resumes, his tone casual as he replies, “Ah, well, I suppose I’ve always painted. When I was younger, it was my escape.”

You nod, encouraging him to continue.

He chuckles softly. “It was something I could control, you know? No matter what else was going on, I could lose myself in my work.”

You glance over at the easel, where the vibrant paint of the unfinished canvas glistens in the faint light. The brushstrokes seem almost chaotic, and you wonder what could have inspired such vivid intensity. Your mind flickers back to last night—their hurried footsteps, the tension in their voices as they returned from… wherever they’d been. Before you can dwell on it, Rafayel follows your gaze to the canvas.

“Don’t think about it too much, cutie.” His eyes glint with amusement before his focus is back on the paper in front of him.

You smile faintly, but the lingering weight of his earlier words doesn’t quite leave you. There’s more to him than the playful charm he wears so effortlessly—something deeper, something you feel drawn to unravel.

“Do you sell your work often?” you ask.

Rafayel hums thoughtfully, his pencil pausing again as he considers the question. “I don’t, personally. That’s where Thomas comes in. He handles the patrons and all the tedious business things so I can just… paint.” he explains. “He can be a headache sometimes. Always breathing down my neck, asking for more pieces. Thankfully, he’s off gallivanting somewhere far away right now. Blissful silence.”

You laugh softly, imagining a disgruntled manager trailing behind Rafayel with endless demands.

“You’re holding up well.” he says. “The sofa isn’t too unbearable, is it? I’m almost finished.”

Before you can answer the doors to the studio open without warning. There’s no knock, no announcement, just the sound of footsteps. Your head turns, startled, and your breath hitches when you see Xavier standing in the doorway. A blush creeps up your neck, accompanied by a fleeting pang of guilt—as though you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

Rafayel doesn’t even flinch, his ever-playful demeanor intact. “Ah, Xavier.” he drawls, straightening slightly in his chair. “You know, it’s polite to knock. What if I’d been changing?”

Xavier’s expression is serious at first, but it softens when his eyes land on you. His lips twitch into a faint smile as he greets you, his voice low and warm. “Hey.”

“Hi.” you manage, feeling oddly self-conscious under his gaze. “Rafayel was, um, drawing me.”

“Oh, indeed I was.” Rafayel interjects, rising from his chair with the sketchbook in hand. “And I’d say it’s a masterpiece, wouldn’t you agree?” He moves to sit beside you on the plush sofa, holding up the sketch like a prized trophy. Xavier steps further into the room, taking the empty space on your other side, the proximity of both men has your pulse quickening.

When Rafayel flips the sketchbook toward you, your breath catches. The likeness is uncanny—your features perfectly captured in soft pencil strokes, delicate yet precise. You look lost in thought, your gaze distant yet wistful.

“It’s... beautiful.” you say quietly, unable to tear your eyes away.

Rafayel smirks, leaning back against the sofa. “Naturally. You’re an excellent muse. We should make this a regular thing.” He tilts his head thoughtfully. “You posing—or perhaps me teaching you how to paint again?”

His comment makes you glance at Xavier, whose jaw tightens ever so slightly.

You smile nervously. “Sounds good to me.”

Xavier shifts beside you, his thigh brushing against yours. Rafayel notices but says nothing, his playful smirk returning as he hands you the drawing, his fingers grazing yours.

“Thank you.” you murmur, as you stand from the sofa. Xavier rises alongside you, his hand brushing the small of your back, guiding you towards the door.

You step into the dimly lit hallway, carefully holding the paper, your thoughts swirling. Xavier lingers behind for a moment, exchanging a few quiet words with Rafayel, his voice low enough that you don’t catch what they’re saying.

Xavier steps into the hallway closing the door behind him. His very presence makes your guilt spike.

“I… um—” you begin, gripping the edge of your shawl, your steps faltering slightly as you descend the staircase. “About Rafayel—”

Xavier glances up at you over his shoulder. Before you can tumble further into an explanation, he shakes his head slightly, stopping in his tracks to look at you properly.

“You don’t need to explain anything,” he says. “You’re free to spend time with whomever you like. That’s your choice.”

You blink, surprised to say the least. “I just—”

“Really,” he interrupts again. “As long as you want to spend time with me too… I’m happy.”

His words catch you off guard, a wave of relief washing over you at his reassurance. Yet, the faint vulnerability in his voice doesn’t make it easier.

“I do.” you murmur. “Want to spend time with you, I mean.”

He nods with a faint smile, the kind that makes your stomach flutter.

Then, right on cue, that same stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud rumble.

Xavier’s smile breaks into a quiet laugh. “Let’s go to the kitchen, bunny.”

You nod sheepishly, your stomach rumbling again in agreement. He leads the way down the stairs, the tension from moments ago melting as you descend toward the kitchen.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The cool air of the corridor shifts as you approach the kitchen, a comforting warmth greeting you before you even step inside. The faint clatter of utensils and the rich, savory aroma of something hearty and familiar makes your mouth water. Xavier gently pushes open the heavy wooden door, and you step inside.

The kitchen feels unexpectedly intimate. Despite the mansion’s grand size, this space is cozy—a large wooden table dominates the center, with chairs tucked neatly underneath. Before you can take in the rest of the space, your eyes land on Zayne’s broad back. He’s standing by the stove, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms as he stirs a large pot of potato stew. Then Zayne turns, his sharp features softening slightly when his hazel-green eyes land on you.

“Ah,” he says, straightening and resting the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot. “My apologies, I’m late on lunch today. I wanted to make something heavier for you now that you’re feeling better.”

The thoughtful gesture makes your chest tighten. “Oh, you didn’t have to go through so much trouble.” you say quickly. “I’d have been perfectly fine with just cheese and bread.”

Zayne shakes his head. “It’s no trouble.” he replies simply, turning back to the pot and giving it another stir. “Though, I admit... I might’ve forgotten how long a proper stew takes.”

The admission makes you smile. The sight of Zayne standing over a pot of stew feels strangely endearing.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” you offer, stepping closer, eager to ease another wave of guilt bubbling inside you. “I’d feel better if I did something.”

Zayne waves a hand, dismissing the idea. “No need. It’s nearly done.” He casts a brief, pointed glance at Xavier, who’s leaned against the counter, arms folded, eyeing the pot. “Though... keeping him away from the stove would help.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. Xavier, unbothered, raises a hand in mock surrender. “I know, I know.” he quips, the teasing in his voice drawing a faint huff of amusement from Zayne.

The tension that had been lingering between the three of you dissipates slightly. You take a seat at the table, as Zayne busies himself finishing the stew. Xavier joins you, settling into the chair beside you.

While you wait, your eyes wander across the kitchen, taking in the details you hadn’t fully noticed before. The space is warm and inviting, the delicious aroma of Zayne’s stew providing you comfort. Yet, despite its coziness, the space feels... sparse. The countertops are almost bare, save for small jars of spices tucked into a corner, a bowl of pears, and a glass dome with cookies. There’s a basket with a few leftover ingredients from the stew—a couple of potatoes, a stray carrot and cloves of garlic—but no sign of the bustling fullness you’d expect from a kitchen in a household of four grown men. Especially men who look as fit and well-built as they do.

Your brow furrows slightly. Do they keep everything in a pantry somewhere? That explanation feels thin. And then there’s the absence of a cook - the mansion itself exudes a sense of wealth and status, even with its air of abandonment, therefore they would have employed one. Your fingers lightly brush the edge of the wooden table, the faint texture grounding you as your mind spins with questions.

“You okay?”

Xavier’s calm voice brings your swirling thoughts to a halt. You blink, realizing you’d been staring absently at the countertop, your wandering gaze betraying you. Your eyes meet his.

“I’m fine.” you reply quickly, offering a small smile as you push the questions to the back of your mind. “Just... thinking.”

Xavier tilts his head slightly. “About what?”

You hesitate for a moment, then decide on something safer. “I was wondering about your wounds, are they healing?” you ask, your gaze flickering briefly to his bandaged hand resting on the table.

He shrugs “They’re fine.” he says with a small smile. “I just needed a long nap after sleeping all night.”

The nonchalant way he says it draws a soft laugh from you. “A nap?” you tease lightly. “You must have the miraculous ability to heal in your sleep.”

He chuckles. “Something like that.” he replies, his fingers drumming softly on the table.

The lightness in the kitchen settles again.

But it doesn’t last long.

The door swings open, the chill from the outside air cutting into the cozy space. You look up, startled, as Sylus strides in, his long coat still draped over his broad shoulders, his presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. His eyes land on you first, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he utters your name. “You’re looking well.” he says, his voice smooth as ever.

“Thank you.” you reply softly, before his gaze shifts.

“Xavier,” Sylus says, his tone sharpening as he addresses him. “We need to leave. Now.”

The urgency makes your stomach twist. You glance at Xavier, hoping for some kind of explanation, but his expression darkens, his brows drawing together in irritation.

“Right now?” Xavier asks, though it’s less a question and more a resigned statement.

Sylus nods once. “Right now.”

Your confusion deepens as you watch the exchange. Whatever’s happening, it’s clear it’s serious—serious enough to pull Xavier away.

Xavier exhales a quiet, frustrated sigh as he stands up. He glances at Zayne, who turns from the stove and meets his gaze, offering him a slight nod. You swallow hard, unsure what to make of the silent communication between them. Whatever it is, it leaves you feeling more like an outsider than ever.

Xavier looks at you then, his expression softening slightly. “I’ll be back soon.” he murmurs, though the warmth in his voice can’t seem to calm you this time.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, a mix of disappointment and unease swirling in your chest.

Sylus waits by the door, his eyes briefly meeting yours again, but he says nothing more before stepping out into the hallway. Xavier follows without another word, closing the kitchen door behind him.

The space feels emptier now, despite Zayne’s presence. The sound of the stew bubbling on the stove should have been comforting, but instead, it feels distant. You stare at the table, your fingers absently brushing over the polished wood as the silence stretches. Disappointment lingers at Xavier’s abrupt departure, and the silence that follows only amplifies your awkwardness.

Being alone with Zayne feels… different.

He had shown you nothing but care and kindness since you arrived, tending to your health with a skilled, no-nonsense efficiency. You owe much of your recovery to his tinctures and teas, and yet, sitting here with him feels almost stifling. Maybe it’s his presence—steady but imposing, his broad shoulders and stoic expression giving him an air of authority, that makes you feel exposed - like he’s dissecting every move you make and judging every word you say.

Or maybe it’s the memory of this morning, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long when he saw you in bed with Xavier. Your cheeks heat at the thought, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat. He hadn’t said anything about it, but the weight of his gaze had been enough to make you feel like a child caught doing something she shouldn’t.

“I - ” Your voice falters, and you quickly close your mouth, unsure of what you were even about to say.

Zayne turns then, his eyes flick to you, unreadable. “The stew is done.” he says, his voice even.

You nod. “It smells amazing,” you manage, your words feeling clumsy in your mouth.

He hums in acknowledgment, turning back to the stove.

You lean back in your chair, willing yourself to relax. He’s just Zayne, you remind yourself—the same man who checked your fever every morning and left rose water by your bedside without fail. There’s nothing to be nervous about. And yet, as he moves to ladle the stew into a bowl, the silence between you is thick, each second stretching longer than the last.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

As you finish the last spoonful of stew, your gaze drifts to Zayne, who’s busy tidying up the counter. When he served you earlier, you’d asked if he was going to eat too, but he’d simply mentioned having already had a meal before turning back to clean.

You clear your throat softly, feeling the need to show your gratitude. “I could… make dessert, maybe? To thank you—for the stew.”

Zayne turns, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, he looks like he’s about to refuse, but then his lips twitch into a faint smile.

“Dessert, huh? What did you have in mind?”

Relief washes over you, and you straighten a little in your chair. “Something simple. Maybe a simple cake or a quick pudding? If you have the ingredients, that is.”

Zayne lets out a soft chuckle. “We have the basics.” He nods towards the cookies in the glass dome. “You’d be doing me a favor - the cookies we have now are barely sweet enough for my taste.”

His rare warmth eases some of the tension in your chest, and you smile. “Well, then, it’s settled.”

Zayne moves toward one of the cabinets, opening it to reveal a few neatly arranged jars of flour and sugar. “There’s no cookbook, though. Probably buried somewhere in Xavier’s library.” he says.

“That’s not a problem for me.” you reply, already standing and accept the apron he hands you. You tie it around your waist as your gaze sweeps the kitchen, landing on the bowl of pears. “How about pear bread pudding?”

He nods. “That’ll do. I’ll grab what you need.”

Together, the two of you begin peeling and slicing the pears. Your eyes drift to Zayne’s hands and forearms, noting the way his muscles move while he deftly peels the pears. The movement is steady, almost hypnotic, but then something catches your attention—the faint, pale lines scattered across his skin. Scars.

These aren’t the kind of scars you’d get from a slip of a knife or an accidental burn in the kitchen. They crisscross his toned arms, etched into his skin like mementos of past suffering. You can’t help but wonder what kind of life could carve such marks into a person.

The question lingers on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow it down. You turn your attention back to the loaf of stale bread in your hands. Zayne doesn’t seem to notice your moment of curiosity—or if he does, he doesn’t let on. He peels another pear, the blade gliding easily beneath the skin.

As you carefully measure the sugar, your apron slips loose around your waist. Before you can fix it, you feel Zayne’s presence behind you.

“Hold still.” he murmurs, his deep voice so close to your ear. His fingers brush against your sides as he reties the apron, the knot tightening securely at your back.

“Thanks.” you say softly, glancing over your shoulder. He doesn’t step away immediately, his eyes dropping to the bowl in front of you.

“You might want to add another spoonful of sugar.” he says, his tone deadpan.

A small laugh escapes you as you scoop up another spoonful, sprinkling it into the mixture. “Is that your professional opinion?”

“Just a preference.” he replies, his attention lingering as you start to stir.

You’re becoming acutely aware of his close proximity, as he leans slightly over your shoulder. Your hands falter for just a second before you glance up at him.

“Do you always supervise this closely?” you tease, though there’s a sprinkle of nervousness in your voice.

His eyes glint with amusement. “Only when sweets are involved.”

Your heart skips a beat at the way he says it, but he steps back, giving you space. You shake your head with a small smile, focusing on the task at hand. It’s hard to connect this version of Zayne—the one standing close enough to tighten your apron and fuss over sugar—with the intimidating man who tended your wounds with a detached manner.

As the preparation continues, the conversation flows into lighthearted topics. You and Zayne chat about desserts, where he shows a surprising level of enthusiasm while talking about his tastes. You’re amused to learn that his sweet tooth is much stronger than you expected, and he listens intently as you share your fondness for pastries and puddings.

But the talk of desserts sends a quiet pang through your chest, your thoughts drifting to your kitchen back home. You’d spent hours there, experimenting with recipes or simply baking to pass the time. It’s been four days, you realize. Four days since you left your little house unattended.

As Zayne crouches near the brick oven, tending to the fire, he glances your way. You’re quiet now as you arrange the bread and pears in the pan, your shoulders slightly slumped.

Before he can ask if something’s wrong, you break the silence.

“I think I should probably leave soon.” you say softly, not meeting his gaze. “Maybe even tomorrow. I’m feeling much better now.”

Zayne pauses, stunned by the suddenness of your words. But his expression remains composed when he straightens.

“You’re more than welcome to stay as long as you want.” he says. “You’ve barely had time to fully recover, and you’ve already done so much today. Tomorrow might be pushing it.”

You glance up at him. “I don’t want to impose. You’ve all already done more than enough for me.” you murmur, your fingers brushing a crumb off the edge of the pan.

Zayne’s jaw tightens, but his gaze softens. The words hang between you, both of you acutely aware of how much you’ve come to enjoy each other’s presence, even in such a short time. You let out a breath and shake your head slightly. You carefully hand the pan to Zayne, who steps forward to take it from you, his fingers brushing yours briefly as he does.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The kitchen is quiet save for the gentle clinking of spoons against plates. The spiced, sugary aroma of the pear bread pudding lingers in the air, and each bite feels like a soothing balm to your soul. Zayne is seated across from you, his expression soft as he savors the dessert, clearly pleased with the outcome.

“This is...” he begins, pausing as if searching for the right word. “Perfect. Definitely better than those disappointing cookies I’ve been settling for.”

His praise warms you, and you smile shyly. “I’m glad you like it.”

Zayne nods appreciatively, finishing his plate and leaning back slightly. His green eyes flick to you, the corners of his mouth tilting upward in a rare, genuine smile. “If this is what happens when you’re in the kitchen, I think you should take over from now on.”

You laugh softly, but it feels bittersweet. Moments like these—a quiet, shared meal, the simple joy of baking for someone else—are rare in your life. The thought of leaving the mansion, leaving Zayne’s sweet-tooth satisfaction and the newfound connections, settles like a rock in your chest. Your mind drifts to Xavier, how he lit up when he talked about the library. And Rafayel, with his infectious energy, promising to teach you how to paint again. A soft sigh escapes your lips before you can catch it.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his eyes catching the change in your demeanor.

You nod quickly, offering a small smile. “Yeah, I just... I’ve really enjoyed being here. It’s been very different than what I’m used to.”

Zayne’s expression softens. “The place has felt different too.” he admits. “You’ve brought a lot of life here, more than you probably realize.”

The blush creeping to your cheeks makes you drop your gaze to your plate, your thoughts swirling. Could you really leave this behind so soon?

Zayne stands up and places his empty plate in the sink. “You know,” he begins, leaning against the counter, “this place is big enough for you to stay longer. No one’s rushing you out.”

You glance up at him, your heart fluttering.

“And from a medical perspective,” he continues with a faint smirk, “I’d say you should rest more. Maybe even ask for more time off—head injuries aren’t something to take lightly.”

You hesitate, unsure of how to respond. Part of you wants to leap at the idea, to stay longer, to give yourself more time in this strange, enchanting place. But another part worries about imposing, about overstaying your welcome.

Zayne seems to sense your reluctance. “Just think about it.” he says, his tone softer now. “I’m not saying it lightly.”

The sincerity in his voice makes you realize that someone like Zayne doesn’t say things without meaning them. As the warmth of the dessert settles in your stomach, so does the thought of staying just a little longer. Though, this morning's worries linger—you've been reckless, diving headfirst into an unfamiliar world. Each moment with these men draws you deeper into their orbit, like a storm you can't escape.

But the recklessness… doesn’t feel bad.

Even if reason screams that staying is foolish, you want accept the offer. Then, you’ll at least get to know them better, and that makes it less reckless… right?

Still, the thought of your lonely house, being unattended for days now, tugs at you. And then there’s your job at the bookstore; the vacation you hastily took won’t last forever. If you’re going to extend your stay here, you’ll need to figure out both.

Your gaze returns to Zayne.

“I… I’d like to stay,” you say softly. “but I need to go back to the village first. My house has been empty for days, and I need to stop by the bookstore. I’ll see if I can get more time off.”

Zayne’s calm demeanor remains intact—but there’s a glimmer of something in his eyes. Relief, perhaps.

“I understand.” he says. “I can accompany you tomorrow.”

You hesitate for a moment, before nodding. “Okay.” you agree. “Thank you.”

A small, satisfied smile crosses his lips. “Good. Finish your dessert.” he says, motioning toward your plate.

You take another bite, warmth spreading through you that has little to do with the food. For the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel so alone.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

@verynormalsstuff @eliasxchocolate @haal07erlj @libriomancer @howvoiceless @celestialforce @tbaluver @zaynesjasmine1 @ladyparamount @xxfaithlynxx @totallytaurus4 @s-ugu @evil-mei @whatarewe-choppedliver @imeverycliche @blackwell-ninja @secretkiseki @kaya-nets @stellablobboo @ssetsuka @celestemcbrim @hanamanefateris

#love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #xavier smut #zayne smut #sylus smut #rafayel smut #love and deepspace smut #lads smut #sylus x reader #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader

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inevesgf · 4 months ago

Text

UNDER THE LIGHTS • LANDO NORRIS

catching lando norris' eye at a halloween party isn't the best of attention you could ensnare, especially when you're masking your not-so-innocent personality with white wings and a halo.

content + warnings: 18+ smut with plot, p in v, female!reader, swearing, dirty talking, semi-public sex, no strings attached, mentions of alcohol + drinking, slightly intoxicated sex, clitorial stimulation, teasing!reader, mentions of bruises, unprotected sex. word count 2.5k.

even though lando isn't one of my favorite drivers, damn he is so fun to write for. if you would like to be tagged in upcoming works from this special, click the link here ⋆·˚ ༘ * notes + reblogs are heavily appreciated and don't forget to tell me your thoughts via comment, reblog or ask.

as you entered the party an intoxicating mix of laughter and music filled your ears, the bright lights casting shadows that danced upon the wall. light smoke filtered through the air, adding to create the perfect atmosphere as your friends piled in behind you.

dressed in a flowing white gown that draped elegantly on your body, you looked like a vision of light — an unexpected twist for someone who usually wore their sarcasm like armor. oversized wings – feathered and slightly askew – fluttered behind you as you glided into the crowd. a halo perched atop your head, glimmering with an almost mocking brilliance.

you were beyond the frame of innocence or elegance, which almost made your costume all the more perfect, masking your true nature. even though you had thrown the outfit together with items from your closet, eyes hungrily fell onto you as you made your way deeper into the party, a certain pair catching your own gaze with a look of mischief.

it wasn’t until you looked forward and saw lando with his jaw slightly slack that you knew that you had picked the right costume. besides his external shock, there was a hint of a smirk that formed on his lips, his eyes hungry for something that made your stomach turn in excitement.

floating through the crowd, you swiped a shot from the tray a wait-staff member held above their shoulders, you pulled the glass to your lips, quickly downing the alcohol inside.with a satisified hum from your lips, you began your advance towards lando, the amber liquid swirling inside you like a tiny storm as you discarded the empty shot glass onto a nearby table.

“an angel at a party full of sinners,” lando’s voice erupted over the pounding sound of the music, “that’s pretty ironic. couldn’t find a better costume?” a roaring laugh fell past his lips, causing you to playfully roll your eyes before scanning his body. “i could say the same for you – you look exactly like how you dress everyday. it’s a little souless.” you teased, sucking your bottom lip under your teeth as a look of mischief decorated your face.

lando grumbled, taking a sip of the murky gin and tonic that he held lazily in this hand, taking a step closer in order to hear your voice better over the loud music. “i’m a vampire, duh!” he jokingly grumbled, looking down at you with a hint of admiration in his eyes, though his words didn’t show it. “it’s a funny act you got going on, yknow – dressed all innocent, but everyone here knows you’re anything but that.”

you forced out a dry laugh at his words, adjusting the halo that sat above your head as if to mock him. the playful banter between you two was barely audible over the blasting music, but then tension in the air was palpable. “next year, i’m going as the devil. much more fitting, don’t you think?” you cocked, the same stupid smirk decorating your face as if to egg him on with your words, itching to get under his skin.

“definitely,” lando snickered, leaning in just a tad more to the point you could feel the heat radiating off his body, “because right now you’re not fooling anyone.” a satisfied hum fell from your lips, knowing his words were mostly correct. your eyes pooled into his hazel ones as if to undress him simply with your gaze. with hungry eyes, you looked over his costume, his slightly unbuttoned white button-up working perfectly as it fit snug upon his triceps.

“do you bite? since you’re a vampire and all..” a teasing tone poisoned your words, a challenging look decorating your visage. lando chucked dryly at your words, a smirk of surprise coming to rest on his face. he took a small step forward, bringing his head down so he could whisper in your ear, “only if you want me to.” the words sent a shiver down your spine, the smitten look that laid upon your face only growing larger.

you brought your finger to your lips, shushing lando as you pulled him by the collar into the bar bathroom, locking the door behind the two of you. almost immediately, lando’s calloused hands were on you, his fingers carefully trailing down your body as his lips met yours. the kiss was sloppy and hungry, your bodies pulled tightly against each other as the alcohol only suited to broaden the moment.

lando’s hands came down to grip your ass, pulling the hem of your dress up slightly as he squeezed the flesh, eliciting a soft moan from your lips into the kiss. his touch all over you made you feel dirty, and you loved it, your previous sexual tension now finally able to have a place to release itself.

as lando began to pull the hem of your dress up, bunching it around your waist to reveal your lacey thong, you laughed into the kiss, your lips briefly detaching from his. “so eager, huh?” you teased, yet your fingers found themselves delicately coming to unbutton his button-up, your gaze eating him up like a full course meal.

“only for you,” lando growled, his hands lazily resting up your hips as you began to undress him, “especially when you dress like this – all sweet and innocent when i know deep down you’re so dirty.” you laughed sweetly, letting his shirt fall off his shoulders and onto the bathroom floor as you brought your soft lips to his jawline, placing a delicate kiss on his cheek.

“wanna find out?” you breathed against your skin, your manicured nails eagerly finding their way to undo his black dress pants. lando’s breath caught in his throat at your confidence, the usual dominant man melting in your touch. “i’d be sick and twisted to say no,” he smirked, letting your hands dance all over your skin.

as if to regain any bit of dominance he could have had, lando picked you up, his strong arms wrapping around your thighs as he set you onto the sink counter. a small giggle escaped your mouth before you bit your bottom lip, tangling the flesh under your teeth. landos lips immediately landed on your nip, licking and sucking sweetly at your soft skin as he stood between your legs, spreading them with his action.

as he peppered your neck with kisses, his teeth joining in on his movements as he marked your skin, his fingers hooked under the waistband of your thong, eager to rid you of it. a soft moan escaped your lips as you let your head rest on the mirror behind you, yours eyes closed as your breath became labored. “mhm, yeah, take them off, baby,” you hummed, spreading your legs even more before propping your heels up onto the table you sat upon.

lando didn’t waste any time pulling your thong down your legs, discarding it on the floor with his shirt and the white halo you had lazily pulled off your head. his eyes danced around your body as your cunt was revealed to him, your core glistening with your arousal from lando’s lingering gaze and passionate touches.

“so fucking wet f’me already,” lando growled, one of his hands coming to rest on your inner thigh as he whispered into your ear, “want me to touch you, huh? make you mine, pretty girl?” his erotic words sent a shiver down your spine, your body finding itself on a euphoric high from his touch.

“yeah, fuck me like i’m all yours,” you moaned back, your voice low and sultry as one of your hands found its way in his curls, twirling them slightly between your fingers. lando groaned at your words, your actions only serving for lando’s boxers to tighten more at his arousal.

his fingers danced up your thigh, getting closer and closer to your cunt that throbbed with need. the tension in the room was palpable, the sweat beading across lando’s forehead only displaying to dire need between the two of you as his fingers continued their travel, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake.

when his cold fingers make contact with your clit, you let out a satisfied moan before reconnecting your lips with lando’s, kissing him feverishly. lando reciprocated, kissing you as if you were the only source of oxygen left on the planet – like if ge didn’t kiss you, he would die. his fingers worked magic around your clit, rubbing tight circles that had your mouth widening against his lips, impatient moans slipping through.

“you like that, huh?” lando teased, his voice escaping at a low growl as his lips brushed against yours, his fingers starting to pick up the pace. you squirmed under his grasp, whines that lando would call pathetic and needy escaping your mouth as you bucked your hips into his touch.

“fucking love it,” you grunted through heavy pants, small little moans escaping your parted lips, “fuck me.” the melodic noises that escaped from you sounded like music to lando’s ears as he chucked dryly at your whiny plea, the vibration sending a tingle straight through your body.

lando was incredibly turned on by everything about you. from the way you teased him, to your moans and your beautifully wet cunt: it was all so perfect to him. he quickly finished undressing himself, pulling his boxers to his thighs to reveal his painfully hard cock, the tip flushed a deep red as precum leaked from it.

the sight was beautiful, your eyes scanned his tone abs and his hard-on as it took center stage. your panting picked you, your body desperate for any form of touch as lando neared you, your legs spreading even more to reveal the mess between your legs. “so beautiful,” lando hummed, positioning himself between your thighs as his hazels eyes looked down on you, his gaze dark and hungry.

his tip teased your entrance, rubbing smooth circles around your clit which dragged a small moan from your lips. the loud bumping of the music could be heard outside the stuffy bathroom, but the sound only continued to drown out as lando pressed into you, your head spinning at the contact.

pushing his hard, thick cock into you, lando grunted, starting to thrust at a pace that was slow enough to already have you begging for more. whines and whimpers left your lips as lando grunted, the deep gaze of his eyes never leaving yours despite the fact you struggled to keep yours open.

“i didn’t know you were so sensitive,” lando cocked, a teasing tone dripping from his words as he fucked harder into you, your knuckles turning white as your fingers dug into his shoulders, “so messy already and i’ve barely begun yet.” his words had you reeling, your clouded mind hardly pushing out a reaction, yet your body jerked, your highs pushing up to meet his thrust.

“you fuck like a mad-man,” you groaned out, hooded eyes staring into his as his dick twitched inside you, your tight cunt holding him snuggly between your walls. lando chuckled dryly once more, your words only suiting to egg him on more as his thrust grew more rapid, sloppy.

lando licked his lips, sweat beading at his forehead as he tried to regain rhymatic thrusts, the tip of his hardened cock never falling to slam into your g-spot as he gripped your thighs. you couldn’t help but let out borderline pornographic moans as you swallowed his cock whole with your cunt, the air in the room stuffy and hot with the aroma of lust.

lando adjusted his angle, his cock only fucking harder into your pussy as erotic words oozed from his mouth, “spread your legs wider, baby.” his tone came out commanding, your fucked out mind too full of bliss as you mindlessly obeyed him, widening your legs to reveal more of your cunt – red and abused from the prior attack of his fingers. “that’s it .. wider,” lando grunted like an animal, his words coming out in huffed sighs as his cock throbbed in your tight pussy.

loud whines and moans fell from your swollen lips, the sound of the music completely drowned out inside the bathroom and replaced with the hums of the ecstasy of pleasure. “look at you,” lando purred, “such a needy girl.” his condescending words pulled you closer to the edge, your cunt sucking him in deeper as the eye contact remained.

“you can do better than that,” the words feeling from your lips between pants, your hooded eyes trying their hardest to not close tightly shut at the pleasure you ensnared, “fuck me harder, lan.” lando grunted at your command, your words sending a shutter of gruff desire through his body that slowly began to grow tired.

another dry chuckle fell from his cracked lips, the action sending a vibration through your body as his thrusts didn’t slow nor quicken. “you’re in no place to tease, baby, look at you,” he mocked, his calloused hands gripping your thighs harder as he now quickened the thrust of his cock into your tight cunt. your head rolled back in pleasure, the grip your hands had on lando’s shoulders only tightening, sure to leave little bruises in their wake. his condescending words did a number on you, your stomach tightening in pleasure as his cock battered harder in your poor cunt, making your body feel weak yet beautifully pleasured.

“so fucking good–” you moaned out again, little ah-ah-ahs falling so carelessly from your parted lips. lando smirked in satisfaction, your praise only suiting him more as he fucked into you vicariously, giving you his all as he felt his climax rapidly approaching.

your stomach began to spin, your walls clenching around lando’s cock that still pumped into you, the vibrancy of your pleasure radiating off you as your moans sang together like an erotic duet. “yeah, cum for me, baby,” lando grunted, panting and heaving as he egged the two of you closer to your orgasms. your body shook with pleasure, your cunt throbbing as a pleasurable warmth flooded over your body.

before you could come to gather your actions, your climax hit you like a train, smalls moans of lando and little oh fucks falling from your reddened lips. quickly after, as if he was so sweetly waiting for you, lando finished. a guttural grunt fell from his parted lips as he did, thick beads of cum spilling onto the finger-printed skin of your thighs, lando’s fingers having left small bruises upon the flesh.

the two of you slowly came down from your high, the air smelling of whiskey and sex as the two of you gathered your senses and began to catch your breath. lando’s eyes never left yours as he slipped his clothes back on, bending his frame down to the ground to pick up your lazily discarded halo.

a satisfied hum escaped his lips as he placed it back onto your head, a smirk decorating his visage as his cheeks remained flush from the extertion. “see,” lando whispered as if to tease you, “i knew you weren’t all that innocent, angel.”

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coeurify · 1 year ago

Note

repost the period vampire ellie fic!

middle of the night,, vamp!ellie

a/n: this is a repost from early this year so excuse any change in writing style!

warnings: vampire!ellie. period sex. oral!r receiving fingering!r receiving. sort of a dreamy, less modern vibe. if u aren’t into it.. just don’t read it.

˚✦　.　　. 　 ˚　.　 . ✦　˚　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

Some times--Most times, you only saw her at night. When darkness enveloped the small town you called home, when the stars rocked the sleepy eyed humans to sleep and the moon hummed the lullaby that quieted the crickets outside, she came.

Only then did you ever hear the distinct creaking of the splitting wood on your window panes being pressed up. Only then did the white of your sheer curtains move with more than the wind, the grip of the air nothing compared to the long hand that often wrapped around the fabric and pushed it open. When the moon was the only light filtering into your room, you saw the green of her eyes.

Tonight was no different, despite one little issue. Often, the woman who visited you under the cover of midnight would arrive to your eyes closed in sleep. She would press a hand to your warm cheek before waking you, greeted by your sleepy excitement each time.

This time, you had not been able to sleep. A heat had taken over your body, tight in your stomach with a pain you would compare to that of claws gnawing at your insides. Sweat beaded between your brows with every swift turn under your uncomfortable sheets, lip tugged between your frustrated teeth to stop any whines of discomfort. That had been what your favorite visitor heard as her shaking palms found the wood of your window. Your pained grunts floated through her buzzing ears as she quietly made her way into your room, auburn hair messy behind her ears as her figure became visible, head tilted as she looked across the room to your heated body.

“El,” you whined, wiping your forehead with a hand, not at all concerned about her chosen point of entry. “Go away.”

Ellie’s gaze softened, a scoff sounding from behind your squeezed shut eyes. “Go away?” she mused, her voice much closer now.

The split second your eyes had been closed, Ellie had somehow silently made it to your bedside. You don't question it, you never do.

When a girl like Ellie sports small fangs and a taste for blood, her speed is the last thing you think to question.

“I don't feel well, don’t want you here.” you add, mouth pulled into pout as you look up at the freckled face of Ellie.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, bunny? Instead of shooing me away,” Ellie requests, sitting on the edge of your bed. Her cold hand finds your sweaty arm, sighing. “You’re burning up.”

Your neck tickles with heat as Ellie questions your current state, and you fall wordless. Somehow, it was more embarrassing to admit to your vampire visitor that you were starting your period than to simply tell her to leave. Obviously however, Ellie was not taking the second option as a valid answer.

“I started my period, nothing is helpin’ the cramps,” you explain softly, pressing your hand into the sheets of your bed to try and sit, to maybe find some sort of relief to the growing tension in your stomach. But the other set of hands is faster.

“Lay down,” Ellie insists, glancing down at you. You can almost see the cogs of her brain turning behind the evergreen in her eyes, a sort of fogginess settling over the color.

“Let me help you,” she eventually says.

“What? I told you nothi-”

Ellie presses her lips together to hush you, one wandering hand finding the dip of your hip, blunt nail tracing the goosebump coated flesh there. Sometimes she liked being so cold, simply because she enjoyed seeing how you reacted to it. If she was damned for what she was, she may as well use some of it to her advantage.

“What are you doing?” You couldn't help the shiver that followed her movements.

Suddenly your mouth feels dry, tongue unable to wet the plump fat of your lip. The scratching in your throat finds no comfort when you swallow, only further irritating your vocal chords. A choked noise finds the heavy bedroom air as fingers tug at your cotton shorts.

“Helping you,” Ellie repeats, her own mouth much more wet than yours. Even in the dim light of the moon you can see the glistening dew on her parted lips. Usually the look she currently wears is saved only for when her pearly teeth find the sensitive and already scarred skin of your neck. Not for.. this.

Your hands immediately slap to your heated cheeks. “Oh my god Ellie, no fucking way.”

The vampire, who had now moved below you on the bed, hums in disagreement to your little show of kicking feet, a hand too strong to be that of a human halting all movements.

“We always have fun when I come over,” The freckles of her face disappear as she glances down, fully pulling down your shorts.

“Not when I’m on my period,” you hiss quietly, the words feeling cracked and embarrassed as they leave your mouth. You could deny the growing arousal in your belly simply by how *mortified* you felt. Even with the churning feeling of deeply settled embarrassment, you make no further moves to stop Ellie. Not as the shorts fall to the floor with a dull thump.

“It’ll help,” Ellie soothes, the near frigid temperature of her hand calming the heat that rises on the skin of your legs. “Haven’t you heard things like this help with cramps?”

The words that are spoken almost teasingly fall upon deaf ears as her wet lips press right above your knee. “Please,” the auburn haired girl whispers, sounding a lot more breathy than before. “Please, let me taste you. Let me make you feel better. ”

Ellie had a tendency to become a little less cold, figuratively at least, when she found her body nestled between your own. The unwavering voice you had grown oh so accustomed to always slid into a more mushy sounding version whenever it got intimate. Today, it seemed even worse. The words dripped with the sweet sounds of neediness, a sound that tasted sweet on your tongue, which swiped nervously over your dry lips.

“El..” Another kiss pressed further up the flesh of your warm thigh broke any following denial. “Fuck..” your chin wobbles, almost too embarrassed to actually say your following words, “Yea. Please help.”

You were sure if you believed something was watching down on you from the sky, it was with horror. Some people may call what Ellie was doing sinful. The angels in the clouds would shrilly gasp as fingers wrapped around your panties and tugged them and everything else from your bottom half, tossing them into the growing pile of clothes. Her shirt came next, the simple white cloth acted as something to watch as it pulled off of her chest, likely to avoid any mess. Some may call the sight of her dipping down again, green eyes looking up at your quivering lip, sinful. Maybe it was, surely the mewl you made when her lips found the heated flesh of your inner thigh was. But if you had to describe it, that wasn't the word you would use. You may even swear it was heavenly.

“Relax,” Ellie drawled, spreading your thighs further apart, despite the slight tremble to them. “I’ve got you, don't worry,” her voice soothed you enough to tilt your head back against the pillow, squeezing your eyes closed. The embarrassment simmered low in your belly, even more so when you could feel the arousal that dripped from you, which your vampire visitor had no problem pointing out. “So wet for me,” she groaned, lips still refusing to find home anywhere other than your thighs. Teeth sharper than your own nipped at the skin there, bucking your hips up. “You want this, don’t you?”

It was an obvious request for another confirmation of what was to come, but your chest felt too tight to reply, no air finding your lungs the moment her breath hovered over your pulsing core. “Tell me you want it,” she requests again, voice dipping into a softer territory again, searching for your approval. Her resolve was cracking however, jaw clicking as she tried her best not to dive straight into where she craved to be.

“I do,” you whine, eyes still closed as you answered, words met with the quick and overwhelming feeling of her tongue pressing flat against your wet center. You couldn’t think too hard about the fact she was doing this right now, not when the sharp gasp had come from two mouths instead of one, a quick call of, “Fuck,” from only you this time followed. Ellie had no words, not as her tongue made another long stripe up your pussy, going much slower than you liked. It led one small roll of your hips down into her, a sign for what you searched for.

It resulted in a hand gripping your hip, pressing you further down into the mattress, ceasing any attempt to control the movements. Her mouth pressed further into you, licking at the same excruciatingly slow pace, seemingly taking her time to enjoy the taste she found between your thighs. “El,” you gasp, eyes fluttering open to glance down at her. However her eyes were closed, another press further into you came, her nose bumping your clit as she licked into you. The rush it brings is almost enough to completely paint over the lingering cramping in your stomach.

The dizzying mixture of pain and pleasure seeps into your bones, making you feel too heavy to do much else than move a hand to find Eliie’s hair, fingers tangling between the auburn strands. You tried again to guide her movements, but she was much stronger than you, paying little mind to the shaky hand that tugged at her locks.

“Taste so fuckin..” she sucked in a breath, unable to keep from dipping back into your folds, humming. “So fuckin’ good,” she finishes, words reverberating against your throbbing core. It had you trying to squirm, held down by the stone light weight of Ellie’s grip. The deeper she licked, the more you fought against her. Your body ached the do something.. anything to find comfort in the overwhelming feeling of her still slow pace. The fingers in her hair tugged again, finding a low groan in response.

The air of the room had already been heavy on your feverish skin, but now it was nearing a state of unbearably humid. Every time Ellie’s tongue made a particularly aimed movement you felt another round of fire straight in the mess that was your clenching core. It all felt so heightened, so much better. The sticky feeling on your skin did not slow either of you down, and you had little care for the sweat beading on your flesh. Not when your favorite girl’s lips were doing such mind numbing things to you.

Had you told your past self, even that of just an hour ago, that you would have allowed it to happen.. They would have laughed in your heated face. The past version of you would have sworn up and down, prayed up to the mysterious sky, that this would never happen. But now- now you have no room for denial or regret. Your mind was becoming too cloudy to house thoughts of shame, questions of if this was right. Because it felt right. The slick sound of Ellie’s mouth against you sounded right, as did your little huffs and puffs that you couldn't hide. The cramps had subsided in tandem with the tightening band in you. But you needed more, and you were gone past a point of being embarrassed to ask for it.

“I need..” you try to speak, but Ellie’s lips wrapping around your clit is the cause of the death of the forming words. A jolt of your hips is one finally strong enough to rupture the heavy hold of the vampire’s hand. Your lame attempt at a command did not go unheard by Ellie, who for the first time since this began, pulled herself away from your cunt. Her eyes darted up, looking to meet your own. But you were far too focused on something else. Her lips were glassy with your wetness, which she licked without a second thought. But the usual clear sheen that you had been no stranger to seeing on her face was more of a rosy color, a stark reminder of the reason this had begun in the first place. The slight tint of red smeared onto her chin, across the corners of her mouth, and it was oh so addicting to see. You felt no lingering shame, no shiver of disgust. Instead it made you feel even more desperate to have her against you again, but first you had to listen to her speaking. “Need what, babe?”

The urge to simply shove her face right back into your cunt flipped through the pages of scenarios in your head, but the moonlight that painted the side of your lover’s face, illuminating the red paintbrush stroke of you, had you a little too separate to risk such a bratty action.

“I need more, El. Need to cum,” you manage to whine, one light push of her head to prove your point. Ellie dipped her head down again, pressing small kisses to your sticky inner thighs. “Just love taking my time with you,” she muttered, a few more pecks planted on you were a search for forgiveness, one you graciously accepted with a loud moan when the lips finally found your clit again.

Ellie seemed to take your beg to heart, the hand that held your hip slowly dipping between your thighs. Her searching fingers met just below her chin, one long digit sliding over your slit, teasing the weeping hole with a slight press. The air feels like it has been punched from your lungs when the finger sinks into you, just as evil as her mouth as it curls into you the exact moment her lips suck a little harder. You were sure she was looking to torture you with how slowly the finger pumped in and out, working and exploring around your walls that gripped around her so tightly.

You had always heard the mythical vampire was sadistic. Ellie had never been much of that, but with ever slow movement into your aching cunt, you began to believe the whispers. Your head turned lightly to stare at the open window, the stars that dipped in the night sky were surely spotlighting your body splayed out on the bed, the auburn haired vampire between your thighs was quite the show for all the celestial beings up in the night air, every single being held its breath and watched on, you were sure of it. You didn't blame the stars, or the moon, or whatever else may have their attention focused on this tantalizing sight. If you could, you would float right out of your body to watch on yourself.

Surely you looked a mess, chest heaving with the heat of the air, with the heat of Ellie. Your limbs shook just lightly, your fingers knotted your companions hair, the messy pile of clothes on the floor, the red that painted her cheeks. Surely it would make your cheek turn bashfully if you could see it. Maybe this was sinful. The little dip into your rushing thoughts is ended with the raspy tone of Ellie’s voice.

“Relax, bunny. Gotta relax for me,” Ellie cooed against you, a few more languid presses into your cunt causing you to finally loosen around her, coupled by the continuing ministrations from her mouth on your clit. Soone another finger joins the mix, the large fingers stretching you just right. She reaches spots that have you remembering the stars you had just seen behind the black of your squeezed shut eyes, a pathetic cry falling from your lips. This reaction only encourages her to continue, the pace of her suckles and thrusts into you speed up. It's harsher everytime she plunges into you, your hips moving lightly with the pure force.

“That’s my girl, there you go,” she compliments after a long moan, the words causing another clench around her fingers. You let out another string of incoherent whines and moans, grinding down into her messy face and fingers. Somewhere in the back of your mind you cursed yourself and Ellie for the certainly ruined bedspread under your ass, but it seems like the much smaller issue when you had *this* to focus on. You were nearing your peak, and it was no secret. Your grinds against Ellie became sloppy, ununiformed and more needy than before. No words could form on your tongue, only whimpers and unintelligible begs.

The vampire never lets up, curling her fingers, your walls clenching. her teeth grazed against your clit lightly enough to have you trembling, whining softly. She knows your body as well as you do, every small sign you were reaching the final moments before your world would explode. She knew what moves of her fingers would have your legs shaking, knew where to press, how hard to go. She was no stranger to making you cum, and she definitely was on the mission to make it happen now. Her free hand grips your thigh, pushing you even more impossibly open for her, fingers pressing into you harshly enough to draw another cry. She readjusts slightly, sinking even deeper into your folds. “C’mon,” Ellie whispers, the word slightly broken, shaky and pleading. Pleading as if she needed you to come as much as you did.

Maybe she did, because the moment your back arched, a near pornographic moan filling the heavy air, spilling out of the window and swirling against the peeping eyes of the stars and moon, she moaned with you. Her fingers still within you as you gushed around her, her lips still pressed to your clit. But as your thighs shook, she slid the fingers out and replaced them with her tongue again. The pink muscle flattened against your slit again like it had earlier, this time with no attempt at going slow.

If anything, she was ravenous. Every drop your pulsing center gifted her, she sucked down like she needed it, ignoring your desperate whines of overstimulation. You attempted lamely to press her head away with the hand still tangled in her scalp, but it was no use. The pleasure of her tongue was much too overwhelming to fight.

After a moment that felt like hours, she pulled away. Her tongue licked over her lips again, collecting the rosy colored cum from where it smudged there. Her eyes stayed on your own blinking irises as her fingers raised to her already messy lips. They were coated with the same mixture of red and clear shining wetness, and she sunk them into her mouth with a moan. The debautchary that took place in front of your eyes should have your stomach queasy, should have your legs closing and pressing far away from Ellie.

But of course it doesn't, instead you watch on with morbid curiosity, watching her tongue curl around her fingers, sucking the last bits of you, leaving a glistening layer of her own spit behind. She found no shame in this situation, no shame in drinking down evey single thing you would give her, so why should you?

“Fuck,” you breathe, eyes transfixed on the fingers as they fall from her lips and down to her lap, her eyes back on your own. She makes a move to crawl over you, arms locking you in from either side.

“Just got a taste of you bunny,” she mumbles, nudging her head into the crook of your neck.

Her lips pressed there, and this time you could feel her fangs under the plump fat of her lip. “Gonna let me have more?” she questioned.

Of course you would, of course you did. As you tilted your neck for her, the curtain to the side of you blew in the wind, and you closed your eyes.

“Yes.”

#vampire!ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x fem reader #ellie williams x f!reader #ellie williams smut

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dulcescorderitas · 8 days ago

Text

☾ 𝔖uper͡𝒏aturɑᥣ 𝜗𝜚 ྀི

dean has an obsession that happens every month

parings: vampire!dean winchester x reader

warnings: 18+, smut, fem. receiving, tw: blood

dean had blood smeared on his lips, chin, like war paint—your blood, deep red and copper-slick, the kind of mess he doesn’t bother wiping away because he likes how it marks him as yours. he’s half-crazed, pupils blown so wide there’s barely any green left.

“can’t get enough of you,” he mutters, voice gravel-rough, a rasp like sandpaper against your skin. his mouth latches onto your inner thigh again, teeth grazing over the delicate flesh there. the scent of you—metallic, earthy, intoxicating—drives him feral. it’s like nothing else. pure ambrosia. the sharp tang of your period blood hits his tongue and he groans, guttural and raw, like the sound’s been ripped out of him.

“this,” he murmurs between licks, his tongue swirling over the sensitive spot he’s been obsessing over, his teeth leaving the faintest scrape just to hear you gasp. “this is fucking heaven.”

it’s primal. there’s no pretense with dean when he’s like this—just want and need, coiled tight like a spring about to break. his hands grip your hips, fingers digging in just enough to leave bruises he’ll smirk at later, proud as hell. his mouth works you over like he’s starving, the kind of hunger that’s almost frightening in its intensity.

he looks up at you, lips shiny and red, his chin painted with streaks of crimson, and he’s got this wicked grin that makes your stomach flip. “never tasted anything sweeter, sweetheart.” there’s no filter, no shame. he’s too far gone for that, too drunk on the taste of you.

your legs tremble, barely able to hold you up, and dean notices, because of course he does. he’s attuned to you in a way that’s almost eerie, every little gasp and twitch. he pushes you back, guiding you down to the bed, and he’s on you again before you can even catch your breath. his mouth, his hands, everywhere at once, like he can’t decide where he wants to focus.

“spread ‘em for me,” he growls against your skin, voice low and commanding, sending a shiver straight through you. there’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. his hands slide down to part your thighs, exposing you to his hungry gaze. he hums, appreciative, almost reverent, before diving back in.

his tongue’s relentless, working you over like he’s got something to prove. the wet sounds are obscene, but neither of you care. you’re too far gone, lost in the way he devours you like you’re the last thing he’ll ever taste. his teeth nip at your skin, just enough to send sparks of pain-pleasure shooting through you, his growls vibrating against your core.

“you drive me fucking crazy,” he murmurs, voice thick with lust, his words muffled against you. his hands keep you pinned, hips bucking helplessly against his face as he takes everything you’re giving and demands more. there’s a possessiveness to him, a need to claim, to mark you inside and out.

when he finally pulls back, you’re a trembling mess, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. dean looked sexy, all feral grin and blood-slick mouth, his eyes burning with something dark and dangerous.

“you taste like sin, sweetheart,” he drawls, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, though it does little to clean the mess. he leans down, pressing a bloody kiss to your lips, and you can taste yourself on him, sharp and metallic. it’s dizzying, overwhelming, and so goddamn dean.

he doesn’t stop there, though. oh no, this is dean winchester, and when he wants something, he takes it, over and over, until he’s satisfied. and from the way he’s looking at you, you know he’s far from done.

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze

#lamy garden #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester drabble #jensen ackles #supernatural #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x you #spn #dean winchester x y/n

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ijustmissyouraccenths · 28 days ago

Text

Love Bites: Part Two

A bookstore barista catches the attention of a vampire drawn to her scent, and everything changes when she invites him in.

Word Count: 7,906

Content warning: mentions of drinking blood and biting.

Part One

Morning sunlight filtered softly through the blinds, painting stripes of gold across the bedroom walls. Y/n stirred beneath the sheets, her body slowly adjusting to consciousness. It took her a moment to shake off the heaviness of sleep—and the lingering rush of last night’s memory.

She let out a small yawn and headed for the bathroom, flicking on the overhead light before grabbing her toothbrush. The usual morning routine felt almost surreal today. As she brushed her teeth, her mind drifted back to Harry: his midnight-green eyes, the cool feel of his lips, the firm press of his fangs…

She spat out the toothpaste and reached for the faucet, then paused. In the mirror, two faint puncture marks stood out on her neck—tiny, but undeniably there. Her heart gave a little flutter of recognition. Slowly, almost reverently, she lifted her free hand and brushed her fingers over the marks.

A wave of warmth flooded her chest, dissolving into something that bordered on pure euphoria. It was like reliving the moment he bit her, only this time she felt no fear or shock—just a pulse of lingering pleasure that made her knees feel weak. Even standing there in the bright, ordinary light of day, she could feel him.

After a few heartbeats, she lowered her hand, forcing herself to finish rinsing her mouth. Her thoughts were a jumble of curiosity and a strange, heady excitement. She wanted to see him again. Or maybe needed to see him. At the same time, her reflection reminded her that this was hardly normal—waking up with vampire bites that invoked a delicious thrill instead of terror.

Gently toweling off her face, she took one more glance in the mirror. The marks wouldn’t be obvious to anyone who wasn’t looking for them… but she knew they were there. And she knew exactly who had put them there, too.

She ran her fingers through her hair, exhaling slowly. One step at a time, she reminded herself. That had been Harry’s promise—and her own. It was equal parts exhilarating and nerve-racking to feel so drawn to someone she barely knew. But as she moved back into her bedroom and began pulling on her clothes for the day, her mind was already drifting to the possibility of seeing him tonight.

Would he come by the café? Show up again on her walk home? Or would she find him waiting outside her building like some dark, romantic secret? The thrill surged again at the thought of it. Despite all the unknowns, she couldn’t help but smile. There was no going back to the life she had before Harry—whether she understood it or not, her world had changed.

She glanced at her phone on the bedside table, an itch of impatience tugging at her. There were so many unanswered questions. Yet, as she thought of him—of his cryptic little smiles and careful, tender concern—she felt certain about one thing: she wanted more.

Gathering her bag and keys, she headed out, locking the door behind her with a steady hand. The city beckoned, the promise of another routine day overshadowed by the electric hum in her bloodstream. The marks on her neck might have been small, but they were a reminder of their night together.

Y/n bustled into the café, shrugging off her coat as she made her way behind the counter. The scent of fresh coffee beans and warm pastries instantly surrounded her, a comforting backdrop to the electric undercurrent of her own thoughts. She couldn’t keep the small smile off her face—even hours after waking up, she still felt that residual rush every time she remembered Harry’s bite.

“Someone’s in a suspiciously good mood,” Ellie teased, eyeing Y/n over a tray of blueberry scones. “Care to explain?”

Y/n’s cheeks heated despite her best efforts to remain cool. “Oh, you know,” she said, forcing an air of casualness, “just enjoying the simple things. Good sleep, coffee in the morning… that kind of stuff.”

Ellie gave her a look that said, “ I’m not buying it.” “And this has nothing to do with that ridiculously attractive guy who visited a while back?” She set down the tray and crossed her arms, a smirk already forming at the corners of her lips.

Y/n tried to stifle a laugh but ended up smiling even wider. “What are you talking about?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in mock confusion. “Surely you don’t mean the one with the hair that absolutely doesn’t make me weak in the knees—or the accent that definitely doesn’t make my heart race?”

“Uh-huh. Right.” Ellie rolled her eyes, grabbing a clean rag to wipe the countertop. “So you’re telling me you’re all sunshine and smiles for no reason at all?”

Y/n shrugged, lifting a coffee mug to hide her grin. “Maybe I just woke up on the right side of the bed today.”

Ellie let out a laugh, then lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Look, if there is something going on, you know I’m here for it, right? I need details.”

Y/n pretended to think it over, tapping a finger against her chin. “Well…” she began, fighting another blush, “maybe I am seeing him again. Maybe soon. But I’m not giving any details just yet.”

Ellie groaned in playful exasperation. “You’re killing me here!”

“Trust me,” Y/n quipped, sliding a to-go cup across the counter to a waiting customer, “you’re better off not knowing all the details.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow, picking up on the mischievous gleam in Y/n’s eyes. “Fine,” she said, tossing the rag onto the counter. “But don’t be surprised if I keep an eye out for tall, dark, and mysterious. A girl needs to know what she’s up against.”

Y/n just laughed, feeling a renewed flush spread across her cheeks. Even if she couldn’t tell Ellie the whole truth, it felt good that someone was rooting for her. It was as if her happiness had become something tangible, woven into her every move. And no matter what complications might arise with Harry’s secret, Y/n couldn’t stop that buoyant feeling from spilling over into everything she did. She went about her day with a faint smile plastered on her face.

When her shift was finished, Y/n stepped outside the bookshop, the sky a sullen gray as rain drizzled in cool sheets. She pulled the hood of her jacket over her head, adjusting her bag as she started her walk home. Her mind buzzed with all the questions she still hadn’t asked Harry—like how on earth he managed to track her by scent alone, or what his own home looked like. Was it as old-world and mysterious as he was? Or maybe minimalistic, a contrast to his ageless presence?

She’d only walked a block before the rumble of a sleek engine broke through the steady patter of rain. A black car glided to the curb, shadowy windows nearly imperceptible behind the droplets. Y/n slowed, her heart thumping in sudden alarm as the passenger window whirred down.

She was about to snap at whoever was inside—city instincts kicking in—until she realized it was Harry,leaning across the seat. His dark curls were damp but still artfully mussed, his green eyes flicking to hers with the slightest hint of a smile.

“Hop in,” he said, his voice calm through the drizzle, as though offering a simple courtesy.

Y/n hesitated, water already soaking the edges of her shoes. Normally, she’d never climb into a stranger’s car—rain or not. But Harry was not “normal,” and—truth be told—not much of a stranger anymore. Still, she couldn’t stop the wry grin that tugged at her lips.

“You know,” she called over the noise of the rain, “your car could’ve been anyone’s. I was about to tell you to fuck off.”

Harry laughed, the low sound almost lost in the hiss of tires on wet pavement. “I’ll try not to take it personally,” he said smoothly. “Now get in before you catch pneumonia.”

She hesitated just a moment more, scanning his features. There was concern in his gaze, mingled with that sense of quiet confidence she was quickly getting used to. With a sigh—part exasperation, part anticipation—she relented, stepping off the curb and opening the passenger door.

The interior was warm and smelled faintly of leather and something else, something uniquely Harry.She slid onto the seat, closing the door behind her. Outside, the rain drummed against the car’s exterior, but in here, it felt cocoon-like, almost intimate.

Harry pulled away from the curb, merging smoothly into the city’s damp evening traffic. Y/n pushed back her hood, shaking out droplets of rain from her hair. She snuck a quick glance at him, noting how his profile looked even sharper under the dim overhead light of the dashboard.

“Fancy ride,” she mused, tapping one finger lightly on the immaculate dashboard. “I was half expecting you to roll up in a horse-drawn carriage or something.”

He shot her a sideways smirk. “I save the carriage for special occasions.”

She chuckled, settling into the seat. “And what’s this then? A spur-of-the-moment kidnapping?”

“More like a rescue,” Harry said, slowing at a traffic light. The neon glow of signs outside washed momentarily over his features, enhancing the hint of a smile that played on his lips. “Figured you’d appreciate a ride home in this weather.”

Y/n’s heart fluttered at the casual way he spoke, like they’d done this a thousand times. She cleared her throat. “Well, thanks,” she said softly. “But I warn you: I still have about a million questions.”

He turned toward her, the light catching his eyes. “Ask me anything.”

She tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear, wondering where to begin. “For starters… you tracked me by scent? That still blows my mind.”

Harry’s gaze flicked back to the road. “Our sense of smell is heightened,” he explained. “Most of us can track a scent for miles if it’s distinct enough. Yours was… very distinct.” His tone dipped slightly on those last words, as though remembering the allure she carried.

Y/n’s cheeks warmed. “I guess I’m flattered? A little creeped out, but mostly flattered.”

He laughed softly, the sound sending a pleasant shiver across her skin. “I don’t blame you. It’s not exactly normal. But I hope you’re getting used to the idea that I’m… not exactly normal.”

She bit her lip, unable to hold back a small smile. “Trust me, I’m getting there.”

Another question spilled to her tongue, but before she could ask it, the traffic light changed and Harry turned down a quieter street. She glanced at the passing rows of buildings, illuminated in fuzzy halos from the rain-slick streetlights.

“Are we… heading toward my place?” she asked, noticing they were slightly off her usual route.

Harry hesitated. “I thought—maybe—we could go somewhere else first,” he said, his voice careful. “If you’re up for it.”

A spark of curiosity flickered in her chest. “Where?”

“My place,” he replied simply, his hands steady on the wheel. “I realized you’ve never seen it, and… you said you had questions.”

Y/n’s pulse skipped. His place. She’d wondered what it might look like—had even pictured it in her head. Would it be old-world, filled with antiques? Or sleek and modern? The mere thought of stepping into his private space sent a thrill through her.

She glanced at him, her hand resting unconsciously on the small puncture marks hidden beneath her scarf. “I’d love that,” she murmured, voice colored by equal parts excitement and nerves.

Harry gave a small nod of acknowledgment. “Then it’s settled.”

The rain intensified outside, the roads glistening under the amber glow of streetlamps. Y/n sank back into the seat, stealing another look at Harry as he drove. Shadows played across the curve of his cheekbone, casting his features in a half-light that reminded her just how different he was—and how her world had shifted irreversibly since meeting him.

Yet she couldn’t deny the warmth growing in her chest, that tangible connection pulling her closer. She might not know what awaited her at his house—or how many more secrets she’d uncover—but as she watched the city pass by in a blur of silver and gold, she felt an undeniable rush of anticipation.

He was offering a piece of his world to her, and she was ready to step inside.

Y/n’s breath caught the moment his hand settled on her thigh. Even through her jeans, Harry’s touch felt unmistakably cool—like a whisper of winter air against her skin. She glanced down at his hand, noting the silver rings decorating his fingers, each one reflecting brief flashes of city lights through the window. Fine veins traced along the back of his hand, yet there was an otherworldly stillness to them, as though the blood beneath no longer pulsed with mortal life.

A strange mixture of comfort and curiosity bloomed in Y/n’s chest. She remembered the first time she’d become aware of his temperature—that night on her couch, when his lips had trailed across her jaw. Now that truth was plain to see in the pale, graceful lines of his hand.

She let her own fingers inch toward his, daring to rest them lightly against the back of his hand. “You’re so cold,” she said softly, the faint sound of the windshield wipers filling the silence between them.

Harry kept his gaze on the road, though his lips curved in a slight smile. “It’s… part of the package.” His voice had that gentle undertone that always seemed to let her know he was aware of how strange—how different—he must seem.

Y/n turned her eyes to the rain-blurred view outside, the streetlights bleeding into one another. “Does it ever bother you?” she asked, her voice barely above the rhythm of the wipers. “Being… this way?”

He exhaled, and she could sense the weight in that breath. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “Especially when I’m reminded of how far I am from being… human.”

She glanced at him, catching the tension in the set of his jaw. Even as he guided the car through the slick streets with effortless grace, she could see something vulnerable flicker behind his eyes.

“You don’t feel inhuman to me,” she murmured, her fingertips brushing the back of his hand in a comforting gesture. “Strange, maybe. But not inhuman.”

Harry’s grip tightened just a fraction on the steering wheel, and his other hand pressed a bit more firmly on her thigh, as though silently grateful for her words. “That helps,” he said at last, the corners of his mouth curving into a shadow of a smile. “More than you know.”

She let her gaze rest on his profile, her heartbeat steady and certain despite the endless questions swirling in her mind. In that moment, the cold of his touch didn’t feel like a warning—it felt like an invitation into a world different from her own, yet somehow already tied to her in ways she couldn’t explain.

Y/n wanted to ask more, to know the story behind every ring on his finger and the centuries that might lie behind his careful eyes. But with the rain drumming on the windows and Harry’s hand anchoring her to this moment, she decided not to push. One step at a time, she reminded herself. There would be time for questions and answers—long nights and whispered truths.

She slid her hand fully over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. In response, Harry’s thumb traced a slow, reassuring circle over her leg. Outside, the lights of the city blurred and glowed, carving out a small, shared universe within the car’s warm interior.

And as the road bent, carrying them closer to wherever Harry called home, Y/n felt her heart lift. The questions she had could wait—because right now, she was happy just existing in this slice of time, his cool touch grounding them both in the present.

Harry parked the sleek black car in a small underground garage beneath an unassuming brick building. The rain still drummed on the streets overhead, but once inside, all Y/n could hear was the soft echo of her own footsteps. A freight elevator—a curious relic of the city’s past—took them to the top floor. Its cage-like doors rattled open, revealing a hallway lit by old-fashioned wall sconces.

Harry guided her down the hall until they stopped in front of a solid wooden door. Without a word, he unlocked it and pushed it open, stepping aside so she could enter first.

The moment Y/n stepped in, she felt enveloped by a warmth that was undeniably Harry. The room carried his scent—faintly musky, with a whisper of something sweet and unplaceable. She inhaled deeply, a slow sense of comfort washing over her as she took in her surroundings.

Despite the modern furnishings—plush sofa, sleek coffee table, recessed lighting—there were unmistakable touches of antiquity everywhere. A grand, intricately carved mirror hung on one wall, its edges worn in a way that spoke of centuries of use. A weathered trunk with brass fittings served as an end table, stacked with thick, leather-bound books that looked like they’d been passed down through generations. The combination was oddly harmonious: a collision of old-world charm and modern minimalism that felt just right for someone like Harry.

Y/n wandered in a few steps, lightly trailing her fingers over the back of the sofa. “This place is…” She let the sentence hang, searching for the right word.

“Different?” Harry supplied, stepping in behind her and sliding off his coat.

She turned to face him, smiling softly. “I was going to say perfect. But that works, too.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. He seemed relieved by her reaction, as though he’d worried what she might think. “I move around a lot,” Harry admitted, glancing around at the curated mix of old and new. “So, the things I keep…I keep for a reason.”

Y/n’s eyes danced across the artifacts on display. A tarnished candelabra adorned a small table near the window, its silver twisted into delicate shapes. A tall bookshelf showcased rows of volumes both ancient and contemporary, the spines scrawled in languages she didn’t recognize.

She approached the fireplace—modern, but set within a mantle that appeared to be carved from dark marble. It wasn’t lit, but the faint smell of woodsmoke lingered, hinting that Harry sometimes used it. A painting above the mantle drew her attention: a serene, old-world landscape, likely older than any museum piece she’d seen in person.

“This is incredible,” she murmured, turning to look at him. “All of it. It’s so…you.”

Harry shrugged, hands sliding into his pockets as he studied her. “I like contrast,” he said quietly. “Keeping one foot in the past, one in the present.”

She crossed the room and took his hand. His fingers were still cold, but the closeness of the apartment, and his presence, made it feel more comforting than jarring. “Thank you,” she said, her voice gentle. “For bringing me here.”

His gaze flicked down to where their fingers intertwined, then back up to meet her eyes. “I wanted you to see…” he paused, searching for the right words, “this part of me.”

Y/n squeezed his hand, a faint smile on her lips. “Well, I’m here,” she said, releasing a breath that felt like it carried away every last hesitation. “And I want to see everything you’re willing to share.”

Harry’s lips curved in a thoughtful, half-smile. “Then stay as long as you like.”

She glanced around again, letting her senses absorb the warmth, the blend of history and modern comfort, and the intangible presence that was uniquely Harry. A shiver of anticipation threaded through her—because for all the questions still on her mind, she knew with certainty she was exactly where she wanted to be.

Y/n settled onto the plush couch, leaning into the gentle warmth that permeated the apartment. Harry rose briefly and returned with a bottle of red wine and two glasses—though he’d already mentioned he rarely drank anything besides blood these days. Still, he poured a small measure of wine into a glass for her, the soft clink of glass against wood echoing in the cozy space.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, accepting the glass. She took a cautious sip, letting the mellow, fruity taste linger on her tongue. Meanwhile, Harry set the bottle aside and eased onto the couch beside her, leaving his own glass untouched on the coffee table.

He reached out, brushing a few strands of hair back from her face in a gesture so tender it made her heart flutter. “You’re perfect,” he murmured under his breath, almost as if he didn’t mean for her to hear it.

Her cheeks warmed, and she lowered her gaze, shy beneath his unyielding attention. “I’m really not,” she replied, taking another sip to hide her sudden rush of nerves. “But… thank you.”

Harry’s lips curved into the faintest smile, though something in his eyes told her he found the statement too simple to convey how he truly felt. A beat of quiet followed—one of those moments that felt charged with unspoken confessions.

Finally, Y/n drew in a breath and turned fully toward him. “Ever since that night you drank from me—” She paused, conscious of how odd and intimate the words sounded, “—I’ve felt… alive in a way I never have before. It’s almost ironic.”

Harry’s eyebrow lifted. “Ironic how?”

She exhaled, struggling to describe the sensation that had been following her around since that night. “It’s like some part of me woke up. And I’ve been trying to figure out if it’s about… you, or what you did, or both. But everything is sharper. Colors seem brighter, food tastes better, I have more energy—even when I’m tired, it’s like my mind is in overdrive.”

He listened carefully, leaning in slightly. “Does it frighten you?”

She took a moment to consider that. “No,” she admitted. “Not exactly. If anything, it’s… exhilarating. But there’s something else, too. A sense of needing—wanting—to be near you. I can’t tell if it’s emotional, or if it’s because of whatever happened with the bite. Or both.”

Harry shifted closer, until there was just a whisper of space between them. “When we feed,” he said softly, “we exchange more than just blood. There’s… an energy to it. A bond that can form. It doesn’t always happen—but when it does, it’s intense. You feel a rush of vitality, and I…” He hesitated, searching her eyes. “I feel everything you feel.”

She swallowed, heart thudding. “So you know this… longing I’ve been feeling?”

He nodded, gaze skimming her features. “I do. And it’s not one-sided.”

Her breath caught, every nerve in her body suddenly aware of the nearness of him—of his faint, familiar scent, of the cool touch of his hand resting on the cushion between them. Setting her wineglass on the table, she turned so that her knees brushed his.

“You said you don’t usually bite people… that it’s rare,” she said, her voice hushed. “Why me?”

Harry reached for her hand, running his thumb softly over her knuckles. “From the first moment I smelled your scent, I knew there was something… unique about you. But it wasn’t just that.” He lifted his gaze, the intensity in his eyes making her chest tighten. “Getting to know you—talking with you—made it impossible to stay away. I couldn’t ignore the pull.”

She squeezed his hand, feeling an inexplicable surge of relief and excitement at the same time. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

His eyes traced her face as if memorizing every detail. “So am I.”

In the quiet that followed, the only sounds were the soft hum of the city beyond the windows and the faint ticking of an antique clock somewhere behind them. Y/n’s heart pounded, equal parts curiosity and desire swirling in her. She carefully shifted, turning more fully to him, and he let his hand drift to her knee, cool fingers just pressing through the fabric of her jeans.

Their eyes locked, and in that moment, Y/n felt once again that rush of life—of every cell in her body awakening. She had a million more questions swirling in her mind, but as she watched his expression soften, she decided the answers could wait. Right now, she just wanted to bask in the warmth of being here, in his world, in his arms.

“I want to stay,” she whispered.

He leaned in, just enough that she could see the subtle shape of his fangs behind those parted lips. “Then stay,” he murmured, as though it was the simplest request in the world.

Y/n’s next breath felt shaky with anticipation as she reached out and lightly brushed the hair from his eyes. She couldn’t help but smile, heart fluttering in her chest. Leaning closer, she closed the small distance between them—letting the moment swallow them both whole.

They continued kissing, breaths mingling in the low-lit bedroom as Harry carefully lifted her into his arms. Y/n let out a soft laugh, both surprised and exhilarated by his effortless strength. Her fingers threaded through his curls as he carried her down the hallway and into a warmly lit room that felt at once cozy and steeped in untold history.

He set her gently on the edge of a wide bed layered with plush blankets. The scent of him—like aged wood and something faintly sweet—seemed even stronger here, and it sent a pleasant shiver through her. Harry sat beside her, one hand resting on her hip, his lips never straying far from hers. In between slow, languid kisses, he eased them both down until they were lying side by side, the world outside fading to insignificance.

Y/n’s hands slid up the planes of his chest, coming to rest over his shoulders. There was a coolness beneath the warmth of his skin, and something about that contrast, that blend of what he had been and what he was now, made her heart pound.

They lingered like that for a while—just quiet touches and shared breaths—until her mind, always swirling with questions, finally nudged her to speak. She drew back slightly, searching his gaze.

“I want to know everything,” she murmured, brushing a thumb over his jaw. “About you… about your life before… all this.”

Harry’s expression softened, though there was a flicker of caution in his eyes. His hand drifted up to tangle gently in her hair, as if grounding himself with her presence. “That’s a long story,” he said quietly.

Y/n’s lips curved in a small smile. “I’ve got time.”

He took a breath, an unnecessary habit for him, but it seemed to help him gather his thoughts. “I was born in the late 1800s,” he began. “England. A small town, really no big cities around, no tall buildings, no electric lights. My family worked the land. We weren’t rich, but we managed.”

She inched closer, wrapping one arm around his waist. “And you? What was life like for you back then?”

A wistful look crossed his features. “It was… simpler, I suppose. Harder in some ways—less medicine, less comfort but simpler, too. Days began when the sun rose and ended when the candles burned out. My main concerns were harvests and family, making sure we had enough food for the winter.” He paused, letting out a soft laugh tinged with nostalgia. “Never imagined I’d see a century turn, let alone two.”

Y/n’s fingertips moved idly across his arm, feeling the lean muscle beneath. “How old were you when it changed? When… you changed?”

He exhaled slowly, eyes drifting up toward the ceiling as if searching distant memories. “I was barely in my twenties. Not much older than you are now. I was visiting London for the first time—wide-eyed, excited to see the world beyond my village. I didn’t know… what was waiting for me in the city’s shadows.”

She swallowed, torn between fascination and an ache of sympathy. “What happened?”

His gaze flicked back to hers, and his hand resumed its gentle stroke through her hair. “I was attacked. It wasn’t romantic or… even intentional, I think. Just a creature someone like me, but feral who lost control. Left me for dead in an alleyway.” A faint, humorless smile touched his lips. “But I wasn’t exactly dead, was I?”

Y/n’s fingers tightened on his arm. “That sounds terrifying.”

Harry’s eyes darkened briefly, as if recalling the horror. “At first, it was. Waking up in a state of hunger I couldn’t comprehend… instincts tearing at me.” He paused, then shook his head with a sad, small smile. “I was alone for a long time, trying to figure out how to live… or not live… with what I’d become.”

Her heart twisted at his words, and she shifted closer, pressing the warmth of her body against his cool side. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, voice laced with genuine compassion. “No one should have to go through that alone.”

He studied her for a long moment, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “It was a different world then,” he said softly. “But I managed. Eventually, I found others like me who helped me learn control, taught me how to exist alongside humans without hurting them. Still… it leaves a mark on you.”

Y/n laid her head against his shoulder, comforted by his arm curling around her. “Have you ever wanted to be human again?”

Harry stared at the faint lines on the ceiling, silent for a moment. “Sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “Especially when I see people living ordinary lives—growing old, having children, passing on their stories. That’s something I’ll never experience.” His gaze flicked to hers, and the weight of his centuries pressed in his eyes. “But then I think about how much I’ve seen and done, how many places I’ve been, and I realize… there’s beauty in this existence too.”

She leaned up to press a gentle kiss to his jaw, then settled back against him. “Thank you for telling me,” she said, voice sincere. “I know it can’t be easy to relive all of that.”

Harry’s embrace tightened, and he pressed a light kiss to her forehead. “You make it a bit easier,” he murmured. “Easier than it’s ever been, most people aren’t as understanding.”

They let a comfortable silence stretch between them, a quiet acceptance passing in glances and soft touches. His story was a glimpse of the countless tales locked behind his eyes—stories she yearned to uncover. And although those revelations carried their share of darkness, Y/n felt no fear. Instead, she felt an inexplicable pull, deepening her bond with this man who was so much more than human.

Eventually, she shifted, meeting his gaze once more. “If you don’t mind,” she said gently, “I’d like to hear more. Someday… everything you’re ready to share.”

A ghost of a smile curved his lips. “Someday,” he echoed, fingers trailing down her arm. “For now, let’s just… stay here. In this moment.”

Y/n propped herself up on one elbow, her gaze roaming over Harry’s face. He was stretched out beside her, the lines of his expression shadowed by centuries of caution and uncertainty. The longer she looked at him, the more her heart ached to close the distance that still lingered between them—those unspoken fears that came with loving someone not quite human.

She reached for his hand, weaving her fingers through his. “I know it won’t be easy,” she began, her voice hushed. “That it’s dangerous. That… you move around a lot. You’re not like other guys I’ve known—”

He let out a low, almost humorless laugh. “That’s putting it mildly,” he murmured, lifting their joined hands and pressing his cool lips to her knuckles. “I’ve never exactly fit into the ‘boy next door’ category.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “That’s fine by me,” she said, inching closer. “I’m not looking for normal. I’m looking for… you.”

Harry’s expression turned solemn, and he threaded a hand gently through her hair. “You say that now, but if you knew half the dangers—” He broke off, his jaw tightening as though wrestling with words he didn’t want to voice. “There are things about my life that you might not be ready for. Having to uproot everything at a moment’s notice, hiding what I am, never really settling down because… eventually, people notice if you never age.”

Y/n’s chest twisted at the pain lacing his voice. She moved even closer, close enough that the faint warmth of her breath fell against his cheek. “I’m willing to deal with that,” she said softly. “All of it. Because I’ve never felt this connected to anyone before, Harry. I don’t even know how to explain it—you pull me in. I can’t imagine just walking away.”

He studied her, his gaze drifting from her eyes to the shape of her lips, down to the small marks on her neck where he had once bitten her. With the faintest exhale, he closed his eyes. “I don’t want you to regret this,” he said at last, voice tight with emotion. “My life… it can be dark. Lonely. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Her hand slid up to cup his cheek. “You keep saying that,” she whispered, “It’d hurt more to walk away from you now.”

Harry’s lids lifted, revealing the turmoil in his green eyes. Hesitation warred with yearning; centuries of caution battling a desire he couldn’t quite deny. “You’d have to give up so much,” he said, almost pleading with her to see the weight of her choice. “Routine, stability, your friends, your family—everything you’re used to. I’m not sure when or where I’ll have to go next. You’ll have to stay unchanged to live life. I can’t take that away from you completely.”

Y/n pressed her forehead to his, heart hammering with both fear and exhilaration. “I’m not saying it won’t be scary,” she admitted. “But it’s scarier thinking about my life without you in it, you’re what I’ve been looking for.”

A shuddering breath escaped him. His arms slid around her, drawing her closer until her head rested against his chest. He said nothing for a moment, simply letting their breathing synchronize. She could feel the cool edge of his body against her warmer one—tangible proof of the gulf between them, and yet how perfectly they fit.

“You’ll regret it if I don’t at least try,” she added gently.

He closed his eyes again, his fingers splaying across her back. “Maybe,” he murmured. “But I don’t want you to lose yourself in all this.”

Y/n swallowed, considering his words. “The only thing I’m afraid of losing,” she whispered, “is you.”

Silence wrapped around them like a fragile promise. Outside, the city hummed with its usual nighttime pulse, but here, in the glow of a single bedside lamp, it felt like they inhabited a small, separate universe. Finally, Harry kissed the crown of her head, the gesture carrying centuries of guarded emotion slowly breaking open.

“All right,” he said, voice ragged with vulnerability. “We’ll figure it out—together. Like I said one step at a time.”

Y/n exhaled in relief, her grip on his shirt relaxing now that she had his answer. She tilted her face up, and he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to her lips, quiet but brimming with all the words he didn’t know how to say yet.

In that unspoken understanding, they both knew the path ahead would be full of risks and sacrifices—but also the kind of profound connection most people never got to taste. So they clung to each other, heartbeats out of sync but souls inexplicably twined.

When Y/n stirred the next morning, she first noticed the unfamiliar softness of the sheets beneath her cheek. A slow smile curled her lips as the events of the previous night settled over her like a warm blanket: Harry’s stories, the gentle brush of his lips, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her hand. She drew in a breath, catching that faint, comforting scent she’d come to associate with him—woodsmoke and something sweet, a blend as mysterious as the man himself.

She pushed the covers aside and sat up, brushing hair away from her face. Through a thin slice of the drawn curtains, she could see a pale light creeping in. Morning already, she thought. Time felt like it had slipped away the moment she’d laid down in Harry’s arms.

A subtle clink of dishes from beyond the bedroom drew her attention. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, padding barefoot along the hall to find Harry waiting in the open kitchen. The space was just as eclectic as the rest of his apartment: modern appliances set against old-world touches—like a vintage spice rack and a wrought-iron pot hanger that looked centuries old.

“Morning,” she said, voice still husky with sleep.

Harry turned at the sound of her voice, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. His curls fell loose over his forehead, and he wore a simple black sweater that set off the striking color of his eyes. “Good morning,” he replied softly. “I, um… stepped out for a bit.” He gestured to a small paper bag and a to-go cup on the counter. “I don’t really—well, you know. But I wanted to make sure you had something to eat.”

Heat rushed to Y/n’s cheeks at the thoughtful gesture. “You didn’t have to do that,” she murmured, moving closer.

“Maybe not,” Harry conceded, “but you were sleeping so peacefully, and I wanted you to have breakfast.”

She peeked into the bag, finding a warm croissant and a small container of fruit. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since the night before. Sliding onto a stool by the kitchen island, she offered him a grateful smile. “Thank you. Seriously.”

Harry leaned his elbows on the opposite side of the counter, watching her with quiet fascination as she took a bite of the croissant. Flaky layers melted in her mouth, and she let out a blissful hum.

“Good?” he asked with a crooked grin.

“Delicious,” she confirmed, taking a sip from the to-go cup—coffee, just how she liked it. “You remembered,” she added, a bit surprised he knew her coffee order so well.

“I’m observant,” Harry teased, then shrugged. “Plus, you always write it down for your customers at the café. I picked up a few details.”

She rolled her eyes in playful exasperation. “Stalker.”

A quiet laugh escaped him, but the affectionate warmth in his gaze spoke volumes. He let her enjoy her breakfast in comfortable silence, occasionally handing her napkins or topping off her coffee from a French press he’d warmed on the stove. She couldn’t stop smiling at how domestic it felt—a far cry from the chaotic, surreal realization that he was a vampire who’d once drunk her blood.

When she finished, Harry straightened, gesturing down the hall. “If you’d like, the bathroom’s yours. Fresh towels are on the shelf. I figured you might appreciate a shower.”

“That sounds perfect,” she admitted, sliding off the stool. She paused, glancing down at her wrinkled clothes from yesterday. “I don’t suppose you have anything else I could wear?”

Harry’s gaze flicked across her face before he nodded, lips quirking. “I’ll find you something.”

A few minutes later, Y/n was standing under the warm spray of the shower, water cascading over her shoulders. She let out a contented sigh, savoring the simplicity of this moment. Her life felt turned upside down in the most extraordinary way—yet here she was, in his apartment, feeling oddly safe. Even the scent of his shampoo, musky and faintly spicy, was a comfort.

She stepped out, wrapping herself in a thick towel, and found a neatly folded shirt and her jeans waiting on a small wooden bench. She recognized her own jeans, but the oversized shirt was definitely Harry’s—soft cotton worn in all the right places, with sleeves that hung past her elbows. Slipping it on, she inhaled discreetly, catching his lingering scent in the fabric.

I could get used to this.

When she emerged, hair still damp, she found Harry back in the kitchen, rinsing dishes. He turned at the sound of her footsteps, his gaze lingering on the way the shirt dwarfed her frame. A smile ghosted across his lips, equal parts affection and attraction.

“Looks better on you,” he offered, gesturing to the shirt.

Y/n felt a thrill race up her spine. “It’s comfortable,” she admitted, giving the hem a playful tug. “Thanks.”

He turned off the water and set aside a mug, then reached for a kitchen towel. “I forgot to ask, did you sleep okay?” he asked softly.

The unexpected concern warmed her chest. “I slept better than I have in a while.” she said, not bothering to hide the sincerity in her tone. “I always hated sleeping alone.”

Harry’s eyebrows flicked upward, and a gentle expression settled over his face. “I’m glad,” he murmured, crossing the space to her. His hand lifted as though to tuck her damp hair behind her ear, a gesture she was starting to recognize as one of his quiet intimacies. “I wasn’t sure if it’d feel too strange to wake up here.”

She looked up at him, her heart giving a little flutter. “Honestly? I’m still processing everything,” she admitted, “but I don’t regret it. Not for a second.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world outside was all rain-soaked streets and city noise, but in this apartment, everything felt warm and still. Harry’s hand lingered near her cheek, fingertips grazing the collar of his shirt where it rested against her collarbone.

“Stay as long as you want,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “If you need to head to work, I can drive you. Or you can… hang out here until you’re ready to go.”

She weighed the options, a small smile touching her lips. “I do have work later,” she acknowledged, “but not for a few hours. If you don’t mind the company…”

He shook his head, his own smile soft and quick. “I don’t,” he murmured. “In fact, I’d prefer it.”

Y/n felt that familiar tug of connection—the same magnetic pull that had defined their relationship from the start. Without overthinking it, she stepped closer, lifting herself just enough to brush her lips against his. He was cool against her warm skin, and the contrast sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.

Breaking the kiss, she rested her forehead against his, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “I’m not sure how any of this is supposed to work or if it’s even going to work,” she whispered, “but I know I want to at least try.”

Harry’s arms slid around her waist, keeping her close. “So do I,” he promised quietly.

With that, they settled into the soft hush of the kitchen. The rush of the morning, the shower’s warmth still clinging to her, the taste of coffee lingering on her tongue—and his steady presence at her side. It was anything but ordinary, yet it felt wonderfully, undeniably real.

Harry slipped an arm around Y/n’s waist, drawing her close in a slow, gentle movement. The warmth of her body pressed against his cool chest made a pleasant shiver run through her. He bent his head until his nose was near the curve of her neck, and she felt him inhale—long and deep, as though savoring every note of her scent.

“You smell… so sweet,” he murmured, his voice a velvety whisper. “Almost… too good.”

She swallowed, heart thudding in her chest. “Should I be worried?” she asked, her tone light but her eyes searching his face. “About your self-control?”

Harry let a low chuckle escape him, though there was an edge of tension in his expression. “My self-control is… typically very strong. But I have to admit,” his gaze flicked to her throat, then back up to meet her eyes, “you make it difficult.”

Y/n’s heart fluttered in equal parts excitement and caution. It was easy to forget the danger underlying his nature when he was being so tender and thoughtful. But moments like this—when she could practically feel his hunger just under the surface—were a stark reminder of what he truly was.

She brushed a hand over his cheek, feeling his cool skin under her warm fingers. “I don’t want you to lose it,” she said softly, a hint of concern threading her voice. “But… I’m not scared.”

Harry’s eyes reflected a swirl of emotions—desire, conflict, gratitude. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers, and she could sense how carefully he controlled his breath.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promised, voice low. “It’s the one thing I refuse to do.”

Y/n’s lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. “I believe you.”

For a moment, they stayed like that: foreheads touching, arms wrapped around each other, letting the city’s distant hum fade into a quiet hush. Despite the tension humming just beneath his cool exterior, she felt safe in his arms.

He slowly pulled back, eyes flicking between her lips and her throat. “One day,” he murmured, almost in a self-deprecating tease, “I might have to invest in a good scent blocker—or work on my restraint even more.”

Y/n’s laugh was breathy as she stroked a thumb gently across the side of his neck. “Or, I could just keep a stash of blood bags around to distract you.”

Harry blinked, then let out a real, easy laugh—a genuine sound that lit up his eyes. “I suppose that’d be one way to go.”

She grinned. “See? Problem solved.”

His laugh subsided into a lingering smile, and he shook his head in mild wonder. “You don’t even flinch talking about that. About what I am.”

Y/n pressed her lips together, feeling the honesty in her chest. “It’s part of you, and I… want all of you.”

Harry’s grip tightened slightly around her waist, and in that moment, she glimpsed a flash of that quiet hunger in his eyes. Not just for her blood, but for her presence—no longer wanting to be alone. She moved in first, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his lips.

When they parted, she rested her head against his shoulder, listening to the city beyond.

Harry, despite the centuries he’d lived, looked at her like she was entirely new—worth every ounce of restraint.

She felt certain of one thing: she wasn’t afraid.

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jypsyvloggin · 1 year ago

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How to get the Twilight Vampire AI filter on TikTok?

How to get the Twilight Vampire AI filter on TikTok? #vampire #ai #statue

How to get the Twilight Vampire AI filter on TikTok? @divinemmangubat 😉 #fyp #fypシ #foryou ♬ original sound – eda Tiktok Challenges are a good opportunity to get new followers. By joining a trend, you can benefit from the general interest. I have introduces you to a few of the past Tiktok challenges and given you tips on how to participate. Now it’s time for your Twilight Vampire AI Filter…

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#ai filter #ai statue filter #Sculpture statue filter #statue filter #The Twilight Zone #twilight filter #twilight filter tiktok #twilight snapchat filter #vampire filter #vampire teeth filter

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cambion-companion · 1 year ago

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Glimpses (Baldur's Gate 3 x reader)

A collection of x reader snapshots as follows: Astarion, Shadowheart, Gale and Raphael. Part II will have more!

"Careful darling, I bite."

"I don't think most people know what you fully mean by saying that, Astarion." You whispered to the Elven vampire spawn as you made your way to the tavern table, flickering firelight making the bustling atmosphere cozy and warm. "It's hardly an appropriate disclaimer."

Astarion's red eyes flicked over to you, a self-satisfied smile curving his lips. "You sound jealous, my love. Don't be, my fangs are all yours."

"I'm thrilled." You deadpanned, your gaze drifting back to the barmaid Astarion had definitely been flirting with. "Do you chat up everyone or were you just trying to get discounted ale?"

"You are jealous!" Astarion chuckled and you squeaked slightly as he pulled you by the waist to sit next to him. "Now, don't go off in a huff." He leaned in and you smelled his familiar scent of cloves and iron. "

"I'm not going anywhere." Your familiar words caused Astarion to still, his hands softening their teasing grip on your hips.

"Darling..." Astarion murmured. He hesitated and then you felt his soft lips touch your neck, no scrape of his fangs against your skin this time. He buried his nose in your hair, and you heard him inhale deeply.

"Like what you smell?" You teased gently.

"Mmm." Astarion murmured, kissing your neck once more before moved his face away again. "Like wine and death."

Moonlight filtered silver through the latticework windows, turning the stained glass to broken shards of ice against the starry sky. You heard footsteps approaching you, soft upon the deep carpet of the hallway. You turned, your breath catching in your throat as you saw Shadowheart walking to you dressed in a gown that seemed to be made of the shadows themselves, hugging her every curve.

"You look beautiful." You said, the words leaving your lips feeling like they did no justice to how your heart was skipping.

Shadowheart looked uncomfortable, pulling at the edges of the fabric that draped so elegantly over her hips. "I can't remember when I last wore something so impractical." Her green eyes met yours. "But thank you for your sweet candor."

You closed the distance between the two of you and touched her hands, coaxing them away from where she was tugging at the dark dress and pulling her into you. You pressed a kiss to her forehead and brushed your nose against hers, feeling her body begin to relax at the familiar affection.

"We must make our required appearance at this gathering, and then we can slip away." You promised, your hand ghosting up the side of Shadowheart's neck until your fingers tangled in her long thick hair. "Get into something more comfortable."

"Can we indeed?" Her voice lilted, always an edge of playful teasing to her words. "I suppose it'll do."

You pulled her in by the nape of her neck and kissed her plush lips, dragging a small groan from the woman you'd grown to love deeper than the shades of Night Orchid blossoms.

"Now let's go show Faerun how lucky I am to have you at my side."

"She is the most darling little thing I have every laid eyes on." You spoke fervently, but kept your voice soft as you looked down at the winged cat sleeping in your lap.

Gale approached quietly, his smile fond as he looked at the two beings he treasured most in the world. "She's quite taken with you."

"And I with her." You looked up at him and smiled, it was always such a pleasure to hear his voice and share his company.

Gale crouched down beside where you sat with Tara, his hand reached forward and stroked the Tressym's feathers gently and scratched her sleeping head. Tara yawned widely, showing off her sharp white teeth before she tucked her head beneath a wing and went back to sleep.

You pouted a Gale as he continued showering affection his sleeping friend. Gale caught your eye and chuckled. "I'll pet you too, if you ask nicely."

You snorted but your expression softened when you felt Gale tuck his fingers beneath your chin and tilt your face back up to his. He leaned forward and placed a loving kiss on your cheek. He moved his lips to press against the top of your head and lingered there for a moment. "You'll never know how grateful I am for you." His voice was as gentle as Mystra's weave, it carried notes of magic and the promise of safety. "

"I love you too, Gale."

You grumbled in frustration as yet another wooden match broke in your fumbling fingers. "Gods above..." You muttered, yanking another from the box to try again.

"Not quite." A familiar voice said, and you turned to see a well-dressed noble with dark hair and eyes. He gave you a devious smile and clicked his fingers.

A spark of fire, the smell of sulphur, and your campfire burst into flames that quickly took purchase on the sodden logs and warmed your face pleasantly.

"Ah." You grimaced, fighting down the feeling of elation at seeing your favorite cambion. "Raphael...thanks for that."

"You're most welcome." Raphael said dryly as he approached you, glancing over your bedraggled figure. "Did my mouse get caught in the rain?"

You rolled your eyes, smirking at the familiar needling banter between the two of you began. "What does that make you? The cat, making sure its meal is warm and dry?" You grinned at him as he stepped even closer, pushing into your personal space. "A guardian devil as it were."

You felt his hands dig into your waist, the sharpness of his claws growing more apparent as Raphael slowly dropped his human guise. "You should know better by now." He rolled his shoulders, stretching his wings to their full extent, the flames of your campfire dancing wildly in the gust of wind the motion created. Your hand slid up between his shoulder blades, the heady scent of musk and cherries filled your nostrils as you felt his teeth on your neck. The devil's voice sent a vibration to your heart. "The fox, rather...luring you in inch by inch until you belong to me."

#baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #astarion x reader #gale x reader #shadowheart x reader #raphael x reader #raphael bg3 #astarion #shadowheart #gale bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 x reader #fluff

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writememysticfalls · 4 months ago

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Lose Control | Elijah Mikaelson

Summary: One night, Elijah loses control. The problem? You're Klaus's lover, not his. Once the thirst hits, there's no turning back.

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x reader

Genre: Hot, angsty, Thirsty!Elijah

Word Count: <1k

Elijah was pacing back and forth, fists clenched. His tie was pulled loose, his normally perfect hair in disarray.

You were sitting on the couch. You were flicking through a leatherbound first edition with mild interest.

Elijah watched the pulse throb in your neck. It was intoxicating.

"You're staring again," you said, eyes never leaving their place on the page.

Elijah gulped, his throat burning.

"I apologise, Y/n. But I have not fed in weeks, and tonight you are looking particularly… appealing."

You pushed your hair over one shoulder, exposing your long brown neck.

"Drink from me, Elijah. I don't want you to starve just because you're on new vamp babysitting duty."

Elijah laughed a little deliriously.

Your thin cardigan slipped down your shoulder, revealing smooth skin. Elijah's blood lust was forgotten. Only the other kind remained.

Elijah cleared his throat. "You need not offer yourself to me, Y/n. I may be a vampire, but I will not feed on the woman I-"

He stopped himself, turning away.

"The woman you… what?" You moved your body up off the couch. "The woman you vowed to protect?"

Elijah held up his hand. "Y/n, please."

You stepped forwards, dark eyes glimmering with a quiet determination.

"Say it, Elijah. The woman you… what?"

Every step you took forwards, Elijah took one back. Soon his back was up against the wall.

Elijah gulped. Every cell in his thousand year old body was aching with the desire to just… confess.

You placed one hand on the lapel of his jacket, right over his heart.

"Say it," you whispered.

Elijah put his hand over yours, grasping it softly.

"The woman I will always care for. But I can't… love. Not in that way."

It took all the strength he had to pull your hand off his chest.

You nodded. "This is about Klaus."

Elijah sighed. "I cannot betray my brother. He loves you."

Tears welled in your eyes. This was the first time he'd seen you even close to crying.

"I just wish… I'd met you first," you said.

Elijah pressed his forehead onto yours. "So do I."

Elijah was so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. All you wanted was to be held in his arms. To call him family.

You stood in silence, drinking each other in. Neither of you wanted to move, because if you did, you'd be accepting the truth. The truth that Elijah would always put blood first.

The dying sun filtered in through the window.

Your face glowed crimson and gold with sun rays bouncing off your skin.

"Just let me do one last thing," you whispered.

Elijah shook his head, about to protest. But before he could, you stretched forwards and pressed your mouth onto his.

You kissed Elijah, your body melting into him.

Elijah froze. He hadn’t been kissed like this in a hundred years. His heart spluttered awake.

Suddenly Elijah's hands were all over you, touching your face, stroking your hair, gripping your waist.

You kissed, open mouthed, teeth clashing.

You grasped his shirt, crumpling it in your grasp. You moaned into the kiss.

Elijah hoisted you up, holding your entire weight in one arm.

KNOCK KNOCK

The sound from the front door made you jump. Before you could even process what had happened, Elijah was already on the other side of the room.

Elijah pressed one finger to his lips.

You nodded silently. This was a secret you would keep forever.

You heard a soft woosh. Elijah was gone.

—

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

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bestanimal · 2 months ago

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Round 2 - Chordata - Actinopterygii

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Over 50% of chordate species are Actinopterygians (“Ray-finned Fishes”). There are over 30,000 species, comprised of the Polypteriformes (“Bichirs” and “Reedfish”), Acipenseriformes (“Sturgeons” and “Paddlefish”), Amiiformes (“Bowfins”), Lepisosteiformes (“Gar”), and the Teleosts (about 40 orders containing all rest of the actinopterygians).

Ray-finned Fishes are so called because of their lightly built fins made of skin webbings supported by thin bony spines. Actinopterygians are unique for their swim bladder, an organ that allows them to adjust their buoyancy. They are the most abundant free-swimming aquatic animals and can be found almost anywhere there is water. They come in a vast majority of sizes, shapes, scale-types, fin-arrangements, colors, and behaviors, from the 8 mm (0.3 in) long Paedocypris to the 11 m (36 ft) long Giant Oarfish (Regalecus glesne) to the 2,744 kg (6,049 lb) Giant Sunfish (Mola alexandrini). They have feeding strategies ranging from predatory to grazing to filter-feeding.

In most actinopterygians, males and females exist and reproduce through external fertilization. However, some species utilize sequential hermaphroditism, in which they start life as females and convert to males at some point. In a few species, they start life as males and convert to females. Some species give live birth, and some species self-fertilise. Some abandon their young, while some practice maternal and/or even paternal care.

The earliest known actinopterygian is Andreolepis hedei, from the Late Silurian. The teleosts in particular diversified wildly during the Mesozoic, resulting in the high diversity of shapes we see today. The earliest fossil relatives of modern teleosts, (Prohalecites and Pholidophorus), are from the Triassic period, though it is suspected that teleosts originated already during the Paleozoic Era.

Propaganda under the cut:

Many Actinopterygians, especially those that live in the deep sea, are bioluminescent, glowing in a variety of colors and patterns to attract prey, mates, or even just communicate.

Some species of Puffer Fish (Family Tetrapdontidae) are highly poisonous, second only among vertebrates to the Golden Dart Frog (Phyllobates terribilis).

The most venomous fish is the Reef Stonefish (Synanceia verrucosa). The spines on its back produce a venom which can cause severe pain, shock, paralysis, and tissue death in humans.

Male Seahorses (Genus Hippocampus) are known for having a pouch in which they carry eggs laid by the female.

The Harlequin Tuskfish (Choerodon fasciatus) has electric blue vampire teeth.

Speaking of teeth, Serrasalmids have jaws ranging from human-looking nutcracker teeth to bear-trap looking flesh-eating chompers.

The Mandarinfish (Synchiropus splendidus) and the Picturesque Dragonet (Synchiropus picturatus) are the only two vertebrate species known to produce their own true blue coloring. Blue as a color is usually a result of reflected light, and almost all cells that are perceived as blue are actually a reflective black. However, these two mandarinfish species have cyanophores, which are both blue in pigment and reflective, making them the most blue animals in nature.

Many fish are popular in the pet trade (some more ethical pets than others) and some have even been domesticated and bred to display a variety of colors and shapes, including goldfish, koi, Betta, and zebrafish.

Moray Eels (family Muraenidae) have a hidden set of internal jaws, called pharyngeal jaws. While most predatory fish use suction to “inhale” their prey, moray eels just… pull them in.

The Mangrove Rivulus (Kryptolebias marmoratus), a species of killifish, mostly breeds by self-fertilization and can survive for about two months on land. Males are rare, and can only hatch from eggs kept below 19 °C (66 °F).

The most famous pupfish (family Cyprinodontidae, also a type of killifish) is probably the Devils Hole Pupfish (Cyprinodon diabolis). It is a critically endangered species found only in Devil’s Hole, a water-filled cavern in the US state of Nevada. When nearby agricultural irrigation caused the water to drop in the cavern, several court cases ensued, resulting in Devils Hole being declared a National Monument in 1952, including the preservation of adequate groundwater to maintain the pool. As of September 2022, the count showed a total of 263 observed wild pupfish, up from only 35 in 2013.

There are waaaay too many cool fish for me to write about; I keep thinking of cool facts but this is already getting so long and I gotta save some for if this class makes it to the next round 🥲

#round 2 #animal polls #chordata #actinopterygii

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d1s1ntegrated · 7 months ago

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i’ve been listening to this song on repeat and can’t get shiggy out of my head. can you please write something along these lines, cause oh my god would this be so hot🥵

porn star dancing shigaraki pov x stripper reader

summary: dabi drags shigaraki to a "titty bar" for his 21st birthday, because "being a virgin at 21 is like a dog who's never had a biscuit".

cw: quirkless au! dabi and shiggy are best friends, drinking, strip club setting, shiggy's pov, alt!reader, oral virginity loss, language, nudity, oral (male rec), groping, whining, pining, slightsub!tomura, virgin!tomura, slightlydom!reader, teasing, private lap dance, happy ending lol, handjob, headshoving, dirty talk, basically just shiggy being an epic simp loser. wc: ~4230 words

this is from tomura's pov. i felt it would convey his sluttiness best :)

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

"GET OFF THE GAME, DUMBASS. WE'RE GOING OUT". dabi's voice shouts from down the hall. i sigh and roll my eyes, yanking my headset off my head. usually, i'd ignore him, but i knew he wouldn't leave me alone today. i tried not to make a big deal about it, but he's been making a stink about my birthday for months now, as if drinking legally at a bar would feel any different than drinking illegally in my room. but, hell, if it gets him to shut up, i guess.

i groan and stretch myself out of my gaming chair, giving my prized possession a solemn goodbye, and trod out of my room. dabi is waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall. "there you are, freak. you ready to go get wasted with a bunch of topless bitches?" he looks me up and down, smiling sadistically. i shrug, and he pats my shoulder.

"come on, lets get trashed." i know i can't argue with him, so i follow him out the door, thinking about how badly i'd rather go back to my room and play league. whatever.

---------------------------------------------------- the club is sketchy, to say the least. a dark grey exterior with no windows, just one neon sign above that reads "the silk iris" in flashy pink lettering. at least it's not named some weird shit like "vixen den".

i suck air in through my teeth as dabi lights a cigarette next to me. "can we go home?" i say miserably next to him. he chuckles, taking a long drag.

"fuck no, shigs. we're goin' in, and i'm gonna tell those pretty girlies in there that it's your birthday" he flashes his teeth at me and instead of a smile, i see a predator baring its fangs in warning. fuck my life. i try to beg him not to, but he's unreceptive.

"please, dabi, i'll go in, fine, but dont tell them shit, please" i clasp my hands together and shake them at him, as if im praying. but if dabi was a god, he was a cruel and evil one, who doesn't answer prayers.

"fine fine, shigaraki. i'll be nice, i promise." he curls his lips and tosses the finished cigarette to the ground, crushing the filter under his boot. he grabs my shoulder and guides me with an iron grip to the door. "lets go!" he slaps my back hard and i grimace. no going back now.

the door pushes open and immediately, the smell of heavy smoke and cheap cologne rushes my sinuses. theres another door between the club and the entrance, and a part of me wishes i could just sit in the lobby all night. but dabi whips his id out, and i reluctantly follow. we flash them at the bouncer, who nods and grins wide when he sees mine. "happy birthday man. have fun". his voice is gruff and deep, his body towering over mine. i force a slight smile, and nod "thanks" before begrudgingly going through the door.

the lights are low, thank god. deep reds and purples accent the darkly-painted walls, and the carpet is patterned with some vampiric-looking textile, and i study it intently. the music is so loud, the bass shakes my eardrums, and i groan. if i'm gonna be here all night, i'm gonna need a drink. dabi knows this already, and he drags me over to the bar and nods to an empty stool. i slink onto the worn leather and he yanks my hood off my head before he sits next to me. i grumble but he ignores me, and flags down the bartender.

a tall, slender girl in a very tiny bikini top struts over, big pearly smile on her face. her red hair curls gently around her face, and she greets us with a very peppy voice. "hi boys! what can i get for ya?"

dabi eyes the girl up and down and leans back in his seat a bit, giant smirk plastered to his face. his piercings tug at his lips as he answers, "hey doll. it's actually my buddy's birthday today," he claps my shoulder again and i shrink into myself, "what do you recommend?"

the girl claps her hands together and jumps a bit. "happy birthday sweetheart!" those teeth smile at me again, somehow wider than last time. she turns back to dabi and asks, "is this his first time?"

dabi answers with a bellowing laugh, "ohhh yeah. shig's gonna turn into a man tonight" he nudges me and i force out a laugh.

"well, shig," the bartender drags my name out sleazily, "i have just the thing for you." she trots away from us for a few moments, returning with a shot glass full of a bright green substance. "you like fruity drinks?" she asks and nods at me. i shrug and reply "i'm not sure". she lets out a high-pitched giggle and looks to dabi.

"and for you?""whatever's on tap, sweetheart. and a shot of jameson." his voice is low and he's still grinning. she returns half a second later with a tall beer glass, and a little shot of whiskey. she nods at us and says as she tends to another customer now, "ill start a tab for you boys."

i hesitantly pick up the shot glass and dabi picks his up with me. he raises his brows and laughs. "take the shot, pussy". he clinks his glass against mine and i take a deep breath as we take the first shot. it goes down surprisingly easy, much easier than the cheap whiskeys and vodkas i'm used to. its...actually fucking delicious. the bartender notices us and claps. she brings me another one a minute later and i take it fearlessly, the liquid shooting down to my core, warming me up. "thats a green tea shot, love. just in case you wanna order some more" she winks at me as she slides another shot to dabi, "my shift ends in about 5 minutes, so you'll have to order them yourself from now on! happy birthday, sweetie!" i smile at her, feeling my nerves slowly melting away. i thank her and turn to dabi.

"this isn't so bad" i give him a thumbs-up, and he returns it. he picks up the tiny glass and shoots it back, chasing it with the remainder of his beer. he blinks away the burn and shakes his head. "bartender was cute, eh?" he stifles a belch into his fist and claps my back again. "lets go, emo boy." i slide off the stool and follow him.

he leads me to a couple of seats near the stage. i did my best to avoid looking before, but now it was right in front of me. a couple of girls, about six or seven, were twirling around poles, walking up and down the stage, as men greedily shove their hands to touch them, stroke their legs, grab their asses. some shove dollar bills into their waistbands, others hand them bigger bills: tens, twenties, even some fifties. i scoff and take a seat next to dabi, who's already got his wallet out. he hands me a wad of ones, and i sigh.

"i'm not gonna shove my hands into some poor girls panties," i say to him. he glares at me and rolls his eyes. "the more you shove in there, the closer you get to having it, shig. its like buying pussy, bro. come on, just watch." he stands and leans over the stage as a short blonde crawls over, and he beckons her with a finger. he slides his hand over her barely-clothed tits and shoves a couple bills between them. she blows a kiss at him and stands, spinning around a pole and waving at a few of the men before the girls rotate. this goes on for a few minutes, and i feel myself growing uncomfortable with myself.

i grit my teeth and stand next to dabi, and do my best to entice one of the girls over to me. however, once the girl comes over to me, i panic, and end up just handing her a few of the bills in my hand. i wave and immediately smack myself in the face. stupid idiot, what the fuck was that? dabi notices my folly and laughs at me and shakes his head.

"you dumbass, what the hell was THAT?" he raises his voice over the music and i purse my lips.

"i dont know" i say quietly. my head is spinning from the alcohol. i groan and sit back in my seat, afraid to embarrass myself further. suddenly, the music quiets down, and a voice rings through the speaker, announcing a solo act. "please welcome the beautiful, the terrifying, the eat-your-heart-out....calypso!" the group of men cheer as they hear the name. i look confused as the lights switch to a deep sanguine red, and the music switches over from the bass-boosted r&b and rap to metal. a few of the men get up and go to the bar, but watch as they order drinks.

dabi gets up and i call out for him, but he raises a hand and says, "im getting drinks, dude chill! you'll be fine for two minutes!!" the lights brighten again as a girl comes onto the stage. she, like the others, is dressed scantily, but...differently. my eyes widen as she approaches further. she grabs one of the poles and swings her leg around it, and i can't peel my eyes away. her thigh grips the metal, her fishnets so tight against her, i can see the soft skin poking through the holes. the material stretches thin over her ass, which is plump, with only a tiny g-string to cover it. she drops to the floor and lays on her back, her tits spreading in the top as men grab at her, and she slaps them away. they cheer and lay the bills onto the stage, and she gradually grabs the money, shoving it down her top herself.

dabi returns and hands me another shot. i swiftly take it, not taking my eyes off the dancer on the stage. she wraps her hands around another pole and spins a few times before dropping back down, onto her knees this time. i bite my lip and dabi nudges me with his elbow.

"you like that one, shiggy?" he shouts over the heavy guitar solo. i nod slowly and watch her intently. he chuckles beside me and nods. calypso gets to the edge of the stage and i smack the rest of the ones i have in my hand right next to her tall, chunky boots. she notices me and stares down at me and licks her lips, and i feel myself melt. she bends over slowly and grabs the cash, and drags her long fingernail up my neck and jaw. i gulp as she winks at me and whispers something, but i cant hear her over the music.

i feel myself twitch in my pants. i smile weakly up at her and she turns away, collecting the rest of the money on the wooden floor. she then slowly grabs one of the strings of her top and pulls it, slowly unraveling the knot. she spins around as she pulls the top off completely, and tosses it haphazardly in my direction. i scramble up from my seat and grasp at it, unable to control my impulses. i greedily fist it and shove it into my hoodie pocket, hoping she doesn't notice who took it. i fling back in my seat and dabi high fives me.

"WOOOOO! ATTA BOY!" he shouts at me and downs the rest of his glass. i look back up to calypso on the stage, spinning around another pole sleazily. her movements are fluid and flawless, and i swallow the excess drool in my mouth as i watch her. the way her tits look, her supple curves, the jiggle of her ass against the metal and wood as she dances around the stage. none of the other women on the stage before had gotten my attention, but...she did. i cover my lap with my hands and spread my legs to hide the raging hard-on against my tight jeans.

the song ends after an excruciating few minutes and i let out the breath i didnt know i was holding. as she exists the stage, she drags a clawed hand against the mirror wall at the back of the stage. the whole crowd cheers, a few of the men going so far as to shout her name out. the next solo act comes out and i stand up, deciding to hide in the bathroom for a second. fuck, this doesnt look odd or anything.

i tap dabi's shoulder and tell him "i gotta piss, i'll be back" and he just nods as he stares intently at the next dancer.

i rush into the bathroom and slam the door behind me, locking the stall. i sigh and press myself against the shoddy stall door and yank the top i shoved into my pocket out. i press it to my face and inhale. my cock jumps in my pants as i do so, and i stifle a moan. it smells so sweet, and spicy, and just so fucking good. i palm at the front of my jeans as i inhale. fuck, her tits were in here. fuck. i rub my thumb over the soft material, imagining how it rubbed against her nipples, how the strings tugged at the weight of her tits. i shudder and shake my head, shoving the top back into my pocket. not here. i'll have all the time in the world to get off once i'm home, i remind myself. don't be the guy that jerks it in the public bathroom.

i gather myself as best as possible, splashing water on my face before exiting the bathroom. i shiver at the cold on my feverish face and push the heavy door open to see dabi standing outside, grinning maniacally.

"guess what, birthday bitch?" he tilts his head at me and chuckles. i stare with genuine fear as he points to one of the doors across from me.

"you see those doors, buddy?" i nod my head. "you know what's behind those doors?" i shake my head. the third door to the right opens and a man exits, looking absolutely blown away. a girl in a tight white bikini exists after him, looking distracted. fuck.

"dabi, nonononono, i do NOT want a private dance, nonono please" i tug at his jacket and he shakes me off.

"too bad, buddy. you're gettin' one." i whimper out in fear and clench my jaw. "come on, dumbass. youre 21 now. and youre still a virgin. it's kinda sad. at least get the experience of a lap dance, my god."

"dabi, i do not want a lap dance, i want to go-"

"shigaraki, a virgin at 21 is like a puppy who's never had a biscuit before. now go. second door. have fun!" he laughs evilly again and saunters off to the bar again, leaving me to my own devices.

i could run right now, or...

or i could man up and go get a fucking lap dance.

in private.

with a girl.

fuck it, i say to myself and go up to the second door. i take a deep breath and turn the knob, entering slowly. its empty.

what the fuck?

i take a seat on the giant plush....couch? futon? bed thing? i'm not quite sure, but it wraps around the room in a U-shape. the walls are made of all mirrors, with a sound system laid into the wall, and speakers next to the ceiling. i sit in the middle of the leather seats and scratch my neck anxiously. either dabi set me up real good, or...

a knock at the door startles me out of my thought and i look up. the door swings open and swiftly shuts. i recognize the body...the face...calypso walks in and raises her brows at me. every bit of my drunkenness dissipates at the sight.

"you're the birthday boy, huh? that's convenient. can i get my top back?" she says, her voice low and drawn out. she stares down at me and my eyes feel like they're going to fall out of my head. she's wearing something different now: a tight red top with a thong, pulled up around her hips, accentuating her curves. her boots are frighteningly large, thick leather straps and buckles crossing over her calves and thighs.

i fumble over my words as i pull the top out of my pocket, "i, how did you kn- i'm sorry" i wince at my own voice, and she laughs.

"giant mirror. the look on your face. i'm not dumb" she leans in and whispers the last lines into my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

"oh...okay" i choke out. "sorry" i repeat, and she stands.

"good boy" she nods, and presses a button on the stereo. "porn star dancing" begins to play. i bite my lip and look up at her nervously. she traces my jaw with her nail, just like she did earlier, and climbs into my lap.

"do you want a lap dance, pretty boy?" her voice is sweet and sultry in my ears. i grip her thighs instinctively as she grinds into me slightly and i nod furiously. any intention i had of resisting is gone, as i glance at her ass in the mirror across from us. her thighs are warm and plush, and as she stands back up, i have to stifle my whimper. she turns around and bends over, giving me the perfect view of her ass. i reach out to grab it, and she turns around.

"ah ah, no touching yet, pretty boy." i exhale hard at the way the nickname rolls off her tongue. she continues to bend and sway in front of me, and my desperation grows. my saliva builds rapidly at the sight of her supple body teasing me, and i swallow hard again.

she brings herself back to face me, pushing her soft tits against me. they smell the same as her top, soft and spicy and sweet. i moan and plant a kiss to the flesh and she lets out a soft "hmm". i take this as an okay to touch her, and i bring my hand down hard on her ass, gripping it tightly. she gasps and flashes her wild eyes at me. she sits fully in my lap, grinding her ass against me, bouncing and bending on me.

i cant help but harden back up, my cock beating against it's jean prison again. my breath quickens as she slides off, and suddenly drags a hand to my upper thigh, squeezing it hard. i gasp at the touch and she laughs, a sickeningly seductive smile painting her beautiful face. my eyes roll back as she palms the front of my jeans.

wait.

i look to her now as she licks her lips and bites her lip. she drops down to her knees, her eyes glassy and half-shut as she stares up at me. i look at her in the mirror again, seeing her boots pressing against her plump ass again. i groan and push my hair back, and she fiddles with the front of my pants.

"your friend out there said you were a virgin, is that right?" she draws out, wicked and teasing. i nod and my cheeks flush with embarrassment. "you want me to fix that?" she questions nonchalantly as she pops the button of my jeans.

"wait, what?" i stumble, and she chuckles softly.

"i don't do this for everyone, you know." she points a cruel finger at me, "but when i saw how desperate you got out there, i honestly wondered if i could break you. thank god your friend asked me for the dance, otherwise i'd have to come find you myself" she laughs lowly, and i shiver.

i cant find the words, so i just nod furiously. she smiles up at me and unzips the front of my jeans. i help her by pushing down my boxers, letting my cock spring free. she gives a soft surprised look, and i furrow my brows.

"you're much bigger than i expected" she whispers, and wraps a hand lazily around my shaft. if i wasn't so turned on right now, i might take that offensively. but as she wraps her pouty lips around the tip, i throw my head back, ignoring any cues that this might not be a part of the lap dance.

her tongue swirls luridly around my tip, causing me to gasp. i'm already overstimulated, my cock twitching and jumping at her touch. she takes me deeper down her throat until her nose buries into my skin, and she lets out a low hum against the throbbing appendage. as i moan, she wraps her hand back around, sliding it alongside where she sucks me off, the doubled sensation causing my hips to buck up. she giggles around my dick as she sucks it, and i tangle my pale fingers into her hair. its so soft, just like the rest of her. she moans softly at the sensation of me pulling it, and i whimper. she pulls off of me with a gentle "pop" and i groan.

"you sound so fucking pathetic, pretty boy" she whispers.

"t-tomura. call me tomura" i choke out in rushed breath, and she nods.

"tomura. pretty name for a pretty boy" she nods, and i cant help but moan again at how she says my name. she brings my cock back into her mouth and drags her tongue all the way up, wrapping her soft fingers around my balls and squeezing gently. my body feels like its on fire and i start to feel myself breaking.

"ah-ah, ha, fuck" my breaths tangle with the mantra of swears and incoherent noises spilling from my mouth. i make no effort to stifle myself, there's no point. i grip her hair harder and she presses her teeth ever so slightly into the flesh of my cock, and i tremble. the sensations are driving me wild, and i completely lose control. i watch as her mouth slides up and down, her spit dripping down my length, tangling with the mess of precum already spilling from me.

"hnng, fuck, agh, ah ah, ah, i'm gonna" i whimper out, and she only looks up at me, not stopping. her grip on my balls tightens as i twitch inside her warm mouth, and the sight sends me over the edge.

"god, FUCK, fuck, ah, fuck, i'm cumming, oh fuck, i'm cumming" i pant out, and shove her head all the way down as my cock sputters. she chokes slightly around me as i feel the thick ribbons shoot down her tight throat. i whimper and moan out unapologetically, and she keeps sucking even after i finish, sending volts of electricity through my entire body. she pulls off of me sloppily, a string of drool and cum dripping from her lips. i twitch as the aftershock rumbles through me, feeling the alcohol (and blood) rush back to my head. my breathing staggered. she wipes her mouth with the bottom of my hoodie, and stands.

"you did such a good job, tomura" her voice is slightly raspy as she praises me, and strokes my face. i smile weakly up at her.

"th-thank you, calypso" i breathe out, and she returns the soft smile.

"happy birthday, pretty boy" she turns the music down and heads for the door.

"wait" i bleat out, and she turns, "can we...can i see you again?" she laughs with an exhale, and grins.

"come back next weekend." she replies, and my heart seizes. i nod and look at the floor.

"can i have your number?" i ask quietly.

she chuckles and shakes her head no.

"do you want...the top back?" i hand it to her, and she shakes her head.

"consider it your birthday present." and she walks out the door before i can respond. i shove the top back in my pocket and fix my clothes, checking myself in the mirror before exiting a couple minutes after her.

as always, dabi is standing across from the door, unlit cigarette hanging from his lip. "how'd it go, buddy?" he chortles, and i look up at him.

"we're coming back next weekend" i say, and without another word, i head out the front doors. the bouncer nods at us as we exit, and dabi follows behind with a "fuck yes!".

when we return home, i fling myself into my bed and yank the top out of my pocket. i examine every speck of glitter, the tag, everything. i slip the padding out of it, just for shits, and notice in thin black ink:

"your lucky day.

XXX-XXX-XXXX."

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

hope u enjoyed! i finished this at 3:50am and poured my whole ass heart into it. i had a lot of fun writing this :D

lmk if i should write more from shigs pov, or if a reader pov would be better, i tried to be experimental ;-;

thank u for the request as always!!

xoxo

#shigaraki x reader #bnha #my hero academia #mha #tomura shigaraki #mha shigaraki #tenko shimura #shigaraki smut #shigaraki x reader oneshot #shigaraki oneshot #virgin shigaraki #quirkless shigaraki #myposts #myfics

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