#why must my thoughts be of these eight and nothing else

[themysteryofonesdestiny]

so remember when i said this thing was gonna be taken over by the Stationery Kids AU? well i'm serious about that. What better way to start off my insanity than naming every single one of them. Colored Pencils - Drew Rubber Band - Willow

Hole Punch - Michael

Tape - Ethan

Scissors - Sakura

Stapler - Fang

Olivia - Olympia

Olly - Oliver

yeah thats pretty much it for now thanks for listening to my 30 second rambles

[uncookedfeeler]

Citrus II🍋

Yuna x Reader

Tags : 7k, smut, incest, daddy kink,

Part 1

Five past eight in the morning, you arrive in front of your company, after having crossed a few blocks in the capital, at the automatic barrier, you wave to the guards to say hello and make your way to the underground car park, of course you have reserved your own space, not far from the lift, the privilege of having an important place in the company, you say to yourself; once the car has stopped, your bag in hand, you walk at a brisk pace to the lift and press the button for your floor.

Your impatience and shame are growing, you're late, which is far from your usual routine, especially when your president is probably waiting for you in your office. The reason for your lateness is even more shameful, but you're determined to put these thoughts aside during the working day.

Once you are on your floor, you pass through a second glass door, which you open with your badge. In the corner is the office of your secretary, who stands up to greet you and to warn you that the CEO is already in your office, just as you had expected.

"Hello Mrs Kang, and thank you, how long has he been here?"

"Not long, he arrived 5 minutes ago, he seems to be smiling, I think you'll be fine," she replies with a nervous smile, "would you like me to make some coffees and bring them to you?"

"No need, I'll do it myself, otherwise nothing else for the rest of the day? "

"There's a lot of paperwork to do today after the president leaves, your meetings don't start until this afternoon". You give her a thumbs up before putting your hands on the latch of your door. 

Your office was a modern space filled with clean lines and muted tones. A large executive desk dominated the room; behind it, tall windows filtered soft daylight through half-drawn blinds, while recessed lights softly illuminated the dark wood cabinets lining the back wall. In the corner, a pair of white armchairs and a sofa were accented by a single red cushion.

Across from you is your chairman, a middle-aged man with short grey hair and a warm smile. His face has visible wrinkles, particularly around the eyes, suggesting a friendly mood. He is wearing a formal dark suit and tie.

“I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Ahn,” you say, bowing 90° to him.

"Ha ha, hello director, there's no need to be so formal, just get up and sit down,”he says, pointing with both hands to the seat in front of him. 

“Thank you, would you like a coffee while I'm up?”

“A short one then, my wife says I drink too much.”

You walk over to your desk and behind your chair is a piece of furniture that runs the full height of the wall, on top of which are various decorations, including your personal coffee machine.

“They all say that, but a good machine needs its fuel to work properly, doesn't it?”

“Absolutely.”

A few minutes pass as you place your respective coffees on the table between you, warning him that they are still very hot.

“I heard about the new contracts with JYP, good work Director Shin, I imagine it must have taken a lot of negotiation, they're notoriously difficult to do business with.”

“You could say that, it's not the first time they've worked with a cosmetics company like us, and it seems that their previous partnerships haven't been very successful, but with the work of the whole team, I think we've convinced them to count on us.”

“We still don't know the names of the models who will be wearing our products? if they match our latest collections well, I think it would be a great boost to our sales.”

“No information on that, the TWICE girls would be perfect, they embody the mid-twenties woman and seem to have finally lost their all-cute and pink ribbon image.”

As you finish your sentence, you see the chairman smiling after taking a sip of his coffee.

"Really good coffee, and why not ITZY, I'm sure they could certainly manage it too", the President smiles obviously as he mentions the group to which your daughter belongs.

"Yes, I'm sure", you reply with a touch of humour, the President knows very well who your daughter is and the joke shows how close you are to him.

"By the way, how is your daughter, she's appearing all over the country, she really seems to be riding on her popularity, you must be very proud of her".

"Sure, I try to keep up with her, although it's not as easy as it sounds, I imagine she'd be surprised to model for our company, I doubt she knows where I work or my position," you say with regret in your voice.

"Raising a daughter is not easy, I'll give you that, my older daughter... "Before he can finish, your phone rings to tell you that you've received a message with an attachment.

"When we were talking about the wolf, she sent me a message, sorry, go on, sir," you say, trying to get the conversation going again.

"Take your time, it's important to maintain a relationship with your children, especially when they've left home," he replies, leaning back on the sofa to take a step back.

After unlocking your phone, you click on the notification to open Yuna's message, which contains a link to a video and the message "how to grow my lemons", the link takes you to the streaming site Yuna uses and a replay starts :

"I've talked about this before, but the other day I took two lemons home to my parents that I've been growing for a long time, I'm not very good at it, so I asked my dad for help, he worked hard on them yesterday, you should have seen him, he played with them first and then he watered them generously, I think he's learning as much as I am, so I looked up on the internet how to grow them properly:

- First you need to stir the soil well with your fingers or a tool, then you need to push the seeds in deeply until they reach the end, then you need to water the soil regularly with love to increase the chances of getting a big lemon.

My two lemons have already grown well, so I'm wondering if I shouldn't put in a new seed to make a third, much bigger than the others," she said as she finished her explanation, stroking her stomach several times each time the word seed was mentioned.

Your promise to keep your impure thoughts out of your workplace, but Yuna's provocation, so innocent at first, is dangerously immoral and exciting in the right context.

"Your daughter seems to have found a passion for gardening, which is rare for young people who have only known the capital and its huge buildings," the President replies in an amused tone. 

"However, I wonder if young women have an attraction for fruity things, it brings a sweet and innocent side while retaining the exotic taste of a sweet and strong flavour, should we explore this avenue for our products?" he asked, he's the President after all, so business comes first for him. 

"It's hard to say, I know she had a shoot with different fruits as a concept, she doesn't quite fit the image of a young teenager, but an entry-level range for young girls with products that are easy to apply and discreet or even fragrant could be a target".

Another message appears on your screen with only the text ‘Now you know how to do it 💦🍋’.

The shock is quite brutal, you would never have imagined that your daughter would be so direct with you on this subject, after all you only really resumed your father-daughter relationship yesterday, the difference in personality between the nice, almost innocent girl you had yesterday and this morning and now, where she doesn't hesitate to tease you in public or by text message, a part of you hopes that she is just doing it for fun and not to satisfy you for fear of being abandoned again.

At no point do you want to force her down a path that won't make her happy, you've already thrown away your morals for her, now her happiness is your only concern, her wishes are your orders and pleasing your princess remains your goal in life.

You thank her for the guide and send her a sticker of a cat blowing kisses, followed by an 'I love you'. You put your phone back in your pocket to resume your conversation with your CEO as the clock ticks.

.

"I think we're done, I've really enjoyed this chat, I knew I could count on you to come up with new ideas, would you like to join the monthly review of their project, let's bring them the seed of your future fruity project," as the President stands up and walks towards the door.

"Sure, I'm following you"

.

.

.

The meeting has seemed endless, the chair and the others have taken it in turns to stimulate the discussion with their ideas, and what was supposed to be a simple project review has turned into a kick-off meeting for your project. It's past lunchtime and you've just returned to your office, completely drained of energy and with an appetite that's starting to grow. However, your position in the company means that with a simple phone call you can have a member of the kitchen staff come to your floor with your food.

"Knock, knock" 

"You can come in"

"Morning, Director Shin, here's your lunch," says an athletic-looking young man as he places it on your desk.

"Sorry for the inconvenience, I've had a busy morning and my legs need a rest," you say in a moment of weakness.

"No, no, no problem, sir, I'll come back for the tray later, enjoy your meal". The young man leaves your office in a hurry.

As you pounced on your meal like a hungry hyena, this break being one of the rare moments when you let your invasive curiosity take over, you grabbed the mouse of your computer to open the search browser and typed in the name of your company as well as your first name, you had this strong feeling that you knew what was being said about you or your company, public opinion is important and you were also worried about letting your bad reputation tarnish that of your daughter in case of problems at work.

And although you didn't show her much, it was also your ritual to follow your daughter's career. All these years you have been following her journey as an adult in the industry, and it fills you with pride that today your daughter's name still appears at the top of the search rankings.

Her latest Instagram post seems to have set the internet on fire, as you click on the top trending link to see a series of photos of her in the bathroom of your house, her hair flaming red, her make-up perfectly applied to her face and her brown eyes piercing through the mirror. She's wearing a lovely black and white tank top and I'm sure you'll agree that she looks absolutely fucking gorgeous in these photos, the comments are flooding in with praise for her look, despite the occasional haters, but nothing new.

You quickly take out your phone to leave a message for your princess: 

"I've just seen your photos, you're as beautiful as ever," while attaching a photo of the article you took with your phone. Once you've sent the message, you go back to your meal and your thoughts take over, you realise that this kind of little intention would have started from the beginning of her career, the simple fact of exchanging with your child and the feeling that comes from it soothes your heart and too bad if you become a clingy dad, you're going to tell her every day.

You're suddenly brought back to reality when your phone displays a notification saying that she's replied to you with a simple :

"Hihi thank you 😛, look at my little present", while a second message appears with a still blurred image, followed by a third in the conversation, Yuna had sent it as sensitive content, so you have to click on it to view it, and you're far from imagining what's revealed before your eyes: the last message served as a description with the words:  

"it was just after the shower when i was getting ready to go to the company, my little lemons have turned into cherries, all i need now is your big seed 🍒" the photo is taken from a higher angle where your daughter lifts her top to reveal her small breasts and the many hickey marks still present on her body, Her left breast and nipple are well marked by your mouth, not forgetting that she's not wearing anything, and you can see her little bush underneath, with a comment at the bottom: "To 🍼 my 🧔🏻, He must 🍼 my 😻 first".

At that moment, your cock springs to attention in a flash, it shoots up through your trousers and slams against your belly, any man knows that pain and it's far from pleasant, you loosen your belt to give your raging member a little slack, this little minx knew what to do to excite someone and the hours were going to be long from now on.

The rest of the day goes by slowly, you don't dare take out your phone for fear of getting into an embarrassing situation, you still feel some vibrations in the afternoon, but like a good professional you don't even look, the hours go by until the beginning of the evening, you leave your office and go to the underground car park, you make the effort to look at your phone and all you get are trivial messages, You're a little disappointed because you were secretly hoping for more messages from Yuna, halfway there you find yourself stuck in traffic on the road and you decide to call Yuna to find out how her day went, she answers almost immediately but doesn't answer your question, but you can hear the girls chatting as if she had picked up the phone and put it on a table.

You wonder what kind of phone she uses to get such good quality, the girls' voices are easily recognisable and the sound is as if you were in the room with them.

Yeji: "Ugh, yesterday's shoot was so chaotic! I swear we almost lost our minds trying to get the perfect angle".

Lia: "I know, right? I thought we were going to end up on a blooper reels. Remember when we all turned the wrong way during that one scene?

Ryujin: "Yeah, and Yuna was the only one who actually turned the right way! I guess she has an 'inner compass' or something..."

Yuna: "Hey! I just knew what to do! Plus you stole my concept, remember!"

Yeji: "I mean, you didn't mind talking about it online, you even mentioned your dad again, you're such a daddy girl after all"

Yuna: "Not you too! Can we please not talk about my 'daddy issues' again?"

Chaeryeong: "We can't help it! It's just so weird how you don't even look at all the sexy boys around us, I wonder what you do with all those pictures of him you snatch from the internet".

Lia: “'Even though we know what she's doing, she's acting cold towards him, but in the end it makes you hot, doesn't it? you should at least try dating someone, we've all done it so far and it's like, we're not asking you to sleep with them, just get some dating experience”

Chaeryeong: “Easy Lia-unnie, you're the one taking selfies with your exes' dicks in your mouth aren't you? they never fucked you anyway so keep your advice to yourself”

Chaeryeong:“Yuna, listen, we're not forcing you to do anything, but try to use your youth to meet people, it's weird to see you alone at home all the time.”

Yuna: “Unnie, that's not the problem, I'm just afraid of being rejected and I don't know how to tell him how I feel about him, we haven't been very close since mum left”.

Ryujin: “He's your dad Yuna, of course you love him in your own way, let's just say, just tell him and you'll be free of this burden, then we can go and pick up some hot guys backstage”.

Yeji: “I don't think she likes you getting fucked in the toilets when the newbies show up, same goes for you Chaeryoung, no one's putting any pressure on Yuna, right?”

Lia: “Easy for you to say when you're being fucked by your childhood sweetheart, we're not so lucky to have someone who loves us for something other than our bodies”.

Yuna: "It hurts, doesn't it? Aren't you afraid of getting pregnant?"

Ryujin: "'Are you kidding? Wait, you've never...? not even with the toys you hide in the box under your bed?"

Yuna: ”'OF COURSE NOT".

Yeji: "Stop laughing you bitches, Yuna this ain't that serious, yes it can hurt, you have to be prepared downstairs and remember we take all the pills the company gives us and don't forget we always use condoms, DON'T GIRLS?"

Ryujin: "Don't give us shit about it, they shove it up my arse anyway, you think I'm going to let those sons of bitches touch my pussy? a good load on the face, that's what it's all about'."

Lia: "Same thing, they can fill my arse but my pussy is off limits, I love to smash their cocks and make them scream in pain when they try to pull out'."

Chaeryeong: "Fucking listen to these bitches, apart from sucking cocks when I want to, I only fuck other girls, no risk on my side."

Yeji: "See, we're all careful, protect yourself well and don't forget your pills, they help with your periods too'."

Yuna: “I'm out of pills and I don't have a condom, but it's not like I need one, is it?!!, I'm going home tonight, don't wait for me”.

Ryujin: “Don't take it like that baby, I can give you some if you want”.

Yeji: “Yuna, come back!!! “.

You hear the loud thud of a door slamming and limbs flailing as Yuna leaves.

Yeji: “ 'Well done girls, that was clearly a good time to bring her down and make fun of her and her problems”

Lia: "Sorry unnie, we didn't think she'd take it like that, I'll go and get her'.”

Ryujin: “Stay here, you're making it worse.”

Lia: “Bloody hell, how can someone like that be so ignorant of her own sexuality, do you think she likes girls instead?”

Chaeryeong: “She's got a crush on her dad, are you stupid or what, we don't say anything to avoid the subject, she's just wanted to fuck her dad for a long time, she's got photos of him on her phone, on her wallpaper, a photo of him under her pillow, the poor thing is in desperate need of fatherly love”

Yeji: “ I don't know what happened last night, but since then she's been really nervous about it, let's leave her alone, otherwise she'll go crazy and we don't know what she'll do”.

Yeji: "We'll see about that later, it's almost time. Get ready and I'll go to her, you three go with the managers. We'll go back to the company, Chaery, get her bag and phone. She left it on the table."

Calm returned to the room and before you lost the connection to your daughter's phone, you heard

"Looks like you've got work to do Daddy Shin, sorry for the trouble" and she hangs up.

This is a lot to take in, and apart from the sexual debates between the 4 girls, which did not leave you without a reaction, the hardest thing is still Yuna's problems, which confirm your fears about her feelings, your daughter is not the provocative woman she pretends to be in the message, she is a young woman who still has a lot to learn about her own love and carnal feelings, knowing that your little girl is 'pure and innocent' would make any father smile, but on the other hand, what is the harm in learning about her sexuality? The trauma that has held her back, and for which you are probably responsible, is preventing her from moving forward in her life as a woman.

You'd been thinking all day about how to punish your daughter for her insolence, but the person you'd been talking to didn't exist. With Yuna's true feelings in mind, the next logical step seemed to be to wait for her at home and assume your role as father, as a princess deserves.

When you get home, you look at the clock and realise that she won't be home for another hour or two. That gives you plenty of time to tidy up, do your laundry and take a shower. You've picked up some bad habits living alone, but now that you're sharing your home with someone else, it's time to get the ball rolling again and restore the beauty of your property.

Time flies and you've barely had time to get out of the shower and into your new clothes when you hear the door latch click. You quickly step in front of it to see a redhead running towards you, dropping her bag in the doorway and giving you a big hug.

"Welcome home, darling," you say, stroking her head as you feel her face sink into your chest and a wet feeling hit your chest.

"I'm sorry daddy, I..."

"SHhh, it's all right, I'm here."

The situation is very different from yesterday, Yuna's shell seems to have burst the moment she saw you, you feel the warmth of her body against yours as her arms wrap around you, you say nothing, leaving one of your hands on her head and the other on her back.

"Dad, I... the message... it's not .... I wan...."

"Just breathe, I'm not angry, you know,"

"I just wanted to make you happy, I wanted to show you I'm a big girl, I'm so embarrassed now"

"You don't have to make me happy, it's my job to make YOU happy, and don't bother trying to act big, you're my little princess, that's all".

Just as she seems to have calmed down, you take her face in your hands to wipe away the last of her tears before placing a loving kiss on her forehead, "I love you," you say in a low voice as if to lull her to sleep, "I will never let you down, my only daughter.

Yuna is lulled by your words and you feel the weight of her body fall on your arms, "just rest on the sofa, I'll bring you a snack, you must be tired from your day's work", she accepts without flinching as you prepare something to eat while you wait for dinner, your daughter sits on the sofa, her head resting on a pillow, looking at you, when your eyes meet you exchange a smile without saying a word.

The evening passes smoothly, while your daughter rests and eats, you finally talk about your respective days, leaving your erotic exchanges out of the conversation, she finally gets to know your job, while you finally know what happens off camera, the night is felt and you suggest she take a shower while you prepare dinner, again she accepts without concern.

"Would you like to join me?" she asks shyly.

"Yuna, your legs are shaking, you don't have to push anything, I'm not going anywhere," you reply to her completely unexpected request.

She doesn't even answer and locks herself in the bathroom, slamming the door. You really can't understand what's going on in her head, but there's no time to lose, so you start preparing dinner.

Like last night, the meal is spent in church-like silence, each of us with our own thoughts. Yuna is completely withdrawn and doesn't even look at you, which is quite an awkward situation for you as she seems so close and then suddenly so far away.

You try to break this silence in the desert and ask her if she wants to watch a film, she takes a while to answer and then accepts, saying that she has to change first so that you can start getting everything ready while you wait for her, it's a good start and the film could give you a new topic of conversation to revive the dialogue between the two of you.

While she's still in her room, you call out to her to ask what film she's interested in. 

"Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken Please, Giselle-unnie told me it's good". 

You hear through the house, you recognise your daughter, who has always loved cartoons, once you've found them on Netflix, you adjust the brightness of the lights for a subdued effect, you've prepared a blanket and something to eat.

The minutes tick by and you wonder what Yuna is doing, you don't see much, it takes so long to get into pyjamas, but you tell yourself she's probably on her phone at the same time, which often doesn't help.

You hear her footsteps behind you and when she appears behind you, you see her wearing a simple pink t-shirt, you can easily guess that she's not wearing anything underneath as it hugs her breasts.

Suddenly she's straddling you, saying, "Forget the film, I want you, Daddy," as she pushes her body into yours and lies on top of you in a lotus position.

"Yuna, please, I," you don't finish your sentence as she slaps your face. 

"STOPPP REJECTING MEEEEEEEEEE' she screams at the top of her lungs as she bursts into tears over you, 'WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS, I....I....I JUST WANT YOU TO LOVE ME' WH... WHY ARE YOU HURTING ME LIKE THIS?

Your daughter lashes out at you in shock at what's happening in front of you, you grab her arms and she becomes helpless under the difference in strength between the two of you. 

"Yun..." 

"I just want you..." she says, her face completely ravaged by tears, the face of someone who is deeply hurt and can't take it anymore.

Something breaks inside you, all this time you've assumed she would throw herself at you, just to be like the others, just to receive the love you would have given her anyway, you've hurt her again and again until you made the same mistake you made with your wife.

Your daughter loves you more than anything and you are too blind to see that she doesn't know how else to show it, but this time you will make it right and give yourself to her.

Without further ado, you threw your lips over hers, releasing her wrists from your grip and sliding your hands from her lower abdomen to her breasts hidden under her t-shirt.

"No bra, you little rascal?"

Instinctively she puts her hands on your shoulders and fights your tongue with hers, you attack her nipples with your hand and they are already hard, the attack on her breasts causes Yuna to moan which is absorbed by your kiss, you go down her neck to place your marks while she can finally listen to her pleasure.

"Daddy, your cock, give it to me" she says as she plunges her hand into your shorts and meets your cock through the underpants, you lift her up with the strength of your legs and come to remove your underwear in one go, your cock is now naked between your daughter's thighs and she puts her hands on it.

"Put some saliva before baby," she listens to you religiously, but instead comes and gets the saliva overflowing from her pussy and applies it to your cock.

"Let me use my juices before you use yours," she says as she works your cock up and down, your shaft growing under Yuna's movements and the pleasure is truly enjoyable.

One of your hands digs into her soaking wet panties and you massage her slit with your fingers, your moaning cries joining in as you pleasure each other.

Quickly she gets up from the sofa to kneel in front of you and she begins to lick your cock with delicacy, her tongue starts at the glans and she places kisses on it, then her tongue and lips come together so that she tries to suck your sperm, her lips then go gently down the length of your cock and your cock goes slowly down her throat.

"Yuna, that's good, you're doing great," you say as you put both hands on her head to guide her, you watch as your cock disappears into her mouth as the sensations of her work send shivers down your back, from time to time she pulls out to spit on your shaft before sliding back in,

Yuna learns as she goes and her technique is perfected with each dive, after a while your breaking point comes and you refuse to finish here so you help her pull out and try to save your orgasm for later, her mouth overflowing with saliva and she looks at you with appetite.

"Sorry baby but it's my time to eat you now" you tell her as you take her in your arms and go into your bedroom where you lay her on her back on the edge of the bed, without further ado she attacks her pussy with your mouth and she presses her thighs against your head, Your tongue immediately attacks her slit, which rushes to secrete its juices, which you suck up as you go, her clit is quickly attacked by one of your hands, which takes great care to titillate the little bean, with delicacy you move up and down her slit, from time to time penetrating her entrance with your tongue to prepare the work,

The poor red girl cries out with pleasure as she experiences being devoured by her lover for the first time, she clings to your hair which she pulls when the pleasure is too great, on your side you shift into second gear and penetrate your daughter's pussy with two fingers, you feel like you're piercing a flan because the inside is so soft.

“Daddy don't stop, it's coming” your daughter cries out as she feels your third finger deep inside her, your mouth has turned into a wet wiping system as her pussy floods your mouth, you keep up the rhythm until you feel your daughter leave and in a flash her body goes rigid and her pelvis convulses under the power of the orgasm.

You lift your head and climb onto the bed to kiss your princess with a little “I love you” in her ears, 

"Daddy, I want you,” she says, stretching out her arms to ask you to come inside her, “it's time to put that seed inside me,” as she spreads her pussy in front of you.

Worried, you reach over to your bedside table for a condom, but Yuna stops you.

“It's ok daddy, I'm on the pill and it's a safe day, you can pour everything into my secret garden", Yuna's naughty language excites you immensely and your cock hurts so you give in and come to lie on her entrance and gently tap your cock to soak it in her juices, 

You sink gently and anxiously into your own daughter, resting your elbows on the mattress so that you can kiss her as you move inside her, every inch of her is painful and she lets you feel it as she scratches your back with her fingernails, you kiss her tenderly as your hips move up to touch her pussy, 

Your cock feels the tightness of her vagina as well as the warmth and moisture from your excellent preparation work, the passage through her pussy is made without too much effort and you slide deep inside her like butter, on the other side Yuna seems to take your big cock like a champion and despite the pain she has already wrapped her legs around your waist.

You feel her warm, rapid breathing on your face as you look into her eyes, just inches apart.

"Daddy, I can feel you inside me, my little pussy just ate your big dick."

"Are you alright baby, I won't move until you're ready".

"I want to sit like on the sofa".

You obeyed her orders and gently lifted her up without pulling back to let her sit on you, you put yourself on her buttocks and she was now resting all her weight on you, the change of position made your cock dig even deeper inside her and she felt it well. 

"Don't move, I want to stay connected to you like this," as she strokes her stomach trying to feel your cock, "keep eating my tits, please.

Just as your cock seems to have bottomed out, you turn your attention to her pair of little red lemons, You really loved her tits, they are not as big as some but in your eyes they are perfect, the texture of them, the feel of them in your hands and the way Yuna reacts every time you nibble on her nipples.

You decide to kiss your daughter and whisper "Shall we?" to which she only nods, you begin to rock your hips as your cock slowly emerges from her pussy and then slowly returns, never fully exiting, you carve your daughter's walls with your cock and Yuna moans with pleasure at the work of your rod.

“♥Hmm....♥Ah....♥Hmm, ah....♥ Daddy, your cock is turning me inside out, every time you push in it feels weird down there, it's a bit painful but also extremely pleasurable, I can feel your big cock pushing my sides apart and knocking on my garden gate, keep it up, I want to feel your cock ravaging me".

You pick up the pace at your partner's request, your cock seems to have done its job well as you are able to withdraw completely before impaling her again with no problem, under the force of your hips Yuna lays her head on your neck and sucks you like a baby, you let go of her breasts to lock your hold on her by circling her waist with your arms, once firmly in place you pound her with all your strength. 

“♥Ah....”

“♥Ah.... DADDY”

“♥Ah....

♥Ah.... DA”

For long minutes, you hold her close as your cock slams violently into her pussy. The pleasure comes from the fact that Yuna has her head back, unable to form a sentence. Pleasure has taken over her body. You feel your orgasm building slowly. While your daughter is already on the verge of hers, you feel her legs squeeze you hard as she explodes on your cock and her fluids flow down it. Yet you don't stop your thrusts.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Stop it"' At her command you stop and discover your daughter's face completely undressed, her hair sticking to her sweaty face and you push aside the lips that hide her eyes to kiss her.

"Let me do it now" she asks as she moves her hips on her own to embrace your sensitive cock, her movements are fast, her pussy devouring you at its own pace and you put your hands on both her buttocks to support her, you give little slaps to her delicate skin and as she fucks herself on her father's cock you feel your orgasm coming and you warn her.

"Yuna, I'm coming"

She gives you the coup de grace when she puts all her weight on her descent and your stiff cock pierces all her pussy until your balls kiss her pussy, inside your cock floods her and for the first time in her life Yuna is at the door of motherhood, her pussy sucks your sperm with efficiency and you withdraw from her.

Yuna is still sitting on your lap, your breaths heavy, your bodies full of sweat and juice, and neither of you can stand the silence as Yuna's cum begins to flow.

"Ah baby, that was amazing. You were amazing!"

"Thanks daddy, do you want some more?"

"I'm sorry darling, I'm not young anymore, my penis is withered."

You can see the disappointment in Yuna's eyes. In your youth, a second round might have been possible, but now your libido is limited to your arousal, and after emptying yourself into her, you no longer feel anything on that level.

"Daddy... Are you going to leave me like this?" says Yuna as she gets down on all fours, points her bottom at you and spreads her pussy with your cum dripping from it.

The sight of your daughter in this position would have turned any man on. You feel like it, but your desire is gone for the moment. You see your daughter wiggling her bottom, begging you to fuck her, and you're powerless to stop her.

"Dad, I'm sorry... I lied, I haven't taken the pill yet, I want a second shot or I won't take it. The longer you wait the more your seeds will fertilise my garden, look how hungry my pussy is, come and make sure you flood my pussy next to save my career."

You're at a loss for words, whether to believe her or not, but one thing's for sure, she knows how to work you because your cock has come back to life and you're going to take malicious pleasure in making her regret having put that doubt in your head.

You grab her hips and penetrate her little pussy, slamming your balls against her arse, 

The gentleness of before has been transformed into a wild fuck where only pleasure is king. Your hands are firmly planted on her hips as you pound her with your pelvis, creating waves on her buttocks that will soon feel the onslaught of your hands.

"Daddy, your cock is stirring my insides, your sperm is mixing in my pussy, push hard".

Your daughter is now nothing more than a vulgar hole in your assaults, the seed of doubt she has planted in your mind has completely removed your sanity. If she is indeed unprotected, your first sperm must have done its work in spite of you. When in doubt, you prefer to flood her a second time and make sure she takes her medicine.

Go ahead daddy, make me your property, claim my pussy as your own personal garden, I'll take care of all your fruit,' Yuna's provocations rage in your mind. So you explode into your offspring's pussy again, you stand for a few seconds spasming against your daughter's ass as she collapses onto the bed, then you do the same, completely exhausted.

'Was that true about the pill, baby?

'Yes...' she says shyly. Now that all her libido has left her body, she presses you against her breasts and whispers in your ear: "It's too early to taste my juice, you'll have to give me some more water.

Your daughter is soon off to dreamland, still naked, and the bed is soaked with the fluids of your lovemaking. You make sure you look as tired as possible before you too collapse.

.

.

You wake up to a pleasant smell, but also to a body in pain. The bedroom gym session hasn't done your body any good, but your mind is at peace. As you leave your room, you see Yuna in an apron preparing breakfast. Beside her is a pack of contraceptive pills, two of which are already empty. When she sees you, she says:

"Good morning, Dad, you're going to need your strength, remember, you have to stir the soil first before you put your seed in. We're going to have to spend some time on this before you can make my pussy fertile for you."

Later, as you're driving to work, you see an important email from your CEO and a message from Yuna; you'd like to think that the email is more important, but that would be lying to yourself,

The text message is just a selfie of your daughter still in bed next to you with the message 'I've got a body full of marks, the girls are going to realise what we've done, not to mention I've still got your sperm in me 🤭"

Classic Yuna, but you'll have to get used to it. You've made a pact with a demon, but who cares, you're no angel anyway.

As for the email, just looking at the title 'Meeting with JYP & ITZY', it looks like you're finally going to meet one or more members of your daughter's group.

______________________________________________________________

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Eight - Sparkling diamond

♡♡♡

Benedict joined his sister, Eloise, out in the garden again long after the other had gone to bed. She was smoking on the swing like last time.

As Benedict takes a seat on the opposite swing, she passes him the cigarette. He takes it.

"I found bits of your sketchbook in the fireplace," Eloise says.

"Are you spying on me now?"

"You'd actually have to be interesting for me to bother spying on you," she chuckles.

"The drawings in that sketchbook were abominable," he says firmly. "I could not stand to look at them."

"I believe that is why they call it a sketchbook." Eloise looks at them. "I write in my diary, which is not the same as wiring in my novel."

Benedict chuckles.

"It must be very difficult to want something and not be able to get it."

"Eloise..."

"If you enjoy drawing but need practise, then practise," she goes on. "Hire a drawing master. Find a young lady to act impressed."

You cross his mind. However, he doesn't want you to act impressed. He wants you to be impressed by his work. Genuinely so.

"If you desire the sun and the moon, all you have to do is go out and shoot at the sky. Some of us cannot.

"Look no further than Lady Whistledown. She possesses a huge talent for writing, and yet she must hide away and publish under a false name."

"Yes, because if anyone knew who Whistledown truly was, she'd be strung up for what she said," Benedict states.

"That is not my point. Whistledown is a woman, therefore she has nothing, and still she writes. You're a man, therefore you have everything. You are able to do whatever you want. So do it. Be bold."

Eloise envies her brothers.

"At least that way I can live vicariously through you." She rises to leave.

"Eloise... are you Lady Whistledown?" Benedict asks.

Eloise laughs.

"You're an accomplished writer, always scribbling in that diary of yours. You certainly know everyone else's business. You have more opinions than anyone else I know in London. You would have my full support and admiration either way, sister."

Elosie laughs again.

"So... is it you?"

"No." She looks at him. "Though if it were... do you honestly think that I'd admit it?"

Elosie heads back inside.

Benedict is left with his thoughts.

♡♡♡

The ballroom was elegantly designed. Soft shades to light up the room. You find yourself without a dance partner, however.

Prince Friedrich was in the middle of a dance with Cressida Cowper.

The duke was standing sternly off to the side with Lady Danbury. They appeared to be talking quietly, though judging by the stern faces, it was not a pleasant conversation.

You find yourself gently, and you admire the room. Benedict wasn't here. You couldn't see him at all.

That is not to say you had gone unnoticed. You glance to your left and find a perfectly suitable gentleman looking your way. You smile softly and turn your gaze away.

Tactics of flirtation were not completely out of your power.

Before anyone could make a move, however, the doors at the top of the stairs opened. It wasn't so much the doors that caught everyones attention, more like who had come through them.

You swear you all breath left you when your eyes landed on Daphne coming down the stairs with her mother. She was wearing the most beautiful silver gown you had ever seen, and her hair was beautifully done. She looked like, well, a princess.

In her hand was a feather fan. It went beautifully with her attire. She began to descend the stairs.

All eyes were on her.

Prince Friedrich was at the bottom of the stairs. Not once did he look away. You watch with interest as Daphne gets closer, closer, and closer to him.

The prince leaves Cressida's side to meet Daphne at the bottom stair.

The duke does not move.

Daphne stops.

"Miss Bridgerton, I simply musylt have your first dance." He speaks to her softly.

"It would be an honour, your highness." She curtsies.

A moment passes between them, and then you watch as Daphne drops her fan. Just like that, the prince kneels down to pick it up.

The prince kneeled.

You don't even realise the soft gasp you let out as you watch.

Prince Friedrich offers her the fan, and she takes it. She smiles at him and then gives the fun to her mother as she takes the prince hand.

They dance.

The duke leaves. Though he turns back to look at Daphne before he goes.

In the words of Lady Whistledown, why settle for a duke when one can have a prince?

♡♡♡

The invitation to attend the boxing match came from Anthony Bridgerton. You were rather pleasantly surprised by his invitation.

Anthony apparently needed some help to keep his mother quiet about finding a wife for himself.

You laughed.

You follow the siblings until they reach the prince. He approaches Daphne, but greets you, also. You curtsy.

Anthony then offers you his arm. "Shall we?"

You chuckle and take it, allowing him to lead you over to some seats. As you settle, you turn to the eldest Bridgerton.

"Where are you brothers?" You ask.

"My brothers? Currently talking to one of the fighters." He gestures to the edge of the ring where you spot Colin and Benedict.

You don't even notice you're smiling.

"You and my brother seem to have grown rather close." Anthony points out, looking at you.

"I can assure you there is nothing untoward. Your brother is my friend, as are you all now." You smile at him.

Anthony chuckles.

"Benedict seems to have a lot on his mind at the moment. I am not one to get in the way of someone's business."

"Smart woman," Anthony chuckles.

You nudge his arm lightly and wait for the fight to begin.

As the match is announced to begin, the other brothers find their way to you and Anthony. Benedict looks rather surprised to see you. "I had no idea you were attending."

"Your brother invited me to keep your mother off his back. It seems that is all I'm good for." You chuckle.

"No true, but appreciated none the less," Benedict comments.

You smile, and he takes the empty seat beside you. It does not go unnoticed that you keep your arm looped with Anthony's. He doesn't comment on it.

The fight is intense. You gasp with every hard punch. The men around you cheer on their victor.

You had never witnessed such a match before, and you would be lying if you said you were not somewhat into it.

As the crowd stands, you stand with them and cheer along with the Bridgerton brothers. William Mondrich was their friend, and he was putting up hell of a good fight.

Benedict finds it amusing how excited you seem to be.

Mondrich wins!

You cheer along with the brothers. You laugh at the excitement. It was a thrilling match, indeed.

Anthony helps you down from your seat and speaks close to your ear so you can hear him. "We're off to collect our winnings. I shall see to it you get home right after."

You nod and thank him. As he leaves to fetch his earrings, Benedict turns to you.

"Did you enjoy that?"

You chuckle. "I did. Surprisingly."

"I must say, I did not expect to see you in attendance."

"I am full of surprises."

Benedict looks at you quietly for a moment. "Yes. You are."

You smile and look away. However, his gaze lingers on you for a bit.

Later, the Bridgertons see to it that you get home safely before they head off to the club. A place for the gentlemen only.

Anthony helps you up into the carriage and thanks you for humouring him today. Yo return the gesture and wave as the carriage leaves.

Colin has to nudge Benedict out of his thoughts.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd -

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy - @acupnoodle

@ms-fandomgirl - @fablesrose - @anyaisinyourcloset - @meowzerzstuff -

[melrosing]

so stuff I’ve not liked about the finale and S2 more generally…. unfortunately it’s a lot and i'm thinking i might need to say this in several parts but first and foremost: the pacing really was shit and i don't just mean there weren't enough action scenes i mean the whole season they've had almost nothing to say about these characters and have just been making us think they do by having them repeat the same ham-fisted monologues about power and peace and the cost of war and whatever whilst moving at a glacial pace from one minor plot point to another and by the end of it most of these characters STILL haven't changed, and where they have it feels undeserved, and yes they really are at roughly the place they started so what have they even got to show for these eight hours of TV?? like damn

and I do get that the writer's strike has really effected them here and HBO hacking two eps off their season affected them too and that really can't be helped. but the pacing has been pretty poor from kick off and I can't just put it down to this being a more 'internal' season. i do not care about big battles. it's fine to have a season of a show that’s more about the characters’ interiority rather than plot action. that’s the exact reason why I like AFFC so much.

but these characters barely have interiority like idk what to say. some like Rhaenyra, Jace and Alicent have been spouting the same monologues every episode about wanting peace/wanting agency/wanting peace again etc etc, and the more interesting moments like Alicent's apparent suicide attempts, Rhaenyra's butchering of the dragonseeds etc... I mean where IS the interiority here?? unless they are spelling out a character's thoughts in the most literal way they can (as per Jace's diatribes about the dragonseeds), they leave their audience to do absolutely all the work by showing us nothing, and just leaving us to figure that the characters must be having some kind of thoughts but y'all can decide what they are.

and even Daemon, whose entire ARC was about his interiority.... like look I was so so ready to love this arc. i love fucked up little dream sequences. i love harrenhal. i was really enjoying the angle they took with alys. i was here for it. but now we've seen the whole of his S2 arc, im going to say yes, it was intended as a redemption adjacent kind of arc, and it isn't a very good one. Daemon has a handful of weird dreams, gets shouted at by some Riverlands folk, and he's a changed man.

consider the character everyone compares Daemon to (and who I'm always more than happy to talk about) and that's Jaime. and look at the sheer ground covered in ASOS: Jaime breaks out of a dungeon, Jaime meets a younger version of himself, Jaime gets his hand hacked off, Jaime reveals his anime villain backstory in the bath, Jaime deals with Roose Bolton, Jaime has a weird weirwood dream, Jaime fights a fucking bear - and at this point we're still only about halfway through.

now in contrast, what have they actually managed to do with Daemon this season. where has that finale moment with Rhaenyra been earned. this is not slow pacing for the sake of powerful character development, it's slow because they don't have anything else to say.

and also look at the state of characters like Aemond who seemed really promising in S1, yet in this season he barely reflects on the fact that he hadn't meant to kill Luke, and this war is an accident that he started, etc etc - he's just a killing machine lol. there were some nice touches in there, like i say i enjoyed Helaena telling Aemond how he'll die in the finale. but I no longer trust these writers to do anything with their more inspired ideas because they just consistently fail to do so.

look at Baela!!! like my god, has Baela had the opportunity to do anything except A) what she's told and B) counsel men on their feelings. she has like one moment looking at Daemon and you feel like the series is going to explore how complex it is to be Daemon Targaryen's daughter.... but my god they never do!! so where IS this interiority we've spent eight episodes on! what have they got to show for it!!

and i talked more weeks back about how frustrating i've found the writing of women more generally in this series and as of the finale I am finding it so egregious and so condescending. women want peace. women want to protect their children. women are tired of men. women are tired of war. women are trying to end this war peacefully. women are pacifists. women hate violence. and so on and so on and so on like jesus christ who am i even talking about here. even i don't know. it's so boring. it's so dry. and it requires female characters to always be the paragons of virtue, never do anything truly condemnable, never be unlikeable, never fucking anything except stand around saying how much they hate this. im bored of it and it makes me angry that they would do this in a series that specifically seeks to make everyone grey and everyone complex - they keep suggesting that might extend to the women before abruptly shutting it down again. see Alicent and Rhaenyra even STILL, after EVERYTHING, trying to peacefully shut down the war for the sake of love and friendship in the goddamn finale. I don't believe it anymore!! it's not cute! it's just dull!!!

and finally that just kind of brings me to how shortsighted a lot of the plot developments seem, when you see how the characters fail to reckon with their pasts or shit that just happened. Rhaenyra and Mysaria make out, and then that's never mentioned again and the tone never changes between them. Rhaenyra is done thinking about Luke. Helaena is done thinking about Jaehaerys. Aegon actually didn't mention Jaehaerys in the list of things he's 'lost' in that finale. Alicent's relationship w Viserys was just now condensed to 'we were fond of each other but he always liked your mum better'

like idk it's just. if this season's pacing is all about giving characters the chance to change and grow into the people they'll be when this war REALLY kicks off.... do it. write it. do not just write the same monologue a dozen times and hope it'll hit harder with each. doesn't work like that. sorry.

[everythingacotarbxm1012]

They're Mates Pt 2

Summary - Feyre learns about Azriel and Vee's story as she and Rhysand make their way to the prison

Warnings/Other Notes - Blood, injury, and physical abuse mentioned in this part. None of it graphic but please proceed with caution; 1.3k words; Again, these lines/plot points are inspired by, or directly quoted from, ACOMAF

Part One

✨💫

Even days after the dinner, Feyre still had questions about Rhysand and his Inner Circle. Specifically questions about the spymaster, about the emissary. What was Azriel’s story? What was Vee’s story? What were those burns from? If Vee was Illyrian, why did she still have her wings? And the shadows…? Feyre shuddered at the thought. She fell asleep repeating those questions in the back of her mind.

The following morning, Feyre jolted awake to find Amren standing at the foot of her bed. She rubbed her temples as Amren made some comment about vomiting her guts up before throwing something onto the bed. “That got me out of prison. You wear it in––they can’t keep you.”

Feyre didn’t so much as move.

Amren leaned forward slightly. “Let me be very clear. This is not some toy. I do not give it lightly, but I’ll allow you to have it while you go to the prior and do what must be done. When you are finished,” Amren took a breath, “return it or suffer the very unpleasant consequences.” Amen was gone the moment Feyre had her fingers against the cool metal.

Feyre quickly dressed for her visit with Rhys to the prison. The questions still mingled in the back of Feyre’s mind, but the prospect of the prisoner dulled the curiosity.

“What?” Feyre asked when she noticed the High Lord looking at the amulet around her neck for the tenth time.

“She gave you that amulet,” Rhys stated.

“It’s serious, I suppose,” Feyre responded. “I, well, the risk––”

“You don’t want to say something you don’t want the others hearing,” Rhysand warned. “Those inmates have nothing to do but listen through the earth for information to trade for food or sex or even some air.”

Feyre didn’t respond as he offered his hand to her to help with a particular steep bit of rock. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” Feyre said as she took Rhysand’s hand. She referred to the inability to get out of bed after seeing the prison for the first time.

The High Lord shook his head. “There is nothing to be sorry about, Feyre. You are here now. And don’t worry.” He winked. “Your pay won’t be docked.”

They continued their climb until the upper face of the mountain was a wall before the pair. Below, Feyre and Rhysand could see the flow of the grass. Feyre’s gaze quickly shifted to Rhys when he pulled out a sword. He noted the look on Feyre’s face.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” he said.

“I’ve just never seen you with a weapon before,” Feyre responded.

“Cassian would laugh until he couldn’t talk if he heard that. Then make me spar with him.”

“Could you beat him?” Feyre asked. “Cassian I mean.”

“Hand-to-hand combat? Certainly.” Feyre noticed the lack of pride and arrogance in Rhys’s tone. “He wouldn’t win easily, but he would win. He is the best warrior I’ve ever met, ever. The reason I’ve entrusted him to lead my armies.”

There were a few short moments of silence as Feyre thought. The other two. Azriel and Vee. “Azriel, his hands,” Feyre questioned. “The scars, I mean. How did he get them?”

Rhys’s face darkened, a flicker of pain in his eyes as silence stretched for a moment. “His father, a lord, had two legitimate sons who were both older than Azriel. Spoiled. Cruel. Learned traits from their mother, the lord’s wife. For the first eleven years of his life, he lived under his father’s keep. The lord’s wife saw to it that Azriel was kept in a cell with no window or light. They let him out for an hour every day…only let him see his mother for an hour once a week. He was not allowed to train, fly, or doing anything else his Illyrian instincts screamed at him to do.” 

Another pause ad Rhys’s voice softened. “When Azriel was eight, his brothers thought it would be fun if they mixed an Illyrian’s quick healing oil and…and fire. His father’s warriors heard his screams, but they found him too late. He was left the scars from the burns.”

The image of Vee gently kissing Azriel’s hand when she had met everyone flashed through Feyre’s mind, the action having a whole new meaning to her. But Vee. She said she was Illyrian, but she also said Illyrians have a habit of ridding females of their wings. “And Vee, her wings.” Feyre searched for the right words for a moment. “She is Illyrian, but still has her wings?”

The most subtle sigh escaped Rhys. “She is, she does. Her story is intimately tied with Azriel’s. She was born to an Illyrian family, who trained her from a young age to attract the attention of males. Illyrian females are seen as nothing more than breeding stock. When they were both eight, a few months before Azriel’s hands were burned she was out and about when he was having his allotted time with his mother. His shadows took it upon themselves to go and say hello to the young girl. In hindsight, they likely realized the connection between Azriel and Vee before either of them even considered it. Vee interacted with his shadows before they returned to their master, whispering what she had shared with them.”

The image of the his shadows weaving through the edges of Vee’s hair came into her mind’s eye.

“At some point his shadows starting sharing secrets about Azriel to Vee. The shadows became a lifeline for the both of them, using his shadows to share messages with each other. She was the one to keep him company during those last three years of confinement. Despite there being no windows or light, the shadows found a way. When he was brought to the training camp where Cassian and I were, I suspect their messages to each other continued. Soon after my mother took Cassian and Azriel under her care too, Azriel’s shadows informed him that Vee was in distress, in danger during the night. He didn’t have to think twice, he was flying out of our home in an instant.” Rhys shuddered at the next thought, the image of Vee, bloodied and injured in Azriel’s arms that was long since buried came rising to the surface. “Azriel walked in to see her father in the beginning moments of cutting her wings up, to permanently destroy them. It wasn’t enough for her father to just cut off her wings and be done with it.”    

The thought setting a nauseating feeling into the pit of Feyre’s stomach.    

“I suspect that if Vee was not so badly injured, Azriel might have had a go at her father, maybe even tried to kill him. My mother took her in too and by miracle saved Vee’s wings. Azriel helped her learn to fly again after she healed. One of his shadows was always with her if he couldn’t be with Vee himself. He taught her to how to defend herself. He adopted the name Vee after she declared she did not want the name her father had given her. Vee, derived from Velaris. Their mating bond snapped about a year later. Neither of them hesitated to accept it. During the war they rarely saw each other, using the bond to communicate, to ensure the other was alive. She managed a few short, brief meetings. Azriel is my spymaster because he can infiltrate courts undetected, gather information, keep tabs on our allies and enemies. Vee is my emissary because her ability to take the information Azriel has gathered and use that charm she has to gather allies is, invaluable.”   

The truth that Rhys would not share, at least not yet, was Azriel and Vee’s story was the one that gave him an inkling of hope with Feyre. Both Azriel and Vee were scarred, beaten down by the world, torn apart, but they always found their way to back to each other. All Rhysand could do was hope that the same would eventually be true for himself and Feyre.

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (28)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: mention of masturbation, public dirty talk, sexual tension, smut, angst, swearing ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Even though he had expected nothing else, his wife's reaction completely devastated him anyway − her words cut through him like daggers, showing him his own face in the light of the truth.

What should I do now?

Divorce you?

Not speak to you for eight years?

He didn't know what he should answer.

The realisation that he was constantly searching for fault in her because he felt guilty himself, that he was accusing her of betrayal because he had betrayed her himself, caused him to no longer know who he was anymore. He felt so lost and heartbroken that he had simply burst out crying in front of her like a child scolded by a parent.

He just wanted her to forgive him.

When she told him what Alys had seen in her dream and informed him of her conditions, even though he was dying at the thought of spending even one more day in this fortress, he sat down at her oak desk the next morning to write a letter to his brother-king.

My King, our half-sister has agreed to our terms, however, she makes her own demands. I have decided, in order to alleviate the situation, to travel with my wife to Dragonstone, where we are currently staying. We want to try to convince them to change their minds − one order from you is enough for me to return to King's Landing. Your loyal brother

His niece was furious with him − he had never seen her like this before and preferred not to address her at all when she spoke to him knowing that he would only make matters worse. He hoped that his conciliatory attitude and the fact that he had fulfilled her wish would make her calm down.

The thought that he wasn't her prisoner didn't comfort him, because he felt like one anyway.

Wherever he went he might encounter someone he didn't feel like looking at, so he preferred to stay in her chamber and bear it somehow.

As soon as she had left her quarters he rose from his chair and began to walk around her room, looking at the various objects on the shelves and bookcases − he looked through the books she was reading, finding with satisfaction that most of them were also in his possession in King's Landing.

He spotted her embroideries in one of the drawers, including those he remembered well from his childhood, and smiled involuntarily at the thought, wondering if she had kept them for the sake of memories.

He shuddered as the door to the chamber opened suddenly and he slid the drawer back in, turning with a rapidly beating heart − Daemon stood with his hands folded behind him, sighing heavily.

"− come, nephew − we must discuss many important matters −" He said with a kind of boredom, as if what he was speaking of was a duty he had no desire to perform at all.

"− I will not go anywhere with you, uncle − I am quite comfortable here −" He said lowly, looking away, frustrated.

Why did he always feel like a little child in his presence?

Daemon chuckled at his question.

"− it wasn't a request − come, let's have a walk −" He encouraged him in a ferocious, mocking tone from which he felt rage and a clench in his stomach.

He knew he couldn't refuse.

Daemon led him out of the fortress through one of the side entrances − he checked a few times before the sound of the sea surrounded them that the dagger he always carried with him was strapped to his belt.

They stepped out onto a gigantic white beach seeming to stretch on endlessly to him, with only the water to their left and high rising rocks and mountains to their right.

They were completely alone.

His uncle finally stopped and turned to him, looking at him for a moment without a word.

"− why did you suggest you spend the night in Dragonstone? −"

He licked his lips, feeling his heart stop at his question.

"− that was her wish −"

"− don't fucking lie to me or I will pierce your skull with my sword −"

He looked at him in disbelief, his jaw clenched so tight he felt like it was going to burst, his fingers involuntarily tightening into fists.

Silence fell again, the sound of the waves around them, their hair and tunics blowing in the wind.

It seemed to him that his uncle's gaze was piercing him to the core.

"− Larys Strong had his own plans for you − I couldn't let that happen −" He muttered at last.

"− does she know about this? −" He asked coldly.

He swallowed hard at the thought that he was referring to his wife.

"− yes −"

"− did you tell her before or after we came here? −"

He lowered his gaze already knowing what he was leading up to, he felt like his whole body was quivering.

"− after −"

Daemon snorted in annoyance, shaking his head as he looked out at the sea stretching before them.

"− you fucking cunt − I was supposed to personally deal with his rats overdue in the Eyrie, but you ruined my plan − though surely that's good for you −" He confessed looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

He felt a powerful, cold shiver run along his back at the thought that he knew everything.

He knew that they were about to be murdered.

And Rheanyra?

Seeing that he couldn't force out the question that was pressing on his lips his uncle laughed out loud.

"− the rider of the world's greatest dragon since Balerion's passing is unable to get a word out − shame has taken away your speech? − where is your pride that you always boasted so much? −" He continued, provoking him to explode, his heart pounding like mad.

What should he do?

How should he behave?

"− you are exactly as I assumed − you are still a boy who has lost an eye and who is waiting for his betrothed to come to comfort him − you are like a stone, unable to move on − my daughter has sacrificed everything for you, and you stand before me like some fool −"

"− what do you want from me, uncle? −"

"− no − what do YOU want − are you able to name it in your head, or are you like a child in a fog without your mother? −" He asked in a raised voice, frustrated, making him feel a hot wave of humiliation flowing through his body.

"− I want her to be safe −"

"− what happened in King's Landing? −"

"− I −"

"− fucking speak − and you'd better say the truth −"

"− your spies in the Red Keep didn't report it to you? −" He hissed, his uncle taking a step towards him, looking him straight in the eye.

"− you're trying my patience −"

He pressed his lips together feeling his heart rise to his throat, cold sweat running down his back.

"− my mother gave her moon tea without my knowledge − she wanted to be able to pact with you and give her to Lord Arryn's son −" He said dispassionately feeling, however, that his voice trembled. Daemon looked at him wordlessly.

"− and what have you done to punish those who wronged my daughter, and your wife? −"

He looked at him feeling his whole body freeze.

"− what would you have done to her if she had been the one to fail your trust? − if she tried to fight for her freedom, if she stood up to you and threatened your mother? −" He asked, stabbing his words into him like daggers.

He didn't know the answers to these questions.

He never wanted to ask himself them.

"− I did everything I could − she is my mother − you would expect the same from your daughter yourself −"

"− and yet she was the one who came to beg her own mother to surrender her claim to the crown when yours was encouraging your brother to steal the throne that never belonged to him − gods, Viserys has taught you nothing, has he? − you see nothing but your mother's skirt to which you have always been clung −" He muttered with some kind of disgust from which he felt a cold, unpleasant shiver and discomfort in his stomach.

"− I regret − I regret that, seeing this, seeing Viserys fail you, seeing Otto make you his pawn, I was not a fatherly figure for you to follow − I did not, though it was my duty −"

He looked at him in disbelief, feeling with horror the burning under his eyelids. He laughed and shook his head, wishing he could somehow control what was happening to him − he hid his hands behind his back feeling how much they were trembling.

"− are you remorseful, uncle? − do you see that you yourself also contributed to the division of our family into two separate parts? −" He asked with mockery and regret in his voice feeling that he was weak.

What had happened in the last few days had completely destroyed him.

"− I want to hear the truth and I will ask for the last time − what do you want? −" His uncle asked with emphasis on the last sentence.

He shuddered, realising that deep down he knew what the answer was.

He always knew.

"− I wish it was all over − I wish I could take her to Essos, as I promised her − I am tired, uncle − I have been tired all my life − I only rest when she is by my side −"

Daemon looked at him for a long moment and let out a loud breath, looking out to sea. They stood like that, not speaking to each other.

"− is there anything else you have hidden from her? −" He asked coldly, and he felt a squeeze in his throat at the memory of the Witch of Harrenhal's words.

You will betray her at the moment she trusts you the most.

You will achieve victory, but she will never let you touch herself again.

You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death.

He raised his eyes to his uncle and met his gaze, proud and distrustful, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

"− I −"

"− speak −"

"− there is − there is a woman in Harrenhal, called by some a witch − she came to me last morning and −"

"− did you take her to your bed? −"

His voice stuck in his throat at his question, so he shook his head quickly, horrified.

"− no, but she said − she prophesied to me that this would happen − that − that I would put my child inside her −" He muttered, feeling with what difficulty those words left his mouth. Daemon raised his eyebrows in disbelief and rolled his eyes.

"− and? − if she said so, now there's nothing left for you to do but put your cock inside her? − don't make me laugh −" He sneered, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"− she can predict the future − I −"

"− are you listening to me, or have you not only gone blind but deaf? − if she told you that you would run away with her to Essos and beget twenty children with her would you believe her too? − she told you exactly what she wanted to happen − she hopes to still use you in the future by doing so, and you reflecting on her words are doing exactly what she wants − I don't know any man who would put his cock into a woman by accident or by fate − pull yourself together −" He said impatiently, causing a warm wave of embarrassment to surge through him.

He thought he really was a fool.

How could he have believed her with such ease?

Though he didn't want to admit it to himself, his words brought him relief.

"− do you have anything else to convey to me? − this is your last chance −" He asked coldly, and he shook his head.

"− very well − I'm glad we've got it behind us − you may leave −" He said dryly; he pressed his lips together at his words and simply walked away, swallowing his dignity and pride.

As he stepped into his wife's chamber he noticed her seated figure out of the corner of his eye, but he did not say a word to her − he felt humiliated and tired and did not feel like making conversation.

He also recognised that she certainly still hadn't forgiven him, so they might as well keep quiet.

He therefore sat down with one of her books by the fire, trying to concentrate on what he saw before him and not on his uncle's words.

I regret that, seeing this, seeing Viserys fail you, seeing Otto make you his pawn, I was not a fatherly figure for you to follow.

Though some part of him did not want to admit it, he knew that subconsciously he had been waiting for those words, for any praise or appreciation from him, the Rouge Prince himself, the greatest warrior and dragon rider he had seen in his lifetime.

So why did he feel so bad about what he had said to him?

You are still a boy who has lost an eye and who is waiting for his betrothed to come to comfort him.

My daughter has sacrificed everything for you, and you stand before me like some fool.

He swallowed hard, knowing that there was partly truth in his words.

For some reason though he wanted to, he couldn't completely free himself from the past and move on.

"− Jace kissed me − on the lips −"

He lifted his gaze to her from his book thinking he had overheard himself. He felt a wave of anger and disbelief surge through his body when he noticed in her gaze that she wasn't mocking him.

She meant it.

"− he did WHAT? −" He growled, getting up from his seat, throwing his book on the table and leaving immediately thinking he was going to kill this fucking bastard with his own hands.

When he finally walked into the right chamber he breathed heavily and grinned, feeling as if all the frustration, the things that had been happening to him after his conversation with his wife and uncle were going to find release at this very moment.

Jace stood up from his chair, pale at the sight of him, clearly knowing exactly what awaited him.

"− haven't you learned yet not to take what's not yours? − hm? −" He murmured teasingly, feeling the presence of his niece beside him, the scent of vanilla filling his lungs again.

"− Aemond −"

"− your sister when we were children told me that she never desired you as a man − she knew even then that you were a cunt −" He sneered, cocking his head to the side, resting his weight on his right leg, watching curiously as his nephew turned all red with embarrassment.

"− Aemond, that's enough −"

"− how dare you? − you are a guest under our roof − get out −" Baela growled, his smile widening even more at the sight of her, her lips tightening into a thin line.

He thought he would love to hit her in the face again before he remembered that she was a woman.

What a pity.

His wife appeared suddenly in front of him, looking at him warningly.

"− we are leaving −"

He felt like laughing at her words.

Her brothers were getting away with far too many things.

"− no − I'm speaking with my nephew −" He said sweetly, looking his nephew straight in the eye thinking with amusement that this time would be different.

"− we are leaving, uncle, or I swear I will never return with you to King's Landing −"

"− so I'll stay here with you − Jace as ruler of Dragonstone will surely be delighted to host us, won't he? − he seems to have a weakness for you, sweet wife −" He muttered in a voice filled with challenge and poison seeing that Baela looked at her betrothed in disbelief.

Always pretending to be so righteous, so wronged.

He was nothing more than a pathetic brat who was once again reaching for what didn't belong to him.

"− Jace, say something at last! −" Baela thundered, clearly wanting Jace to stop being a scared cunt, which unfortunately he was unable to do.

He could feel his own heart pounding fast, his hands clenched into fists, his breathing quick and deep.

He was ready to attack him, he was ready to rip him to shreds.

Some part of him wanted to do it.

A fucking would-be King.

You'll never sit on the throne − he thought with satisfaction − and in my wife's eyes you were never a man she could desire.

"− I made a mistake − I shouldn't have done it, forgive me − I −" He mumbled in horror as he looked at his niece with pleading eyes.

Did he really think that he would let him hide behind her skirt like a coward?

That he would allow him to escape the consequences of his foolishness again?

"− you made a mistake? − I seem to be able to understand the feeling − I have made a similar one many times, as well as others, even worse ones −" He hissed grabbing her cheeks, heard her draw in a loud breath, shocked, as his lips pressed against hers in a hot, aggressive kiss − she moaned quietly as his slick tongue forced its way deep into her throat with his low sigh of delight.

He pulled away and met her simultaneously terrified, enraged and thirsty gaze − she only mewled when he turned her with a confident tug with her back against him and pressed her figure against his chest, gripping her neck with one hand, the other sliding down her lower abdomen.

He involuntarily licked his lower lip when he felt her fingers tighten on his wrist trying to stop him from doing what he wanted to do, her mouth parted in disbelief.

"− so beautiful, isn't she, nephew? − I couldn't help myself either − I can't count how many times I took her − how many times I have filled her with my seed − right here −" He breathed out, not really understanding himself what he was actually doing, focusing more on her than on them as he dug his fingertips into her womanhood lying beneath the material of her gown.

Her head was tilted back, her thighs clenched, her lips struggling to hold back the moan from which his erection slapped impatiently against her buttocks in his breeches.

He thought he will fuck her with his fingers in front of his eyes.

"− u-uncle − stop −"

In fact, he had to stop when Daemon walked into the chamber − the ashamed, horrified expression on Jace's face who couldn't even look at them and the accusing look his betrothed turned towards him was reward enough for him.

He wanted to watch his world, everything he desired burn and fall apart in his hands.

He wanted him to know what it felt like.

He knew his wife enough to know that her rage was mixed halfway with the desire and tension he himself felt. He wanted to respect her request not to take her and break it at the same time, feeling that he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, so he did something that stopped halfway between both, coming with a sigh of relief on the material of her nightgown when he heard her moans of sweet fulfilment.

He wanted nothing more after this than to lock her in his arms and fall asleep.

"− let me embrace you −" He muttered.

"− no −" Her frustrated, trembling voice answered him.

He huffed loudly, heartbroken, at the same time understanding her and longing to take refuge again in the warmth that the closeness of her body gave him. In a gesture of desperation, he simply pressed his face against her neck, taking in her scent.

"− move away, uncle −"

"− I inhale the wonderful scent of vanilla after having experienced fulfilment with my wife −"

"− your wife does not wish for this −"

"− sleep −"

He heard her sigh heavily, annoyed, but said nothing more. When he finally felt she had fallen asleep, his hand slowly touched her waist and slid to other side, taking its place on her warm lower abdomen.

"− no −" He heard her quiet, unclear mumble, her body stirring in his embrace.

"− shhh − let me −" He whispered in her ear, his lips placing a soft, warm kiss on her cheek.

"− mhm −" She muttered, twisting towards him immersed in a deep sleep − he sighed heavily as her body involuntarily clung to his, her face sinking into the hollow of his neck.

He swallowed hard, feeling the squeeze in his heart and the tears under his eyelids that, one by one, began to run down his cheeks as his hands wove through her hair and the material of her nightgown at her back, pressing her close to his body.

He thought that for some reason during the nights he spent with her he was most vulnerable and weak, her presence, the warmth of her flesh, her closeness made him feel as if something was melting inside him, not allowing him to pretend that Daemon's words had not hurt him.

Despite repeating to himself that his uncle's words meant nothing to him, as a child he had looked up to him, dreaming of being like him − fearless, ironic, intelligent, confident, proud of his family and his heritage.

I regret that, seeing this, seeing Viserys fail you, seeing Otto make you his pawn, I was not a fatherly figure for you to follow.

He pressed his lips together at that thought, at his words, which cut into his heart like a sword, because although he had tried to find his pattern of masculinity in his father, in his older brother, in his grandfather, in Ser Criston, it was his uncle that his gaze had always followed, it was his uncle's reaction that he looked at when he and his father watched them duel.

He never heard a single warm word from his lips.

The fact that he was his mother's son had crossed him out in his eyes, and he had no intention of apologising for anything.

So what was he to do with his words?

That he did not know − nor did he know what purpose the conversation had served or why he had told him about the Witch of Harrenhal. He thought with shame that guilt and fear had crushed him so much that he had to get it off his chest, and he had chosen the worst person to do so.

What if he uses this against him?

Poison his daughter's thoughts with words that her husband feared that he would betray her in the future, beget a bastard child with another woman?

He felt a cold shudder run through his body at the thought, but for some reason he had a feeling that this would not happen.

She told you exactly what she wanted to happen.

She hopes to still use you in the future by doing so, and you reflecting on her words are doing exactly what she wants.

He was right.

This woman, whoever she was, was playing with him and his wife.

He thought she was hoping to frighten them both and lead them to lose trust in each other.

That this was perhaps also part of Larys' plan.

He had no intention of killing his wife.

He wanted her to do it herself.

That thought, that realisation flashed through his body like a flame, his fingers clamped down on her flesh as he swallowed hard, feeling some kind of indescribable relief, finding meaning in it at last.

They knew that if his wife disappeared, he would join the war.

He sighed quietly, thinking with surprising calmness in his soul, stroking his wife's soft, dark curls with his fingers, that he would cut off the heads of all the vipers plotting against her, one by one.

He intended to personally inform his brother what their grandfather and Lord Strong were planning to do behind his back.

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day eight: overstimulation kink

>>> gojo x pussydrunk is so real and canon don't try to convince me otherwise. also, everyone clap and shower me in praise, i wrote a gojo smut w/o a daddy kink!!!!!

>>> starring: satoru gojo x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: overstim pls, fingering (fem receiving), oral (fem receiving), creampie, mating press, petnames, slight size kink? >>>wc: 2.3k >>> event masterlist

satoru gojo is a lot of things. the world’s strongest sorcerer, yes. renowned six eyes user after hundreds of years, yes. absolutely insufferable to most of his loved ones, another yes. he’s also undeniably and insatiably obsessed with you. you’re his person, the one designed to understand, support, and love him, you’re the one thing about him that makes everything else seem irrelevant by comparison. so it’s no surprise when he puts you on a pedestal, worshiping you as if you were the honored one. in a way, you are. you’re the one hand-crafted just for him, that at least made you the chosen one, no? and he certainly chose to spend all his free time with you, despairing every second away from home. you consumed nearly every thought of his even this far into your relationship, and all of his money was spent on or for you. oh how the mighty have fallen, the most powerful man of the modern era absolutely wrapped tight around your little finger. he’s whipped, and absolutely proud of it. your love looks good on him, and he’s honored in more ways than one. 

which must explain why he’s been so miserable for the past few days. he hadn’t left your side for longer than a night’s rest since he met you because satoru gojo also is the definition of a stage four clinger. this mission had drained him of joy, running around wrestling grade one curses with his kids was nowhere near as fun as laying in your arms or pinning those arms to your sides to keep you from pushing him away as he lapped away at you…sigh. he couldn’t wait to be home. his imagination wasn’t doing it for him anyways.

not even his teleportation abilities got him to his house quick enough. he sighs contently at the comforting smell of his living room, some fancy vanilla and lavender air plug-in thing you insisted he needed. he can sense you immediately, seemingly asleep. it was rather late at night, but he still feels his heart sink a little in disappointment. but as he silently makes his way down the hall, he can hear little sniffles and ragged breaths. you were crying, he realizes. 

“don’t tell me you’re crying because you miss me?” he pouts from the doorway, the sound of his voice ceasing your little sobs. he’s grinning at you, one of his award winning ones where his eyes sparkle like a clear pool on a summer day and his nose crinkles up so adorably and everything. you rub at your eyes just to make sure he’s really back, and then you throw a pillow at him for the comment. 

“course i was, you ass. it’s almost been a week!!” you whine, and he’s abusing his powers again to pull you into his chest, suddenly laying beside you in the bed—the pillow plopping against the floor. he adorns that same grin, large hands pawing away your tears. 

“i’m flattered, really, but my girl’s got no reason to cry. you know nothing could keep me from coming home to you.” he muses, kissing your forehead. your hands close around his wrists as you give him a weak smile of approval. 

“i know–but you weren’t answering any of my texts and it was only supposed to be a three day mission.” you reason with a sniffle, burying your face in his chest so you can squeeze him tighter. he sighs with a little wave of guilt knocking into him at your words. he should have made time to at least let you know he was alright. 

he sighs at his mistake. “my bad princess!” one of his hands rests on the back of your head, the other in the dip of your waist. “i was absolutely miserable without you though, i was too distracted trying to finish so i could get home.” he pouts, still smiling brightly at you as he slides his hand lower to your hip. you huff in response. then you throw a punch to his chest lightly after you lean back from the hug, abusing your own knowledge of infinity being off in your presence to your advantage. 

“that’s for making me worry!” you pout, still sniffling a little bit. He frowns, ducking down to kiss the tip of your nose. he uses his grip on your face to steer your gaze up to him, and then he kisses the corner of your mouth. 

“oh–i can’t have that.” his thumbs move back and forth over your cheekbones. “let me make it up to you?” he croons, easing his hand to your ass to squeeze on your mound, a sly smirk replacing the sweet grin he’d worn previously. you gasp a little, especially after he gives your ass a light little smack. “i did miss you terribly, after all.” 

it’s almost embarrassing how easy it is to rile you up. but you’ve missed him too, you hadn’t been without him for longer than a day or two, so the six it’s been was borderline torture for a couple as addicted to each other as you two are. you spread your hands out across his shoulders, feeling the dips and swells of his chest and collarbones beneath your fingers. you nod, his hand hard at work kneading the fat of your backside. “be my guest.” 

he grins, giving you a proper kiss. his lips are warm and sweet tasting as always and he wastes no time moving his hands up under your shirt to remove it, chuckling when you yank on his shirt with haste. it’s clear you missed him just as bad, and he can’t deny his little love. he leans back for enough separation to peel his top off, humming happily when you’re smashing your boobs up against him in another tight hug and smothering kiss. the way your body feels against his is intoxicating, and he can’t help but relish the warmth your soft and supple skin provides. his hand quickly snakes between you, locating your throbbing need easily. it’s muscle memory with as many times as he’s done this, your lips wrestling for dominance as his fingers swipe over your panty-clad bundle. you always whine so prettily into his mouth, your hips seemingly moving with a mind of their own every time he touches you. he smiles against your mouth, feeling his own cock pulse with excitement at the cute noises you make. 

the way the fabric of your panties presses against you makes your whines turn into moans, the pleasure starting to mount in your gut. satoru loves this, the slutty pajamas you sleep in of just his shirt and a pair of panties only making everything easier. he has the best seat in the house to you wiggling against the pillows, soft moans spilling from your lips as your little hand tries to add to your pleasure by pinching at your chest. it doesn’t take long at all before you’re grasping at his wrist to keep his hand still, spilling over the edge with nothing but his fingers and the occasional sloppy kiss to your face and neck. 

but he’s missed you, he couldn’t dare stop there. he slides down your body, giving your nipple a quick lick on his way to settle in between your legs. he smiles at the sight greeting him, the cute little wet patch soaking through your undies that was growing darker by the second. he presses his nose against the spot, taking in a deep sniff and sighing it out happily. “god i missed ya so bad, sweetness. you know i gotta taste, i almost forgot what it’s like..” 

you giggle as he loops his fingers in the waistline and peels the wet fabric down your legs, discarding them in a forgotten pile. you spread your legs for him easily, watching his tired eyes hum with vibrance and excitement as he looks at your sopping core. he’s on you in a matter of seconds, his hot tongue spooning out your release for him to drink up. it has your back arching off the bed instantly, the long muscle caressing your insides for his own pleasure just as much as your own. he moves so fast and so sloppy as he moans at your flavor, moving up to suckle on your clit, his teeth gnashing over the bundle without care. he knows your inner workings inside and out, able to work you up and over the edge as quickly or slowly as he willed it. you know better than anyone that that ability paired with his normal insatiability meant you were in for a long night. 

“oh sh–shit baby.” you whine, feeling that delicious burn of pleasure mount in your gut. your eyes drift closed as your fingers snatch handfuls of his white tresses in an effort to ground yourself. he just chuckles, rapidly flicking his tongue over your clit, purposefully trying to drive you to the edge as many times as he could tonight just to prove to you that he couldn’t get his mind off you for one second while he was away. even as dangerous as the stakes of the mission were, he couldn’t bring himself out of his daydream of going back home to your waiting embrace and spending the rest of the day doing exactly this—watching your pretty eyes roll back into your head as your legs shake around his face. 

every suck and lick is calculated expertly, you couldn’t hold back any longer. you whine softly, tugging on his silky hair as you coat his mouth and chin with your juices. you know better though, he won’t stop here. he only proves you right, lapping at your fluids once more before sticking his fingers in the fluttering hole and returning to suck at the apex of your thighs. you shake your head, too wound up from your last orgasm to handle the harsh way his mouth moves over you or the speed of his fingers curling inside. you squeal and kick your legs, trying with all your feeble might to escape him. he knows if you really needed to stop you would give him the special code word you instilled at the beginning of your relationship, so he doesn’t hold back in his relentless finger fucking, letting his teeth bite at your need in a way that had your toes curling and legs jerking before you even came again. you’re whining and panting, and he thinks you’ve never looked better than this, an absolute mess just for him; letting him have his way with you just to prove you missed him too. it makes him so proud. you can feel that pleasurable burn again, mixed with something foreign. it was almost like you had swallowed a bunch of rocks, and you could only gasp out to communicate that this time was going to be different. he felt your thighs tighten under his grip, a clear cut sign that you were close yet again. he giggled to himself, putting his work into overdrive to get you there for the third time in under fifteen minutes. 

you pull his hair way harder than he’s experienced at your hand before—not that he’s complaining, and then you spray liquid all over his face and chest. he’s gawking up at you as he watches the streams, sitting up to avoid it hitting him in the eyes. he’s grinning like a madman though, easy circles over your clit to soothe you through it while his other hand tracks down his shirt. 

“oh my god?? my pretty girl just squirted for me.” he giggles, wiping his face and upper body clean. your eyes are drooping, but you’re returning his grin. he leans over to kiss you, rewarding you for the performance. “so hot. wanted you in doggy, but my poor girl wouldn’t be able to hold herself up.” he teases, shoving your legs to bend up by your chest. 

he slips in so easily he’s fighting not to bust immediately. you swallow up his length so gorgeously, his head falls back and he moans. you feel so good, still so tight and gripping but obviously soaked to the bone. you’ve made such a mess on the bed the two of you may have to sleep in the guest bedroom but he doesn’t care. he’s determined to fuck a fourth one out of you even if it takes all night. your nails dig into his forearms with his first thrust. everything is so sensitive, you can feel every vein and ridge along his shaft as the tip bumps along your womb. 

“fuck–so good, angel. missed you so bad, can’t ya tell?” he giggles, drawing your legs to wrap around his waist. he keeps ramming his length in, a rhythmic snap of his hips against yours and his balls following close behind and your open-mouthed pants filling the room. you can’t respond and he knows that, but he still talks to you anyway, enjoying the way your brows scrunch in frustration at him. your fingers dig and claw at him, with your pussy spasming so rapidly he wonders if it’s normal. 

this time, it nearly hurts to cum. your eyes squeeze shut and you grip him so tightly he can’t move, that fact alone enough to have him painting ribbons of white against your insides with a guttural moan. he squeezes your hips, his chest and face red from all the hard work and forehead sheening with sweat. satoru leans down to give you a sweet kiss, suffocating the sounds of recovery from you both. you can feel him grinning, and you want to get onto him for being so cocky, but you don’t have the energy. he’s already on it though, taking advantage of your hazy in-and-out state to get you cleaned up and tucked back under the sheets, complete with a bottle of water on the nightstand and all. 

“so happy to be home, princess.” he says, long arms closing around your waist and hard chest caressing your back. 

[wttcsms]

i can walk you home and practice method acting ; satoru gojo.

pairing satoru gojo x f!reader   word count 1.3k   synopsis saying goodbye. content contains hurt/probably no comfort, bittersweet ending, allusion to character death, jjk 236 leak inspired author’s notes gege needs to sleep with both eyes open, no sweet dreams 4 him >:(

“You know, some people consider coffee dates as not real dates,” you point out. “Very cheap—”

“—your coffee was eight dollars, don’t start with me—” 

“—low-effort—”

“—you don’t even wanna know what I just went through before meeting you here—”

“—shows no interest—”

“—I’ve been interested in you since before I even knew you.” 

You pause your half-hearted attempt at teasing him. The truth is, there is nothing cheap, low-effort, or uninteresting about Satoru Gojo. No one has ever held your attention and your affections for as long or as strongly as he does. The world is reduced to nothing more than the cafe the two of you spent a lot of time frequenting beforehand. It’s why everything is in such startling, vivid detail. Some of your best memories are here, and it shows from the warm scent of coffee wafting in the air, and how you got his complicated frozen coffee order just right.

“Smooth. You use that line on all the girls you buy coffee for?” 

“Oh, other girls exist?” Satoru’s bright, cerulean eyes widen in mock surprise. If there’s one thing that your fiance is good at, it’s committing to the bit. No one gets into character as well as he does. 

No one ever will.

Trying to keep your darker thoughts at bay, you try to think of a retort but fall short, settling for, “How can you even be interested in someone before you even know they exist?” 

“Because everyone was boring to me ‘til I met you. All my interest was reserved specifically for you.” He hums. He doesn’t tell you the really sappy stuff he holds inside his heart, like how he thinks his soul knew that it belonged to you and that’s why he could never connect with anyone else. He figures, foolishly, that he still has time to bring it up later.

Later, when he’s not choking on his own blood and lost in the illusion you have shrouded the both of you in.

My beautiful, delusional girl. 

He says it to tease you, but the fondness with which he laces the words in only further proves how completely, utterly whipped he is for you. Somewhere deep inside of him, he’s well aware that he’s in your domain. That he is not sitting inside the cafe he nervously took you to the first time he got the nerve to ask you to hang out. He knows that this is nothing more than a cleverly crafted illusion used to make saying goodbye a lot easier for the two of you. 

Everything is just so vivid. The colors, the scent, you. He knows it’s selfish to want to drag out this process even longer. It must be tiring for you, to have to mentally strain to maintain this realistic illusion while also tricking his mind into ignoring the pain he’s actually in. He can see it in your eyes; the ones that never seem to want to leave his face, almost like you’re scared you’re going to forget him the moment you blink. 

He stretches, fakes a yawn. “It’s getting kinda late, don’t ya think? I should probably head home.” 

“I’ll walk you there.” You say, getting up from your chair. 

“You think a man like me can’t defend himself?” You want to remember Satoru like this: messy hair, eyes brimming with mischief and life, cocky grin. Maybe it’s your heart acting on its own accord, altering reality for your own benefit, but Satoru looks younger in this lighting. Happier. At peace.

“I think you’re the type of man people need to be defended from. It’s my civic duty to make sure you’re not wreaking havoc.” 

You know that time is limited. You know that neither of you really want to acknowledge what’s truly happening. Satoru has to go, and all that he’ll be leaving you behind with is the aftermath. If you try hard enough, you can manipulate your minds into thinking that these seconds are much longer than they actually are, but—

—he deserves to rest. 

That’s why walking him to his front door is an ordeal that lasts a total of two seconds. One blink, and the cafe has vanished. Now, he’s standing in front of his apartment door, still smiling, still bright, still alive. 

“So, you going to invite me in?” You tease him, keeping your tone lighthearted, as if he doesn’t know you well enough to know how you’re truly feeling.

“After just the first date?” He pretends to look offended. “I don’t know what kind of man you take me for, but I don’t let just anyone spend the night, especially only after a coffee non-date.” 

“Fine.” You pretend to contemplate, the smile on your face perhaps the only real thing here. “Will you let me hit on the second date, at least?”

“I’ll think about it.” And then, Satoru cocks his head to the side. “I’ll see you the same time next week?”

You don’t want to think about the real world. In this world, it’s just the two of you, and that’s all that matters.

You swallow back any sadness; Satoru swallows back any blood. 

“Text me where, and I’ll be there.” You say this, knowing that you would gladly follow Satoru right through the door that beckons for him. He’s smiling, like he knows what you’re thinking about.

“I’ll pick you up when it’s time. But, uh, if I don’t text you back soon, sorry in advance.” He gives you that boyish look of his, the face he always makes when he’s about to make an incredibly stupid joke. “I have a bad habit of ghosting people.” 

A kind of guttural sound leaves your throat; a choked up laugh and a barely concealed sob. Ghosting, really, Satoru?

“It’s okay. I have a bad habit of liking guys that are bad for my health.” 

“If you don’t hear from me, just know that it’s me and not you.” 

“I love being fed cliche lines like this. Tell me some more.” Tell me everything, you want to beg him. Let’s just stand here forever, and you’ll drag out the time, and he can talk for as long as he wants to about anything and everything. 

“Feeling a bit sleepy. The cliche lines will have to wait until next time.” He clears his throat. “Hey, I know we just had our first date—”

“—coffee doesn’t count, you still owe me a real first date.” 

He sticks out his tongue, childishly, at your interruption. “Is it too soon for me to tell you that I love you? I don’t normally move this fast, but I really do love you. Hope this doesn’t scare you away.” 

He could never scare you away.

You should tell him that, but something in his eyes and in his smile let’s you know that he’s already aware.

“Is it too soon for me to tell you that I love you, too?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda crazy. Lucky for you, I like crazy girls.”

“Please don’t go to sleep yet, Satoru. You haven’t even walked through the door yet, and I already miss you.” In the illusion you’ve created, you can take away that door from him. It won’t change the truth, but it can certainly prolong the pain that comes with it. You don’t, though. Even if his hand wasn’t already reaching for the doorknob, you would never take the choice away from him.

“Yeah, I have a lasting effect on women, what can I say?” He laughs, but there’s none of his trademark humor woven in it. The world goes quiet. “I’m feeling really tired, [Name]. I’m gonna head to bed now.”

“Goodnight, then. Sweet dreams, Satoru.” 

He looks at you. Really looks at you, like he’s trying to embed the memory of your visage on his pupils, to have it so permanently etched in his mind that he’ll still be able to remember you every time he closes his eyes.

“As long as you’re in every single one of them, they will be.” 

He opens the door.

a/n: reader's cursed technique is the ability to use cursed energy to "manipulate" reality; in all actuality, you create illusions, able to trick others into seeing whatever you're crafting. it helps in trapping curses, and letting gojo say goodbye to you without making you look at him choke on his blood

[writerfromshikahr]

A pre-relationship piece. TW for some discussion of abuse, but nothing detailed.

----------------------------------------------------------

Pebbles - Lucanis X Rook Fanfic

----------------------------------------------------------

"I can see why this is your favourite spot," Rook said, gazing out at the bustling city below. "Treviso looks stunning from up here. I never got to explore this part of the city as a child."

Lucanis smiled as they sat together on the rooftop. "Illario and I would come up here and throw pebbles at the people below—until Caterina caught us," he said, smirking. "It was his idea, of course."

Rook laughed softly. "Yes, that does seem like something he would do," she said, turning to him with a knowing smile. "But you should have known better."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the distant hum of the city below filling the air. Then Rook spoke again. "Must have been hard, growing up with Caterina. She seems like a formidable woman. If your training was anything like mine…" Rook trailed off, her voice softening as she caught herself.

Lucanis regarded her for a moment, his gaze steady but unreadable. "She’s my grandmother, but yes, it was difficult. At the time, I hated her. She was impossible to please, and like most Crows, I suffered. But what made it worse," he said, his tone lowering, "was when she’d turn around and tell me it was because she cared for me. It was… confusing."

"I understand," she said quietly, though her voice carried the weight of her memories.

"And you?" Lucanis asked, his gaze lingering on her. "I learned a little from Viago. He may have called you 'his idiot,' but don’t take it personally. If he ever stops using that word, then you should start worrying." His smirk softened as he added, "You were eight when you joined House de Riva?"

"My parents were killed while they were trading here," Rook said, her gaze fixed on the city below. "We were walking back to our accommodations when some mercenaries jumped them. I don’t remember much of that evening." She hesitated, "But I do remember using my magic for the first time—trying to help my mother."

Her hand drifted to her lap, her fingers fidgeting as she spoke. "I would have been killed too if it hadn’t been for a Crow that… intervened." The word lingered, heavy with meaning. "House de Riva took me in—gave me a home, a place to sleep. But they never addressed what I’d witnessed. Instead, they used it, reminded me of that night, to push me harder in training." She glanced at Lucanis, her expression conflicted. "I’m grateful, but like you said, it’s strange to feel grateful to people who also hurt you."

"We have things in common, it seems," his voice thoughtful. "I lost my parents young, but unlike you, I had family." He glanced at her, his expression softening. "You were alone in a city that wasn’t your own, surrounded by strangers you had no choice but to rely on." He paused, his dark eyes lingering on hers. "Admirable resilience for someone so young, Rook."

"I get a compliment Dellamorte? I’ll take it—Viago doesn’t hand those out too often."

"Oh, you’re his favourite; that’s why he’s harder on you," Lucanis leaned back on his hands. "Besides, you have me by your side now. That’d terrify him more—he and I, we have a history."

"By my side? Is this just Crow loyalty, or… something else?" she mused, glancing down at the city. Her heart fluttered as the question lingered, unspoken feelings stirring beneath her curiosity.

He regarded her quietly for a moment before replying, his tone unreadable. "As I said, there are plenty of reasons to work with you. Some, I admit, might be more out of self-interest than others."

"Self-interest? I can work with that," she said, smiling at him.

Lucanis didn’t respond, and she hadn’t expected him to. Silence fell again, broken only by the faint hum of the city. She noticed him digging into his pocket.

"I almost forgot," he said, pulling out a small handful of pebbles and offering them to her.

"I wondered why you were picking those up when we walked here."

He smiled playfully. "Whoever can hit that merchant’s stall three times in a row buys the coffee later. Bonus points if you can land one in the bowl of mackerel."

Rook raised a brow, taking a pebble. "The fish? Now you’re just trying to show off."

Lucanis rolled a pebble between his fingers. "Maybe. Or maybe I just want to see if you're up for the challenge." He tossed the pebble lightly in the air and caught it, his gaze darting to the stall below. "Your move."

Rook narrowed her eyes, "Oh, I’m more than up for it."

She aimed, letting the pebble fly. It bounced off the corner of the merchant's stall, missing her mark by inches. "Damn it," she muttered, biting back a laugh.

He chuckled, leaning forward. "Close, but not quite. Watch and learn." With an almost lazy flick of his wrist, his pebble sailed down, landing with a soft plunk in the bowl. He tossed another pebble in the air looking decidedly smug.

"My coffee’s going to taste even better knowing you’re paying for it."

[writingjourney]

Friday Nights at the Vinothek | Vampire!Secondo x gn!Reader

Summary: When the local vintner who buys his cigarettes at the kiosk you work at offers you a job you can’t believe your luck. But after moving to the vineyard where the attraction between you only grows, you soon realize that he is not quite who you thought – and that working for a vampire comes with unexpected dangers.

Content: 26k words, gn!reader, smoking, alcohol consumption, blood donation/needles, fainting, vampirism (blood drinking, mind control to keep you asleep), werewolves, violence, hurt/comfort, smut (biting, blood kink, fingering, spit kink, praise, cuming in pants, cockwarming, p in hole sex, no protection), 18+, MDNI

I'm happy to finally share this story. Thank you @foxybouquet for your help with the nicknames ♡ This is a continuation to my fic Friday Nights at the Cinema Club with Primo. You don't have to read that one. However I recommend reading them in the correct order if you do! The Ao3 version is split into 3 chapters for easier reading.

Masterlist – Ao3 link – Part 1 | Primo's Story

“You must come with me, loving me, to death; or else hate me and still come with me, and hating me through death and after. There is no such word as indifference in my apathetic nature.”

― Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, Carmilla

May

It takes all of two minutes of regular walking until he finds himself at his destination. Kiosk the sign reads in chipped away block letters, the color faded from decades of exposure to the sun. 

Secondo steps inside. The neon lights flicker unrhythmically, uncomfortable to his sensitive eyes but the small corner store is the only business in a radius of forty kilometers that’s open after eight pm. Two tall newspaper racks greet him by the door, another long shelf that sells all sorts of cheap booze, a random assortment of groceries and drug store products, a bunch of dead flowers slowly rotting in their sad plastic prisons. His brothers would hate it here. Hell, sometimes even he hates it here but as the lovely face behind the register comes into view these feelings quickly change. He wonders why on earth you would choose to spend the limited years of your life working late night shifts in this dingy, outdated shop. Weekend nights, at that.

“Buona sera,” he says, then points to the Marlboro reds behind you.

The selection is abysmal here. You hand him the cigarettes, the picture of a rotting lung barely catching his eyes from the packaging. It means nothing to him, would have meant nothing to him even if he wasn’t beyond mortal diseases. Meanwhile your own curious eyes roam his form like they always do. Not very subtle but he does the very same thing with no hint of shame, your hair and skin tone flat and ashen in the horrible lighting, a wide, deformed black polo-shirt with your name tag on it hiding most of your body.

“Grazie,” he says, handing you a twenty. “Keep the change.”

At first, you fought him over the money. By now you accept it without question, the whole interaction usually playing out in exactly the same way as it does tonight. All this morality, all the politeness. You’re wasted here, wasted in this joyless life.

“Do you want to smoke with me? You close in a few minutes, no?” he hears himself asking, not sure where it is coming from. The clock above your head tells him it’s almost ten. 

“I’ve never smoked before,” you say. Such a soft voice. He wonders how it would sound in a scream.

“That is not a no.”

You smile. “No, it’s not.”

What does it say about him, that he wants to corrupt this young, innocent human? Maybe that he has seen too much, the way they tend to throw away the few years of life that they have to work and work some more, energy wasted for corporations, for family drama and horrible vacations just to feel a short sense of adventure every once in a while. Then they die full of resentment and regret and once they’re gone their offspring fight over the little money and the few possessions that they leave.

Not that his own family is much better.

You meet him outside of the kiosk a few minutes later. Wordlessly he hands you a cigarette, followed by his luxurious gold Dupont lighter, worth about a thousand euros, a little splurge he treated himself to in Paris a few years ago. When you open the lid, it gives its signature cling, a well-measured flame flickering to life as you spark the flint.

“This is a fancy lighter,” you comment, bringing the cigarette to your lips.

Secondo smiles. So you have an eye for these things, even if you lack the funds. Even more curious now he watches you light the Marlboro, promptly coughing in pained stutters. He doesn’t fight the amused smile that tugs at his lips as he carefully extracts the expensive lighter from your hands, slipping it back into the pocket of his tight black slacks. 

“What do you say?” he asks.

“It’s not bad,” you reply. “But I don’t think I’ll stick with it.”

He’s not surprised, though he is impressed you so easily gave in. “There are many more ways to sin, more ways to enjoy life, that might be more to your liking, little dove.”

“Like what?”

“Hmmm.” He examines you, lingering on the playful smirk on your face. “Wine of course, riding a motorcycle, expensive clothes, parties, good food… sex.”

An unmistakable heat reaches your face. He can hear the blood pumping faster through your veins, smell the first few hints of arousal oozing from your pores. It satisfies him, your reaction.

“So what, are you the devil trying to corrupt me?” you ask, covering the tremor in your voice with a chuckle.

He takes a drag from his own cigarette, exhaling a long veil of smoke. “Something like that.”

You get more restless beside him, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “If ugh… if you’re asking me for other favors, I’m really not–”

“No,” he interrupts. “I am not. I am not in the habit of finding my lovers in old shops or dark alleyways of small towns.”

“Where do you find them then?”

You pose the question quite genuinely, a flirty undertone to your words that he’s not sure you’re even aware of. He eyes you curiously. “I thought you weren’t interested?”

He can sense more heat rising to your face, radiating off into the cool night air. “I never said that.”

Ah. He averts his gaze, resisting the temptation. Secondo does not take human lovers. Not anymore. After centuries of losing people, of swimming around aimlessly with no one to anchor him, a ship lost in the endless expanse of sea that is an eternal life, he has set himself firm boundaries. Humans are a source of food, at best a companion for a few minutes of conversation, but they are never permanent. Allowing them into your bed leads to lies and wrong expectations. Falling for them, loving them even – it is hopeless, it’s a non-exhaustive well of pain and grief and misery. And attempting to make them last, turning them? He won’t make the same mistake that his younger brother made, inevitably breaking promises and dooming an innocent human to the same restless fate until they despise him for it.

He watches you stub out the cigarette on the metal lid of the nearby trashcan before throwing it away, turning back to him with a glimmer of excited anticipation in your eyes. He’s not sure what you see in him – a sophisticated older man looking for a young lover? A lonely customer in search of a few minutes of company? The local vintner out for a smoke after a long day? 

“Maybe next time we will try something else,” he says.

You don’t reply as he stubs out his own cigarette, heading back home without looking back.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Vampire Gazette 02/05

Werewolf Presumed Dead After Fight In Central European Woods

A fight between a vampire and a werewolf during last Friday’s full moon supposedly ended in the death of the lycanthrope. Multiple anonymous sources claim that the victim was a middle-aged outcast who resided close to the scene of the conflict in a small Central European town. A source close to the family suggests that the vampire, who remained unharmed, is Primo Emeritus. Known as a former Papa and eldest son of the current head of the Church of Emeritus, the vampire moved to the town no more than twelve moons ago. The source states that it was an act of self-defense and that the Emeritus ghouls took care of the body. No remains could be found within the castle walls of his now abandoned home, according to a representative of the werewolf community. A team of impartial investigators has been hired by the authorities to look into the case. Upon editorial request, Primo Emeritus was not willing to comment on the accusations at this time.

Instances of fights between vampires and werewolves have become rare over the past two centuries. This is the first instance of a killing between the two groups in almost a decade. Further consequences remain to be observed. Experts expect the respective authorities to be able to smooth the waters fairly quickly considering the high social standing of the Emeritus clan.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Secondo nearly spits out his evening coffee, Terzo next to him breaks out in manic laughter. For a few minutes after reading the paper they both sit around the large dining table in pure, unadulterated wonder.

“He killed a fucking werewolf?” Terzo finally speaks into the silence.

“It would appear so.”

More laughter. Terzo is holding his belly underneath his pristine white blouse, his chest heaving with the intensity of his fit. Secondo knows his brother is not breaking out in amusement but sheer disbelief and yet, it is a rare, almost heart-warming experience to hear him actually laughing for once. If only the circumstances weren’t as dire.

“I’m not surprised no one informed us,” Secondo muses. “Father must know.”

“He must, yes, but he doesn’t give a shit.” Another bout of laughter as Terzo’s elbows crash down on the majestic wooden table, his head landing on his hands in a gesture of wild incredulity. “He killed a werewolf. Primo.”

“Will you stop laughing? This could have serious consequences, outcast or not. We have to keep an eye on this.”

“Do you think they’ll be after us?”

A shrug. “That would be foolish but it is a possibility.”

Terzo rests his head on his upper arm now, elegantly draped over the table with his raven hair falling into his face as he turns to his brother. “Why do you think he killed him?”

“Perhaps it was self defense. Some werewolves still hold a deep hatred for vampires. Though it is very stupid to attack Primo. He must have known who he is.”

Terzo pauses, drumming his fingers against his head. He was never able to keep still for long, a little fidget with a tendency for clumsiness, drawing attention to himself if he wanted to or not. “I wish we knew what he is up to. I hate this separation. Can’t you invite him over for that big fancy new wine tasting?”

“He clearly stated that he wanted to be alone for a while to build a quiet new life.”

“Yes but by now a while is four decades.” 

Secondo breathes out a sigh. “I can invite him, I am not sure he will come.”

“Let him know I’m here.”

“I don’t know if that is an incentive or a sure way to get him to never call again.” 

His voice is deadpan, yet Terzo breaks out in more laughter. “You can be so funny, fratello. If only you wouldn’t hide it behind that scary scowl of yours.”

“Aren’t you supposed to help the ghouls clear out the west wing today? We need to renovate the rooms.”

“I don’t know why you assume I am the new bellhop in your hotel business.”

Secondo waits until Terzo meets his eyes, narrowing them for extra emphasis. “Don’t think I do not know why you suddenly felt the need to visit me over the summer. Surely it was not because you missed me so.”

“I don’t know what you mean, fratello.”

“What makes you think they will be here?”

Terzo holds his gaze, similar white and green eyes meeting, only breaking away when the door to the dining room flies open and a black-hooded ghoul steps inside. “They will be, I know it.”

June 

Time feels especially gooey on weekend nights. Customers are a rare sight, not even Mr Emeritus, the attractive older and suspiciously well-dressed man who occasionally buys cigarettes from you, shows up tonight. The tinny music from the old radio behind the counter is somehow worse, every shift a ten hour train ride without stops. Usually, you sit on your little stool reading your book or scrolling on your phone. Today, it’s so boring that you open the daily newspaper to scan the job listings, just in case something pops up.

As expected, it is hopeless. Another dead town center of a remote village with no qualified job offers, your salary a joke but your boss never fails to stress that you at least get the employee discount and free Wrigley’s Spearmint bubble gum. Even with your meager savings you can’t afford the move to a bigger city right now, the prospect of being alone in an even larger just as hollow space with too many strange faces around you not at all enticing. At least here people know you, even if all of your friends have long since moved away in search of jobs and a place to settle.

You turn the page, a rustling sound that feels too loud in the quiet vacuum of the kiosk.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Nordsteiner Abendblatt

– Ad –

Wine is not the only juice of life that makes it worth living. Donate your blood to help the local hospitals this weekend at the Emeritus Vineyard.

Date: June 25th, 4-10pm

Reward: 50€

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Fifty euros? You pause. Have they always offered money for this? It’s not a pay rise, it won’t get you very far either, but for a bit of blood it’s certainly tempting. There haven’t been any blood donation campaigns here in quite some time, not since they closed the local medical center after pretty much all of the doctors retired, their offices long since abandoned. 

You mull it over until you close the shop half an hour later after another sluggish Friday night without customers. You walk past the Vinothek, peeking inside like you always do on your way home. For a shop slash bar that sells wine in an almost abandoned old town it is incredibly fancy, antique looking wooden interiors, deep green velvet wallpapers with a subtle pattern of tendrils of vine that seem to be crawling up to the ceiling, dipped into the soft shadows of dimmed wall lamps. Everything is centered around a bar that is too well-stocked and professional for a town like this, expensive liquors, a wine fridge that must have cost more than your tiny old car. Two men are nursing their drinks – only one of them is peering over the rim of an actual wine glass, black hair falling into an aging face, the other one tipping the remainder of a beer into his mouth.

The only explanation you have is that this is Mr Emeritus’s little playground while the actual money comes from the export of the wine they produce in the vineyard at the edge of town. You’ve been to the old Mansion before, tugged away in the rolling hills framing the area. They offer guided tours with subsequent wine tastings, hikes, really, that are especially beautiful in early fall when the grapevines are filled with deep purple fruit and the leaves of the surrounding trees are slowly turning yellow. Even though you don’t drink all that often and are by no means an expert you have to admit that you’ve never tasted wine quite as smooth, quite as delicate as Mr Emeritus’s.

That day a few years ago you didn’t get to see the owner himself, you’re not sure if you’ve ever actually seen him in broad daylight, but now you do spot him standing in the doorway at the far end of the bar. He looks dashing, wearing tight-fitting black slacks, a matching black button down shirt with expensive-looking leather gloves and the sunglasses you never see him without. He’s Italian, that much you know, polite yet reserved when he’s not coaxing you into smoking. Even a few weeks later you’re not quite sure what got into him that night, talking to you about enjoying life and sinning, about alcohol and sex and then just… leaving. Not even mentioning it again when he picked up new Marlboros the week after.

Lost in thought, you almost miss that his gaze shifts towards the window. Under his glasses it’s hard to tell if he is actually looking at you but you decide to leave anyway before he gets the idea of inviting you inside. Somehow you must have got stuck for a moment, frozen in time, because before you’ve even passed the bar he suddenly pops up right in front of you. Confused, you glance from the entrance back to him, the door only slowly swinging shut. How–

“Buona sera,” he says, lighting a cigarette with the fancy gold lighter he let you use last time. For a man who seems to indulge in luxuries, he seems so very down to earth, minimalist in a way, no word, no detail that feels out of place. 

“Hello,” you reply.

For a moment you stand there like you’re waiting for the bus to pick you up, unsure if you should just leave or if he is trying to start a conversation. Maybe he’s just out for smoke, maybe he didn’t even notice you from inside. The tip of his cigarette burns up brightly when he takes the first drag, a bright orange fleck of light in the darkness surrounding him. His mere aura beside you seems to command the night, wholly different from how you perceive him in the kiosk. This is his private kingdom, this is where he feels at home.

“Did you finish your shift?” he asks then, puffing out smoke.

“Yeah. It was a calm night.”

“I see.” He takes another drag, then he holds the cigarette out for you, secured between his gloved fingers. “Hm?”

You instinctively shake your head and his pencil mustache twitches. He does not pull away, a dare, maybe. “Okay,” you decide. “Sure.”

A rare smile. He takes a step closer which sends you into a nervous spiral, your heart pumping faster and faster. A slight tremor runs through his hand as he places the filter at your lips, the very part that was trapped in his own mouth mere seconds ago. At this thought, your hands start to sweat, warmth spreading out in your lower belly. His eyes are fixated on your mouth as you close your lips around the cigarette, taking a brave inhale that burns in your lungs. This time you don’t cough or stutter. Your face starts to burn all the same.

“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks. “On the house.”

“I don’t usually…” You catch yourself before you finish the sentence, shaking your head to dismiss your own hesitation as you remember his words. “Yes, thank you.”

If he notices how flustered you are, he does not let on as he holds the door open for you to invite you in. The man who finished his beer earlier is slipping past you by the entrance and you notice that whoever had the wine is not inside the bar anymore. At the prospect of being alone in here with Mr Emeritus, your stomach does a somersault.

He disappears behind the bar and you set your bag down on one of the stools before you shift into a comfortable position right next to it. The seats are soft and plush, inviting you to stay for more than one glass. Observing the happenings behind the bar from here is a lot more exciting than from the outside. Mr Emeritus is in his element, that much is certain, whipping out glasses and corkscrews with expert movements.

“You do not drink often,” he states. “I think I have something that you would like.”

You nod your consent and watch him pick out a bottle from the fridge. It looks expensive, a white label with gold-foiled lettering. Papastrello, it says. The rest of the words are too small.

“What are you reading?” he asks as he opens the bottle. His eyes have found your bag, the spine of a worn old paperback peeking out of the open zipper

“Carmilla,” you say. 

“Ah, vampires.” The cork pops, a deep, satisfying sound. A rich, slightly sweet scent escapes the now open bottle. “Do you enjoy the old tales?”

“I prefer them over the newer adaptations, yes.”

“So do I,” he says, expertly filling a glass with the red liquid. “I am surprised a young person such as yourself is so fond of the classics.”

You chuckle. “I think many people are. Or they would not be classics.”

He hums, setting the glass down in front of you. “Not blood but a red that is just as beautiful and rich,” he remarks. “One of my fratellino’s favorites.”

“I don’t uhm…” You carefully take the delicate stem of the thick-bellied glass. “I don’t really know how to–”

“Smell it for a moment, grappolino,” he says. “Do not worry about drinking.”

You bring the glass to your nose. The scent is so strong to your unused senses that you barely have to sniff. Even so, you’re not sure what you’re smelling. It reminds you of different fruits, cherry maybe, almost sweet but with a hint of acid.

“There are different categories of aromas,” he says. “Primary, secondary, tertiary. Many factors influence the smell, the type of grape, the fermentation process, the aging in the barrel.”

He explains it calmly, knowledgeable, not like he wants to brag or taunt you for your lack of expertise. You have to admire how soft-spoken he is for someone with such harsh features, such a domineering aura. Seldom have you met a man of his standing who was so pleasant to talk to, who drew you in like this.

“Now try,” he instructs. “A small sip, hold it in your mouth for a moment, breathe in and see how it makes you feel.”

You do as he says, taking some of the red liquid in your mouth and swirling it around your tongue, breathing in as you let it sit. Somehow the aroma is still there, different from the taste, more intense, but together they fill your senses in a most pleasant way. The wine feels smooth in your mouth just like you remember, even as you swallow, not at all like the cheap supermarket wine you know from when you were younger and drinking with friends.

“No blood, you were right,” you say with a smile. “But it is good. I like it a lot.”

He nods, content with your reply, and fills your glass up a little more. Somehow you feel good about satisfying him, about following his instructions and earning his approval. You wouldn’t mind following him in other areas of your life.

“Speaking of blood,” you say to distract yourself from these thoughts. “I saw your ad in the paper earlier. The one for the blood donation.”

“Are you looking to donate?” he asks, perking up. With his interest so focused on you, you suddenly feel almost shy about it.

“I am thinking about it,” you say. “I used to go years ago.”

“We are happy about everyone who donates. It is for a good cause, we are going to do it every few months now.”

“I didn’t know that you get money for it or I would have looked into it sooner.”

“The kiosk does not pay well?” he concludes.

You huff out a pained laugh. “No. It’s a struggle. But there aren’t many jobs available around here.”

He regards you curiously, at least from what you can gather without seeing his actual eyes. You wish you could. His mustache is a dark brown color, even without hair on his head you assume his eyes must be dark just like that. Or perhaps green, maybe even hazel. Without seeing them your own gaze quickly falls, dancing along his sharp cheekbones and down his prominent nose, the lines on his face leading you to his mouth, pencil mustache, full lips over a strong chin. You’ve been eyeing him for months now, every time he visits the kiosk, but somehow the change in lighting, the change in atmosphere, gives him a magnetic, almost preternatural aura.

A smile tugs at his lips then and you panic for a moment that he might have read your thoughts, that you must have been staring. You quickly avert your gaze, downing way too much of the wine to keep up a graceful appearance.

“Can I offer you some food? Some cheese, perhaps?” he asks.

“Actually, I should um… I should head home,” you say, already feeling a little lightheaded. “It’s late and I have a shift tomorrow.”

“Take the bottle,” he says.

“What? No– That’s–”

“Grappolino, I want you to have it. Don’t insult me by refusing a gift.”

You’re not sure what the name means, something with grapes, probably, but you’re too flustered now to pay much attention. When he hands you the bottle you blindly take it, uttering a few words of thanks. He remains steady, unbothered, which you assume is a good thing. He’s not truly offended. You wonder if anything could shake him enough to break his measured temper.

“I will see you at the donation?” he asks when you slip from your stool.

“Yes. I will see you there,” you promise. “I can’t wait to give you my blood.”

He chuckles, a foreign sound coming from the depths of his throat. Without looking back up, you grab your bag and almost rush out of the bar. The cool night air slaps you in the face like a whip, clearing your head and senses from the effects of the wine and its producer in mere seconds. You take a few deep breaths, pressing the cold bottle against your burning chest. If he is flirting with you then it is certainly working, if not then his mere presence affects you in ways you feel almost ashamed of. Either way, you can’t deny that the money has suddenly become a secondary motivation to visit the vineyard next week. No, there is something way more thrilling waiting for you.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Specks of dust dance in the sunlight like a thousand tiny feathers, sinking to the ground almost weightlessly. The two empty sitting rooms on the ground floor should be enough to meet the demand that Secondo expects for today. Everyone who donates their blood gets a voucher for the Vinothek and fifty euros cash on hand. The incentives promise a high yield, enough to fill every pre-order as well as the glasses of his special guests once the blood “wine” is ready to be served.

To his chagrin, all the ghouls are busy renovating the guest rooms, and so Terzo is the one helping him prepare the localities. The partnering hospital has sent a truck with enough donation chairs to line the walls opposite of the south-facing windows of the two rooms, granting a nice view over the vineyard. Come sundown, the ghouls will handle the donations. With their monk-like appearance Secondo hopes the people will be trusting. All the bureaucratic hassle, all the licenses and administrative obstacles better be worth it.

“So, how many times do we have to do this?” Terzo asks, rolling another chair into the room.

“This will be the first harvest, another one in September,” Secondo says. “We will keep sixty percent of donations, the rest goes to the local hospitals. It should give us enough to last over the winter if the demand is stable. Then we continue in spring.”

“Mhm and you’re looking forward to tasting the blood of someone special?”

Secondo’s gaze snaps up in a withering look. “Are you eavesdropping on me?”

“It was hard to avoid, fratello. After I finished my wine I had to use the bathroom and it is so close to the bar, no?” He shrugs, smiling to himself. “Now, what happened to Mr. I-don’t-fuck-humans?”

“Who said anything about sexual intercourse?”

“Sexual intercourse?” Terzo repeats. “That’s not a very romantic word. Not very sexy either.”

“I am not looking to fuck, I am looking for a food source.”

“So you want to sample their blood today?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you think it’s good? Why are they special?”

Secondo has no answer to this. Instead he pushes his sunglasses up his nose, adjusts his gloves, biding time. When he finally meets Terzo’s curious gaze again, he shrugs. “I have a feeling.”

“Where exactly is this feeling located? Just below your belt?”

He heaves an annoyed sigh. He won’t grace with him a reply to this, maybe even because he knows that there is a certain truth to his brother’s words that he would rather ignore. There is just something about your smell, about your presence, your positive aura, the warmth in your eyes, that wakes a certain hunger in him. Sexual or not, Secondo knows that he needs to taste your blood.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

The mansion is just as impressive as you remember from your last visit years ago, throning over steep hills with neat rows of lush grapevines. The sight takes your breath away as you carry your already tired body towards the open entrance gates of the estate. A grand, majestic building sits partly hidden behind two tall beech trees with their voluminous crowns, U-shaped, well-kept and exuding the impressive historic atmosphere of centuries past. Ivy and vine tendrils crawl up the high walls on either side, hiding some of the rich ornamentations of the façade that are partly embellished in gold.

You leave the winding trail through the landscape, your muscles burning from the steady uphill climb, and enter a spacious, stone-flagged courtyard. An almost Mediterranean ambience welcomes you – old wine barrels have been stacked in one corner, beautifully planted with lush flowers and shrubs like a small magical garden. A small outdoor sitting area dominates another corner, shielded from the sun by a pergola that’s overgrown with more vine tendrils. Terracotta planters scattered around the open space house even more greenery and the whole area smells richly of herbs and pollen.

You soon spot a sign with a red arrow, the words blood donation written underneath, leading into one of the side entrances. An old chair secures a wooden door that opens into a cool but gloomy hallway, flagged with old stone tiles that remind you more of a castle than a stately home. You’re met with voices chattering in the rooms on either side – it seems busy. Glancing into one, you spot a small reception area and decide that this is where you must be registering for your donation. One wall of the room is lined in medical chairs, almost all of them occupied by donors with black-robed men that remind you of monks tending to them.

You are greeted by one of them, only not with words but a gentle nod as he guides you through another door. Inside is a small office where a pale but kind-looking doctor receives you. After a short talk he clears you for donation and you’re assigned one of the chairs near the entrance. One of the black-hooded men approaches. He really must be a monk, you decide, doing charitable work. Perhaps Mr Emeritus has connections to the church – it would make sense if he is veering into the philanthropic lane now. So many religious orders have their own humanitarian organizations who offer volunteers in the field of medical care, maybe he even has his own. You don’t question the process as everyone else in the room seems comfortable.

The monk does not speak to you when he prepares your arm but he is certainly skilled as he slides the sharp needle through your skin and into your vein. You hardly feel any pressure and as the tube fills with your blood, you start to relax in your seat. He hands you a black rubber stress ball, mimicking how you’re supposed to squeeze it to your palm to increase the blood flow. For the next ten minutes you stay exactly like that, your arm outstretched and your fingers wrapped around the squishy toy. Time passes fast, an older lady begins to chat with you before she is done and leaves you to yourself. Once your bag is filled, the monk removes the needle and expertly wraps up your arm. You don’t see where he carries the bag as he leaves through another door.

With your donation complete, you first sit and then stand up, cautiously stretching out your limbs as to not overwhelm your circulation, following the lady’s advice to take it easy. Another sign in the hallways indicates that there is a sort of break room with snacks and drinks, so you decide to head there and wait until your body has recovered. The sudden change of light and temperature as you leave the sunny and warm sitting room does you no favor. Suddenly your head begins to swim, an icy cold wrapping around your body like a blanket of snow. Your fingertips tingle, cold sweat spreading over your back and then you’re sinking, falling–

“Careful,” a steady voice says and instead of the cool stone floor you hit a soft, strong body. Your vision is blurry but you clearly see the outline of black sunglasses over a strong nose and then those soft, full lips. The man cradles you against him, sitting you down with his knee supporting your back. “I need you to lie down, grappolino. Do I have permission to carry you?”

You nod, not quite sure what is going on as your brain struggles to cling to the world around you. 

“It’s you,” you whisper when he gathers you in his arms like you weigh nothing at all. 

He carries you down the hallway, the sudden movement only making you dizzier until you feel like you have to throw up. “It is me,” he says at length. “Do not worry, little dove, I will take care of you. I will take care of you forever.”

You close your eyes at the sound of his soothing words, spoken in such a deep but somehow soft voice that caresses your ears like the gentle touch of a lover. Comforted, you rest your head on his shoulders, breathing out a tired sigh, and drift off.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

“This is the right bag?” he asks, even though he can smell it through the plastic and antiseptic layers surrounding it. The same scent he detected from your arm when he carried you upstairs, a scent that already has his nerves on edge with an appetite that he can hardly contain.

The ghoul nods and Secondo shudders as he cradles your blood in his hands. What a beautiful red, richer than any wine he ever made. He takes off his sunglasses to admire how it moves when he flexes his gloved fingers, the texture so smooth, almost silken. Saliva gathers in his mouth and for a moment he forgets the presence of the ghoul.

Impatient now, he looks up to dismiss him. “Grazie.”

He’s already in the kitchen when the door closes, ripping open cabinets in search of a glass. But his body is on fire, burning, longing, craving. He feels like a starving man, like an addict in search of a fix, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s abandoned his search. With both hands he takes the bag and sinks his fangs into the plastic, penetrating the material until he can finally taste you. A deep, rumbling moan breaks from his chest as the first drop of blood meets his tongue. It’s not enough. He bites harder until more of the liquid spills out. Secondo drinks like he has never drunk before. Any attempt at savoring it is in vain. He can’t remember the last time he lost control like this, gulping it down with a greed that would make Lucifer proud, an unquenchable thirst. Your blood is infernal, drinking it an unholy sacrament, the closest he has felt to his faith in decades since leaving the Church. More and more he sucks into his mouth until it dribbles down his chin and onto his sleek white shirt, the one he ironed before knowing that he would meet you today. He rips it from his chest as soon as the bag is empty and the taste starts to fade. Impatiently he sucks at the stains until the aroma finally escapes even his hyper sensitive taste buds.

He’s a wreck. The smell lingers in his nose long after he’s licked the last remnants from his gloves. He sinks to the floor, shamefully gathering the last few drops of blood he spilled and bringing them to his searing, ruined tongue. A pathetic, shameful whimper escapes him and he has to sit in quiet solitude for several minutes until he manages to gather his wits. This is embarrassing, he decides. He has to get cleaned up and dressed.

Secondo enters his bedroom where he brought you to rest a mere ten minutes ago. The sight of your innocent form sleeping in his bed nearly sends him into another frenzy, your neck exposed over the collar of your shirt and practically begging for his mouth. He stands and looks at your weak body, watching your eyes twitching behind their lids, even if they stay closed. For now he is sated enough to stay in control, pushing any animalistic thoughts to the side. You’re beautiful, such a lovely young human, sleeping in the bed of a bloodthirsty monster. The thought makes him chuckle. Perhaps human prejudice against vampires is not that unfounded, even if he usually thinks of himself as a rather sophisticated specimen.

He allows himself another moment of silent reprieve, his eyes roaming your peaceful form without his glasses now. Eventually he brings himself to take a quick shower in the en-suite, freshening up, more cologne, less blood to spook you. He decides on a simple dark green polo shirt, showing off his arms. As he splashes his face with water, he can’t help but wonder what is happening to him. 

Your taste is unlike any he has ever experienced before. If he sold it in bottles, even watered down, everyone would flock to his business. But just the thought of sharing you with any other vampire makes him recoil in disgust, the hair on his arms standing up in defiance. It is an entirely new sensation, entirely unwelcome, and yet he can’t shake it. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do about these intrusive feelings, about his lack of control, the possessiveness that overcomes him in your presence. He’s not even sure if he can trust himself to be near you.

But even so he knows that he cannot let you leave. Not anymore.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

You dream of him. 

The outlines are blurry, a room that feels dark, the lights blended out and only coming in through cracks that won’t allow your eyes to focus. Then his handsome face comes into view. Your vision clears for just a moment. Blood covers his face. Not his face. His mouth. His eyes are weird, one is a dark red and one is incredibly pale, the strong brows above drawn tightly together. His gaze is intense, a hunger, a craving reflected in his glowing irises. You’re scared for just a moment but then his expression changes, a sudden tenderness glossing over the harshness of his features and the red eye turns to an emerald green. He looks quite beautiful like this, even with the blood covering his mouth. Especially with the blood covering his mouth.

When you break free from the tight grasp of your hazy dream and open your eyes, his face is right there. You startle, your slow heartbeat suddenly jumping into a sprint, but there is no blood, no discolored eyes, just his sunglasses as he pushes them up his nose.

“Don’t be scared, grappolino,” he says from the edge of the bed. “It is just me.”

You nod, blinking yourself awake. Your head hurts, a low thrum that penetrates your skull like a fly repeatedly hitting a window.

“Do you remember what happened?”

You sit up slightly, propping the pillow up behind you and the way it hurts, the pressure and numbness in the crook of your arm, brings back your memories. “I donated blood.”

“You did. And you fainted,” he explains. “This is my own private bedroom.” 

“Do… do all the patients get this treatment?”

A chuckle. “No.”

Heat rises to your chest and you avert your eyes. They are immediately drawn to his bare arms, to the dark hair covering them before his gloved hands appear in your peripheral vision. The polo shirt suits him, a dark green color, the cut accentuating the solid shape of his shoulders. A tuft of dark chest hair peeks out of his open collar and you can see his nipples through the fabric. It is cold in here, you realize. Or perhaps your goosebumps have a different origin.

“I brought you something to drink,” he says, lifting a dark glass bottle he must have set down beside the bed. The distraction is imminent. You eye it curiously, a frown settling on your face. 

He can’t possibly be offering you wine right now? 

“Grape juice,” he states.

“Oh.”

You feel silly now, maybe your brain is still not fully awake. He opens the screw and fills a glass that was previously set down on the bedside table. When he hands it to you, the tight bandage on your arm hinders you yet again from moving freely and you have to hold out your other hand instead. Mr Emeritus is patient, waiting until you’ve taken the first few sips before he stands from the bed.

“I will bring you some food, little dove. We need to increase your blood sugar, give you some energy. In the meantime you will be good for me and drink your juice, yes?”

His words make you choke on your spit and you cough uncomfortably into the burn. “I ugh… I will. Thank you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile but it’s enough to have you flustered. You take small sips of the juice that, just like his wine, feels smooth on your tongue and has a rich, intense flavor. It warms your belly, brings life back into your limbs and other parts of your body. You’d be good for him in so many different ways if he let you.

That thought makes you abruptly realize that you’re in his actual bed. You use the chance to properly look at the spacious room surrounding you. It is furnished rather simply, heavy dark curtains cover most of the windows but even with most of the light locked out you can’t see anything beyond the huge canopy you’re resting on. You’re draped between dark green cotton sheets that must have an incredibly high thread count with how soft they feel underneath your fingertips. The dark wooden bed frame is kept upright by four artfully carved posts, solid and dominating the room, the drapes tied to them with rope. You spot two doorways – one is closed, the other slightly ajar. The wall next to the open door is home to a huge painting, the edge of the gold frame shimmering in an odd ray of light that breaks through a gap in the curtains. You don’t know the artwork, it seems to be a dark one, mostly covered in shadows now, but you think it must be a religious subject because you can make out monk-like figures, a goat, a building that resembles an old abbey.

“You walked here?” 

Mr Emeritus reenters the room, carrying a tray as he pushes the door open with his black leather brogues. 

“Ugh, yes. Is that bad?”

“You cannot walk back,” he decides. “No one is available right now to drive you and I cannot leave before we are done with donations. I suggest you stay and rest.”

“As in… stay the night?”

“One of our guest rooms should be finished by now. You can stay there.” A pause as he settles back beside you and places his cargo in your lap. On the tray you find a basket with a few slices of bread, ciabatta from the looks of it, a plate with a small piece of butter, two different wedges of cheese, a bunch of grapes and other fruit. It looks delicious. “I hope this is to your liking.”

“It looks wonderful, thank you.“ You look from the tray to him. “You’re not from the area originally, are you?”

“No, I am not from the area. Does that matter to you, grappolino?”

“No, you just… you don’t look like you belong here,” you finally say, popping a grape into your mouth. “You should be in… I don’t know, Rome, Paris. Or Tuscany, maybe. Why did you bring your business here? Just because of the vineyard?”

“The mansion has been in possession of my family for a long time,” he says. “I always had an interest in wine making, so I took over when the previous tenant expressed his wish to retire.”

“So you actually chose to live in the middle of nowhere?”

“I enjoy the quiet and solitude.” He cocks his head to the side. “And besides, so do you.”

“Hm, touché.”

You eat as much as you feel comfortable with. He watches you throughout your little meal and while it unsettles you you’re more than willing to accept his hospitality. You promised to be good for him after all and you don’t intend to break that promise. Once you’re done he relieves you of the tray and sets it down on the floor. He gives no indication that he wants to leave.

“Do you feel better?” he asks instead. “Let me feel your pulse.”

You don’t object when his gloved hand reaches for yours. The leather feels thick, sturdy, which makes his hand look huge when it surrounds yours. But then he seems to make a last minute decision to remove the gloves, revealing pale but strong hands, dark hair trailing from his knuckles down to his arm. His fingers are cooler than you expect even though there is a warm glow pulsating underneath his fingertips. Your heart immediately begins to hammer in your chest, rapidly beating against its cage of bone and skin. This will not be a useful measuring, at least not if he’s trying to anticipate your health.

Perhaps his train of thought is similar, for his eyes search yours the moment he feels the increase. The corner of his mouth pulls up slightly and his thumb gently strokes over your wrist. You’re quite incapable of looking away, even through the sunglasses there seems to be a sort of shine in his gaze. If only you could properly see them, not just their shadowy outlines. Sparks fly just below your skin, sending shivers through your whole body.

“You seem livelier to me,” he concludes. “Perhaps some more sleep will do, hm? I will have your rooms arranged, you can stay here for the time being.”

“I have a question,” you pipe up before he can leave, a hint of embarrassment laced into your words that you can’t quite hide. “Am I still getting the money?”

“The money?”

“The fifty euros.”

You’re acutely aware of his thumb still stroking your wrist, so softly that it tickles. “You will, grappolino. But there is… something I want to talk to you about. I was going to wait but perhaps now is a good time, no? Before you are too tired again.” 

“What is it?” you ask.

“I want to offer you a job.”

Your eyes widen, the words so unexpected. “A job?”

“I need an employee for the Vinothek. Wine tastings take place on Friday nights every few weeks and I need someone to take over the regular business as I take care of them. The rest of the time you can help out in the vineyard. We have a few important events soon where we introduce new varieties, some international guests will come to visit and there is a lot to do until then.”

“Are you sure this is… not just a pity job offering?”

“No,” he states so matter-of-factly that all your questions vanish. “I can use two extra hands and a sharp brain. I will double your current salary and you can move into your own quarters here for no extra cost. I will make sure your rooms are to your liking.”

You let the thought sit for a moment. Double your salary? Living in an actual mansion in the midst of beautiful wine hills? You wonder what the catch is, if he’s just going to fire you once fall is over or if he’s going to give you all the most horrible tasks he can think of. Even so, for that much money you wouldn’t mind cleaning toilets, sweeping the floors or brewing his morning coffee. It’s not that different from what you’re doing right now anyway.

“Of course there will be no eh… bad blood if you say no.”

“That seems exceptionally dumb,” you say, cringing a bit at your words. “What I mean is, that’s a… a tempting offer. It’s one that sounds too good to be true, actually. It’s just… I don’t know much about wine.”

“I can teach you all that you need to know, grappolino, non preoccuparti,” he says, his voice deeper and almost sultry. His thumb presses into your pulse then, drawing a line along the vein in your forearm until he stops just below the crook of your arm. Then he seems to snap out of whatever thought occupied his mind and pulls away. “Think about it. I do not expect a reply right away.”

You nod, missing his fingers on you already. When he finally leaves the room, you sink back into the soft mattress and imagine what a life here would be like. The offer is too good to refuse and your undeniable crush on Mr Emeritus urges you to agree even more, no matter how foolish it would be to pine after your employer. Subconsciously you bring your thumb to the wrist he just held, mimicking his touch. You think you might die if you don’t feel his hands on your body again. Perhaps he was right, perhaps you would like to explore all the different ways of sinning that he mentioned to you, and perhaps you would very much like him to take part as well.

July

Even though you’re still not quite sure what to make of the masked and hooded monks living in his home who never seem to speak, you accompany them to pack up your belongings. They follow all of your requests and directions without question, treat your things with utmost care and make sure nothing gets lost. What is even more astounding is how they carry even the heaviest of boxes filled with books without any visible strain. Most of the furniture you won’t need anymore is quickly sold or gifted to people on eBay and in the span of one afternoon, all you need is neatly packed into boxes that are now stacked in your new quarters.

You’re not quite sure how he did it but Mr Emeritus handled your job transition quite seamlessly. Your old boss agreed immediately, at least that’s what he told you, and a day later you signed all the necessary paperwork. It gives you a whole day off to familiarize yourself with your new living situation. All morning you unpack boxes, sort books into shelves, clothes into drawers. Your quarters are bigger than anticipated. A decently sized sitting room with beautiful antique-looking green sofas leads into a wide, canopied bedroom that has an en-suite bathroom as well as a walk-in closet.

You are free to use the impressive kitchen downstairs and really, you still haven’t found the catch in the whole arrangement. In search of a cup of afternoon tea, you make your way exactly there, hoping that the pantry is stocked since you’re pretty sure Mr Emeritus has his own private kitchen somewhere else in the mansion. This morning, when you picked up a cup of coffee, he was nowhere to be seen and no dishes or any other evidence betrayed that he was down here. 

When you enter the room now, you spot someone else – a raven-haired head stuck in the fridge. The man looks like he just woke up, wearing grey sweatpants and a purple dressing gown. When he turns around, you notice that his upper body is naked and for a moment you’re not sure where to look. The sweatpants barely conceal the outline of his cock and his bare chest and the soft pouch of his belly are covered in thick black hair. A few small tattoos litter his pale skin, an upside down cross underneath his ribs, two more symbols you don’t recognize just above the dip of his hips. His face seems familiar, broad and handsome, beautifully aged with lines that bring out his strong features, bushy dark eyebrows over eyes that… You halt for a moment. One of his irises is green and the other is white, just like the ones you saw in your dream. Heterochromia is nothing new to you, but for an eye to be this pale?

“Oh, buon pomeriggo,” he says with an openly flirty smile. “We have not met yet, I believe?”

“Uhm... no. I don’t think so.”

“You can call me Terzo.”

You give him your name as well, introducing yourself as a new employee. Before the man can say anything else, steps resound behind you and Mr Emeritus appears in the doorway, eyeing him with barely concealed disdain. “Am I interrupting, fratello?”

“Oh, we just met,” you explain. “I wasn’t aware there was anyone else living here.”

“This is just my brother,” he states. “Don’t mind him, he is ugh… hanging around.”

Terzo scoffs dismissively. “I am actually also working here–”

“I thought you were not my new bellhop, fratellino?”

“I help with the guest room renovations. Really, I am the eh… interior designer, you could say.” He grabs your hand, bringing it to his lips with a smirk. “Anyway, it is a pleasure to meet you, tesoro. How lovely to have a youthful presence in this old house.”

“Likewise. I actually wasn’t aware this was a hotel also.”

“It is not,” Mr Emeritus explains, taking a few steps into the room now. He looks incredibly handsome today, wearing his usual black slacks as well as a black button down shirt, sleeves rolled up and the collar open just enough to reveal some of his chest. “We are going to host some of the guests who submit to long travels in order to attend the wine tastings. Now, I was looking for you. I think you need a tour of this place, grappolino, no?”

Terzo dismisses you with a gentle smile, waving after his brother when you both leave the kitchen. Mr Emeritus briskly walks ahead, leading you down a long hallway.

“Were you going to eat?” he asks. “I interrupted.”

“No, I wanted a cup of tea. But I can just have that later.”

He hums, then leads you up a staircase to show you where the guest rooms are going to be located. You see some of the monks again, carrying furniture, painting walls, cleaning rugs. They don’t acknowledge your presence, only step aside when you pass.

“Mr Emeritus–” you start.

“You can call me Secondo,” he interrupts. “Since you are already calling my brother by his first name.”

You’re not sure if you’re imagining the hint of jealousy tainting his voice. He certainly did not look too pleased when he entered the scene earlier. “Secondo and Terzo,” you say. “Like the numbers?”

“My father was not very creative when he procreated like a dog in heat. He argues that he followed an old Italian tradition which is just convenient, no?”

You make a mental note that his father is not a good subject to broach just as he leads you back into the main staircase. “Can I ask you something else?”

“I understand you must have many questions. Feel free to pose them whenever you wish.”

“Well, the biggest one I have is… uhm…” You pause but he does not seem bothered at all. “Who are the hooded men? They look like monks but also not like any real monks I’ve ever seen before.”

“They are something similar.”

“Like a cult? Is that why they don’t talk?”

“No, grappolino, not a cult. We call them the Nameless Ghouls.” His voice is even and patient considering the amount of questions you’re shooting at him. As you walk down the stairs you notice that he is not even remotely out of breath while you’re already struggling to keep up. “They are bound to certain rules of their community such as to not speak to outsiders. They work for me because they were summoned to do so for which I am very grateful. I have arranged one of the former guest houses on the property where they live amongst themselves.”

You furrow your brow, a little confused as to how much of a red flag that should be for you. Ghouls, the religious painting, the upside down cross on his brother’s chest… it does seem suspiciously like a cult. His pace is so fast that you almost stumble down the stairs now. “Do I… do I also have to join them?”

“Oh, no, non preoccuparti. They have nothing to do with you.”

“So they just… help out here?”

“Sì. They make all of this possible.”

“I mean, if they want to live like that, I guess that’s okay.”

He stops in the middle of the staircase. You almost stumble into his strong back, catching yourself on the railing just in time. “I assure you it is all consensual, grappolino. They are free to leave and do as they please. Just like you. Nothing here happens without great enthusiasm.”

You look at him, toying with the hem of your shit nervously now that his gaze is back on your body. Enthusiasm does not sound like he is talking about work but at least it also doesn’t sound like a cult. “This word, is it a good thing?”

He chuckles. “It is a… how do you say? Pet name?” Suddenly he takes the step that separates you, inching closer until his face is right in front of yours. “Do you want me to stop?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, no. No, I like it. I was just wondering… is it a common name?”

“No, it is not common.”

You stare through his glasses, trying to make out the expression in his eyes. Is he flirting with you? Is he making fun of you? The tension is unbearable but you cannot be sure if he feels it as well with half of his face hidden from your sight. You have half a mind to take the glasses from his face.

“If you follow these stairs all the way down,” he finally says, stopping you from any foolishness, “you will reach the wine cellar. It is the door at the bottom, right next to the main entrance.”

“That’s… that’s where all the treasures are kept?”

His mouth curls into a rare smile. “Not all the treasures.”

“Can I ask another question?”

“Certo.”

“Do you have the same eyes as your brother?”

He cocks his head to the side, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “You will have to find out, grappolino.”

You swallow, about to take a foolish step closer to him when he suddenly backs away. His face is out of reach before you can even attempt to rid him of the sunglasses and he’s halfway down the next flight of stairs when you finally catch yourself.

“Now let me get you some tea and some food also,” he calls, not even making sure whether you’re following. “You have to eat a lot of iron and vitamins to increase blood production. We don’t want you to get anemic, hm?”

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Vampire Gazette 02/07

A group of rogue werewolves attacked two unsuspecting vampires in the Styrian mountains last Monday. The perpetrators fled the scene after they did not manage to kill their victims and attracted the attention of a nearby group of vampires. Both victims fully recovered in the span of two days while further circumstances of the incident still escape the authorities. Unnamed sources claim that one of the vampires is an old acquaintance of Primo Emeritus. Since last Wednesday, speculations on Social Media suggest that the incident could be connected to the death of a lycanthrope in May in which the former Papa was supposedly involved. Neither the authorities nor the Emeritus family were willing to give statements to confirm or deny these rumors.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Secondo is not proud of slipping into your room that first night. He’s not proud when he sees you sleeping so peacefully, trusting that you are safe in his care. You look lovely, young, the picture of innocence and trust. A human so lively, so curious and quick-witted. There is an intelligence in you that is way beyond your years and maybe it is the very reason why you so foolishly trust him – you’re not superstitious.

Before he drinks from you, he inspects your quarters. Sheer curiosity, he tells himself, he always liked to learn. Your bookshelves are filled with all sorts of genres – classics, romantic novels, thrillers, horror, historical fiction, non-fiction. What is most telling however are the books on your bedside table. He finds the same copy of Carmilla you carried in your bag, a book about wine making you must have recently ordered and another book that looks suspiciously like a cheap erotic novel. Maybe not so innocent, he thinks, wondering how he would find you if he came in here a few hours earlier, just before your bedtime.

Secondo is not proud when he slips into your room again a few days later. He’s not proud when he does it again and again and again until one day he notices the first signs of anemia in you and gives you a week of reprieve that has him shaking like an addict. At least he found the strength to be careful now, exerting the control he lacked when he tried that first bag of blood, barely puncturing your neck with one of his fangs and drinking as slowly as your blood flow dictates. He does not want to hurt even a hair on your head, does not want you to wake up the next morning with a wound like an animal attacked you and get suspicious. No, he needs you to stay here and stay well, a source of food, a source of joy.

Still, the moment he drapes himself over your sleeping body and your blood hits his tongue it takes all of his strength to stay calm, to suppress the moans spilling from his lips, to stop himself from growing hard against your sleeping body and humping you like a horny teenager. Just a late night drink, nothing else, a meal to sustain him throughout the night. The restraint he displays is impressive even to him. It goes against all of his predatory instincts that tell him to simply drain you, to consume you until you have nothing left. 

No, Secondo is not proud of any of it. And he slowly starts to realize that it is not stealing your blood that affects him in such a way that he struggles to keep his eldritch powers measured, to ensure that you stay asleep when he feeds. The kiss of a vampire can be impactful even for the vampire himself, at least when other feelings are involved. So no, it is not your blood that breaks his resolve, that makes it so hard to treat you like any other food source.

It’s the feeling of your skin against his lips.

August

Every day in the vineyard feels like a dream. 

You never realized how much your job at the kiosk and living in your tiny flat with nothing but the bare essentials had drained you of the joy of living, how it had put you into a sluggish rhythm of loneliness and unfulfilling work – not until you started to see a different life for yourself, that is. Perhaps Secondo was right when he told you to try out different ways to enjoy yourself all these months ago, perhaps he saw how stuck you were before you got here. Your growing crush on him certainly helps to envision a happier future for yourself in this place.

Your favorite thing are the quiet afternoons with him. Usually, you never see Secondo or his brother before two o’clock. It seems like they are night owls – it is not a rare occurrence that you spot light underneath his office door well into the late hours when you head to the kitchen to grab a cup of tea. In the mornings, you get most of your work done, usually helping out with wine orders that the Nameless Ghouls pack and a post truck picks up around noon. In the evenings, you help out at the Vinothek, taking care of the shop or waiting on people while Secondo tends the bar. But the afternoons? The afternoons are priceless.

Secondo and you usually get comfortable underneath the pergola in the mansion’s courtyard. While he prefers to sit in the shade you have opted for a sunny spot. First you share a break with some afternoon coffee for which his brother usually joins you, then, once Terzo leaves, he starts to teach you everything he knows about wine and wine making. As expected, he is a most patient teacher who takes great delight from your genuine interest in the subject. Today, he is talking to you about different grape varieties and their differences in taste.

“Sangiovese is a red variety,” he explains. “Very common and the base for many wines that I have shown you, grappolino. Chianti, for example.” 

“Like in the Silence of the Lambs.”

“Sì, like that one.”

“Have you ever had it with liver?”

“You see, my dove, Chianti is actually not a good wine to have with liver. Amarone would be much better suited, or some lesser known ones. Dr Lecter would have known that, in the book he did.”

You have to smile at that. Of course he would take note of such things while watching a movie or reading a book. While he continues on his lecture on Sangiovese, you breathe in the rich scents that waft over the courtyard, carried by a gentle summer breeze. For a moment you turn your face into the sun, letting the warm rays caress your features. Mild summer days are your favorites, being outside in a simple shirt without freezing or sweating too much. When you turn back, you notice Secondo watching you. When you smile at him he cocks his head to the side, still observing you without shame. As though he only notices now, he suddenly turns away and reaches into his pocket. When his hand comes back into view it holds a silver flask and he makes a face when he takes his first sip.

“Not good?” you ask, chuckling.

He shrugs, giving a dismissive hum. “I am… used to drinking better things these days.”

“What’s in it?”

“A new drink I have been working on. I try to sample it throughout the day.”

“Can I try?”

“No, grappolino, it is not ready for that yet.”

“You will tell me when it is, though?”

He smiles, a genuine, almost soft smile that you see on him more often now when you’re just among yourselves. “I will, little dove. You are always so eager to learn and try new things.”

The compliments he gives you, if rare, are always meaningful. They manage to fluster you every single time and you subconsciously start to scratch at your neck again. This has been going on for some time now – a few mosquito bites that never stop tingling and as soon as you touch them they start to torment you.

Secondo eyes you, brow furrowed, as if to ask why you’re fidgeting so much. The itch won’t leave, however. At this point it’s hard not to just give in and scratch until it’s bleeding and hope that it will just heal off.

“Mosquito bite,” you explain. “I’ve had them since I got here. Somehow they love to drink from my neck.”

“It is a very tender spot, no? Well supplied with blood.”

“Hm, I think so.”

You scratch until it hurts, then you force yourself to stop. Meanwhile, a distant noise becomes louder and louder until a truck enters the courtyard. Its loud beeping as the driver turns around and goes into reverse hurts your ears to the point where you cover them.

“Oh, I quite forgot about that,” Secondo says and stands up. 

You watch from the pergola how a few of the Nameless Ghouls appear and carry boxes as well as barrels of wine outside loading the truck. Secondo further rolls up the sleeves of his button down shirt to help, carrying boxes until there is not much space left. The Ghouls bring three more barrels and you watch in utter fascination when Secondo picks one of them up like it weighs nothing more than a feather, placing it inside the cargo area. A minute later the truck takes off to his destination and the Ghouls disappear.

“This… was this a full barrel?” you ask, still in shock, the moment Secondo joins you again.

“Oh, no, of course not.”

“Why would you deliver an empty one?”

He eyes you, sitting down, not even out of breath. How is he so fit? You never see him working out. “Always so many questions, grappolino. So curious.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” you say with a shrug.

“Some people buy them,” he says at last. “For eh… decoration purposes.”

You eye him skeptically. Even carrying an empty barrel would take a lot of strength. At the same time, you assume, he has been carrying boxes and barrels and heavy pieces of furniture for years now. When he reclines against his chair, you again take notice of how pale he is.

“You should wear sunscreen,” you say. “You look like the pale type that burns easily.”

“I am Italian, my dove. I am not the pale type.”

“Still, sunlight is the main cause of skin aging and skin cancer.”

“Are you telling me I look old, grappolino?”

“After you just carried all these things old is the last word on my mind that I would use to describe you, no.”

A smirk tugs at his lips but when you take out your sunscreen, waving it in front of his face, he still allows you to apply some to his cheeks, chin and forehead. You think that any excuse to touch him is worth it, even if it means acting like a mother hen to a significantly older man. Despite your inner desire, you don’t let your hands linger on his face. Touching him feels vaguely forbidden, even with his consent and over the greasy layer of sunscreen. Your shaky hands certainly betray the nervous flutter in your body and when you sit back down on your chair, your stomach is in uproar.

Yes, these afternoons are your highlights because with every day you feel like you take a precious step closer to him. And if you’re really lucky and he’s not too busy he takes you back to his private kitchen afterwards to give you your own little tastings, introducing you to flavors your tongue has never met before. One month in now, you can honestly say that the decision to come here was the best one you ever made in your life.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Vampire Gazette 04/08

Ad:

Don’t miss when the new special varieties of the world famous Papastrello wine are introduced. Now with a hint of blood and many more flavors.

What? Food, Wine, Socializing

Where? Emeritus Vineyard

When? September 29th

⛧ ✦ ⛧

It is a subtle art to manipulate the taste of blood. You have to feed your prey the right flavors of food and pour the perfect drinks down their throats to influence the aroma in just the right ways. Too much alcohol and the blood is ruined, too much sugar and it tastes like cheap supermarket wine. Secondo has refined his approach over the past centuries to match his personal preferences.

“Grappa,” he says, pushing the thin-stemmed glass in front of you. “A young one.”

You sway the glass underneath your nose, inhaling the sharp scent. There is not much you could deduce from the smell, not with your human senses, but he appreciates how you always try to use them regardless of how futile the results.

“It is distilled from the pomace after the winemaking,” he explains as he watches you nip. “Nothing goes to waste.”

You smile. “That is a very progressive view.”

“I think it is a very conservative view. Traditional, if you will.” He raises his brows, waiting for your reaction. “Do you like it?”

“It’s nice, it burns in all the good ways.”

“It used to be the drink of farmers,” he explains, filling your glass again. “Until technology progressed in the last century. The taste improved a lot, now it is very popular. I learned how to make it in Northern Italy not too long ago.”

“Were you always a winemaker?”

“No.” He does not elaborate, though his brow furrows as the ghost of distant memories tries to haunt him. The flicker is gone as fast as it came. “Come here, grappolino.”

You do, walking over to where he is sitting and stopping right in front of his chair. He grabs your hand with his gloved one, the back facing upwards before he takes some of the grappa and spreads it on your skin.

“Go on,” he says. “Take in the aroma.”

The scent that hits your nose is pleasant, much more pleasant than the taste. When you are done, looking back at him, he reaches out for your hand and brings it to his own nose, holding your gaze. His lips graze your skin when he sniffs and you think you’re about to combust, your whole body tingling nervously at the unexpected touch.

“Impurities show in the smell,” Secondo explains, remaining unfazed. “Of course, this one does not have any. It is perfect.”

“Of course,” you repeat and when he looks at you with his intense discolored eyes, you’re not sure if he meant the grappa. “So… is that true for people as well?”

His brows rise, a smile tugging at his lips as he nuzzles your hand. “Hm, I don’t smell any impurities in you.” A pause in which you stare at each other, unmoving, unblinking. “Unless they are…” His hand slides up your arm, agonizingly slow. Fingers sprawl out on your cheek, cradling your face before he taps his index finger against your temple. “In here.”

“I can’t say my thoughts are very pure when I’m around you, no.”

Your admission, so readily given, hits him like a gut punch. His cock jumps in his pants, swelling until his slacks are uncomfortably tight. It’s not like hasn’t daydreamed about making you come in a hundred different ways, about having you sprawled out underneath him in the very bed you first opened your eyes to him, to have you begging for him, showing him just how obedient and good you can be when it really counts. Right now, he wants to bend you over one of the wine barrels and have his way with you until you’re crying out his name, until every bit of boldness leaves your body and you’re at his mercy in more ways than one. He wants to teach you the sin of lust until you’re fluent in its very language.

“You’re the first human in a long time that’s tempted me,” he admits with a sigh, pulling his hand from your face. “But the sinner knows temptation when he sees it. I won’t fall, little dove.”

You chuckle, leaning further back against the edge of the table. “The first human? That sounds ominous.”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “You should thank Satan for the gift of ignorance. I know you like to ask questions but sometimes it is better not to know.”

“Secondo,” you whisper and then you’re closer, your leg touching his knee. It is evident by the way your blood rushes to your face that you can see the predicament in his pants. He makes no attempt to conceal it. “I don’t know what it is that you think you need to protect me from. But I just wish… I just wish…” You visibly swallow. Then your tongue darts out to wet your lips, slowly, sensually. “If you’re a sinner, then why not sin?”

It is foolish of him to allow you to slide into his lap. Even more foolish to place his hands on your hips and pull you closer, to feel your soft flesh against his thighs. Your hands land on his shoulders, delicate, curious fingers that feel him without shame. They stay there until you sit so comfortably that you don’t need the support anymore at which point they start to travel – over his chest, down to his belly, back up over his bare forearms. The skin contact is more intoxicating than the grappa. You’re always so warm.

It is only when they reach his face that he flinches. You stop immediately, trying to meet his gaze through his glasses. He takes a deep breath. You’ve seen Terzo’s eyes, there is no reason why you would be spooked by his now. And yet–

“Please?” you whisper.

He knows that meeting your gaze with no barrier is going to bring him to his limits. It is a last safety measure, a shield to prevent you from seeing into his soul and to stop him from falling into yours. Curious, beautiful eyes who have seen way more of him than he ever wanted to bare. Still, it seems like you have softened the hard edges of his resolve. More and more of him trickles from the cracks and he can’t quite figure out how to mend the leaks. 

His cautious nod is all it takes for you to take the frame of his glasses and carefully pull them off his face. You hold his gaze so bravely, even as you set them down on the table. The quiet that follows is agonizing even to him. His muscles tense and even though he tries not to blink, he’s the first one to do so.

“You do have the same eyes,” you finally whisper.

“Runs in the family.”

“Ah.”

Those soft fingertips dance along his jaw now, tracing the lines on his skin as though you’re drawing a map. He allows you to get to know his face, even allows your palm to cup his cheek when you gain more courage. The warmth spreads inside of him like a flame, kindling his deepest, most carnal desires that used to be latent for so long. 

It terrifies him and yet he craves nothing more than to give into the pull of their current.

“Secondo,” you whisper, his name laced with all of your needs, and then you’re leaning in.

He already feels your hot breath against his lips, your thumb swiping along his sharp cheekbone, and he can’t help but admire your boldness. It would be so easy to give in and accept his fate, accept that he is not as immune as he thought. But to do so would be to admit to his feelings and the consequences, the pain this would cause you both, is not worth a fleeting moment of passion.

He turns away at the last second, your nose brushing against his, even as your lips miss. You pull back, looking at him with your heavy-lidded, lust-filled eyes. It takes everything in him not to grab you. Confusion ices over your features then and he uses the moment to gently push you off his lap until you land on your feet again.

“Go to bed, grappolino,” he says and to his own shame he can’t meet your eyes as the words leave his mouth.

Even so he catches the hurt of rejection that flickers over your face. He can already smell the salty tears gathering in your eyes, even as he fully turns away and starts to clean the table. Your footsteps retreat with no argument, no witty comeback, not even an insult or a sound of annoyance. He almost wishes that you would have slapped him.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

When he sneaks into your room that night dried tears stain your velvety cheeks. They present him with a feeling he has not dealt with in centuries – guilt.

He falters, thinking that he should not feed from you tonight, not after refusing your intimacy earlier when you offered it to him so willingly. And yet, perhaps even more now, he wants to feel your skin against his as if to offer you the comfort he cannot give by day. Against his better judgment he settles in bed next to you, facing you this time instead of just taking your neck from behind. You’re sleeping on your side, one cheek squished to the pillow, the other one available to him. Secondo pulls at his gloves and gently strokes along your cheekbone, gathering what little wetness remains. You’re warm. So warm.

With some effort he leans over you, finding the spot on your neck and reopening the wound with his fangs. As he begins to drink, his arm wraps around you, pulling you into a more comfortable position. It is the closest thing to a hug.

The contrast between you and him hits him with full force in that moment. He’s not sure why you’re not afraid of him. Most humans sense the presence of a vampire. Unaware as to what the threat is, they still usually feel unease or a vague air of danger. Perhaps you have no sense of self-preservation or perhaps you truly just don’t fear him. Perhaps you’re one of the few people who are unaffected, too curious for your own good.

Or perhaps you were simply made for him. Perhaps Lucifer made your paths cross for a reason.

The thought of having you, of leaning into what has been building between the two of you is terrifying but thrilling at the same time. With your blood in his mouth it is easy to imagine claiming you, revealing himself to you, bringing you into his world and showing you its magic.

He’s not sure how you sense his line of thinking but in that moment you start to shift, moving against him like you’re trying to get closer. He slips, losing grasp on his powers for just a moment but it is enough to make you rouse. You don’t fully wake but your sleep lightens and with a tired sigh you cuddle up to him, tilting your head so he has even better access. An arm wraps around his middle, fingers playing with the hem of his black shirt until they graze his bare midriff. 

“Secondo,” you whimper. 

It awakens something inside of him he has not felt before, not a sexual feeling but a thrum somewhere close to his heart. Need is dripping from your voice, the smell of your arousal hits his sensitive nose, and he’s sure you must be dreaming about him now. Before he knows it he has sunk both of his fangs into your neck and is sucking the blood oozing from the wound. His senses explode, the feeling of your skin on his fingertips, your taste, the way you sigh and seek out his embrace. Lust he can handle, hunger he can handle, but these feelings run deeper, digging below the surface and clawing their way into his very core.

Suddenly it’s all too much. He pulls away from your abused neck, already discolored and swollen, and the sight of what he’s done is enough to propel his overwhelm and guilt into new heights. Secondo slips from the bed and before he knows what he’s doing he finds himself back in his own bedroom. He throws his gloves to the side and stares at his shaking hands. Hands that held you not five seconds ago. Hands that are already yearning to hold you again. His body is buzzing with the need to be close to you, trying to chase the feeling he had when you clung to him, and he hasn’t felt this alive in centuries.

He slides to the ground, leaning against his bed and staring through the window at a growing, nearly full late August moon. What he should be focussing on is the Vinothek, the preparations for the event not even a full month in the future, the growing tensions with the werewolf community and the upcoming wine harvest, not playing around with his little human. 

Secondo licks along his teeth, grazing his fangs, but the taste of your blood won’t fade from his mouth, no matter how many times he swallows and swallows and swallows. It remains there, a phantom of you to remind him of his folly. He knows he won’t find any peace tonight.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

When you dream of him this time, it sets your body on fire. Your imagination, in comfort or torture, brings him into your bed where he wraps himself around your body and kisses your neck with reckless abandon. It seems to last all night but at the same time you feel like you’ve only slept for an hour. Waking up is like being ripped from paradise and cast back into the raging horrors on earth. At first you think you still feel his lips on your neck but the sensation turns into a dull pain, not that of a love bite but that of a hammer repeatedly hitting your skin. You remember his rejection from last night and promptly feel like throwing up.

With your mind still stuck in the fragments of the dream, you enter your bathroom to splash your face with some cold water. The pain on your neck has reached into your whole shoulder area by now and you pause when you spot your reflection. A huge purple bruise has spread over the area around the bite. How–

It would not be the first time your body has let his frustrations out on yourself in sleep. Maybe you scratched the mosquito bite too hard, maybe that’s why you dreamed about him kissing your neck in the first place. At any rate, what you really need right now is a cup of coffee and some painkillers.

Without as much as changing you quickly head downstairs. The house is eerily quiet as usual, the morning has just begun after all and the sun is creeping up over the horizon. Every window you pass reveals a spectacular view of the vineyard with its rows and rows of wine dipped into the soft orange light of a late summer sunrise.

The sight helps improve your mood somewhat. Though that is quickly reversed when you reach the kitchen. You’re already halfway to the coffee maker when you jump after spotting Secondo sitting at the large kitchen table. His own cup of coffee sits in front of him as he reads the paper and you’re wondering if he never went to bed in the first place. 

Of course he has already detected you, eying you curiously. He’s not wearing the glasses, you note, only his gloves, a simple black polo shirt that draws your attention back to his forearms. Quickly, you avert your gaze and focus on the machine in front of you, your face hot in shame for your silly attempt to kiss him as well as your dream.

“Buon giorno, grappolino,” Secondo says, closing the newspaper he’s spread out in front of him and folding it neatly. You can’t read his expression, not even with his eyes revealed to you. 

“Good morning,” you say. “You are up early.”

“Sì. We get some important deliveries today.”

The noise of the espresso machine drowns out your hum of acknowledgment and briefly ends the conversation. However, Secondo’s gaze lingers on your neck and you realize that you’re still only in your loose sleeping shirt and pajama bottoms, the bruise in plain sight.

“It’s… it’s not a hickey.” You’re not sure why you’re saying it. It’s not like you could have got one in the span of the few hours that you’ve been separated. “I don’t know how I got it, probably scratched too hard in my sleep.”

He doesn’t reply, not with words, but there is something in his expression that is wholly foreign to you. His brow is furrowed, his lips slightly parted, and without his glasses you can see a range of emotions reflected in his eyes. If you didn’t know any better you’d think it’s a mixture of shame and guilt. He doesn’t stay long enough to let you see more.

September

Harvesting wine is a brutal job. That is what you’ve been told, anyway.

Hand-picking the grapes instead of using machinery protects the soil, Secondo told you, which is why the Nameless Ghouls head out every morning and every evening to gather them manually while the sun sits low on the horizon.

“The grapes have to stay cool,” he told you when you asked him why they left at four in the morning each day. “It reduces the risk of bacterial infections.”

You watch the bustle from your window, how they start at the bottom of the hillside and make their way up, row after row with buckets and containers on their backs. Once their shift is over, they bring the yield back into the courtyard where they prepare it for further processing. 

It seems like they never get tired.

Most days, Secondo and Terzo either help them pick or they take care of pressing the grapes. Things stay a little awkward, at least for you. Secondo does not really acknowledge that anything happened at all and since the whole vineyard is busy with the harvest while you’re stuck in the office or in the shop, restocking shelves, checking inventory, taking care of shipments, you hardly even see him. On one hand, his rejection still hurts, but on the other hand you’re relieved that he has not fired you or had any other negative reactions to your advances. It would not be the first time you meet an emotionally repressed man who pushes you away. Not the first time you calm your anxiety by nurturing your foolish hopes that maybe one day he will find it in him to like you back.

You learn that the harvest has to go over quickly before the grapes are overly ripe. It’s no surprise when they’re done after no more than three weeks. The cold storages are filled with grape juice just like the wooden barrels in the wine cellar where it now rests, fermenting slowly over the next few months until it turns into wine.

With the harvest done, focus shifts to the upcoming tasting event. When you don’t see Secondo chasing the ghouls through the guest wing for some last minute changes to the interior, you usually know he’s busy in the wine cellar, entrenching himself in one of the back rooms which he told you are not for nosy little doves. You’re sure he’s working on his new wines, perfecting the secret recipes. He prefers to work undisturbed in silence, so whenever he is busy down there he has you stock the mini bars in the guest rooms, make floral arrangements to decorate the sitting rooms or prepare small self-made gifts for the visitors. Anything to keep you occupied elsewhere.

You’re not sure if he really wants to work in solitude or if he’s just avoiding you.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Secondo never took himself for a coward. 

He is a smart, calculated man who has a few centuries of experience under his belt that help him go through life mostly unscathed. He tries to anticipate risks and act accordingly and he might come across as cold or dismissive at times because of his measured choices. He hides, he protects, he does what he has to do. But he is not a coward. 

He is not a coward but since that night, he has not drunk from you.

It bears the question if avoidance and cowardice are two sides of the same coin. If he can’t win either way. The impulse to ignore an issue is not exactly familiar to him but with the event coming up, with the harvest and goings-on at the vineyard it is easy to slip into a mode of focus that pushes you away by keeping busy.

If it weren’t for that hunger.

He’s drinking enough blood from his supply to sustain him but somehow it will not sate him in the way that your blood does. Even as he works with Terzo now, preparing the rooms for the guests that are arriving today and tomorrow, all he can think about is you. It certainly does not help that your smell lingers in every single room.

“Fratello,” Terzo pipes up behind him. “Did Primo say he would bring someone?”

“Hm?”

“He’s…” His brother snorts, pressing his greasy palms against the freshly cleaned window. “I swear to Satan, he’s with a human.”

“Di che parli?”

Secondo can’t help but join him, glancing out of the window like that one annoying neighbor everyone hates, scanning the courtyard in search of his older brother. Primo’s old Bentley has been parked at the far side beneath the beech trees. His long blond hair dances in the breeze behind him as he rounds the car and opens the door to the passenger seat. Someone else steps out, not a ghoul nor anyone else Secondo has ever seen before. The person holds his gloved hand and he immediately pulls them into his arms, wrapping his deep red cloak around them. He leans down to kiss them on the mouth, tenderly, taking his sweet time as he cradles them in his arms like they’re the most precious thing in the world.

“Ma che cazzo…” Terzo whispers. “The old man found someone before I did.”

“He’s with a human,” Secondo states.

“No shit, Sherlock, eh? Not all of us are anthropophobic.”

“I am not–”

“Satana, are they going to stop making out? That’s disgusting.”

“Stop spying, stronzino.”

He practically pulls Terzo from the window and forces him to welcome their brother in the entrance hall downstairs, as respect demands. They have to wait another five minutes until Primo appears, carrying two large suitcases, the human he brought with him entering alongside. They’re young. Very young in fact. Probably around your age, he can’t help but note.

“Fratello!” Terzo greets him exuberantly, opening his arms to him. Primo barely has enough time to set down the suitcases before Terzo’s lips press to his cheeks in two loud kisses. “You look well! And you brought someone, che sorpresa!”

“I am well,” Primo says as Terzo quickly moves on to the human, taking their hand delicately in his and bringing it to his lips. Meanwhile Primo faces Secondo who is still rooted to his spot behind the reception desk. “Grazie per l’invito.”

“Grazie per essere venuto,” he replies diplomatically. “It is good to see you, fratello.”

“To be honest, we need a place to stay for a while.” He turns to his companion who has since been freed from Terzo grasp, wrapping a possessive arm around their waist with a sort of love-sick expression that Secondo has never seen on him before. “This is my little flower, my greatest treasure. I want you all to meet.”

Terzo and Secondo exchange a quick look but before they can say anything the human speaks up. “It’s nice to meet you both. Primo told me a lot about you.”

“Only good things I hope, eh?” Terzo asks.

“They know,” Primo says then. “You don’t have to hide.”

“You told them?” Secondo asks, the shock evidently woven into his voice. 

“Fratello, what is going on?” Terzo’s reaction is quite similar. “Werewolves, a human?”

In that moment Secondo’s senses detect you coming down the stairs. He shushes his brothers, nudging Terzo towards the suitcases in hopes of giving the appearance of a normal check-in. The last thing he needs right now is another human finding out.

“I told you I am not your bellhop,” Terzo complains.

You round the corner, then, and they finally pay enough attention to notice you as well. Secondo can’t help but take you in when you descend to their level. His eyes find your neck, the bruise mostly faded but even so the memory of that night is clear in his mind. That appetite inside of him stirs, the urge to have his lips on your skin again to taste not just your blood but all of you.

“Oh, hello,” you say, effectively bringing his attention back to the situation at hand. “I thought I heard voices. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, grappolino.” He has to force himself to stop staring at you. “The first guests have arrived. This is our brother, Primo, and his… partner.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“And who is this?” Primo asks, shooting Secondo a knowing look before he greets you with a gentle smile. “How lovely to see a new face in these old halls.”

Secondo introduces you, not without a hint of barely concealed shame. He can feel Primo’s eyes boring into him throughout, the accusation of hypocrisy very evident in his narrowed mismatched eyes. Of course Primo would see right through him. His older brother’s senses are even stronger than any of theirs. He would not be surprised if he still smelled him on you.

“Can you find a Ghoul to carry their luggage?” Secondo asks. “I would like to have a moment with just my brothers.”

“I won’t leave my flower,” Primo says, vehemently shaking his head.

“It’s okay,” they interject, running a soft hand along his arm. “I will just start unpacking.”

It is only with a great deal of reluctance that Primo follows him and Terzo into the kitchen and leaves his little flower to you. The eldest immediately finds the kettle and brings some water to boil. Old habits die hard, Secondo supposes. Serious conversations are only to be held over a calming cup of herbal tea.

“Cos’è successo?” Secondo ask once they all sit over their mugs. “With the wolf?”

“It was not done on purpose,” Primo says. “I was protecting someone I love. That is all you need to know.”

“The human?” The word comes out with much more venom than he anticipated.

“Ah and you are here to pass judgment?” Primo asks, giving him a withering look. “You?”

Secondo presses his lips together. “Not judgment. I am trying to understand why.”

“Is it so hard for you to imagine caring about someone? To love them so much that you would kill for them?”

”No, I–“

“I am not here to be questioned,” Primo interrupts. “You invited me to an event, no? That is what we are here for. If you allow us, we would like to stay a few more days until we can move into our new home. But apart from that, I do not wish any commentary on my life.”

“You are moving?” Secondo asks. “With the human?”

“Oh, don’t mind him, fratello,” Terzo chimes in. “He is just grumpy because he fell in love with a human as well but unlike you he already messed it up. We are very happy for you and your little flower.”

“I will not have this childish conversation,” Secondo says. “There are werewolves running amok because of this, attacking our kind.”

“And they will calm down,” Terzo says. “There are a few rogues, it is not the whole community.”

“Secondo, I know you are worried.” Primo’s voice lost the defensive tone, instead it sounds much more like the caring, diplomatic voice his brother is used to. “But I don’t need your protection. If any werewolf is foolish enough to attack us, they will face harsh consequences. I will defend what is mine and I urge you to do the same.”

Secondo lets those words sit for a moment. He has never felt protective of anyone outside of the family before but now the first person that comes to his mind is you. Would he have done the same, killing a werewolf to save you? Potentially rekindling a centuries-old conflict between two communities? 

The answer comes surprisingly easy.

“Did you invite Copia?” Primo asks then. “He is not here?”

“Oh, he is busy playing Dracula somewhere in the Slovakian mountains,” Terzo replies. “He said not to expect him but to send him a few bottles.”

“He is not doing well.” Primo takes a long sip of tea. “It has been half a century.”

“Until father steps down this will not change,” Secondo says. “Copia has the rightful claim to the title.”

“Well, we had this argument before and it caused a family feud that made us vulnerable in the first place,” Terzo snaps. “The old stronzo doesn’t give a shit.”

“Let’s not get into this now,” Primo says. “We are here to celebrate that your business is doing well, Secondo. It will give the community something else to talk about for a while.”

This is as long as they manage to keep Primo from going to look after his flower, leaving them to stew over their own tea mugs they won’t be emptying. Secondo struggles to grasp what he learned today. Primo – the experienced, the wisest and most reasonable of them – is in love with a human. A young, kind, lovely human. And he is happier than ever before.

But perhaps that is not what is so hard to understand. Perhaps it is the fact that Secondo wishes he had the very same thing. Primo’s words still ring inside of his head. Is it so hard for you to imagine caring about someone?

The answer is no. He knows exactly what it feels like.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

The next twenty-four hours are the busiest since you came to the vineyard. Guest after guest arrives and Secondo puts you in charge of welcoming them. You’re behind the reception desk most of the night because apparently most of them traveled through the evening hours. By twelve pm on the very day that the event takes place the last guest arrives. He is a middle aged man with dark hair and kind brown eyes, looking far more average than the rest of the guests with their fancy clothes, aristocratic features and expensive cars. He reveals his name to you and you scan the reservation, finding him at the bottom as one of the last ones to book a room. There aren’t any left, so he must have got lucky. 

“That would be the blue room, sir,” you offer, handing him the key.

He eyes your neck, then, and you’re not sure what he is looking at, if he can still somehow see the faint remnants of your bruise in the dim lighting inside. Before you can apologize for your appearance, he glances away again, smiling. “Thank you, little one. The blue room sounds lovely.”

“Let me ask someone to carry your luggage, sir.” 

You’re ready to ring the bell and call for a Ghoul. However, the man stops you with a wave of his hand. “Oh, not necessary. I shall carry it myself. A little workout never hurt anyone.”

“Oh, okay.” 

He’s already up the stairs when you’re distracted from the encounter. Secondo strolls into the entrance hall. He does not appear nervous, despite only having eight hours left until the event begins. Right now he’s dressed in a simple polo shirt, slacks, his usual gloves and sunglasses. You love it when he looks somewhat casual, at least to his standards. Still, you can’t quite revel in his handsome appearance. Since the tasting is so close now, your anxiety has risen to an uncomfortable level. He said he needed an extra pair of hands but he never specified for how long.

“Has everyone arrived?” he asks when he reaches the desk.

“Yes, the last guest just went to his room.” You eye him as he scans the list in front of you, not even taking notice of the state you’re in. “Actually, do you have a moment?”

He looks up, then, and you freeze. Even through the glasses meeting his eyes has the heavy impact of a gut punch. You’re surprised by how gentle his voice is. “Of course, my dove. What is it?”

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” you ramble before you can think twice about it. “I know, we were just being a little flirty with each other and that this is very different from actually attempting to kiss you. I feel very stupid now that I… that I misread the situation and I want to apologize. I love working here and I don’t want to lose it when the event is over. I enjoy being here, spending time with you and I don’t want to leave.”

“Grappolino, who said anything about leaving?”

You’re almost crying, tears pricking your eyes like a thousand needles. “You’re avoiding me. I just assumed that when you don’t need me anymore…”

He stops you by reaching for your hand, pressing his thumb into your palm. “You do not have to worry about this right now.”

“How can I not? You’ve been acting all sorts of weird with me.”

Secondo sighs deeply and you regret bringing it up now when he’s already stressed. But then he perks up as though something caught his attention. He pulls you into the door to the wine cellar by the stairs just when you hear voices and footsteps approaching. Blindly you stumble after him, shivering when you reach the cold stone masonry downstairs where he turns on an old, dim ceiling light. Down here it smells of fermentation, wine and vaguely of must. You lean against an old table, listening to the gurgling sounds of the carbon dioxide leaving the barrels.

“You won’t go, grappolino,” Secondo says, running his gloved hand over his face until he reaches his sunglasses and takes them off. “In fact it is I who should apologize for how I’ve been treating you. For things you don’t even know about.”

You stare into his odd eyes, the white iris almost glowing in the gloomy old cellar. He takes two steps until he’s right in front of you and you feel a cold shiver of anticipation running along your spine. You haven’t been this close since the grappa incident and the smell of his cologne makes you dizzy with need.

“My dove, you did not misread the situation. I very much wanted to kiss you.” He cages you in, resting both of his hands on the table at your sides. “And I very much want to do so right now.”

“Please,” is all you can say. “Please, Secondo.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up into a smug grin at your begging tone, the lines on his hollow cheeks deepening. He leans in until your breaths mingle, until you can feel his exhales tickling your lips. “We shouldn’t,” he whispers into the tight space. “It is foolish.”

And yet he does not pull away. His hooked nose nuzzles yours as if to savor the moment for just a bit longer. You dare to reach out and wrap your hands around his strong neck, playing with the collar of his shirt. He hums when your fingertips brush the tender skin at his nape and his own hand moves to cup your cheek, looking for more contact. The leather feels soft, hiding how his firm grip keeps your head in place. His eyes are stuck on your lips and you decide to close yours, mentally tracing the line of butterflies that flutter from your belly all the way up to your throat. Another hum leaves him when you part your lips in a sigh and then his thumb pushes your jaw up, tilting your head just right before his lips capture yours.

His mouth is cooler than expected, softer too. Secondo takes charge of the kiss in a way that makes you weak in the knees. Gentle but firm at the same time he moves his lips against yours, slowly increasing the pressure. You moan softly, clinging to him as your body sinks and sinks against him. His hands move to your hips to catch you and he easily sets you down on the table, stepping between your legs until you can feel his whole front against yours. He’s already half-hard and his outline is only growing against your stomach.

You snake a hand between your bodies, cupping his length through the tightness of his slacks. Secondo groans into your mouth, pushing his tongue between your lips with urgency. You kiss back with the same hunger, swollen mouths and eager tongues exploring each other to the last crevice. When you break away, saliva drips from the corner of your mouth to your chin and he licks it off, kissing from your cupid’s bow down to your jaw.

Before you can properly recover your breathing, Secondo’s hand toys at your lips and he slides two of his fingers inside your mouth. You receive them, allowing him to press down on your tongue.

“Get them wet for me, hm?” he murmurs into your skin. “My perfect little dove. So eager, so filthy, just waiting for me to fill you.”

You suck at the digits spurred on by his praise, swirling your tongue around their length while his lips firmly attach to your neck in a bruising kiss, just like in your dream. You struggle to keep your grasp on reality, lust and pleasure overwhelming all of your senses. When he finally pulls his hand from your lips you feel horribly empty. He gives you no time before he pushes his hand into your pants, not even playing with you before he immediately slides it in deeper. He finds your opening, fingers probing and widening before he slips one inside. You keen, grasping his shoulders for support and he adds a second one shortly after. The stretch is beautiful, thick, gloved fingers that he crooks expertly to hit that sweet sensitive spot inside. You think he moans louder than you at the contact, sinking against your body for a moment as the sensation hits him.

“You…” He shudders, groans deeply into your ear. “You’re so… warm.”

He gasps when you impatiently rut against his hand, rolling your hips in sync with the movements of his fingers inside of you. He helps you along, pumping his fingers in and out of you while still kissing your neck with his insistent mouth. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper, closer, until his hard cock rubs against your front at every thrust of his hand. Secondo grunts like a wild animal and then his teeth sink into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. A stinging pain shoots through you and you cry out in surprise. The feeling is not unpleasant, on the contrary – the pain mixing with your pleasure makes you wonderfully dizzy. He must have broken the skin because there is more wetness now than just his spit trickling down your throat. Secondo startles when he feels it, breaking away from your neck, and you can see blood staining his teeth and lips. “I’m sorry– I–”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “It’s okay, I like it rough. Don’t stop.”

His lips press to yours urgently. You moan, tasting your warm blood in his cold mouth, and you push your tongue inside even deeper for more. Secondo’s movements speed up. His fingers fuck you roughly until you can’t help but clench around them. It only takes a few more flicks of his tongue against yours, a few more strokes of his fingers until you’re tumbling over the edge. The moan that breaks from your throat echoes loudly in the old stone halls and you whimper pathetically at every thrust with which he carries you through your pleasure.

You notice that his hips still hump your front in sync with the last few pumps of his hand, chasing the friction of your body. He’s grunting, his open lips pressed to the corner of your mouth before they slide down to your neck. His tongue darts out to lick the remaining blood from your collarbone, eager strokes of his tongue that leave a wet trail over your skin before his lips close tightly around the wound. Suddenly he stills, releasing a drawn-out moan stifled by your wet skin and you feel his cock jumping inside of his pants when he cums. For a moment he holds you against him, removing his fingers to wrap both of his arms tightly around you.

“Perdonami, per favore,” he whispers, pressing a thousand soft kisses along your neck. “I hurt you. I hurt my little dove.”

“Don’t apologize,” you stress. “I like it rough, I would have told you if I didn’t.”

“That’s not…” He sighs. “No, I cannot hurt you. It has to stop.”

“Secondo.” He falters at the sound of his name, frowning at you. “I liked it. Please, don’t worry.”

He takes a shuddering breath, shaking his head vehemently. “Grappolino, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

You smooth out the deep line between his eyes, caressing his features with all the tenderness you feel towards him. He slowly relaxes, resting his forehead against yours. For a while you stay like that, embracing each other, breathing each other in. Your heart beats strongly against your ribs, longing to reach him. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been this happy before.

“Secondo,” you whisper, nuzzling his nose with yours. “I think I’m in love with you.”

He freezes against you, his limbs going rigid. After a moment he pulls away to meet your eyes and there is such visible confusion etched into his features. His mouth opens slightly, revealing the edges of two sharp fangs, still dipped in your blood. His eye turns from a deep red to its usual green.

Suddenly, it all begins to fall into place. Perhaps you breathed in too many alcoholic fumes down here, perhaps you’ve finally lost your mind. But the way he lapped at your blood, the way he avoids the light, the bruising around your neck, the sunglasses and late nights, how you dreamed about him with blood staining his mouth, his eye glowing red–

“Secondo!” a voice calls down the stairs. “Sbrigati!”

His head whips around and he tries to break away. You attempt to keep him there, holding onto his shoulders, urging him to stay. “Secondo, are you… are you a–”

“We have to talk later,” he says, tearing himself away from you with ease. “We have to head to the Vinothek and get ready for the guests. I will wait for you in the courtyard.”

”But–“

He won’t hear you out. Before you can say another word he’s already upstairs.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Somehow you manage to get dressed. Your legs hardly carry you upstairs, weak from the force of what just happened as well as the sudden stress added on top. With your evening outfit already neatly laid out on your bed it doesn’t take you too long to get ready but you also can’t find any calm moment to gather your thoughts. Your suspicion spreads in your mind, carrying a hint of fear but also curiosity. You’re sure you’re slowly losing grasp on your sanity. It’s impossible. You’re not superstitious, on the contrary, you’ve always relied on your thirst for knowledge, on the fact that you learn fast, that you see through things and quickly understand them. But if your notion turns out to be true, you ran into the trap of a predator with open arms and a bared neck.

Even so, your suspicion doesn’t stop your cheeks from burning when you meet everyone in the courtyard, Secondo and his brothers already waiting for you in the shade of the pergola. When his eyes meet yours you feel a pull, a need unlike any you have felt before. You can’t help but wonder if you’re being manipulated, if this is all a mirage and he’s been toying with you all this time.

Real or not, their looks for the night take your breath away. What strikes you the most is how all three of them are wearing face paints that shape their features like skulls. They’re all slightly different but Secondo’s looks the most menacing, stressing the sharp edges of his jaw and cheeks. In contrast to that of his brothers his eyeshadow is glittery, sparkling in the light that meets his face.

Suddenly you’re wondering how the thought of them being vampires has never occurred to you before. Secondo looks quite like Count Dracula himself in his white button down shirt, a green brocade vest under a perfectly cut suit jacket, an emerald green bowtie, black slacks and leather brogues that match his gloves – the same gloves that were inside of you not even half an hour ago. Terzo’s outfit is quite similar only that his shirt has ruffles, the vest is a deep purple and he’s fixed a silver brooch on his collar that bears the upside down crucifix you’ve seen tattooed on his body. Primo is wearing a crimson brocade tailcoat, his long blonde hair curled at the edges while his partner’s outfit was carefully chosen to match his. They look like they jumped straight out of a classic horror movie – elegantly menacing, aristocratic and weirdly out of time.

During your ride to the Vinothek, you’re closely pressed to Secondo’s side on the backseat of a short limousine with darkened windows, driven by one of the Nameless Ghouls. Even dressed up you feel quite out of place. His strong thigh is pressed against yours, distracting you enough that the five minutes pass quickly. You stare at his hands resting in his lap, toying with the hem of his gloves, and you wonder if he wore the same pair on purpose.

At the venue, more Nameless Ghouls arrange tables and chairs in one of the side rooms that are usually empty. You feel pretty useless while the others discuss the tasting, so you refill the shelves in the store up front and distract yourself by preparing the bar for the evening. At some point Secondo approaches you behind the counter. “You can handle the hum-” He coughs. “The evening bustle while I lead the tasting?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thank you, grappolino.” He stops, almost reaching for your hand but pulling back just before your fingers touch. He looks like he wants to say more, you want him to say more, but his lips stay sealed. It is odd to look at his painted face, a man you thought you knew, thought you were in love with. Now it is hard to say if any of it was real.

Once the first guests arrive, you’re tasked to show them into the event location. You know the actual tasting is going to take two hours with the subsequent chance to socialize. Once the door closes you get somewhat comfortable behind the bar. Throughout the night you only have to tend to two guests, the rest of the time you spend googling everything that you can about vampires on your phone. No helpful sites pop up, only a few intense subreddits about suspected vampire sightings that only serve to confuse you even more. 

About two hours later, the door to the side room bursts open and Terzo storms past. He pulls at the door of one of the wine fridges, blindly reaching for one of the bottles. Secondo follows two seconds later, closing the door quietly behind him with a deep sigh. You step aside when Terzo reaches for a corkscrew, pulling the cork out like it’s nothing.

“You don’t know if it is true,” Secondo says, leaning in the doorway.

“Well, they’re not here,” Terzo says. “They didn’t come.”

“You should be glad they did not, fratello. It spares you the pain of another rejection.”

Terzo lifts the bottle and places it at his painted mouth, taking a long swig until the paint is smudged and his lips take on a deep crimson tone. He lets the taste sit for a minute, seemingly content before he starts to empty the bottle without pause.

“Fratello, you need to calm down,” Secondo warns him. “This is a wine tasting.”

“Yeah, so? Are you supposed to be boring at those?”

“They are a more… sophisticated sort of event. Come sai.”

“What I know, fratello, is that I’m here for a good time, just like everyone else. I want to have some actual damn wine and find someone to fuck later, sound sophisticated enough?”

“Terzo,” Secondo says. “You can’t fuck or drink the pain away.”

His brother frowns, grabbing another two bottles from the fridge. “Watch me try.”

You follow Terzo with your eyes as he pushes past his brother and disappears in the other room. Through the open door you can hear the bustle of people socializing, the clinking of glasses. “Will he be okay?”

Secondo closes the door and shrugs. “This is going to cost me a lot of wine. It is not easy to get him drunk.”

“So ugh… who didn’t come?” you dare to ask.

“His ex.” Secondo lifts his hand to rub at his eyes but thinks better just before they touch his make-up. “It is a long story. Someone told him they’re with someone else.”

“Secondo,” you try, now that you have him alone. “Actually, I’ve been wondering…”

“I need to look after him before he causes a scene. Can you do me a favor and get some of the orders sorted? The bottles are in the backroom. You can pack them in the usual boxes and bring them out back where one of the Ghouls will pick them up later.”

You want to argue with him, force him to listen to you, but he seems too tense to risk an attempt now. Instead you nod. “Where are they?”

“I will bring you the forms.”

With that he disappears into the side room as well. You’re curious, maybe too curious for your own good, but you just have to risk it and slip inside as well. The sight that meets you has you gasping. All of the guests have gathered around bar tables, wine glasses filled with a deep red liquid as they eagerly chat and drink. Even in the dimmed light you realize that this is not the same wine you’ve seen served at the bar, nor does the texture resemble any of the ones Secondo had you try. No, if it’s true and they’re– 

A sudden sense of terror overcomes you, even more so as you notice the first curious pairs of eyes on you that you swear are a glowing red. They don’t look real, they don’t look even remotely human, and most of all they look hungry.

“You are too curious for your own good.”

Secondo is by your side immediately, blocking your view before he ushers you out of the room. You let him carefully manhandle you until you’re outside of the door, still petrified from what you just saw, from the sudden horror fantasies your mind conjured up.

“The orders,” he says, pressing the documents into your hand before he gently cups your cheek.  You’re panicking, maybe. Or perhaps you’re not breathing at all. “My dove.”

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?”

You nod, telling yourself that this can’t be true. It simply can’t. You’re seeing ghosts, your brain has taken hold of an idea and ran wild with it. This is the real world, not one of the many novels you read. Secondo is right here, looking just like always, his iris green and not glowing at all.

“I’m sorry for busting in,” you say, realizing your silly mistake now. “I just… God, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m losing my mind.”

“Grappolino, I promise we will talk tomorrow. First we have to get this done, yes?” His thumb swipes over your cheek, so gently that you decide to believe him. “I will meet you once the guests leave and we will talk about what happened today.”

“Alright.” You nod, leaning into his touch. “I’ll… I’ll take care of the orders.”

He must know of your suspicion, he must know. His eyes tell you that he’s not going to let you leave, that he has an eye on you if you want to or not. For some reason you still feel safe knowing that he’s here, his touch nothing but comforting. His nod is barely noticeable but he does let go of your face eventually to go back inside. 

For a few minutes you have to hold onto the wall, slowly breathing in and out, trying to calm your racing heart. Perhaps it’s the lack of proper sleep. You spent most of last night checking in guests, only getting a few hours of rest in the early morning. 

This is ridiculous, you tell yourself, vampires aren’t real.

Once you’ve recovered, you start to pack the boxes, distracting yourself with the basic, monotonous work that is packing order and updating inventory. You’ve already carried a couple of boxes outside into the alley behind the Vinothek when your sneaking suspicion grows stronger again. There is an easy way to find out whether they were really drinking blood. One way to prove to yourself that you’re overreacting.

Without thinking you rip one of the boxes back open. The bottles look like any other wine bottles. Papastrello, the label says in gold-foiled lettering that is all too familiar by now. The only difference is the upside down cross that is stamped into the paper. The bottles are about the same weight, the dark glass no different from the other wine bottles you’ve seen. The only way to know for sure is to open it, to look at the wine itself.

In that moment you’re too scared to head back inside, too scared that someone is going to sense your suspicion and either laugh about your paranoia or possibly harm you for finding out what no one should know. You feel quite unhinged when you grab the bottle and smash it on the concrete of the sidewalk. What splashes out and mixes with the shards of glass is a red liquid that might be wine or might be blood, you can’t quite tell. The pale light of a full autumn moon reflects in the color, making it much paler than it looked inside. You know that you have to try it to know for certain whether it is wine or not.

It takes you a long moment of persuasion, silently debating with your inner voices until you reach out and wet your finger. On your skin, the liquid feels wrong, thicker, creamier, but also not quite like blood. You swallow your fear and bring it to your lips.

The moment your finger hits your tongue a deafening growl echoes in the street behind you. The sound is predatory, animalistic, ringing inside your ears long after it stopped. The hairs on your arms stand in alert as you turn around, expecting an aggressive dog or perhaps even a wolf straying from the woods. But what meets your eye is anything but. The creature is huge, filling the width of the whole alley with its broad shoulders and even as it cowers, resting on his two huge clawed hands, it’s almost as tall as the cars lining the main road. 

The metallic taste on your tongue is forgotten the moment you spot it. Another growl and the beast jumps into action, galloping along the alley just as you scramble to your feet. Flight is hopeless, you barely take two steps in an attempt to sprint before its heavy steps are right behind you. Still you run and suddenly it seems like you’re making headway, the sounds gaining distance. You dare to turn around when you finally reach the end of the alley. What you see feels surreal, like a nightmare brought to life.

Secondo is standing between you and the monster who seems to have stopped, assessing the situation. Against all instinct you take a few steps back in their direction, watching the furry creature with its deformed but still somehow human body. Suddenly you recognize him, dark hair, the same brown eyes. It has to be the man who checked in this morning.

“You attacked the wrong human,” Secondo says. “This is not who you’re looking for.”

The creature does not seem in control of itself as it paces the road, sniffing audibly, baring its fangs to you in an attempt to intimidate and scare. Secondo stays in front of you, the image of a predator himself, but compared to the werewolf he looks small, almost fragile. Fear buries its way deep into your body. Suddenly you’re not worried for yourself anymore but for him. Your heart is hammering so fast that it echoes inside of your skull, your whole body sweating and shaking. 

When the beast finally pounces, you shriek. Secondo grabs its massive arms to keep it at a distance but the werewolf tears at his clothing, ripping until its claws sink into his torso. His voice stretches into a pained scream that penetrates your whole body, deeper and deeper until you can feel it all the way into your marrow, rattling at your very core. The wolf is going to rip him to pieces in the blink of an eye. It’s going to kill him the moment he breaks his powerful hold.

You would never forgive yourself if he died because of you, if he got hurt trying to protect you. And maybe it is foolish, maybe you should let him handle the fight by himself, but you close the gap anyway until you can duck and reach into his pocket. Before you can think any of it through you’ve already sparked the flint and shoved the flame of his stupidly expensive lighter into the wolf’s fur. At first you think it is too dense to burn but then the beast starts yowling. The softer underfur has caught on fire, a disgusting sulphuric smell spreading around you. For a moment the wolf recoils in pain, letting go of Secondo who stumbles backwards. You’re trying to reach him but then the wolf deals one final blow, throwing his massive arms around his body. At the last moment, his paw smacks into your flank and pushes you down.

You land on the concrete, all breath brutally ripped from your lungs, and the intense pain of the impact explodes in your whole body. Secondo falls to the floor next to you with a heavy thud, dark non-human blood oozing from the cuts in his body. You hear more sounds as your vision slowly fades. Terzo is storming out of the back door, more people blurring into one big mass of faces behind him – and then you’re gone.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Vampire Gazette 04/09

Last night’s wine tasting at the Emeritus Vinothek ended in a brutal fight between the owner Secondo Emeritus and an unknown lycanthrope. The werewolf attacked a human employee outside of the establishment but could be stopped when the vampire intervened. He fled the scene while the other attendees took care of the victims. Both vampire and human escaped the fight slightly injured but are going to recover with no permanent damage, according to a spokesperson of the family. This is the tenth incident of violent conflict between vampires and werewolves in the past four months, following a surge of cases after the killing of a lycanthrope in May.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

“Here then, were all the admitted signs and proofs of vampirism. The body, therefore, in accordance with the ancient practice, was raised, and a sharp stake driven through the heart of the vampire, who uttered a piercing shriek at the moment, in all respects such as might escape from a living person in the last agony. Then the head was struck off, and a torrent of blood flowed from the severed neck. The body and head was next placed on a pile of wood, and reduced to ashes, which were thrown upon the river and borne away, and that territory has never since been plagued by the visits of a vampire. ”

You wake up to Secondo’s voice as he reads you the last few pages of Carmilla. Slowly noticing the world around you, you realize that you are in his bed in the mansion, the same soft white sheets surrounding your tired body that you found yourself in that first day. You keep your eyes closed, listening until the story is over.

“They always kill the vampire,” he says. “Perhaps they are right to do so.” A pause in which you hear the rustling of pages as he closes the book. “I know you are awake, grappolino.”

You turn around, opening your eyes to see him lying in bed next to you. The memories of what happened flood your brain, the way he protected you from the attack, saved you by risking his own life. You remember falling, the impact of the hit you took, and you’re surprised that you’re well, that you feel no pain other than the heaviness of your tired limbs.

“You slept almost a whole day,” he says. “I thought you might be angry with me. But I needed to watch over you.”

You take the book from his hand, running your palm over the smooth cover. Secondo looks tired, paler than usual and without the sunglasses you can see the extent of his exhaustion in his eyes. He’s wearing a dark green robe over black sweatpants, an altogether unfamiliar sight compared to his usual put together looks. No matter what happened, no matter what you now know, an intense surge of love for him floods your whole body and you can hardly shake it or push it down.

He saved you and you saved him. Everything else seems almost insignificant in that moment.

You shift so you can get closer and he watches you like a hawk, tracing all your movements.  “My dove you shouldn’t move around.”

You don’t listen, you can’t, even as the soreness in your muscles makes it harder. Eventually you settle with your head on his belly, closing your eyes until the wave of emotion has crashed over you. He only seems half as frightening from here, in fact he looks incredibly soft as he gazes down at you.

“What do you think would happen,” you whisper, “if instead of killing we started loving them?”

He exhales – a pained, heavy sound that carries a distinct sadness. His expression shifts and he shakes his head, watching you with glossy eyes. “How can you say this when you know what I am? When you see what my world can do to you?”

“Because I feel it,” you say with no pause. “Because my heart screams that it does. I’m not scared.”

“Of course you are not. You never were.” His hand reaches out but he stops himself. “Per favore, may I touch you?” You press your face into the soft fabric of his robe, giving him a firm nod, and he gently strokes your hair, running his fingertips over your scalp, more to soothe himself than you. “I will never forgive myself for being late. That I missed the wolf in sheep skin because I was too distracted. When it hit you…” His hand stills and his lips press together tightly. After a moment he cradles your cheek, caressing your skin with his thumb. “I will protect you. I will never let any harm come to you, my dove. I swear it.”

You turn your face, leaning into his touch. “Why did he attack? To get to you?”

“I drank from you,” he says. “Imprinting myself on you. He must have thought you were Primo’s partner. Or perhaps he was just looking to hurt any one of us and went after the smell. There has been an ongoing conflict.”

“Vampire werewolf politics?”

A smile tugs at his lips. “Yes.”

“I’m so confused, Secondo. I have so many questions.”

“I know, my dove. I will answer them in time but you need to rest.” He sees your disappointed expression, running his hand along your lips now. “One question.”

“Your business…” you start. “Does this mean vampires don’t harm people? It’s not like they show us in all those movies? They drink from bottles and you get it from blood donations?”

He cringes slightly at your question, a painful twist, perhaps at the prospect of disappointing you. “Many vampires still… hunt. Some are more predatory, some are more subtle, some prefer to not hurt anyone. There are a million ways to feed, amore, and we have no laws to regulate this.”

“But why would they still hunt?” There is irritation, confusion in your tone. “If there are easier ways?”

“Some vampires enjoy the taste of fear in the blood,” he says. “A lot of adrenaline, stress hormones, it flows faster after biting too. Even here sometimes people are scared of needles and you can taste it later after taking their blood. But it is not as intense as it is when you… hunt.”

“Do you… do you like this taste?”

“No.” He falters, cocking his head to the side. “Not anymore.”

“But you have?”

There is a hint of accusation in your tone but he does not seem disturbed by it, on the contrary. “I will not lie to you. I have in the past, grappolino. Many young vampires do, a bit like teenagers who drink alcohol for the first time. But taste changes with time, as it does for humans, and I have left those wild, young days long behind me. In fact, since I tasted you…” He trails off, running his finger down your jaw until he strokes the faint remains of the bite on your neck. “I have no desire to hunt for a better taste.”

His words send a shiver through your body. His thumb presses back against your neck, then underneath your jaw, following the line of your pulse. Even knowing what he is and what he did – your body longs for his touch and you don’t know what to do other than give in. You press your cheek into the softness of his belly, the fabric of his robe smooth against your skin, trying to hide how easily affected you are. “So you were my mosquito? The bites were yours?”

“That is the second question.”

You furrow your brow, trying to pull away but he won’t let you. “Secondo–”

“You take me for a monster now,” he states. “And maybe I am, maybe I am cruel for wanting you for myself in ways that made me keep the truth, in fear that you could not accept me. But my feelings for you are real, they are consuming me more than any thirst for blood ever has. I am…” He swallows, his voice firm as he continues. “I am devoted to you forever.”

For a moment you let those words sink in. This is as close to a confession of his love that you got until now and you realize that it must take him everything to be so open with you. He seems to mistake your silence for rejection.

“I understand if you want to leave,” he says. “I will not stop you.”

You shake your head, finally managing to sit up and properly look at him. “I don’t want to leave. I don’t ever want to leave you.” He looks pained at your admission, like he has almost been hoping for a rejection. “Why are you so hesitant? Is it that unheard of to be with a human? Your brother is with one as well.”

“Every time I have opened myself to someone it ended in pain and it will end in pain with you, grappolino. Unbearable pain, loss, grief, loneliness.” He stops himself, his eyes red and glistening. “With you I have let the sun back into my life. And I cannot… I cannot bear to have the world take it from me again. Non credo che lo potrò sopravvivere questa volta.” (I don’t think I can survive it this time)

“It doesn’t have to, Secondo,” you assure him. “There are ways… there are ways to make it last, right?”

“There are ways. But this… it is not something to take lightly, amore.”

“Secondo, I want you to know that… that if it ever happens, if I ever die, I want you to turn me,” you say. “I don’t want to leave you, ever.”

He pauses, shaking his head at the conviction in your tone. “We will discuss this later. You need time to think about it, to learn more.”

“You saw how fast it can happen. I feel like–”

“Amore,” he interrupts. “Not now. The next time I think about your death it will not be in this bed.”

You sigh reluctantly, trying not to mope as you settle against his chest. If he has a heartbeat it is too slow and quiet for you to hear it. But his body underneath yours feels nice, soft and welcoming. You notice that he doesn’t seem to be in pain either.

“Why am I not hurt more?” you ask. “I know that’s another question.”

“We have healers in our midst. They have some influence on your circulatory system.” His hand moves to rest on your waist, playing with the hem of the loose white shirt someone put you in. “You will feel sore for a bit, I think. As will I after my body healed my wounds.”

“Would it… would it help if you drank from me?” you ask.

“You’re too weak, my dove, but I appreciate the offer.”

You sigh, bringing your hand up so you can run your fingers over the sliver of chest that peeks out of the robe. Slowly you open it more and more, toying with his dark chest hair and feeling the smooth skin underneath.

“What do you think you are doing, hm?”

You just smile up at him, pushing the robe all the way open. He doesn’t stop you from exploring more of his body, following the line of hair down to his belly, supple and slightly raised. His own hands start to grab more of your body then, squeezing the flesh on your hips, grabbing at your ass. Before you know it he takes hold and pulls you fully on top of him. Your core meets the outline of his hardening cock, barely concealed by the sweatpants. You gasp at the contact, slowly rolling your hips for a bit of friction.

“You feel good enough to tease me,” he says. “Then you feel good enough for a kiss?”

A smile breaks out on your face and you lean in, resting your upper body against his. Before your mouths can touch he has already grabbed you and sits you both upright. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer and trapping you in his lap until you can feel all of him. Only then does he allow you to close the gap. The kiss has a bruising force, lips pressing in hard, teeth clashing until you adjust and find a heavy but more controlled rhythm. His tongue licks into your mouth hungrily, flicking against yours and you moan, vibrating against it. Your whole body shudders, looking for more, anything to quench the need pooling into your core. Secondo groans at every roll of your hips, sucking on your tongue, biting your lower lip like he wants to consume all of you within seconds. You kiss back with just as much hunger, tying to keep pace. Your whole body is burning with need for him, carrying you higher and higher. After a while he slows, hitting an invisible break, and you follow, pulling away to look at him.

Secondo heaves an exhausted sigh, not letting go of you but creating a small gap between your faces to breathe. “I am not quite in shape yet, amore. I don’t think I can keep up tonight.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to drink?”

Maybe it is the way your voice is practically begging him to do so, maybe it is the hunger in your eyes or maybe he truly needs the energy that your blood provides because he finally relents. You pull at your shirt, baring your upper body to him and for a moment he hungrily takes you in, running his hand over every curve, thumbs teasing your nipples until you arch into him.

“So responsive,” he murmurs as he kisses along your jaw. “So good for me.”

His words make you squirm in his lap, the hard friction of his cock adding to the pleasure that runs through you at every touch. “Please. Please, Secondo.”

“Already begging for my cock?” He huffs out a chuckle, hooking his fingers underneath the elastic of your underwear. He rips the fabric apart with ease, running a bare finger over your arousal. “And already so eager. Always so, so eager.”

“I need you,” you whisper. “Please, all I want is to feel you.”

“Hmm, that is all I want too, grappolino. Perhaps you can use the time while I feed...” His fangs scrape over your skin, not breaking it but leaving a burning trail along your throat. “… to keep me nice and warm, hm?”

“Yes,” you immediately squeeze out. “I will do anything.”

“But there is a catch.” He pulls at his sweatpants, freeing his cock until it slaps against your abdomen, trapped in the tightness of your bodies. “You have to be so very good for me. You cannot make a single move. Can you do that?”

“Yes. Yes, I can.”

“Good.” 

He lifts you up carefully, keeping you on your knees above him. You leak onto him, drops of your arousal landing on his cock, and he hisses, his fingers digging into your flesh. With one finger, he wipes it off and smears it over your entrance until he can slip it inside, quickly adding a second. A deep moan leaves you at the intensity of the stretch but you quickly adjust and find pleasure in the stimulation. He pumps a few times, spreading his fingers to widen you even more. When he seems satisfied he pulls them out and grabs both of your hips to pull you down into his lap. The tip of his hard cock slides into your entrance. Before he is even fully inside you already clench around what he offers, making you both moan at the sudden intensity. Slowly you sink down further, his mouth hot on your neck while you run your hand over his shoulders. Once he is fully sheathed, he gives a full body shudder.

“Satana, you are so warm,” he whispers, his voice as delicate as if he is saying a prayer. “So, so warm.”

You don’t speak, allowing him his moment of silent reverence. However, patience is not on your side today and you can’t help but squirm after a second, trying to find the smallest amount of friction. His cock is big, girthy, stretching you open like nothing else you’ve felt before.

“No moving,” he finally says. “I need to be precise.”

With that his lips search for the spot on your neck. He stops eventually, opening his mouth and wetting the spot with his tongue. You expect the pain and yet the sting draws a whimper from you. Secondo stops at once, waiting for your reaction. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “Keep going.”

His fangs pull out and you can feel the blood oozing from your vein. Hungrily he laps at it, not quite sucking but firmly holding his mouth over the wound, tongue swiping at the hole in your neck with every swallow. It’s slower than you expected, even as your heart rate goes up in arousal an anticipation. His cock jumps inside of you and you clench around him, earning you a moan from somewhere deep inside of his chest. For a few minutes you hold out, desire building inside of you with every drop of blood that leaves your body.

Eventually, Secondo breaks away. You notice that his skin feels slightly warmer underneath your fingertips, that his eyes look more alive when they finally meet yours again. The green one has turned red just like in your dream and a drop of blood runs down his jaw. You lean in to kiss it away, the metallic taste on your tongue an intense reminder of who you are with. Secondo reciprocates the kiss with renewed energy, licking the blood from your lips and tongue. You taste more of it in his mouth and you can’t help but moan.

“Your taste,” he says, breaking from your lips. “It is the most exquisite thing, my dove.”

“Do you feel better?” you ask breathlessly.

A nod. You squirm again, his cock shifting inside of you as you try to find a comfortable spot. Secondo huffs out a deep breath, the same strain visible in his eyes that has you whimpering with every little movement. “This is not how I want you,” he says. “I told you I would show you how to sin, no?”

With that he grabs your hips, a sudden invigorated strength that seems effortless as he easily manhandles you onto your back while he stays buried deep inside of you. The impact reopens the wound on your neck and you feel drops of the warm liquid running along your skin.

“White sheets…” you whisper as more blood dribbles onto the fabric. “Bold choice for a vampire.”

He chuckles, licking along your shoulder to catch the few remaining drops. He hums, his tongue almost rough when he cleans every drop you have left to give.

“Your blood sugar is low,” he whispers then. “When we’re done here I will feed you, amore. After a nap, perhaps.”

You giggle but it quickly turns into a gasp when he finally starts to move, slowly thrusting into you in a steady rhythm. He grabs your thighs then, pushing them deeper into the mattress until he has you folded in half. With him so deep inside of you your whole body is boiling. You can’t help but hold onto his shoulders, allowing him to move faster, fucking into you almost desperately now. Your arousal leaks all over your joined bodies, wet, squelching sounds soon filling the air around you as his hips piston into yours. You moan without shame ever time he hits that sweet spot inside of you, every time his skin rubs against the other sensitive areas on your body.

“I’m so close,” you whisper, keening and closing your eyes when he thrusts even deeper, slower now.

“You look at me, amore,” he warns. “You look at me when I make you cum.”

Your eyes snap back open, meeting the liquid fire reflected in his red iris. Secondo’s grip on you is tight and his own grunts echo in tandem with the sounds of your skin meeting, with all the desperate noises that leave your lips. You dance along the precipice for a moment, trying to last, trying to stretch out time for a little longer. But when he begins to stutter, his own eyelids fluttering in pleasure at every slow, deep stroke in an attempt to keep them open, you finally fall. The climax that hits you is stronger than any you have felt before and you’re a mess, mewling and whimpering, breathing in jolts as the heat spreads in your body like fire.

Your muscles clenching around him soon has Secondo following. His cock jumps, pumping you full with his seed while he breathes a low moan into your ear. You feel every raw shudder, every  little twitch, until it starts to leak out of you and he finally loosens his grasp. Your legs sink back to the mattress and he settles on top of you. Skin against skin, his cool while yours is hot and burning. For a long time you both calm down. Even if he doesn’t seem out of breath, it is clear that he needs the quiet moment of reprieve just as much as you do.

“Ti amo,” he whispers, first almost too low for you to hear but then louder. “Ti amo per sempre. Not even death can part our union.”

You press a gentle kiss to his cheekbone. “I love you, too.”

He huffs out a breath, turning you both to your sides where he holds you close against him, his lips tickling your temple as he presses more and more soft kisses to your skin. You start to relax, his sweet touches lulling you into a state of half-sleep. Your mind finds back to what really occupies it, all the questions and insecurities. A thousand thoughts are swimming in your head, some of them have to do with the sticky mess between your legs, some of them leave the four walls of this bedroom altogether.

“I can hear your mind working,” Secondo grumbles. “I thought I had distracted you well enough.”

“It’s just… are the Nameless Ghouls real ghouls then?” you ask. “And is the special wine all blood or is it some sort of amalgamation? The healer you mentioned, was it the doctor from the donation?”

“Grappolino,” Secondo warns. “All in due time.”

He shifts onto his back, pulling you on top of his chest. You have to bite your tongue to stop interviewing him because he is right – you’ve had enough exertions for the day, and you’d rather spend your remaining energy on more of this. 

“Should we have a smoke?” he finally asks.

“In your bedroom?”

“In our bedroom,” he corrects and reaches for the bedside table.

He grabs a pack of Marlboros, retrieving one to trap between his still swollen lips. The gold Dupont lighter opens with a cling and you have to smile. When he hands you the cigarette this time you don’t hesitate. You take a deep drag, pressing your mouth to his before you exhale. Secondo holds it inside, then releases the smoke into the air above you. When his arms close around your body in a firm embrace, you rest your eyes – and listen to the quiet sizzling of the cigarette as it slowly burns out.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed vampire Secondo. If you want to be tagged in any future Friday Nights stories pls let me know! Terzo and Copia will get their own stories, as you might have guessed from the hints in the plot ♡

Masterlist – My Ao3

[lina-lovebug]

I Will Protect You

Adam Warlock x fem! Reader

Reader is Gamora and Nebula younger sister. Seems to be a trend with Thanos' daughters to fall for goofy men.

Warnings: ptsd, torture, cursing

Adam did not know love.

He knows his mother loved him. That even though his sole purpose was to kill and work for the Sovereign, he could feel his mother's love for him.

But being in love?

He never thought about it. It was never a priority, especially as a killer who would have no business being intrigued by anything else other than what he was ordered.

"You are an idiot."

"What?"

"But I must say I admire your technique. Staring is also how I got my wife to notice me. Although I did it for hours on end until she noticed."

Drax told Adam, who was staring longingly at (Y/N), the sister to Gamora and Nebula and their resident healer. Adam watched as a pink light emitted from her palms, healing a small injury on one of the children's knees.

"She's very pretty," Adam breathed out. Yes, he had seen specimens that were 'perfect', but you were something entirely different. Your laughter was genuine and kind, and your smile held no ill intentions behind it.

"Drax, I feel sick when I am around her. Like my stomach gets all fuzzy and weird, and-and I can't think straight. Did she poison me?" Adam asked, wondering truly if you despised him secretly.

After all, your first encounter was not a good one.

Adam recalled being beneath you as you held a blade to his throat, pressing it hard enough to draw blood and the rage in your eyes was something to remember.

He now held a small scar on his neck.

"Silly golden man," Drax patted his shoulder, "you love her."

"Love? Are you sure?" He glanced back to where you were but you disappeared.

"What should I do?"

Oh if only he should have known that Drax was the worst person to ask for advice.

_

"I'm sorry."

I turned around to see Gamora. Her arms were crossed, she was guarding herself, as she looked at me with sad eyes.

"You have nothing to-"

"You had someone who was openly loving and caring, and that's not me," I swallowed a lump in my throat. Gamora changed once she realized that Nebula and I just needed a sister, not a combat partner. I saw her make that effort, and she learned my love languages and learned who I was as a person.

When she died, I felt a part of myself die with her.

And when this new Gamora, or old Gamora, had shown up, I wanted that back. But she was just as cruel and as mean as when we first fought and she beat me.

"Wow, you don't think I know that?" I retorted, avoiding eye contact as I continued to polish my knives.

"From our first fight when Thanos pit us against each other, I knew you were only looking out for the best. That you needed to be the golden girl in order to survive, but did you know what he did?" I asked, finally looking at her.

"Yeah, Nebula-"

"No, not to Nebula," I interrupted, standing up.

"When I was eight and kept losing, he didn't just lock me in my room. He had Ebony Maw do things to me. . .he started slow by making incisions in my back to see how much I could scream, and then did this," I lifted up my shirt and her eyes widened.

"He started putting viles inside of me that he found on other planet's to see how my body would react to them. That's how I got my power to heal," I explained, "but every experiment, every needle - it left behind this."

My stomach and back held my memories. It was littered in scars that would never go away and ruined me.

"I-I didn't-"

"No one knew. Not even Nebula until a few years ago," I admitted.

"I get why you fought so hard but. . .I don't think I can forgive you."

Gamora looked like she had just seen what hell was like. A light mist formed over her eyes, realizing that whenever she won, someone else had paid the price.

"I know you'll never be her," I admitted, "but you could at least try to act like we were sisters."

"You are," She grasped my hands tightly in her own, "you've always been. I'm sorry I never saw it until now."

I removed myself from her, "I know you mean it, but I'm going to need you to go."

She hesitated but nodded, "ok."

Gamora shut the door behind her and wanted to scream. All of the "What ifs" plagued her mind, wondering what would have happened if only she had noticed sooner. But before any tears could escape, she heard a shuffle and spotted the golden boy lurking.

He looked just like she did.

Shocked and furious.

"If you do anything to hurt her, I will slit your throat in your sleep," Gamora told him before walking off, leaving him stunned.

The mere thought of someone making you cry made Adam furious beyond belief, but torturing you? Seeing how loud you could scream - how much pain you could take?

He didn't know understand love but that was not it.

Adam was initially going to go to your room and try to 'woo' you, as Drax said to do. But now, all he felt was rage. He knew Thanos was dead, along with everyone who worked for him, so he didn't know where to put this anger.

"(Y/N)?"

"Adam, now is not a good ti-" as I turned around to face him, all I saw was anger. Red flashed across his face, just like the first time we fought.

"Adam? Are you okay?" I questioned.

"I-I feel angry, and I don't know what to do. I want to kill him," Adam ranted.

"Kill him? Who?"

"Thanos."

The name still left a mark on my mind and it made me want to vomit.

"He-he's dead, Adam," I said.

"I know. But he needs to pay for what he's done to you. It isn't fair. No one so kind, so generous and loving should ever experience that," He ranted, unknowingly confirming that Adam knew exactly what Thanos did to you.

"You heard. . ." This was my fear. I finally found someone who makes me smile and makes my heart race whenever we're together, and he knows.

He knows I'm fucked up. He knows I have ugly scars that'll never disappear. He knows I have a dark childhood. He knows I'm-

He shook me from my mind by placing his hands on my shoulders, "I want to protect you. From now on, no one will ever lay a hand on you again. I'll do whatever it takes, (Y/N), I promise."

"Why?"

"Drax says it's because I love you. I only knew my mother's love but I know that when I see you, I want to make you smile. I want you to be happy and always laughing and never upset."

Love? Shit, I didn't know the first thing about it. I always thought that the torture and the lectures were love because a father always wants you to do your best. But after the guardians, I felt lost. This friendship and trust, it was love, but how could I ever replicate that?

"Adam, are you. . .sure?"

He was caught off guard, "yes, I am. Do you not love me?"

"I do, but I don't know how to express that. You deserve someone who does," I told him.

"What do you do with someone you love?" He questioned.

"You hug them, you show that you're there for them no matter what, you learn what they like, you show it in physical ways. You kiss-"

"Then kiss me," His boldness made my whole body still and I felt like face become hot.

"What?"

"If you love me, then kiss me," He stated, still as blunt as ever. My heart was running a mile, and my mind was screaming at me to stop.

But I couldn't.

I lifted my face to his and kissed him. I expected it to be a small peck, but my body wanted more. I yearned for his gentle touch and placed his hands on my waist as he gently kissed back, still unsure about his movements. His lips were soft against mine, following what I did. As I pulled away for air, he pulled me back in. It made me gasp as his hands held me firmly, his lips desperate for mine. I felt breathless as he held me closer, and my hands began to venture into his hair.

"Seriously?!"

Peter's voice made me pull back, frightened that he had seen.

"Everyone but me!" He shouted as he walked away, and I was still firm against Adam's chest.

"I thought kissing was a private affair," Adam said, confused.

"Y-yeah, it is, but my door is open. Adam, you're sure you want this? With me?" I asked, still frazzled at the kiss.

"I only want you, and we can learn how to love each together, right?" He said, so innocent but so willing.

"Yes, we can," I smiled.

"I heard of this thing called cuddling and it sounds nice. Can we do that too?"

I gave him a soft kiss, "for however long you want."

[margotw10bis]

Crashing On Crush. JJK 3 [m]

crush!Jungkook x reader

Genre: smut; series; romance; angst

Words: 4.4k

Synopsis: What happens when your first encounter with your crush is Jungkook seeing your ass?

Warnings: sexual tension; alcohol consumption; make out in public; oral sex (f. receiving); handjob

previous ← 3 → next

God must have heard your silenced prayers because a cup of coffee is floating in front of your face. You look up and meet Namjoon's soft brown eyes. You take the life-saving beverage and appreciate the delicious taste.

"Oh God, you don't know how much I needed it! Thank you Namjoon"

"No offense but you did look like you needed it" he jokes

You sigh, knowing that he's probably right. It's been eight days since you and Jungkook kissed. Eight fucking days and you haven't heard from him. No text, no call. Nothing. If work - which is so interesting and gratifying - keeps your mind busy at day, alone in your apartment at night you have no distraction. You just think over and over again, replaying the night in your head to spot what you've missed and could explain why he hasn't contacted you. So, yeah, you haven't slept very well the past week.

"Uhm, Y/N" Namjoon seems embarrassed, he clears his throat to pull himself together. "I was thinking, uhm, if you are free tonight, we could have dinner"

His red cheeks are so cute, your heart melts. Namjoon has been nothing but kind and sweet towards you. And it's not the first time you think 'I wish he were my crush, so I wouldn't be stressed about radio-silence Jungkook'. But you know damn well that your mind and your heart are full of a man with lip piercing and tattooed arm... However, you can't wait forever for Jungkook to pay attention to you - or can you?

This dinner will be a great opportunity to think about something else and to get to know Namjoon better.

"Sure!"

The blond man sighs in relief, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Great, uhm, let's meet after your shift at the entrance door"

You nod and watch him leave, not without almost hitting a large plant pot which makes you laugh. Cute.

At seven pm, you exit the gallery to wait for Namjoon in front of the building. However, you certainly didn't think you would meet this person. You halt your movement by astonishment. Jungkook is here. Right in front of you. And you have mixed feelings about that. Obviously, you are very happy to see him because, in fact, you missed him. But you are also angry with him for being quiet during a whole week... You have no idea what he is doing here. Well, you know he is probably here to talk to you but to say what? That he doesn't want to see you again? That he wants to kiss you again? So you stay silent, waiting for him to speak. And he does:

"Hi, Y/N"

"Hi"

You wait but he doesn't say anything.

"What are you doing here?" You ask after few seconds of unbearable stillness that is the exact opposite of your harsh heartbeats.

"I wanted to invite you to dinner"

What the fuck? You can't help a disdained laugh. You have been waiting eight fucking days and he just shows up at your work like nothing happened! You are so mad right now but why does you heart soften at the thought he wants to spend some time with you?

"I already have something set up for tonight" Your voice is harsher than you want and you kind of feel bad when you see the disappointment in Jungkook's eyes.

He bits his bottom lip and this simple act reminds you of how good his lips feels... You shake your head to not think about it.

"I wanted to call you but I didn't have time" Jungkook says lowly

"Yeah, sure" You reply, annoyed

"Actually, I spent the week at my parents for my grandpa's funeral" His voice is not filled with reproach but with a will of explanation.

You gaps and immediately feel horrible to have treated him so coldly. Your eyes soften and you put a hand on his shoulder to confort him.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry Jungkook, I didn't know. Are you okay?"

"He has been sick for a while so we were prepared, but it was hard for my mum. I'm sorry, I should have at least sent you a text"

You can see in his doe eyes and hear in his voice the guilt. You shake your head.

"No, you don't have to apologize, I totally understand. You needed to focus on your family. Please don't feel bad"

You want to hug him so bad when you see the sadness on his face. You don't really know what to say or what to do to erase his pain but when Jungkook looks into your eyes, he knows how you wish to console him and his heavy heart feels lighter. So many words are running through his mind, so many things he would like to say to you. Like the fact that he has been thinking about you the past few days, that he has wished you were there with him to hug him, that he has been fucking missing you each fucking minute.

You open your mouth to say something but you are cut off by Namjoon joining you.

"Are you ready to go?" He asks you cheerfully

You are aware of the sudden tension between the two men. Jungkook's jaw clenches and his eyes narrow. 'Him again', he thinks. He wonders if the guy is now your boyfriend, if he has kissed you while he was gone, which makes him regret even more to not have contacted you. Now he is pissed off because at first, he thought that you having plans was a lie to not see him but it's way worse that you actually have plans. With another man. A man you have seen all week.

"I-Namjoon and I are going to eat" you start, embarrassed, blushing hard before turning towards your colleague "if it's okay with you, Jungkook could join us?" You try

Well, that was not what Namjoon had in mind. But what could he say now? No? He cannot refuse so he swallows the sword in his throat and he answers a not-so-conceiving 'sure'. And the three of you head to the Korean barbecue restaurant.

———

Saying that there is tension in the air is an understatement. The meat grilling is quite the only sound coming from your table. Seeing the two men side by side, you realize they couldn't be more different. Namjoon, wearing a white shirt and light grey slacks, is a very sweet boy, and very cute with his dimples. His glasses makes him look smarter - even though he is the smartest person you've ever met - and professional. Definitely the type every parents would love to have as son-in-law. On the other hand, Jungkook is the opposite, the perfect example of what a 'bad boy look' is. He is not a bad boy in fact because you can see the kindness in his so pretty eyes but he is surely intimidating. He always wears dark and baggy cloths. His piercing and his tattoos enhance his B boy vibes, but they also make him so fucking hot.

Jungkook and Namjoon haven't talked and you feel ill at ease, waddling on your seat. You clear your throat to save the night:

"Let's cheer"

You smile and pull up your glass in the most cheerful way possible, hoping that it will give rise to a better mood. But it doesn't. The two men click their glass but they still don't speak. You sigh in disappointment...

"So, Jungkook, right?" Finally says Namjoon "What do you do for living?"

You send a grateful gaze at your colleague.

"I'm a graphic designer" Jungkook answers politely but a little bit coldly, not sharing any more details. "What about you? What do you do exactly?"

"I'm the owner's assistant. I help him to supervise everything: the exhibitions, the contacts with the artists, the communication, the staff. I'm also in charge of training new recruits, that's why I've spent a lot of time with Y/N these days"

Jungkook grins, he knows damn well that this Namjoon guy wanted to snap at him. He sips on his beer, fantasying how satisfying it would be to kiss you again, like the last time, in front of Namjoon. He really has to behave to not put his hand on your thigh. It's even harder when you are so pretty in your pink a-line dress with small puff sleeves.

"Hey, Y/N, we could have a last drink at Danbam, what do you think?" Jungkook asks suddenly

You choke on your spit, blushing hard. Last time you were in this bar was for your make-out session with Jungkook. And the little sparkle of cockiness in his eyes proves you he meant to tease.

"I, uhm, I don't think I want to drink more than this tonight" you say cautiously

Namjoon grabs his chopsticks to gather some beef and puts it on your plate. The kind gesture makes you smile. At the same time, it makes Jungkook even more irritated. Yet, luck is on his side because a couple of minutes later, Namjoon receives a call: his boss requires him immediately. He wanted to spend time with you, get to know you because since your first day, he has found you so sweet and beautiful and smart and passionate. Since your first day, he has had a crush on you that only kept growing day by day. With a huge regret, he tells you goodbye and leaves you with Jungkook.

"So, do you go out with him a lot?"

Jungkook couldn't help but asking you. He feels so jealous, he doesn't even recognize himself. What are you doing to him?

"No, actually it was the first time"

"Good"

You turn your head to Jungkook with an abrupt movement. Your mouth is opened by surprise, questioning him silently about the meaning.

"I want to kiss you again" Jungkook says simply

His words provoke a whole ardent fire in your body. You want it too. So fucking much. You miss his lips, his hands on you. You miss feeling him on your skin - kissing him one time isn't enough. You want to do it again. You want more.

"Do it" you manage to whisper

It's enough for Jungkook to blend your lips together. The kiss is stronger, rawer than the last one. He is hungry and maybe a little angry. When the little moans he loves so much return to life, he smirks. He wants to kiss you like Namjoon nor any other men can. And he does. There is no word to describe how much you love his mouth. You wish the moment could last forever, you never want to be lips apart. But humans are not perfect and they do need to breath so you distance your face just enough to catch your breathe.

"Do you want me to take you home?" Jungkook asks

You know it's not just a ride home. It's an implicit question: do you want more? Fuck yeah.

You nod and Jungkook smiles. He looks happy and relieved. He leaves a soft kiss on your inflamed lips and grabs your hand.

———

You mostly stay silent in the car. It's not a weird or uncomfortable silence but just a calm silence, full of promise for what will happen next. You can't deny that your heart beats loudly and your hands are a little shaky. Jungkook remarks and intertwines yours fingers, saying with no words that everything is fine and you don't have to be stressed. But how can you not when you will spend the night with your crush? Your - two now - kisses proved you that you have feelings for him. Strong feelings.

After you opened your door and took off your shoes, Jungkook and you stay, once again, in silence. You are looking everywhere except at him, feeling so nervous. It has been more than one year since you last had sex, and all the times you had before were with your boyfriends. However, Jungkook is not your boyfriend, your relationship is... undetermined. You also wonder if he finds you attractive enough, and if you will be good enough in bed. All these thoughts make your hands sweaty.

But Jungkook gets closer and cups your red cheeks with his big and warm hands, making you look into his black doe eyes. They are so soft, so shiny - just like the billions of stars in the sky at night. They are so beautiful. Everything in Jungkook is beautiful.

"Hey, we don't have to do anything" he says gently "We can have sex, or not. We can do other things than having sex. Or we can just talk. Don't pressure yourself"

Your heart melts at his consideration. He is so nice, so sweet that you are falling in lo... No! No, it's too soon, you don't know much about him even after hours spent on his Instagram. It's just your arousal speaking, it messes up with your brain.

You take the time to look at Jungkook and you can't help but imagining what's underneath his black bomber jacket. You remember this one pic from Instagram of him at the beach, shirtless. His 'I know I make your panties wet' look has never been more accurate. Even right now, you are feeling horny.

He leans down and kisses you. At first, gently but the kiss is getting rougher. You instantly feel your pussy clench and moan at its emptiness. Your hands running through Jungkook's hair pull him closer and invite him to kiss you deeper if it's even possible. His own hands move all over your body: your hair, your neck, your back, your waist and your ass. He squeezes the latter and a small groan from you tells him you love it. Actually, you love every single of his touch on your body.

Your hands are struggling to take off his jacket but manage to do it. You want to feel closer, better. Without this barrier, you can appreciate his hard muscles. Gosh, it feels so good under your fingertips.

Jungkook leads you to your couch and puts you on his lap without breaking the kiss for a second. You are completely high on his touch, you can't think straight - not that you really care. Between your legs, you can feel his hard cock pressing on your covered and wet pussy. A moan of pure delight escapes your mouth and you press down to enhance the touch. You slowly begin to move your hips back and forth to release some of the urge of friction. Jungkook grabs your ass to control your move and you love it. You love how he uses your body to please himself.

But it's not enough. You need to feel his skin. You don't know if you said it or if Jungkook can read in your mind but he halts the kiss for just a couple of seconds in order to take off your dress. His intense eyes discover your matching white bra and panties, so pure, so innocent. It makes him crazy because the horniness visible on your face is far from innocent. He leans down and places his head between your boobs, kissing your skin. Your body is on fire. Your head rolls back - which makes your moans huskier - and you pull on his black hair by pleasure and he smirks.

You are so hot, so beautiful, he doesn't want any other men to touch you. He wants to mark you to make you his but he also knows that a huge hickey on your neck will not be great for your career. So he decides to put his mark somewhere only him can see. You feel his mouth sucking on the skin of your left breast, close to your heart. It hurts a little but it's a delightful hurt. Jungkook takes the time to admire his art piece - he has never created something so beautiful. The red, purplish mark is shiny because of his saliva and it looks so good on your soft skin.

"You're so fucking hot" he says with a raspy and so sexy voice

He suddenly changes position to lie you down underneath him and kisses you again. You take the hem of his black and large t-shirt to indicate you want it to disappear. One second later your wish is fulfilled. What a beautiful view. His chest is buff, his abs are well drawn, his arms are strong and his shoulders are large. Your hands brush his warm skin and you feel his muscles flexing under your touch. His body is so perfect. You'll never be bored of looking at it.

However, your eyes spontaneously shut when Jungkook's hand reaches your groin. His fingers find your clit in a second and start circle it through your panties.

"Oh my god!" You moan in his neck

It's so good. So fucking good. It's like you've never have been touched before. Your moans are louder as his fingers get faster. At this point, your panties are soaked by your juices - it could be kind of an unpleasant sensation if you could think.

"You're so wet" Jungkook teases you while he kisses your neck

You are feeling your orgasm slowly building up in you but the emptiness in your pussy is torture. You need something to fix that.

"Please"

It's the only thing you manage to say with a choked voice.

"Please what?" Jungkook smirks

He knows damn well that you can't concentrate enough to speak properly and he is filled with pride that the reason is himself. Seeing how you are going crazy under his touch is so fucking satisfying. The most important, the only mission in his life right now is to make you cum. He leaves your neck to kiss your body all the way down until he reaches your wet pussy.

"I think we should take this off" he says while trapping the fabric of your panties with his forefinger

He looks up at you to have your approval.

"Yes, please" you moan, looking away with embarrassment of Jungkook being so close to your intimacy.

What you don't know is that your shaky 'please' turned him on so fucking bad. He loves having control during sex, even being a little dominant. Fulfilling his desires without even knowing it makes him want to please you even more. So he slides your soaked panties down your legs and opens your thighs. The sight is breathtaking: your cunt is glistening with your arousal. He wants to taste you, you make him hungry. He gently rubs two fingers from your clit to your entrance before diving onto your pussy with his mouth.

He gives a single kiss on your clit at first and the feeling is so fucking good that you immediately grab his hair in a desperate need of holding on to something to not sink into this unbearable pleasure. Your fingers in his black strands give him the green light to go further. His tongue is now completely attached to your pussy. He is literally making out with it. He is so good with his mouth. Your clit is taken care of like it deserves. His tongue rolls around your bud, then takes a quick strip from your entrance to your clit and rolls again. It's a perfect pattern and it makes you go crazy. The wetness created by his saliva and your own arousal is full of sins and pleasures.

"Oh my god, Jungkook!"

You feel your orgasm coming and your fist clenches as much as your pussy. Jungkook notices it and enters your pussy with his finger. This friction in your body is exactly what you needed. He pulls in and out at a pleasant pace with his digit. Your brain is foggy, you don't even know where you are, you don't even hear your own moans. All you can feel is him.

"More, more!" Is all you can say

He adds another finger, sightly speeding up the back-and-forth's pace, his tongue still playing with your clit.

"You taste so fucking good, I could eat you all day"

His words reasoning on your pussy is too much to bare and you cum on his face and on his two fingers in you, screaming his name. The best fucking orgasm of your life. Your legs quiver when you reach your climax. But what did you expect from Jungkook? He was your best kiss, it's only natural for him to make you cum like nobody had done it before.

It takes you a few seconds to catch your breathe and to settle down back on Earth. Your cheeks, even red before, are blushing harder when you realize that you just let your crush eating you out. It takes you a lot of courage to look down to meet Jungkook's face between your legs. You see his mouth and chin glistening with your juice. The view is sinful. But he defies even more the limits of hotness allowed when he puts his fingers into his mouth to taste more of your cum. You gasp at the indecent teasing.

Jungkook goes up to your face and kisses you. You taste yourself on his mouth and you have to say that it's hot.

"Are you okay?" He asks you gently

His consideration is a dangerous weapon for your heart. Fortunately, you're still too much in the frog of pleasure to overthink it.

"Yes. It-It was really good" you whisper, blushing.

Jungkook's pride is beyond clouds when he saw how strong was your orgasm because of him. He wants to be the one that makes you cum the most, the only one that makes you cum. Because you are so pretty, so hot when you reach your high, he wants to be the only one who witnesses it. He wants to fuck you so hard that you won't ever be attracted to another man. His possessiveness is killing him. You are messing with his brain and you don't even know it. You are crushing down all his boundaries.

"I, uhm, I want to please you too" you say shyly

Jungkook is amused by your shyness when he just made you cum. But he is also touched that you care about his pleasure. He can't deny that his cock is really hard and that he would love to release the tension in his body. But he doesn't want you to feel obligated to return the favor. He didn't touch you to have something in return, he did it because he wanted to see your cute face torn in pleasure, a pleasure provided by him.

"You don't have to, Y/N" he says with a small peck on your lips

He helps you sit correctly on your couch, and the leaking between your legs make you wince. But not as much as his answer. Doesn't he want you to touch him? Does he think you won't please him? You feel a dragger in your heart, and maybe in your pride also. Jungkook frowns when he notices your expression darkens.

"It's not that I don't want to" he feels the need to tell you "Because, believe me, I want to. You make me fucking hard. But you don't have to, you don't have to feel obligated"

He cups your cheeks and you see the sincerity in his eyes. Rather than pushing you off, it makes you want to please him stronger.

"I want to" you simply say

The determination in your voice startles him a little bit because a new wave of arousal rushes through him.

"Okay" is the only thing he finds to say

You put your delicate hand on his stretched crotch, feeling him hard and big through the fabric of his pants. You can't deny that it makes you horny. Jungkook's body tenses, watching carefully your movements to detect any sign of displeasure and stop you in this case. But he only sees the way you blush and bit your bottom lip. So fucking cute, he thinks. He waits for you to express by your actions your want to get rid of his pants. He doesn't want to rush you and let you be in control of the pace, even if it's like a torture for him: he has been hard for a long time now.

When you grab the hem of this pants, he gets the message and rises his hips to slide down his piece of clothing. The bulge of his black underwear shocks you a little bit: he is fucking big. Your reaction makes him cocky, he knows he's big - a lot of women already told him that - but now he wants you to think that. He wants you to think about how his cock would fill your tight pussy. The thought of it makes his hard member twitch.

You push down the hem of his underwear to free his length. Your mouth waters at the sight of the perfect, velvety skin. He is hard, and thick. You wonder how would feel the stretch if he were in your pussy. You gently caresse his tip with your thumb and a drop of pre-cum escapes. You spread it on the tip, which makes it shiny and appetizing. You start jerking him off and a sigh of delight comes from Jungkook's mouth.

"You're doing great, babe"

The pet name makes your pussy clench and your heart beat faster. You also feel proud and more confident so you increase the speed, putting the right pressure. Jungkook's breathing gets more and more rugged, you can tell that he likes it. He grabs firmly - but not too harshly to not hurt you - your hair and pull you closer. He kisses you ruthlessly, his tongue meets yours. You moan at his sudden ardent desire. And this is what he wanted: hearing your sweet whimpers while you jerking him off. Your hand on his cock and your mouth on his lips are a dangerous combination for his sanity.

"You're perfect, so fucking perfect" he says against your pretty mouth "Keep going, you gonna make me cum, babe"

Babe.

Once again, it fills you with indescribable sensations - physical sensations and other sensations that you push away to not overthink. You keep sliding up and down your hand on Jungkook's fat cock, your arm is beginning to hurt but you don't stop. Making him feel good is so fucking satisfying. You being the reason of the orgasm of such an attractive, hot, handsome man messes up your bain - and your wet pussy.

"I'm cumming" Jungkook says in a gasp

After a few more strokes, you feel a hot and thick liquid on your hand. Jungkook relaxes his grip in your hair and kisses your temple, with a shortness of breath. Then, he rests his forehead against yours for a moment, to recover a regular breathing.

"It was perfect" he says with a soft smile. 

previous ← 3 → next

[laurenairay]

I need your hands on me, sweet relief - Q. Hughes

Summary: After another disappointing season, Quinn Hughes needs a change of scenery. Renée Moreau is just trying to figure her life out.

Also known as, the Summer in Provence.

Words: 12k

Warnings: angst, fluff, self-doubt, some bad language, hinted intimacy

A/N: Quinn has really sunk his hooks into me this off-season so I knew I had to write something for him! Provence is on my list of places to visit, so this research was really fun to do.

Title from Pretty Please, by Dua Lipa

~~~

Quinn was tired. No, he was exhausted. Every year it had been the same thing – play so hard all season, push his body to the limits, his team forcing themselves to breaking point, only to never make it into the playoffs. With the Canucks not reaching the playoffs for eight years in a row now, despite him only being on the team for half of that, the pressure was starting to take its toll.

He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

Something needed to change, anything, before the repeated devastation broke him entirely. It felt stupid being only 23 years old and feeling so weary, but he had to do something. He had to do something to break himself out of this cycle, mentally if nothing else. If nothing changed within him, how could he expect anything to change for the team?

By the time locker clean-out day came around, Quinn was at the end of his tether. It wasn’t uncharacteristic of him to stay quiet, he knew that, so he escaped from half-hearted conversation with a promise to attend one last team event, a goodbye barbecue, before everyone went their own ways for the summer. By the time he’d driven himself home to shower off the stink of failure, Quinn had formed a vague plan for what he wanted to do.

He was going to go on vacation. By himself. For at least two weeks.

It was completely out of his comfort zone, completely different to his usual summer routine, but the more he thought about it as he scrubbed the shampoo out of his hair, the more he was convinced. He needed a break. He needed a holiday. Now, he just needed to figure out where.

Somewhere in Canada? No, that was the last thing he needed after the crash of the season. Again. Somewhere in the US? Even more of a no, with the playoffs in full swing. So somewhere abroad? Maybe…somewhere in Europe? The continent was big enough for him to hide in for a couple of weeks right?

The only thing he could think of to do was to pull up a map of Europe on his laptop the moment he got out the shower, close his eyes and have a pointed finger land on a country. Surely he could narrow it down from there, even as dumb as he felt picking a destination this way in the first place. At this point he couldn’t back out though, the desperation fuelling him, so Quinn followed his ridiculous plan – he pulled up the map, closed his eyes, took a deep breath…and placed his finger on the screen.

France.

Okay, France was good. It was a good option, plenty of different cities all across the country. One of them would work for him to unwind in, right? Somehow, he already felt lighter, just from knowing he had a vague destination. Was it really this easy? Why had he not done this before?

Before he knew it, he was spiralling down a rabbit hole of articles - ‘places to visit in France’, ‘3 months backpacking across Europe – must-see sights’, ‘gap year in France’ to name a few – and his eyes kept catching on a name. Provence. And the more he looked into the region, the more he fell in love with its beauty; it had everything from wine tasting to lavender fields to historical towns, and he could almost guarantee that no-one would know who he was. Perfect. Narrowing things down from Europe to France to Provence...and he eventually settled on an ancient medieval town right on the river Rhône, called Avignon. It looked so idyllic, and full of things to do (as well as close distance to plenty of other things to do). Something in his bones was telling him this was the place. This was it, the place where he could disappear to for two weeks to reset and refresh from the season.

And it wasn’t hard to get to either – it almost felt a little too easy. Quinn wasn’t used to things just falling into his lap like this, like it was too good to be true. A 13-hour flight from Detroit to Lyon, and then an hour by train from Lyon to Avignon? And a pretty little apartment in the centre of Avignon for far less than he’d been expecting? It was all there in front of him, timings and pricings included – could he really just book it and disappear for a couple of weeks?

What was holding him back?

Before he could chicken out, Quinn filled in his payment details for the flights, clicking through all the submission pages until a booking confirmation was in front of him, and he let out a shaky breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. There was no going back now. He quickly booked the apartment too, making sure the dates and timings lined up, and once he had that confirmation page in front of him, he found himself laughing a little incredulously.

He'd done it. He’d really done it. He was going to Avignon in Provence, France, for the first two weeks of May and there was nothing that was going to stop him.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Quinn felt free.

~~~

It took Quinn all of his willpower not to spill his plans to his family while he waited out the month before his trip arrived, not telling any of the Canucks either at the end of season barbecue. It helped that Jack (and his team) were in the first round of the playoffs and thriving, easy to pour his focus into supporting his brother there, his family’s full attention on his little brother just as he deserved.

There was just something in his gut telling him to keep quiet. He told himself it was because he didn’t want to distract from Jack’s playoffs, but he knew deep down that he just didn’t want anyone to worry. Because they would. Taking a trip so far away just to change things up? No-one would understand. They’d just fuss and stress and make Quinn feel worse than he already did – so he just didn’t say anything. Maybe it was a little selfish, but he didn’t care.

After a hockey season like he’d had, he just didn’t care.

It was easy enough to pack a suitcase without anyone noticing either, easy enough to have it waiting by his bedroom door with his passport tucked into a rucksack along with a couple of books he’d been meaning to read for a while, easy enough to call a taxi to take him to Detroit airport early in the morning before anyone in the house was awake.

It wasn’t until that he’d checked in and dropped off his suitcase, until he’d walked through security and gotten himself a much-needed coffee, that he pulled out his phone and opened up his family group chat.

From: Quinn Just wanted to let you all know that I’m heading off to France for a vacation. I’ll be gone for two weeks. Best of luck in the second round of the playoffs Jacky!

From: Luke Wait, what? Tell me you’re joking. Mom did you know?

With that, he put his phone on airplane mode, not daring to wait for any more messages to come through. The fact that Luke was awake this early was bad enough. It was the coward’s way out, he knew that, but at least he told them all, right?

With a sigh, Quinn tucked his phone into his rucksack, alongside the travel adapter for his charging cable he’d had to buy moments ago, and pulled out one of his books, sinking deeper into his chair. Only 30 minutes until his flight would be called – the sooner the better.

The rest of Quinn’s journey faded into a blur. Going to the gate. Boarding the plane. Taking off. Eating. Watching a movie. Eating again. Reading his book. Taking a nap. One final snack before landing. Waiting for his suitcase. The train journey to Avignon. The taxi to his apartment, not being awake enough to do anything other than show the driver the address he’d saved on his phone.

By the time Quinn collected the key from the dropbox and stumbled into the apartment, it was all he could do to dump his suitcase in the living room and kick off his clothes ahead of faceplanting into the bed, jet lag dragging him down into a deep sleep with a smile on his face.

He’d made it to France. Provence. Avignon. He could finally rest.

~~~

Renée Moreau felt like she was at a standstill. She’d followed all the steps in the playbook – worked hard in high school, gone to college, graduated with a degree in Communications from the University of Ottawa – but now she was at a loss. There was no rulebook for what to do when you reach adulthood, other than the societal expectations to get a job, settle down, get married, have a family. But she was only 23 years old and single as hell – there would be no marriage and babies happening any time soon, of that she was certain, and as for getting a job? She just didn’t know what she wanted. She didn’t know what would make her happy.

She was at a standstill. She was lost.

Sure, Renée had worked a couple of odd temp jobs after coming home to Montreal but nothing that resonated with her, much to her parents’ dismay. She loved them – truly she did – but their expectations for her future didn’t line up with her own in her current stage in life, and she knew that seeing her get more and more run down with each job that didn’t feel right only made things harder. It got to the point, after 9 months, where her parents suggested that they could pay for her to take a three-month travel break to Europe on the condition that she would work for her father’s company when she returned. It felt like an easy way out, something she’d desperately tried to avoid…but after the past 9 months, she knew she needed to do something.

So she’d agreed, much to her parents’ elation.

Renée decided on France, in the end. It was her first language after all, having grown up in Ville-Marie in Montreal, and after a bit of serious research with her parents she’d made a rough plan, starting with Paris.

Her parents paid for her 90-day Schengen visa, bought her plane tickets and paid for all her accommodation as belated graduation presents and her birthday present combined, but she would pay for all food and excursions & activities out of her savings from the various jobs she’d worked since graduating. She knew she was privileged, more so than a lot of her friends, let alone the strangers she’d met on her travels, so she knew she couldn’t take her time away for granted.

Like most things, it turned out her parents were right. The trip away, travelling around France, was exactly what she needed.

For her first month, March, she travelled around exclusively by trains. Her first full week was spent in Paris, the perfect start to her trip to soak in all the culture and history, and then after that she went to Rennes for five days, then Poitiers for five days, then Saint-Jean for five days, and finally Bordeaux for a full week.

In the last few days of March, Renée hired a car to drive to Lyon, staying there for a full week to take her into April, and then on to Toulouse for five days. Next, she drove down to the southern coast, visiting Narbonne for three days, Beziers for three days, Montpellier for five days, Marseille for five days, and Nice for five days, before finally heading to Avignon. Within her first two days there, she’d quickly fallen in love with the medieval town, so had decided to stay for her entire last month. Her parents found her an apartment that would let her stay for the full 30 days, so while she was based in Avignon, she kept that hire car and planned to travel around to different places within Provence, to get the full experience.

It was hard to believe she only had one month left before she had to head home to Montreal.

Still, she knew there was something different about Avignon, something that drew her in, something that was telling her to spend her time there – so she was following her gut, just waiting for the universe to give her a sign.

And on the first of May, everything changed.

Renée was on her way back up to her apartment after picking up a few breakfast items from the local bakery, the old lady Vivienne who ran the place having given her a couple extra croissants with a sweet smile, only to see a stranger walking down the corridor towards her. He was tall, maybe 5ft 10, with fairly broad shoulders and toned arms. His dark hair was fluffy and unkempt, his pale skin a little unnatural with its purple bags under his eyes, and he barely looked conscious. Out of instinct, she held her bag a little tighter to her chest, even though he looked a little lost rather than intimidating. But still…she simply smiled politely, hoping that this wouldn’t end badly.

“Good morning. Are you new to the building?”

The man blinked sleepily at her, silent for a moment, before he shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak much French. Do you speak English?”

She huffed out a laugh, her nerves fading a little. American. She could recognise the accent easily, different from her own French-Canadian, even if he was slightly slurred with sleep. “I do speak English. Are you…lost?”

He looked confused for a moment. “No?”

“I originally asked if you are new to the building,” she added.

“Oh, yes, I rented out that apartment for two weeks. Only arrived last night and I am super jetlagged, so I’m sorry if I’m a little loopy?” he said, smiling sheepishly.

Bless his heart. That explained a lot.

“I’m Renée, I’m staying in the apartment next door,” she said, holding her hand out.

He smiled warmly at her as he shook her offered hand, a sweetness that sent unexpected butterflies roaring through her stomach.

“Quinn. Sorry if I startled you. I promise I’m not this weird when I’m fully functioning,” he said, still smiling.

She couldn’t help but laugh at his self-deprecation, shaking her head.

“Don’t worry about it. I just want to check though…are you heading out to get breakfast?”

“Uh, yeah, I was planning on it – why?” he asked, confused.

“Not a lot of stores in Avignon speak a lot of English, at least not near us right now, so you might want to wait to venture out until you’re properly awake,” she teased.

Quinn blushed slightly, even as he groaned.

“Ah shit, I didn’t think of that,” he admitted, his smile shifting to a wry one.

She hesitated for a moment, before steeling herself. If her trip across France in the past two months had told her anything, it was to follow her gut instincts.

“Do you want to come into my apartment for breakfast? I have extra croissants, a bunch of different jams, and plenty of orange juice?” she offered.

His lips parted in surprise before his cheeks coloured again. Interesting. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she mused, nodding, “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t, and we’re going to be neighbours for a little while at least, right?”

“Right.”

Renée opened her front door, Quinn following her in, closing the door behind himself gently. She smiled to herself as he curiously took in the apartment, probably no different than his other than the positioning of furniture, so she left him to look around while she unloaded four croissants from the bag and pulled out a few options of jam as well as the fresh butter in the butter dish she’d bought (that was definitely coming home with her). She gestured wordlessly for Quinn to sit at the breakfast island as she started loading the counter space in front of him, pulling out two plates, a butter knife as well as a few jam knives, and then finally the orange juice and a couple of glasses. It wasn’t much, nor had she entertained anyone other than herself in the couple days she’d been in Avignon, but it was perfect for her.

“Please dig in. It’s humble but it’s tasty, I promise,” Renée said, smiling.

Quinn just nodded shyly, reaching for a croissant. She tried not to watch him as she prepared her own breakfast, but it was hard not to enjoy the pure joy on his face at his face bite of buttery croissant, her smile catching his attention.

“Sorry, it’s just so good,” he mumbled.

“Definitely don’t apologise,” she laughed, shaking her head, “I’m sure I made the same face when I had my first croissant here. And if you think this is good – wait until you try the fresh bread. You’ll never eat processed cut loaves back home again.”

Quinn just groaned, taking another bite, making her laugh softly. She could appreciate a guy who appreciated good food.

“I think I’m going to really enjoy staying here for two weeks,” he finally said, after he’d eaten one half of his croissant.

“Two weeks huh? That’s a pretty decent amount of time to spend. What’s brought you out here then?” she asked.

Sue her, but she was curious. The exhaustion wasn’t just showing in his body – it was in his eyes too. Was he running from something?

“It’s just been a really hard year. With work, mostly. I haven’t had a proper break and I really needed one, so I pointed to a map, chose France, and spiralled down an internet rabbit hole until I settled on Avignon. It seemed like a good place to unwind and rest, at least for a couple of weeks. One of my best friends is getting married in July, so I wanted to be in a better place, mentally at least, before then,” he explained.

That definitely wasn’t the whole story, she could tell, but it was more than enough to explain the basics at least. She could understand wanting to get away from everything to reset at least.

“I’m sorry that everything’s been really difficult, but I promise you that Avignon is a great place for a vacation break. I haven’t been here long but I’m already feeling great,” she said firmly.

“Well if it’s any different than Vancouver, then I’ll be happy,” he mused.

Vancouver?

She could’ve sworn his accent was American.

Oh wait.

Oh.

Quinn.

Vancouver.

The year had been really hard for him.

You can take a girl out of Canada but you can’t take Canada out of the girl. She knew exactly who he was – Quinn Hughes, star defenceman of the Vancouver Canucks. How could she not have realised who he was?

But clearly, he was in Avignon to escape everything, to take a break from his real life and rest. She couldn’t tell him that she knew who he was, at least not right now. He deserved a little time at least to recover from the Canucks terrible season, and she could absolutely give that to him.

“Do you want me to show you around Avignon today and tomorrow? Show you the basics of our little neighbourhood like groceries and coffee shops and restaurants, as well as the tourist sites?”

“Oh I couldn’t impose,” he said quickly.

“Quinn, I’m offering because I’m happy to, I promise. Besides, you said you don’t speak much French and you might need the help, at least for the local parts,” she said, teasing a little at the end.

He blushed lightly before huffing out a laugh. “Alright, if you’re sure. I would love the guide help.”

“Great, it’s a plan! Now, please have another croissant and try another jam flavour. You won’t regret it.”

~~~

For the rest of his first day in Avignon, Quinn blearily followed Renée around, letting her help him pick up basic groceries to get him started as well as heading to a coffee shop to clear some of the fuzziness out of his head. They sat and talked for hours at the coffee shop, sitting outside on the edge of a square, just letting the sights and sounds flow over him, listening to Renée’s interesting stories about the neighbourhood.

He didn’t know if it was still the jetlag or not, but the fact that a girl as beautiful as her was paying attention to him was exactly what he needed in that moment. Her blonde curls were bouncy and shined like liquid gold in the midday sun. Her big brown eyes were almost doll-like, captivating and full of emotion. Her smile was entrancing, her laugh was like music to his ears, and she had curves for days that were simply mouthwatering. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had captured his attention like this, especially not this quickly, but after all this season had been, to have this girl willing to spend time with him? It was everything.

Quinn was still suffering with jetlag pretty badly though, which Renée noticed and clearly took pity on him for, because she kept the rest of their day pretty light, mostly just walking him around the neighbourhood, showing him roughly where the main sights were ahead of a bigger day tomorrow. Which…she still wanted to spend time with him after a day of him being pretty useless other than happily basking in her conversation? Mind blowing.

The little local restaurant that she’d taken him to that night was just the cherry on top of an incredible first day.

Just like she’d promised, Renée had ramped up activities for his second day in Avignon. He’d put up a token protest at first, not wanting her to waste time with him when she had her own vacation to enjoy, but she’d insisted that she wanted to do the touristy things too. That, and he could ‘pay her back’ for translating everything by taking some cute photos of her rather than her having to rely on selfies to send to her family.

He'd blushed, obviously, but agreed quickly. It was hardly a hardship to take a few photos of her, especially when they would all be cute.

Renée ended up taking the two of them on a basic tour of some of the main sights on Avignon. The first being the Palais des Papes fortress, which he’d read about before his trip and was actually excited to explore, even more so when Renée told him that on summer evenings there was an impressive light show there that explained the history of Avignon (which the two of them ended up attending that very evening after dinner in the little local restaurant again, with a flask of spiked hot chocolate). She’d also taken him to the Pont d’Avignon, a beautiful medieval bridge where only four arches survived. After stopping for lunch in a little café, the two of them had wandered around the flower market and farmer’s market at Place des Carmes – not buying anything but just taking in the sights and people watching, soaking in the atmosphere.

In the afternoon, she’d driven the two of them 30 minutes away to visit the Roman Pont du Gard – a UNESCO World Heritage site for a beautiful ancient Roman aqueduct bridge, where he’d taken way too many photos…and Renée had even taken a couple of him in various poses.

For the memories, she’d insisted.

How could he refuse?

Day three found them a little more chilled out. Renée liked to keep a balance, apparently, of chilled days and packing in touristy activities, which Quinn was more than happy to indulge in if it meant spending more time with her. It felt a little silly to be focusing his time around someone he’d only just met, but there was just something about her. Something that made him want to spend time with her rather than isolating himself. And it wasn’t like he’d set out with much of a plan other than getting away from everything back home.

The main thing they did on his third day was walking around the flea market in Place des Carmes, the same place that the flower and farmer’s markets were in the day before, before sitting in the square afterwards in coffee shop to watch the world go by. It was exactly what he needed after the intense day that yesterday had been, and it just gave him more of an excuse to get to know her a little better, even volunteering a little information about himself as well. Not much, but still a little, enough to make her smile at least.

On their way back to their apartments, Renée had insisted on picking up groceries for dinner, promising to cook for him (which he was never going to say no to), as well as taking him in a couple of little trinket stores she’d found on her own first day, some of which he knew he’d be returning to for gifts to take back home. But that wasn’t something he was letting himself think about right now – home. Right now, all he wanted to do was focus on the beautiful girl next to him, so full of joy and wonder and excitement, soaking in her energy.

She’d cooked him a grilled fish dish, paired with sautéed vegetables and potatoes, inspired by one of the restaurants she’d eaten at in Marseille. It was incredible, the best fish he’d ever eaten and he wasn’t even exaggerating – she blushed all the same when he complimented her cooking though, brushing herself off as amateur. If he could pick up even a little of her sense of adventure, he knew he’d be all the better for it.

When they were sitting on her sofa, dishes rinsed and in the sink, both sipping on a glass of wine, Quinn felt like he’d been transported to another world. Finding peace and comfort this quickly on a trip that he’d booked on a whim? It was the last thing he’d been expecting.

“You know, you already look a little lighter,” Renée said, breaking their comfortable silence.

“I feel it. My��job really can be so stressful. I hadn’t realised it was this bad though,” he admitted.

Renée seemed to hesitate slightly before smiling. “I can imagine the hockey season is draining.”

The hockey season. She knew. Oh fuck, she knew who he was? He found himself freezing, no idea what his face was doing but it was enough for Renée to wince.

“I’m not French. At least, I’m not from France. I’m from Montreal, born and raised,” she admitted, nerves all over her face now, “I swear I’m not going to post on social media about you or even tell anyone about you. Your reasons for taking a break are yours and yours alone.”

Quinn let out a shaky breath, trying to smile but he clearly failed because Renée pulled out her phone with a determined look.

“Here, my Instagram. And I can show you facebook too. I don’t have whatever the hell twitter is now and I never have done. I haven’t posted about you and I won’t, I promise. I’m not lying,” she said firmly.

Quinn took the offered phone, scrolling a little through her Instagram posts, noting that there hadn’t been anything posted since they’d met three days ago. He still felt a little shaky but the fact that she went out of her way to prove to him, to reassure him…it helped, a little.

“Thank you for your honesty,” he murmured.

“I didn’t realise straight away. Not until you mentioned Vancouver,” she added.

Well that was something at least.

“I was so sure that no-one would recognise me this far away from home,” he said softly.

She winced again, before smiling sadly.

“If you want, we can go our separate ways and you don’t have to see me again for the whole two weeks you’re here. I don’t want to ruin your time away. That’s literally the last thing I want.”

The full two weeks without seeing her? Something about that sat badly in his stomach, sinking like a stone, and he found himself shaking his head.

“No. No I don’t want that. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, not judging me for being a hot mess, and I believe you when you say that you won’t tell anyone I’m here. My parents and brothers know I’m in France but that’s literally it. Anyone else that wants to know where I am can ask them,” Quinn explained, “I’m enjoying spending time with you, if you don’t mind spending it with me.”

“Alright, if you’re sure. Because I’m definitely enjoying spending time with you,” she said, her smile a little shy now.

For some reason, her shyness made his breath hitch in his chest, enough for him to need to cough it away.

“I’m sure. I’m pretty sure my French isn’t up to the task anyway,” he said, trying to shift the tone of conversation a little, to ease the tension he felt creeping up his neck.

Renée just laughed, making him blush slightly. That was better, even if it was at his expense.

“Your bakery order this morning wasn’t half bad! You’ll get there,” she teased, “Was there anything in particular that you wanted to see or do while you’re here?”

“The only thing I’d really read about that we haven’t seen is the lavender fields?” he suggested.

Renée grinned and nodded, making him smile. “There’s beautiful lavender fields in Sault that I was hoping to go to. Maybe we could go together?”

Quinn nodded in response, his body sinking into the sofa, releasing tension he hadn’t realised he was holding. She knew who he was...and the world hadn’t ended. She still wanted to spend time with him. He still got to spend time with her. Was this a dream? It felt like a dream.

“I definitely want to do a wine tour of some kind. There’s so many vineyards around here it would be silly not to. And I kind of wanted to do a day trip to Arles, maybe another to Aix-en-Provence, but there’s also the Musée de Petit Palais here in Avignon that I haven’t been to yet which is meant to be beautiful? It’s another UNESCO World Heritage Site, and I’m pretty sure you’d enjoy it too?”

Quinn just took another sip of his wine, allowing her enthusiastic words to wash over him. Whatever she wanted to do, he was here for it. And he couldn’t wait.

~~~

Renée felt like she was floating through a dream. She’d honestly expected Quinn to want nothing to do with her after she admitted knowing who he was, but the fact that he was still willing to spend time with her? To indulge her in all the things she wanted to visit just because he didn’t really have much of a plan himself? Well she was absolutely going to take advantage of that, if it meant spending a little more time with the cutest boy she’d ever met.

For day four of Quinn’s trip, she took him on a Rhône Valley wine tour, just as she’d promised, the two of the tasting all different wines including Châteauneuf-du-Pape, Rasteau, Gigondas, Vacqueyras, Cairanne, Tavel, Lirac, Visan, Sablet and Séguret, across four leading wine estates. It was a long day, long and so much fun, with only two couples joining them on the tour, so they’d had plenty of private time together to enjoy the day as well as pick up a couple of bottles to bring back to the apartment as well as a couple of bottles for home. The two of them had stumbled back to his apartment, barely remembering to pick up some bread and cheese to soak up some of the alcohol, which they’d decimated before passing out on his sofa.

Waking up on day five snuggled into Quinn’s side had been worth the hangover.

The two of them had agreed to keep the day as a quiet one, Renée having volunteered to go out to pick them up fresh bread and fruit and coffee after they’d both showered, spending most the morning reading in a comfortable silence before they ventured out for coffee in the same square as their first day, getting to know each other even more now that he could be more open with her. The two of them traed stories of ridiculous friends and hangovers of time past, before heading back to the little local restaurant they’d been to a couple of times already for dinner again, not wanting to break the happy chilled vibe they’d managed to curate over the day.

On day six, Quinn had surprised her with a trip out to the village of Gordes (with her driving, of course), to a spa day in the Airelles Spa. He’d apparently already booked all their treatments, paying the moment they arrived, and considering how fancy the place was, Renée couldn’t even imagine how much money he’d spent on her. But he’d stayed firm in his decision, a streak of confidence that sent her heartbeat fluttering just that little bit faster. It was a side of him she hadn’t seen before, but if he wanted to treat her to a day of relaxation, she wasn’t going to complain.

Alongside the typical swimming pool and steam room, both of them had a neck, shoulders and scalp massage, followed by a thermal mud mineral wrap, and finishing off with a ‘golden glow’ facial. It was honestly the most relaxed Renée had ever felt, but the fact that she did all of this alongside Quinn? With him looking like years of stress had been lifted off of him? She barely had the words to describe it. It didn’t help that he spent the day in bathing shorts and her in a one-piece swimming costume – his toned torso was distracting enough. The spa itself wasn’t that busy at all, so the two of them had essentially the whole place to themselves most the time, and Renée felt like she’d grown closer to him throughout the day more than she ever had to any friend, let alone any guy. It was a personal intimacy, to spend such time in platonic closeness, leaving her a bit overwhelmed with the whole situation, if she was being honest.

Quinn’s pleased smile while they had an early dinner in the village of Gordes kept her quiet though. If he was happy, she was happy.

It was on day seven that everything changed.

The two of them had strolled along the Rhône river in the morning with a cup of coffee each, taking in the scenery and taking their time, heading to the jardin du Rocher des Doms for a picnic. Quinn had brought along one of their bottles of wine from their wine tour, and they’d picked up a second bottle alongside some water, fresh bread, sharp cheese, grapes and strawberries, as well as a couple of chocolate studded pastries from the bakery, all carefully placed into Quinn’s rucksack with a blanket from Renée’s sofa. The two of them settled on a vacant patch of grass away from most other groups, giving them the illusion of privacy, Quinn pouring them a glass of their wine before raising his glass in a toast.

“To the most amazing holiday of my life. To meeting an amazing new friend. To another week of this bliss.”

Renée blushed lightly but clinked her glass against his, taking a sip of the wine that instantly sent her back to the day of their tour with its smooth taste. She cleared her throat, shaking her head to bring her back to the present, smiling at Quinn’s confused look.

“It’s nothing. Shall we eat?”

And the two of them did, a bite at a time, soft bread with sharp cheese with refreshing grapes, saving the strawberries and pastries for dessert, talking for the several hours it took them to finish all the food while they basked in the sunshine and light breeze, long enough to finish both bottles of wine as well. Long enough that Renée felt a little light-headed from the alcohol and the company, Quinn’s soft sweet eyes making her head swirl.

She must’ve stayed silent, caught in his gaze, for long enough that Quinn stopped talking too, staring at her eyes in confusion before his gaze flicked down to her mouth. Her breath hitched in her throat, Quinn’s lips parting in a shaky breath…before he leaned over and kissed her, a gentle hand cupping her face.

And then he quickly pulled away, eyes wide in a panic.

“Fuck, Renée, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…well, I did, but-”

Renée pressed a finger to his lips to stop his rambling, let out a shaky breath of her own. Quinn just froze, eyes still wide in panic, not daring to move.

“You kissed me. Why?” she managed to say, before removing her finger, feeling the phantom presence of his lips on her skin.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he huffed out a laugh.

“Because I wanted to? Because you’re beautiful and hilarious and so cool and it seemed like a good idea at the time?”

Oh wow. That…wasn’t what she was expecting. He thought she was beautiful?

“You think I’m beautiful?” she murmured.

“Yeah, I do.”

It was all Renée could do to lean forward and kiss him again. Quinn made a soft noise of surprise but didn’t hesitate to kiss her back, his hand sliding across her cheek to cup her cheek again. The kisses stayed soft and slow and sweet, only a hint of tongue, but they sent electricity thrumming through Renée’s veins all the same. Never had such an innocent embrace set her heart racing like this. Never. Never had such a sweet boy kissed her so sweetly.

She didn’t know how long they spent kissing, time losing all meaning as she lost herself in his lips, both of them breathless by the time she pulled away.

“Wow,” was all she could murmur, Quinn’s lips looking as swollen as hers felt.

Quinn just laughed, breathless and carefree, making her dart forward to press one last lingering kiss to his lips, earning a soft moan of protest from him when she sat backwards.

“We could, um…”

She trailed off, rubbing the back of her neck, feeling uncharacteristically awkward. He just smiled softly at her.

“We could what?” he prompted.

Her cheeks flushed with a light blush, feeling bold with her thoughts.

“I really liked kissing you. And I know we’ve only known each other a week…but we could fool around no strings for your last week here? There’s no harm in it, right? A little summer vacation fling?”

The moment the words left her lips, she felt mortified. She’d never even thought about doing something like this before, let alone suggesting it, and the fact that Quinn looked stunned didn’t help her feel any better about acting like a floozy.

“Yes.”

His breathy confirmation brought her out of her thoughts, and a smile spread across her face before she could stop herself.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Quinn nodded, smiling back at her. “You’re right, there’s no harm in it. I really liked kissing you too.”

Well that was all she needed to hear. Renée leaned forward again, sliding her hand into his hair this time, letting the feeling of his curls between her fingers ground her as she kissed him slowly, unable to stop herself smiling as Quinn kissed her back with a happy sigh.

And that was how they spent the rest of their afternoon, shifting between slow kisses and sweet conversation, sipping the water they’d brought along too, before they eventually headed back to their apartments, changing quickly before heading out to dinner in the little local restaurant they’d been to most nights now, holding hands the entire walk. It felt a little surreal, if she was being honest, that a guy as cute as Quinn was happy to fool around with her when he could have anyone else he wanted. But there was no way she was taking back her crazy proposition now, not if she could have just a little bit of him before he left in seven days.

Spending a couple of hours making out on his sofa before she went back to her own apartment to sleep was the perfect way to end a perfect day.

~~~

He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Not when she left his apartment last night after they made out for hours on his sofa, soft and sweet shifting to heated and intense. Not when he tried to sleep but couldn’t get the thought of the way her body felt straddling his waist, his hands desperate to move from where he’d planted them on her waist. Not when he woke up hard as a rock, needing no more than a few moments and a gasp of her name before he was dizzy all over again.

The moment that Renée’s surprising suggestion had reached his ears, he’d felt like he was in an alternative dimension. Things like this didn’t happen to him. Not in real life. Not to him.

And yet here he was, sitting beside her while she drove them out to Arles for a day trip, lips still buzzing where she’d kissed him good morning and passed him a cup of fresh coffee.

But it wasn’t just the physical aspects of it all that was consuming him, as incredible as it all was. He was falling for her, fast. He wasn’t stupid, as much as the hockey player stereotype usually proved. He knew enough about himself to know that Renée was exactly his type – beautiful, funny, smart, and so full of a genuine happy energy. Loved trying new things. Found the little stories of everything fascinating. Had excellent taste in wine. Was an amazing cook. Had a laugh that made his heartbeat race. It was insane how much he already liked her, and it felt stupid the more he thought about because he’d only known her a week. Just one week, seven days, and she had him caught hook, line, and sinker. He still wasn’t sure how he was lucky enough that she was even interested in fooling around with him but he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity, as much as it was probably going to break his heart when he went back home.

But if this morning’s kiss was anything to go by, with the way that he was still floating on air right now, maybe it was exactly what he needed after all.

It only took 45 minutes for them to drive to Arles, Renée finding parking easily with the mid-week calm.

They headed straight to the Arènes d'Arles, the Roman amphitheatre, taking a tour of the incredible two tier structure as well as taking a bunch of photo of each other – as well as a couple of selfies for their own personal stashes. Unfortunately there wasn’t a concert that night – which, if he’d known there were concerts here, he would’ve planned better – and the bullfighting wasn’t on either, but it was still incredible to wander about the 2,500 year history.

The two of them also headed on the Van Gogh walk, Quinn having no idea that the artist had actually lived in Arles for 16 months in the late 19th century. What was incredibly endearing was Renée’s enthusiasm for spotting the locations referenced in his art work, including the Quai du Rhône for the starry night, and Lamartine Square for the yellow house. The walk took them several hours but by the time they’d reached the end of it, Renée was practically giddy, and that alone was worth it for Quinn.

After a lunch stop, the two of them headed to the Cloître Saint-Trophime, another incredible UNESCO World Heritage Site, exploring the cathedral and grounds at their usual easy pace, snapping a few photos – until an older lady approached them with a smile.

“Vous êtes un beau couple. Tu veux que je prenne une photo?”

Renée immediately blushed but nodded, handing her phone over. Quinn just looked at her, curiously.

“She says we’re a beautiful couple and asked if we would like a photo.”

Oh wow. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, sliding his arm over Renée’s shoulders as she wrapped an arm around his waist, leaning into his body as the lady snapped a couple of photos of them. She returned Renée’s phone with an indulgent smile, Renée murmuring a soft merci beaucoup in thanks, and Quinn wasted no time in throwing an arm over her shoulder again to see her phone screen.

The first photo took his breath away, with how easy they looked together. The old lady was right – they did look like a beautiful couple.

“You look so happy,” Renée said softly, smiling up at him.

“I am happy,” he said honestly.

Her cheeks flushed and she quickly looked back down at her phone, but he knew that she was smiling.

“I promise not to post it anywhere,” she said quickly.

Because there was no denying that this wasn’t just friendship in that photo.

“Okay, sure. Can you still send it to me though?” he asked hopefully.

She giggled but nodded, sending the photo by airdrop before leaning up to give him a quick kiss. As she pulled away, Quinn felt just as breathless as he did the first time he kissed her. It was getting harder and harder to deny his feelings, that was for sure.

The two of them spent a little more time in Arles before driving back to Avignon, going to their separate apartments to freshen up before heading out for dinner. Typically, they headed out to their little local restaurant – hell, they were practically regulars at this point – and their usual waitress showed them to a table in the corner.

The waitress murmured something to Renée after she handed them their menus, making Renée blush deeply and laugh as she walked away, to which Quinn just looked at her curiously.

“Maude was teasing us. Said it’s about that that we admitted our romance,” Renée admitted.

Well damn. First the old lady in Arles and now their waitress? Did they really look that natural together?

“Alors.”

Quinn startled slightly at Maude’s voice, but let out a huff of laughter as she presented a bottle of ruby red wine. The waitress rattled off a stream of fast French, to which Renée laughed again, shaking her head.

“She said the wine is free for new lovers.”

Now it was Quinn’s turn to blush, earning laughter from both women.

“Merci pour le vin,” he stumbled out, his translation hesitant.

But Maude just beamed, patting his shoulder.

“Bien!”

He slumped back in his chair, letting Renée order for them both, knowing that she could see he was a little overwhelmed and also knowing the food he liked by now. It was easy. Too easy. Why was he getting himself so worked up about this?

“Cheers, Quinn.”

Renée’s soft words brought him out of his thoughts, seeing her raising a glass of the wine to him and that she’d already poured him a glass too, so he quickly lifted his glass with a smile and clinked it gently against hers.

It was very good wine.

True to form, the two of them spent a couple of hours eating, talking, and drinking, just basking in each other’s company, and Quinn tried not to let himself overthink things. No strings, easy fun. He could roll with this.

It was late when the two of them ended up back in his apartment, kissing the moment that Quinn shut the door behind them, and they stumbled over to the sofa without breaking apart. It was consuming, heated, passionate like never before, and Quinn found himself sliding his hands under her clothes, helping her undress as she helped him undress too. It wasn’t until they were down to their underwear that Quinn pulled away to take a ragged breath, eyes roving over her tanned skin bathed in the moonlight that streamed in through the windows.

“Bed?” he asked, more than a little breathless as his hands clutched at her bare waist.

“Yes, take me to bed Quinn,” she murmured.

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

~~~

The next few days felt like they flew by. Renée tried to hold onto each moment, to savour each memory, but when each moment was just as happy as the last, it was hard to distinguish them. Throughout days nine, ten, eleven, and twelve of Quinn’s trip, Renée tried hard to make sure that he experienced as many local things as well as a couple of more exciting trips, to keep his vacation as full as possible.

In Avignon, the two of them visited the Musée de Petit Palais, another UNESCO World Heritage Site, home to an incredible collection of paintings from the 13th to the 15th century. They also went to the Cathédrale Notre-Dame-des-Doms. It was right next to the Palais des Papes, where they’d visited earlier in their trip, and well worth the visit – the frescoes, marble statues and golden statue of the Virgin Mary in the interior were incredible, and another moment for a few photos of the two of them.

Those were mostly for Renée’s memories at this point. She wasn’t going to lie to herself.

As a fun activity, Renée booked them on a lunchtime cruise along The Rhône, listening to the tour guide give them a fascinating description from the water’s edge, murmuring the translation into Quinn’s ear as they went – a perfect excuse to sit practically in his lap, although she didn’t think he minded with the way he had his arm wrapped tight around her waist.

They also took a day trip to Aix-en-Provence, just as she’d asked for.  It took them just over an hour to drive, easy in the morning traffic, and she felt lost in the incredible art history, grateful to Quinn for indulging her yet again. They visited the art studio of Cezanne, as well as his works displayed in the Granet Museum. The museum also displayed works by Picasso, Rembrandt, and Ingres, all of which Quinn listened to her ramble about with avid attention. They had an extended coffee break in Cours Mirabeau, visited the beautiful Vendôme Pavilion, before eating a romantic candlelit dinner looking over a busy square, all light up with twinkling lights.

Her favourite day though? A trip to the local farmer’s market again, when they’d eaten fresh peaches and kissed the slick juice off each other’s lips.

All of this mixed with intense incredible sex every single day only led Renée to one conclusion. She was falling in love with him, slowly but surely, and she felt so damn stupid when she realised it, lying naked in his arms while Quinn snored quietly next to her. How could she not feel stupid? He was leaving soon – he only had two days left in Avignon – and there was nothing she could do about it. She was the one that suggested no strings fun after all, although she should’ve known that would’ve come back around to bite her in the ass.

Nothing good could come from this realisation. Nothing at all.

But she would be damned if she wasn’t going to live these final two days with him to the fullest.

~~~

Quinn woke up on his penultimate day with a heavy heart. Not because of the beautiful woman lying naked in his arms, no. Well…no, not really. It wasn’t her fault, after all, that he was falling in love with her. She’d never asked for that, nothing more than fooling around, but here he was thinking like a fool anyway.

That didn’t stop him from kissing the sleepy smile off her face when she woke up, happily making her cry out his name with his face between her thighs too.

After the two of them had showered separately in their own apartments, because he knew damn well that he couldn’t keep his hands off her at this point, they headed out to central Avignon for their final day trip. Today, they were heading to Sault, to the lavender fields, as part of a half day trip with a private guide. Apparently the trips were for a maximum of eight people in a minibus, but there was only one other couple booked in for their trip today, so Quinn was buzzing about having more private time with Renée.

The ride from Avignon only took one hour, but before they got to the fields, they made a stop at the lavender distillery Arôma Plantes. Alongside a little museum, where they learnt about lavender oil production, there was a little store, where Quinn happily bought a ton of gifts for his family to take home with him, and Renée bought her own fair share too. When they finally arrived at the fields though, Quinn had to admit he was a little breathtaken with the vast beauty. The bright colours alone were stunning, and he made sure to take a ton of candid photos of Renée as well as a couple of posed shots, letting her do the same for him before the tour guide took a few photos of them together, getting all the angles in to make them laugh.

The laughing photos ended up being his favourite of the whole selection, if he was being honest.

They visited three fields in total for about 15-20 minutes each, before heading to the village of Sault for a lunch stop, sharing a bottle of wine between them (with the other couple doing the same). By the time they headed back to Avignon, Quinn had a steady buzz from the wine as well as the rush of the day, and it was easy to fall back into his bed with Renée for the afternoon, only leaving to shower separately when his stomach rumbled with hunger.

They changed apartments for dinner, Renée having a better kitchen set-up than he did. He watched her cook for them in a comfortable silence, sipping water to clear his head as much as was possible, smiling at her every time she caught him watching her.

“I’m really going to miss you.”

There it was. He’d blurted it out without meaning to, cringing at the raw honesty in his voice. Renée looked more than a little stunned, turning the stop top burner to low before looking at him properly.

“You’re going to miss me?” she said hesitantly, “Or you’re going to miss this time in Provence?”

“You. Both. I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense when I say it out loud, but I can’t believe how quickly these past two weeks have flown by? If I could live in a bubble with you here in Avignon, time standing still and nothing changing, then I would,” he said, laughing a little incredulously.

Renée smiled sadly. “The time has flown by. Avignon with you will always hold a place in my heart. I’m going to miss it too.”

“You’re leaving Avignon?” he asked, confused.

She seemed to hesitate slightly, maybe a little confused, before she nodded.

“I’m leaving France entirely soon – I’m due to head home myself. My Schengen 90 day visa runs out at the end of May.”

Her whole trip was ending?

She was heading home too?

She was heading back to Canada, back to Montreal?

Why hadn’t she said anything these past few days? Why had they only focused on him, only spoken about his trip ending?

While he got lost in his thoughts, Renée finished off cooking, and the two of them sat down to eat in silence. As always, the food was incredible, and he made sure to let her know that, earning the usual modest blush, and they finished off a bottle of wine on the sofa, ending the evening with the slow, sweet kisses that had gotten him lost in her nearly a week ago.

But rather than falling into bed together like they had done all week, Quinn had left for his own apartment with a goodnight kiss, admitting he hadn’t yet packed his suitcase at all, and he didn’t want to rush that tomorrow.

Renée had laughed at him, teasing smile making him blush, but she waved him off with another kiss that left him conflicted. Because while it was true he had yet to pack his suitcase, he also wanted to think.

She lied about leaving Avignon. Why?

No, not lied. Just omitted. He knew she was over on a visa, but it hadn’t occurred to him the timings of her trip and she hadn’t stated it. Why?

Maybe she just was protecting herself. But why?

The more he thought about it, the more overwhelmed he felt, until he was sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. Why did he care so much? Why had he let her get into his head like this? Why had he allowed her to consume his heart like this?

Because that what it was, wasn’t it? He was falling in love with her, and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, and now there was a slightest fraction of a chance that this didn’t have to end because they would be in the same country for most of the year.

It was the tiniest sliver of a chance but as soon as he thought of it, his greedy heart clutched onto the hope with all of its strength.

This season had been one of the hardest, both physically and mentally, and he’d taken this trip to make a change in his life. A change he had so desperately needed. Was Renée this change? Had she changed him? Meeting her was the first thing that made him feel good in a long time. He was damn sure that he wouldn’t have had nearly as good a time in Avignon if it hadn’t been for her. He knew that, down to his bones.

He had to tell her how he felt. It would be stupid not to, with him leaving tomorrow. At least that way he would know for certain. You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, right? He needed to take this shot, for his own heart’s sake.

Tomorrow morning. Tomorrow morning he would tell her, and he could only hope for the best.

~~~

Renée woke up to the sound of a series of rapid knocks on her front door, jolting her from her sleep and her empty bed. Going to bed had been strange last night, without Quinn by her side as she’d had all week, but she knew that was stupid to hold onto. He was leaving today, after all, so she needed to let go of him. She wouldn’t survive otherwise.

Still the knocking continued, so she got up with a yawn, shuffling to open the door, only to reveal Quinn standing there far earlier than normal. He was fully dressed, holding two coffees in a holder with a bag of pastries under one arm…and a bouquet of flowers?

The most beautiful colourful fresh flowers that she’d ever seen too.

“Are these for me?”

Damn her lack of caffeine.

Quinn huffed out a laugh, smiling fondly down at her, making traitorous butterflies swirl in her stomach.

“Yes, they are. Can I come in?” he asked.

She just nodded, still a little stunned at the beautiful bouquet, Quinn heading straight for the kitchen to put them in a vase, leaving the coffees and pastries on the kitchen island as he did so.

“Quinn…” she murmured, prompting as he put the flowers on the island next to them.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck awkwardly, before he moved to stand next to her and cleared his throat.

“I’m leaving today. I’m leaving and I can’t change it, so I need to tell you before I regret not saying anything,” he said softly.

“Tell me what?” she asked, dangerous hope starting to seep into her heart.

“That I’m falling in love with you.”

Her lips parted in surprise as her heart felt like it skipped beat. He was falling in love with her?

“Renée Moreau…you’ve made me feel alive for the first time in a long time. Every time I look at you my heart wants to sing and I don’t want that to end. These two weeks have been the most amazing weeks of my life, especially this past week, and I had to tell you how I feel before I burst. Is there even the slightest chance that you feel the same for me too?”

His words washed over her in an emotional wave that she had not been expecting. It was the last thing she’d been expecting, if she was being honest, never daring to hope that he was falling for her like she was falling for him. She felt stunned, shocked into silence as pure giddiness rushed through her. He felt the same? He didn’t want this to end either?

Just as Quinn’s face started to shutter in her silence, Renée lurched forward and kissed him, cupping his face with both hands. Quinn moaned softly, kissing her back with an intensity that left her breathless, but she didn’t dare pull away from him until she started to feel dizzy, resting her forehead against his shoulder with shaky breaths. This was real. He was falling in love with her too. She wasn’t dreaming.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Renée. I admire your free spirit, and your courage, so much. Just going out into the world to figure out what it is that you want rather than coasting along in repetitive nothingness? You’re inspiring, and you make me want to live life to its fullest, every day.”

She choked out a sob against his shirt, lifting her head to look up at him with tears in her eyes.

“I don’t feel brave. In fact sometimes I feel like I’m free falling because I have no destination, and it's terrifying. But you…you’re dedicated to your career, to your family, to everything you love. You commit, wholeheartedly, and you inspire me, Quinn Hughes. You make me want to set roots and figure out what settling down means. You’re special, in every single way, and I really hope I can make you see exactly how special you are.”

It was Quinn’s turn to have tears spring to his eyes, and he shook his head a little incredulously, like he couldn’t believe his good fortune, before he just leant down to kiss her again, the kiss staying slow and warm, toe-curling in its sweetness before he pulled away once more.

“I don’t know what the future will hold. I don’t know how we’ll make it work between Vancouver and Montreal. But I want to figure it out, if you want to too?”

“I do, I really do,” she said, smiling through happy tears.

After spending the rest of Quinn’s last day in bed together, Renée drove him to the train station that evening. He was going to take a taxi, same as his way into Avignon, but Renée insisted, needing that last kiss goodbye. As she watched him wheel his suitcase into the station, ready to head to Lyon and then back to Detroit, her heart was aching dreadfully.

But she would see him again, she knew it.

~~~

The beginning of August felt like the beginning of a new chapter for Quinn. Not just because his off-season training had left him feeling strong, ready for the new upcoming season, but because Renée was arriving today to spend two weeks with him at his family’s house in Michigan. She was coming to meet his family, to finally see them in person, and he was so excited and nervous that he felt like he was going to burst.

The two of them had video called every single day since he arrived home, when she was still in Avignon as well as when she arrived home in Montreal, him meeting her parents over video call and her talking to his parents and Jack and Luke on the calls too – but now they would actually be meeting her in person. It was different. It was real. He wanted to scream and shout and throw up and pass out, all at once, all in the best possible way.

From the moment he woke up, despite his mom encouraging him to keep on track with his morning work-out at the rink with Jack and Luke, he felt like he’d been waiting hours for her to arrive. And sure, his brothers had been ruthlessly teasing him for essentially sitting in the front bay window, but  his mom ushered them away as best as she could. He didn’t care though, they could tease him all they wanted – he had the most amazing girl who actually liked him coming to visit. Soon enough, a car pulled up outside the house. Renée had insisted on getting a taxi from the airport, insisting she needed the time to pull herself together – but that didn’t mean Quinn couldn’t rush out of the house to greet her away from his family.

“Hey, you’re here,” he murmured, clutching her hands.

“I’m here,” she grinned.

Quinn wasted no time in kissing her, just a few short soft kisses that he needed, before pulling her tightly into a hug, Renée burying her face in his neck, the two of them keeping that embrace for a few seconds before pulling back with shaky smiles.

“Ready to meet my family?” he asked, picking up her suitcase.

“I think so?” she said.

Her tone of voice made him pause slightly, before he caught her gaze over his shoulder, and there pressed against the window were his brothers, gawking at them like lions at a zoo. Quinn just rolled his eyes, tangling his fingers with hers as they walked towards the house. He couldn’t apologise for Jack and Luke enough, he knew that much.

Meeting his parents went smoothly, his mom immediately pulling her into a firm hug while his dad just looked proud. Jack and Luke were a little more chaotic, but his mom (and thank god for her) broke up the intensity by letting them head upstairs to get Renée settled while she finished off putting lunch together, dragging his brothers out with her to set the table.

He’d cleared a little space for her in his drawers and wardrobe, allowing her to unpack fully with a shy pleased smile, and Renée didn’t take long putting everything away, Quinn watching her from his bed with a soft smile.

She was really here.

She was in his room, she’d met his family, she was staying for two weeks.

Renée was really here.

“So…”

She straddled his lap as she spoke, Quinn instinctively wrapping his arms around her waist as she placed her hands on his shoulders.

“So…” he repeated, teasing.

Renée laughed, kissing him slowly, sweetly, just enough tongue to send his head swirling as she pulled away.

“Remember how one of the conditions of my parents paying for me to go to France for three months was that I would work for my dad’s company when I got back?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh, yeah, I remember. What about it?” he asked, still a little stunned from the kiss.

“This is where I tell you that my dad has approved for me to run the social media accounts and minor marketing from a remote location,” she said, a little hesitant.

From a remote location.

Quinn inhaled sharply, lips parting slightly. “Does that mean…” he trailed off, eyes wide.

They’d talked about it, what the long distance between Vancouver and Montreal would mean, how difficult it would be. What possibilities they had. What the future could be.

Renée bit her bottom lip before nodding. “It means I can move to Vancouver with you. It means that my dad really likes you, and trusts that I can build a life with you while still doing my job. You know, if you still want me around.”

She would be coming to Vancouver with him. This was more than he could have hoped for after he’d met her, let alone after how last season ended. Was he dreaming? He didn’t think he was dreaming.

“Of course I do, are you kidding me? This is amazing!” Quinn grinned.

Renée laughed in delight as he pressed kisses all over her face, still giggling as he kissed her full on the lips, easily melting into the kiss as he slid a hand deep into her blonde curls, holding her tight to him. But then she broke away, resting her forehead against his for a breath or two before lifting her head to look into his eyes.

“You don’t think it’s too soon? We’ve only known each other twelve weeks! And we’ve only had two of those in each other’s company!” she said, hesitant.

No, he couldn’t have her hesitant. That was the last thing he wanted.

“My mom always says when you know, you know. And I know with you, Renée. Yeah, maybe it’s a little crazy, but it’s a good crazy? I don’t want to waste my life regretting something that has the potential to be amazing, just because it's not conventional,” he said seriously, smiling softly before that smile shifted to a frown, “You’re not having second thoughts, right?”

A lump rose in his throat at the passion in his own words, tears springing to his eyes as she shook her head.

“No second thoughts here at all. I just wanted to make sure – I had to say it. Because I know other people will be thinking it, even if they don’t say it too,” Renée said simply, smiling sadly at him.

“Fuck what anyone else thinks. You make me want to be brave, Renée, and I can’t wait to see where the future takes us,” Quinn said firmly, “Bring on the crazy and bring on these next two weeks.”

She just laughed, nodding again as a couple of tears escaped her eyes. Quinn’s smile softened as he wiped his thumb across a stray tear, before he leaned in to kiss her again. This was everything, right here. The girl of his dreams and the future he’d always hoped for.

“Hey lovebirds, sorry to break up the reunion, but mom wants to feed your girlfriend, Q.”

Quinn groaned as he pulled away, thunking his head on her collarbone.

“Thank you Luke, we’ll be down in just a moment,” Renée called out, laughing.

“Don’t let Quinn keep you locked away – Jack’s up next and he has a water pistol ready to go.”

Renée just laughed harder as Quinn’s face shifted in a light scowl.

“Bye Luke!” he said firmly, listening to his little brother laugh with annoyance, waiting until he heard footsteps to look back at Renée. “Little brothers are the worst.”

“I don’t know, seems like they love you a lot,” she grinned.

His heart melted a little at her sweet words. Not a lot of people understood the dynamics between him and his brothers, how intense they were, how close they were, but just the fact that Renée accepted their crazy without question?

Well, it said a lot about how well she was going to fit into his family, maybe even forever. But that was something for the future. Baby steps first.

“Ready to head down for lunch?” he asked, helping her to her feet.

“I’m ready.”

~~~

Tagging a few people who might be interested in reading: @wyattjohnston @matthewtkachuk @senditcolton @fallinallincurls @cellythefloshie @sorryjustafangirl @jostyriggslover96 @typical-simplelove @ghostyjosty

[lettersfromaphrodite]

[3.21]

― pairing : Chris x fem! reader ― content warnings : wolf au, Chris is a wolf, reader is a witch, soulmates, thigh riding, wall sex, medieval settings as always, unprotected sex (wrap it up y’all), fantasy au ― word count : 3.541 ― notes : want this fic to make sense? read this as the last one of this series!

― notes : this fic looks familiar?it is! I’m reposting ALL my works on this brand new blog and therefore please, bear with me! as always, askbox is always open and feedbacks are always welcome 💌

🐺🔮 WOLVES! STRAY KIDS SERIES

Chris part one | part two // Changbin // Jisung // Hyunjin // Seungmin // Minho part one | part two // Felix // Jeongin

The full moon shone bright in the starry sky, meaning that the wolves were on a hunt and the witches could meditate together, strengthening their bonds. It was a pleasant casualty how eight witches managed to go from absolute strangers to not only sisters, but also the protectors of the forest and the nearby village.

As the night breeze softly dishevelled your hair, you sat next to your sisters under the moon, your eyes closed and your soul – strangely enough, incredibility uneasy. Although you were physically distant, mates could feel each other’s emotions and so, you knew that Chris could easily figure out if anything was wrong and vice versa. 

Even thought you spent the day constantly feeling worried, you didn’t want to alert anyone else about it; when Chris asked you why you were so troubled, you shook it off saying it was probably the full moon’s effect, and he believed you. Even thought the moon’s energy was flowing in your soul, you couldn’t help but feel distressed. 

In the silence of the night, Felix’s mate suddenly called your attention with a gentle tap on your shoulder, and you immediately turned your head to make contact with her worried gaze; to interrupt a meditation, something must have happened.

«The Black Spirit saw some trespassers,» she whispered, tilting her head to the right and mumbling something to the spirit who always watched over her, «he says they’re wolves, and they’re wanderers.»

With a sigh, you furrowed your brows, silently biting your tongue while lost in thoughts; now that the pack wasn’t around, you were in charge. Chris was the Alpha, and not only you were his mate, you were also the first witch to join their pack, thing which immediately gave you a position of power.

Luckily, you all got along among each other and so no one of the witches ever tried to challenge your authority, especially because both you and Chris accordingly acted as leaders only in case of important matters.

With a quick nod, you asked Changbin’s and Felix’s mate to come along with you. Changbin’s mate came from a small village of fighters, so she was not only a powerful witch but also a strong warrior; Felix’s mate, well, she was powerful and also had the extra help of the Black Spirit, which could definitely come in hand. Asking the other witches to keep their meditation and to watch over you, the three of you quickly walked to the edge of the woods; you felt Chris’ emotions change into sudden worry, meaning that he already understood that something was wrong, and you knew it was just a matter of time for him and the others to come back.

Basically, you had to buy them enough time, a thing which you definitely could have done.

«Walk past that birch, and we’ll be considered at war.» you said with a stern voice to the six boys about to walk in your territories. They were young, tall and the scowl on their faces was threatening, as they kept looking at you as if you were nothing.

«If I’m not mistaken, your mates are not around,» one of them scoffed, crossing his arms in front of his chest with an amused grin, «I don’t see the problem.» as he was about to step past the birch, you let out a short unamused chuckle, lifting your left hand in mid-air: immediately, the boy stopped in his tracks as your eyes flashed golden. Chris has marked you a couple of weeks since you’ve met each other, and therefore, you were aware that the wolf already knew you were the Alpha’s mate, and the fact that he deliberately choose to ignore it, both worried you and irritated you at the same time.

«Is my authority not enough?» you challenged, raising an eyebrow; as the boy’s friends were about to pounce, your sisters mimicked your spell, and in an instant, the wanderers were totally unable to move.

«What can a witch do to a wolf?» he spat and you chuckled, instinctively tightening your hand in a silent spell just to make them feel a little more pain.

«I don’t know, you don’t seem to have the upper hand right now.» you shrugged quietly, and the ruffling of leaves on your left signalled you that your mates had finally came to your rescue. Chris’ bright red eyes were fixed on the wanderers as his wolf form was slowly making his way towards them while emitting a low and menacing growl; three black wolves quickly emerged from the bushes, and you immediately recognized them as Changbin, Minho and Hyunjin, the strongest among the pack and slowly, the others gradually emerged from the woods as well in their majestic wolf forms, confronting and outnumbering the still immobile trespassers.

«You can solve your matters with my mate, if you prefer.» you added, nodding towards Chris’, which was now protectively in front of you and more than ready to jump at the boy’s throat if he ever tried anything which he didn’t like.

Feeling safer, you and your sisters released your spell at the same time, your eyes turning in their natural colours; the wanderers could move again, but they wisely settled for walking away without any other word.

“That was surprisingly quick,” you thought, secretly glad that the matter had been solved without anyone getting hurt; you were all under the influence of the full moon, meaning that the witches were stronger but the wolves could easily lose control, thing which was definitely too dangerous. No one would have wanted to risk hurting their mate.

Before you could look back to the witches and tell them they did well, Chris’ head nudged your arm, and you immediately scratched his grey fur with a soft smile; you knew what he wanted to say, and you lowered yourself just enough to place a kiss next to his ear.

Thank you for coming to our rescue,» you gently told him, «you can go back.» Chris’ wolf form was both intimidating and majestic; even if you already saw it a countless times, you always found his soft grey fur and high red eyes mesmerising.

Eventually, the wolves went back on their hunt, and the witches went back to their meditating activities.

«Chris, wake up,» you sighed, squirming under the boy sprawled almost completely over you, «I bet breakfast is ready.»

Chris groaned unintelligible sentences which sounded like «Five more minutes.» before eventually lifting his head enough to quickly kiss your cheek in a good morning kiss and rolling on the other side of the bed with a movement way too slow and uncoordinated for him to be already awake; you chuckled to yourself at his cuteness, rubbing your eyes in the attempt to get rid of the desire of wanting to sleep a little more as well.

«You might want to hurry up, unless you want Seungmin and Hyunjin to eat your share of food as well.» you reached out to kiss his shoulder, and got up; you quickly washed up and headed towards Felix’s house.

A pack living in terraced cottages inevitably meant that the living room in each house was big enough to host everyone; Felix and his mate were surprisingly good at cooking and so, it had become a habit – more like a tradition, to cook and eat together at their house.

«I can’t believe it!» Jeongin’s mate shouted in disbelief, and you looked at her curiously as you joined the others for breakfast, taking a sit next to Changbin’s mate.

«You had to see her! “Is my authority not enough?”» Hyunjin said, trying to impersonate you as best as he could, «We could hear her all the way through the woods and I was like, “Yeah, go big sis, fuck them up!”» he said over excitedly before loosely wrap his arm around his mate’s shoulders, and you blushed in reflex, hiding your face into your hands in embarrassment.

«You did more than great.» Chris’ voice came in an unexpected whisper, right after a soft kiss has been placed on the top of your head. He sat next to you and yawned briefly while rubbing his eyes, before staring into an indefinite spot on the wooden table; you chuckled,  waving a hand in front of his face, wondering how did he managed to be so cute even when he had barely woken up.

«-cottage on the river.» you heard Seungmin say, and you realized that you forgot to pay attention to him because you were completely engrossed by your mate’s beauty.

«Come again?» you innocently raised your eyebrows in confusion, ignoring the fact that Jisung and Changbin were laughing at you because they knew how smitten you and Chris were for each other.

Actually, truth was that your days were a constant teasing each other because mates shared a really deep and emotional bond, therefore it wasn’t rare for a couple to be completely engrossed by each other’s presence; let’s just say that you and Chris were the ones which gave it away the most.

«I said, you both look tired, you could go on a mini-vacation and stay at our cottage on the river.» Seungmin gently repeated himself, and you quickly shook your head.

«And leave you without supervision?» Chris joked, «Thanks, but someone has to watch over a group of hyperactive toddlers.»

«Some of us are older than you!» Minho’s mate immediately joked along, and Chris winked at her before mouthing “small babies”.

«At least, you don’t think the same, right?» Jeongin questioned you, and you took a sharp intake of breath before searching for Chris’ gaze, which was already looking at you with a smug and amused expression, quietly munching on his breakfast.

«Well…» you hesitated, silently confirming Chris’ words. The thing was, you occasionally talked about it; Chris was the Alpha and you were his mate, therefore, even if the both of you loved them all to the moon and back and considered them as your equals, you couldn’t help to feel somehow responsible for them and their safety.

«Well, mom and dad, pack your things, you have the weekend off.» Felix said, pointing the butter knife to you in a useless attempt to look threatening, making you erupt in quiet laughters instead.

The first time you’ve been to said cottage was when you first moved in with the pack, two years ago; that day will probably be engraved in your memory forever, since you and Chris made love for the first time and he officially marked you at his mate. Since then, the other witches started to join the pack, and you were both too happy and too occupied with making them feel welcome that nor you nor Chris ever thought about going back.

The cottage was almost identical to your houses; a simple, cosy wooden house stood next to the river, far enough from the woods, signalling the end of the pack’s territories.

Relaxing under the sun, you sat with your eyes closed and your head tilted back, balancing your weight on your hands, when a sudden sound of quick steps on the grass made you turn around; before you managed to, however, Chris was already sitting behind you, effortlessly pulling you between his legs and hugging your waist, so that you were pressed flush against his chest.

«I must admit, this was surprisingly a good idea.» you admitted, relaxing against his chest; could feel the smile in Chris’ lips as he brushed your hair over your shoulder, baring the side of your neck so that he could leave a trail of soft and gentle kisses as you were talking.

«I can’t wait to have you all for myself.» now as then, Chris’ voice was more than enough to send shivers down your spine, making it look as if you just recently got together, instead of being one of the most consolidated couples among the pack.

«It’s not like the walls at home aren’t soundproof.» you joked, but before you could actually finish the sentence, Chris had already turned your head with a gentle movement, capturing your lips with his.

The kiss was slow and sensual, full of unspoken promises about what would have happened later, Chris’ hold tightened around your waist anytime you tried to turn around, and you eventually resigned yourself to snake your hand in his soft brown hair. However, much to your dismay, the kiss didn’t last long enough; Chris parted from you with a soft sigh, smiling at your attempt to chase his lips in order to deepen the kiss once again.

«Patience, love.» he chanted, resting his chin on your shoulder before gently rocking your body sideways together; both of you sat there in silence, occasionally sharing kisses before eventually, Chris got up and took off his shirt.

«W-what?» you questioned, dumbfounded, as your eyes travelled on his pale and toned chest, the scar on his stomach was a constant reminder about the day you found him.

«I’m going to hunt,» he chuckled, «Unless you want me to eat you for dinner.» with a wink, he finished undressing, before turning into a wolf in front of your eyes; you briefly covered your ears, the loud noise of bone cracking while he changed still sounded way too painful to you, even if him and the others had told you more than once that they felt nothing.

Chris licked your chin in a silent way to say “see you later”, before disappearing into the woods.  

«Shouldn’t we clean up?» you somehow managed to mumble, clearly not believing in your own words, as Chris backed you against the wooden door of the bedroom, his thigh pressed between yours and your lips roughly moving together; your hands quickly slid from his hips to under his shirt in order to wander on his chest.

«I’m sure it can wait.» Chris simply mumbled back, not bothering to detach from your lips as his hands quickly loosened the front leather laces of your corset, easily getting rid of it; he pressed his thigh flush against your core and you whimpered against his lips, quickly unfastening his trousers.

It was a blur, honestly, how you went from hopelessly tug at each other’s clothes in order to get rid of them while being both driven by lust, to Chris guiding the pace of your hips against his left thigh. Something you had figured out, was that anytime he made you ride him or his thigh, Chris enjoyed keeping your movement slow, occasionally letting you in control, because he loved too see you slowly coming undone; if you were to ask him, it was a sight he’ll never get used to.

Chris’ lips were on your neck, on your collarbones, anywhere they could reach without moving too much; your head was thrown back in bliss, symphonies of needy cries escaping your lips while you occasionally arched your back from the cold wooden door. It didn’t help that you could feel his hard length constantly brushing against your thigh, teasing you ever so slightly; the fact that he kept tensing up his muscle every now and then didn’t help you at all, on the contrary, such small and unexpected actions against your core were making you reach your orgasm quicker than you were willing to admit.

Carefully keeping eye contact with you through hooded eyes – which were now completely red, Chris lowered just enough to capture your right nipple between his teeth, slightly nibbling around it; immediately, you roughly tug at his hair, making him moan in surprise.

«Touch me, Chris,» you whined,  «… I’m so close.» you added as if he didn’t know already; Chris could feel your motions growing weak, so he lifted his leg up to meet your core.

«What if I won’t?» he teased you, his lips back against yours and both his hands blocking your own against the wall, in case you felt brave enough to reach out and try to touch yourself. Judging by your whines and pleads, Chriscould tell you just needed a little more and you’d be there; you managed to intertwine your fingers with his his as you sighed heavily, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

Encouraged by the feeling of your orgasm deliciously burning into your abdomen and ready to spread into your body, your hips rocked back and forth on his thigh faster as you reached your peak, closing your thighs impossibly tight around his as you reached your orgasm with a broken moan.

«Fuck me,» you pleaded with your breath still uneven, ignoring the fact that you were still repeatedly clenching around nothing and coming down from your orgasm; Chris’ body was pressed flush against you, and you were about to go insane with the need of feeling him inside you.

«Shouldn’t we clean up?» Chris mumbled with a smug smile, quoting your own words in order to tease you, as he effortlessly picked you up and pressed you against the stone wall next to the door.

«You’ll clean me up later.» you mumbled, too far gone to understand that he was provoking you, before connecting your lips together. Chris aligned his length at your entrance, tip rubbing up and down your slit, wetting it with your juices before eventually bottoming out inside you with a slow and constant movement. Chrisclosed his eyes, enjoying the small whimpers that left your lips while you tugged at his hair, making his hips instinctively push a little harsher against yours. The feeling of being stretched and at the same time filled up was everything you needed, making your eyes roll up while your mouth slightly opened in a silent moan.

Despite Chris was strong enough to effortlessly keep you up without getting tired, gravity was inevitably giving you the sensation of falling, and therefore, not only you could feel him even deeper, but you could feel him twitch inside you in a total different way than when you were having sex on your bed.

With your hands anchored one on his shoulder and one in his hair and Chris’s hands being under your thighs, he started to move in a slow and teasing pace, his only goal to drive you insane with the luscious strokes of his length; he peppered your neck with soft bites and lingering kisses, knowing that you were about to give up.

«Faster, Chris, please.» you pleaded against his lips with a weak and broken whine; Chris hummed with a smug smile, his bright red eyes burning into yours as he pressed you flush between the wall and his body as he pressed one elbow against the wall, supporting your thigh with his left hand.

Chris happily complied to your request since, to be honest, he was anticipating for this moment since he had backed you up against the bedroom door earlier, and therefore he picked up the pace, drastically; his length was going deeper and deeper, tip deliciously hitting your sweet spot until you were a whimpering and trembling mess, begging for release.

«Touch yourself,love.» was Chris’ only answer to your pleads, slowing down his pace and detaching his chest from yours just enough for your trembling hand to reach down and press against your clit, before he resumed his previous actions, your hand trapped between your bodies and occasionally brushing against his soaked hard length as you were quickly rubbing circles on your clit.

«Come with me.» Chris’ raspy moans gradually increased as you started clenching around him more frequently, his teeth nibbling at the mating bite mark that he had left on your neck long ago. Needless to say, Chris’ voice was more than enough for you to reach your climax, and your orgasm suddenly washed over you, making you clench around his throbbing length and triggering his orgasm as well; Chris came exhaling something in between a husky groan and a shaky breath, his eyes gradually turning back from bright red to dark brown.

Chris gently slid out of you before placing your back on the ground, his hands gently brushing your hair from your face as you leaned into his touch; with a tired smile you reached out to rub your noses together, before mumbling a quiet «I love you,» which he immediately returned with a content smile framed by his adorable dimples.

Eventually, after you managed to clean up both yourselves and the dishes, you settled for cuddling on the bed, playing with each other fingertips before eventually, Chris decided to smoothly intertwine them together with a simple movement.

«I was thinking,» you mumbled, encouraged to go on by Chris’ soft yet sleepy hum, «As much as I miss the others, I wouldn’t mind stay here another day.»

«Well, love,» Chris mumbled, running his fingers through your hair as he briefly played with your fingertips before finishing his sentence,

«I’d say that we can stay here until we realize that the kids managed to burn down half of the woods.» he joked, making you giggle; you nodded against his chest, and the two of you gradually fell asleep with content smiles, cuddling in each other’s embrace.

all works © lettersfromaphrodite

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

↳ BACK TO NAVIGATION 💫 ↳ BACK TO MASTERLIST 🔮

[sunkissedscribbles]

Prejudiced - Chapter Eight

this is only a part of the series, the previous and next chapters can be found here 

a/n: this one is a little more *extreme* and rather experimental for cass but i had so much fun writing it, i hope y'all enjoy!!

word count: 2347

tw: wlw, drugs & alcohol use, cassie being oblivious, ki's daddy issues (this is gonna be a permanent warning i guess)

summary: though starting off a little more serious with ki & cass' conversation, it gets more lighthearted the moment the boys enter the picture

<previous chapter          next chapter>

dividers by @chachachannah

I'm sitting on Ki's bed, my back sunk into her pillows behind me as I anxiously fidget with the strings of my plaid trousers as we're discussing the events of the previous hour when Harry's name flew out of the red flames of the goblet.

"I don't know, Cass," she sighs, shaking her head at me. "It doesn't sit right with me either."

"It's always him," I drop my head onto the pillows. "This is a bad omen."

"He is a bad omen," she rolls her eyes sarcastically and I shoot her a glare. "You think it has Voldemort behind it?" Kiara lowers her voice and I nod slowly but surely.

"Yeah, I mean... I kinda heard him talking to Ron and Hermione about him having nightmares. And now with his name..."

"But what if he put it into the Goblet?" Ki asks, somewhat hopeful that there's no dark force behind it, to which I shake my head.

"He couldn't possibly do it–"

"I know, I know, the age shit. But Granger must know some potions or charms to confuse the circle," to that, I shake my head.

"She said it to the twins herself. There's no way. Plus why would she or Harry want to risk his life? Cedric, Fleur and Krum are all of age, Harry's inexperienced and his knowledge isn't as wide and deep as theirs."

We both stay silent for a few seconds, just digesting what's been said just now.

Kiara's the one to break the quiescence, "I've heard Karkaroff was a Death Eater. What if he put Harry's name into it?" I frown at the suggestion. It would make sense.

"Do you think he was there? At the World Cup?" I ask in a reserved tone.

"He could've," she nods as she rolls onto his left to face me comfortably. "We didn't talk about it enough, did we?"

I shake my head. "I don't know. It's not really our–"

"But it affected you," she insists and reaches out for my hand to squeeze it. "It affected you more than me because–"

"Because dad and 'cuz my whole family consists of Death Eaters?" I cut in with a roll of my eyes – we're on topic again...

"No. I mean, partly," she shakes her head, to which I frown. Just partly? "Cass," she continues with a sigh, "because of your cousin. And mostly because of Mattheo."

I'm taken aback by her words, not quite understanding why she brings them up now.

"How do they come here?" I shake my head.

"C'mon, don't pretend like you don't know..."

She's somewhat right. Even if Draco and I don't act like family anymore, I still care about him. And knowing my uncle, Lucius will force Draco into whatever that's going on. It doesn't sit right with me how collected Draco was at the World Cup back in August when the Death Eaters arose from nowhere. I bet his father was amongst them – why else would he have been so at ease while it happened? He knew. And the ministry's trying to cover for it so desperately like it was nothing. Something is off, I just can't explain it properly. So, yes, I do care about my cousin and don't want him to make the same mistakes our fathers did.

And Mattheo... he hasn't had a good night's sleep in months, he's my friend, one of my best mates and I'm worried about him. Merlin, I can already imagine the hate he'd get if the whole Voldemort misery started again. People would accuse him of helping his father, and not only at Hogwarts but in the entire Wizarding World. His and Harry's nightmares are a concerning sign.

"Cass?" Ki's worried-curious voice shakes me out of my thoughts. "What is it?"

I shake my head – I promised Mattheo not to tell the others about his nightmares and sleeping problems. But at the same time...

"I shouldn't really tell you about this, but..." I start in a voice which piques Ki's attention immediately. "Remember when Matt and I borrowed Harry's cloak...?"

"How could I forget?" she grins, which gives away she's thinking about those two kisses Matt and I shared that day, and I just roll my eyes at her.

"You can't tell anyone about this, especially not Theo but..."

So, I tell Ki how Matt came over the night before I had to temporarily steal Harry's invisibility cloak, but obviously, forget about the part where he pinned me to my bed after I'd woken him up and wanted to kiss him for the first time. She reacts more casually than I did – she seems like she wants to tell me about something as well, but maybe I'm seeing things and it's not the case.

"Are you dressed? Hope not," Theo's voice follows a line of knocks on the door, aborting the conversation we had going on, then the door opens and Theo's grin fades into a mock-disappointed frown, accompanied by a sigh. "Why hide those gorgeous bodies from a bit of attention?"

Semi-uncomfortably, I fix the tank top I have on – now thinking it was a bad idea to wear as it embraces my upper body completely, trying to resist the urge to pull the blanket on me completely and show that I am insecure about my skin and body.

Ki in the meantime grins at Theodore but flips him off as well.

Mattheo and Enzo follow Theo, the latter with some brownies in his hand, from which I already don't expect much because A, it was made by the boys who definitely are stupid to the kitchen, and B, because of the weed the cookies contain.

We all settle down on the floor and Ki pulls a box full of beverages out from under her bed. Of course, why'd I expect anything else?

"Thoughts on Potter?" Enzo speaks up as he places the plastic box in the middle of the circle next to the bottles of firewhisky and wine.

We share a look with Ki, and then I glance at Mattheo, and I don't answer.

"Attention seeker, he's–" Theo starts with a shrug but Kiara cuts him off.

"Let's not bring this up now."

Gratefully, I look over at her before opening the bottle of wine. I didn't have a headache this morning after last night's session in the Astronomy Tower but to say the least, I don't remember much.

"At least it's not one of our names, hm?" I try to look and sound reassuring as I take a long sip from the bottle.

A bottle of wine consumed into the night and Ki lies down on the floor. "I wanna kiss him so bad," she practically whines in misery.

Theo towers over her with a grin, "I'm here, Piccolina," but only earns Ki to push him away, at which we all tilt our heads.

"Not you, cazzo," she grunts and I chuckle, Mattheo and Enzo too, Theo looks offended. I've spent enough time with Kiara to know 'cazzo' means the same term of endearment I prefer to call McLaggen, like 90% of the time: prick. "Seb," she clarifies.

"Who?" Theo furrows his brows a bit possessively. At first, I have no idea either. But then it hits me.

"Harper," Enzo and I mutter together, and Mattheo snorts a laugh.

"The Astronomy teacher?" Matt shakes his head in a mix of shock, disbelief, and some humour and Theo places a hand over his heart overdramatically.

"Ow, Cara Mia, you wound me."

"Little Miss Daddy Issues," Enzo teases and Ki just laughs at him in the haze of her tipsiness.

"You know," Theo objects, "if you were my little girl, I'd do whatever I could do. Anything for you."

I laugh and shake my head at the entertainment. Whenever Theo drinks, he becomes more insistent. More possessive, he wants Kiara all to himself, all the time. I'm starting to think he's more into her than she is into him.

Ki keeps insisting on wanting and needing Professor Harper, so I come up with an idea when Theo looks almost hurt.

"Let's list the pros and cons," I shrug as I reach for my black notebook in my bag and open it at an empty page. Ki doesn't question anything, the boys do, by only sharing an intrigued, almost sceptical look.

Ki takes the notebook and the pencil and starts scribbling unstoppably.

daddy

tattoos

brown eyes

smash

sweet

kind

helpful

single,

I see as Ki places the notebook down in the circle, open.

"Bet his dick is tiny," Theo scoffs jealously.

"Bet it's bigger than yours," Mattheo teases with a grin, to which he earns an offended middle finger flip into the air from Theo's direction.

"Kind and sweet?" I raise my brows.

"Your first interaction with him was five points deprived of Slytherin," Enzo adds as he nods at me. I didn't think he'd come tonight – he's been pretty busy lately.

"Yeah, and like... he's our teacher," I continue.

"But," Ki takes the notebook again before showing us her new point with a finger pointing at the words.

HE’S ONLY 32 

"He's 32," I repeat with a look of disbelief and a disapproving shake of my head.

"Reversed paedophilia," Mattheo snorts while Theo's trying to come up with new insults about Seb's size.

"Could be your dad," Enzo adds.

Ki scoffs and shakes her head, "But he's only twice my age!"

"YES. twice your age, princess, he could’ve knocked your mum up when he was 16 and you’d be here," Matt rolls his eyes, using the pet name sarcastically, and I shoot him a glare.

"Fuck you, that's literally my life story," I shove him mock-offendedly

A few new pros follow this conversation on the paper.

perfect conversations

sassy

his smirk

he’s hot when he licks his lips

"When did you see him lick his lips?" Enzo frowns.

"I had to go stalk him with her today," I mutter in amusement as a response.

"But I can look sexy licking my lips, too!" Theo shakes his head.

cute smile

intense eye contact

tension between us

his lips seem soft

"Don't like his shoes," Matt rolls his eyes and with a nod, I agree. Professor Harper has these shiny, really elegant shoes which muggles wear to formal events.

"Don't like him," Theo adds gruffly, leaning back against Kiara's bed.

Feeling like my body needs a refill from the wine, I take another drag from the bottle, and then, after some convincing from Mattheo and Enzo, I try the brownies.

Theo at this point kind of gives in with resignation in his voice as he says, "At least he can give you House Points..." to which Kiara grins and with a nod writes it down. Then, she moves her hand to the top of the paper and writes only one word on top of the list in all caps:

HANDS

I frown – I've never really understood the thing with hands, so I shake my head. "What about hands?"

"WHAT ABOUT THEM?" she asks offendedly. "He has big, veiny hands that would make a great necklace."

I roll my eyes and scoff playfully, the brownies hitting already. "I have veiny piano hands and you don't look like you'd die to sit on my fingers."

"Why, you want me to?" she grins lightheartedly, almost flirtatiously.

I smirk back at her, not expecting more than the usual banter, "Please."

To that, Ki leans in whimsically, and I, playing along, start to close the gap between us as well until our lips meet in the middle, to my biggest surprise. I've never kissed Ki, let alone any girl but why does it feel kinda nice? Ki grabs my neck and pulls me in by gripping a handful of hair on the back of my neck, and I bite her bottom lip in response. Her sudden little moan at the sensation of my teeth sinking into the pink flesh takes me by surprise, and I grin against her lips. I feel the alcohol pumping in my veins and mixing with a sudden rush of adrenaline as I forget about the outer world, about kissing my best friend so eagerly while our other friends are probably staring at the escalating heated scenes. We end up kneeling up as we melt more against each other, and running my fingers through the silky locks of her hair, she shudders and lets out another involuntarily groan. I'm a little taken aback when she grabs my hips and pulls me closer, and how her hand then starts to travel up my body under my crop top, tugging the fabric up and revealing inches of skin. As we continue kissing each other frantically and hungrily, I can't help but tug her closer to me by hooking a finger into the waistband of her PJ pants, desperate to take control of the situation. But it's only a vain dream as she breaks the kiss to yank my head backwards to give herself better access to my neck, and she starts to nibble at the skin and leave a spot that for sure will be visible tomorrow. With foggy eyes, I look at Kiara the moment she pulls back and grins at me when she sees her dedicated work.

"My hickey looks good on you."

I smirk back at her, completely out of my head because of the effects of the weed and the alcohol, "Want one too?"

"Sure," the grin is impossible to be erased from her lips as she nods.

So, without any hesitation, I tug the neck of her shirt to the side to get to her collarbone and start sucking at the soft flesh over the stiff bones. This is how I receive her first hickey and she does mine.

Ki's technically stolen from me as Theo pouts, "My turn!" and he pulls my best friend closer to himself while trying to kiss her senseless to make her forget about the previous moments she shared with me possessively.

I turn back to Mattheo and Enzo in a dazed state and see them share a look. "Why was that kinda hot?" Matt asks.

tag list: @inksoakedparchment @mqstermindswift @reys-letters @girllblogging777

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#355

“Hey Wilson.  Get over here….  I hear you are a faggot cocksucker.  Are you?...  Don’t bother answering.  I heard from Rebecca that her husband, Deputy Akers, questioned you at the rest stop on the highway.  When she told me that, I was going to talk to my father to get you fired.  We don’t need your kind around here.  I was telling Frank and Burt that I was going to do it, and you know they both told me not to.  Frank said he would quit if I did that.  It seems that you’ve been gobbing their knobs for some time….

“Frank and I go back a long time, to our days in the Corps.  We used to go through whores together, hundreds of them.  When he said you suck better than all of them, I thought no way.  Burt totally agreed.  Frank told me I should give your mouth a try, that your mouth knows how to take care of a big dick.  But unlike the bitches we used back in the days, you can take a good skull fuck.

“That got me thinking.  If my best bud from the Corps and my six-foot six foreman—two of the manliest men I know—can let a faggot swing on their dicks, when they can get any woman they want, you must be that good.  You better be that good. 

“I made sure everyone has left for the day.  It’s just you and me.  If you mention this to anyone, even Frank and Burt, I will personally shove my fist so far into your face that you will have to reach behind your head to pick your nose.  That’s not just a promise, that’s a fucking threat.  Now get on your knees.

“The fuck?... You want another bitch slap?  Then don’t fucking look up at me….  Did you just say, ‘Sorry Sir?’  That’s right you know who’s fucking in charge.  It’s big isn’t it?  It gets thicker at the base.  I know you fags like to know size, that’s eight and a half inches of grade A beef. 

“To the root faggot.  To the fucking root.  Oh fuck.  Oh man.  Damn boy, Burt and Frank were right, you know how to take a cock.  But this isn’t about you bobbin’ my knob.  I’m in control of this fucking blow job.  That’s it, gag on it faggot.  Your throat pussy is sliming up my dick real good…. 

“No, this is no pussy; this is a cunt.  Cunts are meant to be used and tossed aside.  Treat them like shit.  Make them feel that they are nothing.  They are nothing.  You know what?  You are worse than that.  Pull off.  What do you have to say about that, faggot?

“…Jesus fuck.  You want to be treated like a piece of shit?...  Do Frank and Burt treat you like that?...  They do?  And faggot, you were addressing me as ‘Sir’ at the end of each sentence a few moments ago.  I want that to continue. 

“What does Frank do to you to treat you like shit?...  Smacks you around?  Across the face like this?...  Oh yeah.  I like doing that.  Very few bitches know how to take a hand slap and know that it is a man’s right to assert his dominance….  The best part of cunt slapping you is that I don’t have to hold back my strength, and you thank me afterwards.  I’m beginning to get the appeal of you faggot.  What else does Frank do to you?  He probably does your ass….  I knew it….  He also shoves his fist in there?...  How the hell does that work?...  Nevermind.

“What about Burt?  What does he do to you?...  Oh that’s nasty.  You stick your tongue into his ass crack?  Why?...  What the fuck?  What if there’s skid marks?...  You really are disgusting.  You want to eat his ass like that?... And drink his piss?...  Of course you are a piss drinker. 

“In the corps, there were a couple of bitches that Frank and I would fuck before pissing all over them.  Do you drink his piss too?...  What do you mean you drink from ‘all of them’?  How many other guys on my payroll use you?...  Just one?  Who?...

“…No way!  My dad’s best friend Clay Richardson?  The man I have known since I was a boy?  That one?  Wow.  And what does he do to you?...  The entire weekend?...  And when you are not tied up in his basement?...  You are a party whore?  Fuck, I haven’t been to a guy’s night out with a party whore in years, and you do it every weekend?  What do you do there?...  Yup, that’s a party whore’s duty, but you are a faggot.  You probably do a lot more. 

“As disgusting as you are, and you are quite disgusting, my dick is rock hard and leaking.  I can see why Frank and Burt were so protective of you.  You going to Clay’s tonight?...  What time is he expecting you there?...  That’s forty-five minutes from now.  You show up like that?...  OK.  What if you are late?...  He’ll whip you?  Well, my cock stands between you arriving on time and you being whipped. 

“Get that mouth open.  I’m in control of this blowjob.  I don’t care if you gag, puke, or pass out; I’m not going to stop.  Breathe when you can. 

“Fuck yeah.  That face was made to be slammed into my crotch.  Your throat is better than any cunt, bitch, or whore I have been with.  The throat slime is so juicy.  Oh man, I will be using this quite frequently.  It’s not going to be long.  Faggot.  Oh fuck.  I’m going to be fucking brutal to you.  So brutal, that you are going to want to quit.  But I ain’t going to let you quit.  The guys won’t let you quit.  You belong here to be on your faggot knees.  I’m going to enjoy smacking you around.

“I’m getting close.  You ready?  Don’t give a shit if you ain’t.  Here it comes.  Here it comes.  Faggot!  Here it cuuuuuummmmms!  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  Goddamned!... Whew!  I will be using that throat going forward.

“No. No. Don’t pull off.  I need to piss….  Ahhhh!  That feels so good.  So fuckin’ natural.

“Fag, fag, fag.  You really need to get going if you are not going to be late….  What are you doing?  Get back on your fucking knees.  I’m not done with you.  I want to know what it’s like to have a tongue inside my shithole.

“Of course that will make you late for Clay’s party.  In fact, I’m going to take you there directly from here.  And I am going to ensure you are late.  I want to watch him beat you.  I want to see you servicing Frank and Burt.  I’m fucking crashing that party.

Here’s my ass.  I trust you know what to do….  Oh fuck.  Oh Fuck.  Goddamned.  Man alive!  I’m going to set my watch timer.  You have thirty minutes back there.  I expect your tongue to be active all that time.”