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yoursinisforgiven · 3 days ago

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GOOD GRACES ──

pairing: isaac x reader (pickel)

cw: mentions of murder, mentions of blood, non–canon aspects (ivan’s last name, and the name of his acquaintance), asriel & pet appearance, reader gets flirted with(?). episode 7 & 8 of isaac’s series doesn’t have relevance in this fic.

you are responsible for your own media consumption

Nothing was making sense.

It had been about a week since Christmas, and Isaac's gift to you—a sleek leather notebook with embossed initials—had already been filled with notes from your latest case. You hadn’t expected to dive in so deeply so soon, but the week had passed in a blur. The case itself seemed simple on the surface: one arrogant rich man owed another arrogant rich man money. The problem? The money hadn't been paid, and nearly eight months had passed since the deadline.

You leaned back in your chair, pressing the heels of your palms against your temples as if that might clear the fog in your brain. Why wasn’t this adding up? Every lead seemed to dissolve into nothingness, leaving only more questions behind.

The desk lamp cast a dim glow over your scattered notes, and you glanced at the name scribbled across the top of the page: Oliver. That was the client. You frowned, flipping through the notebook to a previous page where another name stood out: Ivan. The two men had been acquaintances—close enough for Oliver to lend Ivan a substantial amount of money. It wasn’t just a verbal agreement, either. Oliver had insisted on a formal contract, a safeguard for the sizeable loan.

You exhaled sharply and skimmed through your notes again. Ivan had started paying the loan back promptly after receiving it. Bank records showed three substantial payments made to Oliver over the span of three months—payments that covered about 70% of the debt. And then… nothing. No payments. No contact. Just silence.

You tapped the side of your pen against the notebook and stared at the next document in the stack: Ivan's bank statements. Something didn’t sit right. His accounts were practically drained after those payments, but there was an unusual expense that caught your eye—a sudden trip to Tanzania. You squinted at the details, double-checking the timeline. Why would Ivan, who clearly didn’t have the means to pay off his debt in one lump sum, suddenly spend money on an expensive international trip? The timing was suspicious at best.

The more you thought about it, the stranger it seemed. Ivan had been diligent in making payments. If he intended to disappear, why bother paying 70% of the loan back at all? It would have been easier to cut and run after the first payment—or to never pay anything at all.

You jotted down the growing list of questions in your notebook:

- Why did Ivan stop paying after covering most of the debt?

- What was so urgent or important about the trip to Tanzania?

- Was there something—or someone—waiting for him there?

The weight of the case settled heavily on your shoulders. There was something more to this than a simple unpaid loan. Ivan’s actions didn’t align with someone trying to evade their debts. Something—or someone—was interfering.

You set the pen down and leaned back in your chair, staring at the ceiling. If this was going to make sense, you’d need to dig deeper. Tanzania might hold the answers—or at least the next clue in the puzzle.

──

“Can we go to Tanzania?”

Isaac didn’t look up from the stack of papers on his desk. Instead, he let out a low chuckle, his amusement barely veiled.

You pouted, moving further into his study and dropping into the chair directly in front of him. Leaning forward, you rested your elbows on the desk and tried again.

“Isaac, I’m serious!”

“I’m sure you are,” he said without looking up, his tone light and teasing. “But what business, pray tell, do you have in Tanzania?”

You groaned dramatically, throwing your head back in frustration before sitting up straight. “It’s about my case!”

That got his attention. He set down his pen, finally meeting your gaze with a raised brow. “Go on, then. Explain.”

You leaned closer, your voice hurried and insistent. “This man—Ivan. He borrowed a huge amount of money from my client, Oliver. He paid most of it back, seventy percent to be exact, but then he just… stopped. No contact, no explanation. Instead, he vanishes and takes a sudden trip to Tanzania.”

Isaac tilted his head slightly, an unreadable expression on his face. “And?”

“And,” you said, exhaling sharply, “that’s the last anyone’s heard from him. He hasn’t paid the rest of the debt, hasn’t contacted Oliver, and now I can’t figure out why he’d suddenly drop everything to go there. It doesn’t make sense.”

Isaac took a slow sip from his glass of whisky, the amber liquid catching the light. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm and matter-of-fact.

“He’s dead.”

The words hit you like a freight train. For a moment, you just stared at him, your mind racing to make sense of what you’d just heard.

“What?” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Isaac swirled the whisky in his glass, his gaze steady but distant. “Ivan. He’s dead. Asriel attempted to cover it up, but clearly, he didn’t do a very good job.”

“Asriel?” you echoed, your brows furrowing deeply. “Who the hell is Asriel, and what does he have to do with this?”

Isaac leaned back in his chair, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Asriel is a name you’ll want to remember. He’s not the type of man you want involved in something like this. If Ivan’s death is connected to him, you can bet it wasn’t an accident. He’s a colleague of mine.”

Your stomach churned as the implications settled over you. “So, you’re saying someone killed Ivan? And it wasn’t just some random tragedy in Tanzania?”

Isaac raised a brow, as if the answer were obvious. “Precisely. Tanzania wasn’t a coincidence. Someone orchestrated this, and Asriel’s involvement suggests it’s much bigger than unpaid debts.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine. The case had gone from puzzling to dangerous in the span of a single conversation.

──

Asriel had killed Ivan.

That was the conclusion you’d drawn after hours of pacing in the kitchen, replaying Isaac’s cryptic words over and over in your head. Isaac had left the house for a "business meeting," his tone deliberately casual, but you couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in your stomach. Would he really confront Asriel—or worse, collaborate with him? The idea that Isaac could be protecting a murderer gnawed at you like a persistent itch you couldn’t scratch.

Your pacing came to an abrupt halt. If Asriel was truly a colleague, wouldn’t Isaac have access to the case files? And if those files existed, they might hold the key to unraveling this entire mess.

The thought ignited a spark of determination. Without hesitation, you raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and headed straight for Isaac’s study. The faint scent of whisky and leather still lingered in the room, and the soft ticking of a clock seemed louder in the silence.

Your eyes darted to the large mahogany filing cabinet tucked neatly in the corner. You hesitated for a moment, glancing at the door to make sure you were alone. Then, with a deep breath, you crouched in front of the cabinet and began pulling open drawers, fingers flipping through the neatly organized files.

“Ivan, Ivan, Ivan,” you muttered under your breath as your fingers flew across the labels. “Come on, where are you?”

Then you found it—a thin folder marked ‘Ivan Volkov’ in Isaac’s clean, precise handwriting. Your heart skipped a beat. You pulled it out and laid it on the desk, your hands trembling slightly as you flipped it open.

A dossier on a woman named Rhene, complete with a photograph.The photo showed a woman with sharp features, her eyes calculating and intense. The accompanying notes were concise, detailing her connection to Ivan. It seemed Rhene had accompanied him on his trip to Tanzania, though her role remained ambiguous.

A sealed folder labeled "Crime Scene."The label alone made your stomach tighten.

A DNA analysis report.The samples listed weren’t Ivan’s or Rhene’s. Instead, the report highlighted genetic anomalies, with unsettling notes referencing “non-human origins” and “predatory characteristics.”

You stared at the sealed folder, your breath catching in your throat. You knew you shouldn’t open it, but the pull of curiosity—and the need for answers—was stronger than your fear.

With trembling hands, you unfastened the clasp and opened the folder. The first photo hit you like a physical blow.

Mutilated. That was the only word that came to mind. Ivan and the woman, Rhene’s body—or what remained of it—was scattered in grotesque disarray. Limbs had been torn apart, some strewn across the room, others almost unrecognizable. The scene looked more like the work of an animal than anything human.

Your breathing quickened as your eyes darted over the images. Bite marks. They were everywhere, jagged impressions on what was left of Ivan’s torso, arms, and legs. It wasn’t just a random attack—it was targeted, deliberate.

You slammed the folder shut, stumbling backward as nausea clawed at your stomach. Your heart pounded, your vision blurred.

This wasn’t just a murder. It was a massacre.

If Asriel hadn't killed this man, Who—No, what had?

──

You had been sitting on the floor of Isaac’s study for exactly 24 minutes, nausea twisting your stomach into knots. The weight of what you’d seen refused to dissipate, the gruesome images replaying in your mind.

Suddenly, your work phone rang. The sharp sound startled you, making your blood run cold. You hesitated, glancing at the screen. Oliver.

For a brief moment, you debated ignoring it—dropping the case entirely and walking away from this madness. But you knew you couldn’t. Not yet.

Alast, you answer on the fifth ring.

“Hello.” You say, trying not to sound uptight. The line crackled faintly before Oliver’s sharp, impatient voice cut through.

"Finally," he snapped. "I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me."

You swallowed, gripping the phone tightly. "No, Oliver. I’ve been working on your case."

"Good" he said curtly.

"Oliver," you said sharply, unsure if you even wanted to mention the man. "Do you know Asriel?"

Oliver’s silence was immediate, tense.

"Answer me," you pressed.

There was a pause on the line, and when Oliver spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less tense. "Why are you asking about Asriel?"

"I need to speak with him."

Oliver let out a bitter laugh. "You think you can just speak with Asriel? People like him don’t take calls from nobodies like you."

"Then give me the number of someone who can get me to him," you pressed. "You hired me to solve this, didn’t you? Help me do my job."

Oliver grumbled something under his breath before responding. "Asriel doesn’t deal with most people directly. But I know someone—Vic. He’s Asriel’s right-hand man, and I know him well enough to get you a meeting."

"Vic?!" you said. You curse at yourself, regretting sounding so surprised. Your breath hitched at the mention of Vic, memories of the man rushing back to you. His smooth voice, the way he’d tried to “take you off Isaac’s hands” like you were a burden or a prize—either way, the thought made your skin crawl. "Send me Vic’s number. I’ll handle it from here."

"Fine," Oliver said begrudgingly. "But if this goes south, it’s on you. Don’t expect me to dig you out of any trouble with these people."

"Trust me," you muttered, "I wouldn’t expect you to."

Oliver hung up without another word, leaving you gripping the phone tightly, the tension in your chest refusing to ease. Not a minute after you get a text from Oilver, it was Vic’s number.

The sight of it made your stomach churn, but there was no turning back now.

With a deep breath, you dialed the number, your fingers shaking slightly.

The line barely rang twice before a smooth, lilting voice answered. "Well, well. This is unexpected. To who do I owe the pleasure?"

"Vic," you said, keeping your tone measured. "I need to talk to Asriel."

There was a pause, and then a low chuckle. He recognized your voice. "Straight to business, I see. No pleasantries? No ‘How have you been, Vic?’ I thought we had something special."

You clenched your jaw, resisting the urge to snap at him. "I don’t have time for games. Can you get me to Asriel or not?"

"Tsk, tsk," he said mockingly. "Always so serious. But lucky for you, I’m feeling generous today. Why don’t you tell me why you’re so eager to see him? Did Isaac finally let you off the leash?"

You ignored the jab, your voice cold. "It’s about Ivan Volkov. And if you care about keeping Asriel’s name out of this mess, you’ll help me."

Vic hummed thoughtfully, his voice dripping with amusement. "Ivan, huh? That’s a dangerous name to be throwing around. But you’re in luck. I happen to like danger."

"Vic," you said sharply, your patience wearing thin.

"Alright, alright," he said, his tone turning playful. "I’ll arrange something. But only because I find you endlessly fascinating. Just promise me one thing."

"What?"

"Try not to get yourself killed before the meeting. It’d be such a waste of potential."

The line went dead before you could respond. You stared at the phone, your heart pounding. Vic’s words echoed in your mind, sending a shiver down your spine.

──

Three weeks.

Three weeks of complete radio silence.

The days dragged on, heavy with uncertainty. You told yourself that Vic was playing some twisted game, dangling the promise of a meeting just out of reach. But the longer you waited, the more your mind spiraled.

Isaac had noticed your unease, though you tried to mask it. Every time he asked, you brushed him off with a strained smile. "It’s nothing," you’d say, "just the change of season."

But the lie did little to ease his concern—or yours.

Vic’s words replayed in your head like a broken record: “Try not to get yourself killed before the meeting.”

Was it a warning? A threat? Were you being watched, stalked? Did Vic want you dead? You didn’t know, and the uncertainty gnawed at you. Every creak of the floorboards, every shadow in your periphery felt like a potential danger. Sleep became a luxury you could no longer afford.

Then, just as you began to consider calling Vic again—perhaps to demand answers, perhaps just to scream at him—your phone buzzed.

You froze, the device trembling in your hand as you checked the screen. It was an unknown number.

Your pulse raced. It had to be him.

With a deep breath, you answered. With a deep breath, you answered. "Vic. You arrogant son of a bitc—"

"Well, that’s not how you answer the phone now, is it?"

The voice was smooth, like silk over glass, and utterly unfamiliar. Not Vic.

Your heart sped up, a cold wave of fear washing over you. This wasn’t Vic.

"Who is this?" you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended.

The man on the other end chuckled, the sound low and rich, reverberating in a way that made your skin crawl. "Why, I believe you already know who I am. You’ve been asking around for me, haven’t you?"

The breath caught in your throat. Asriel.

“What did you use to kill Ivan?" you asked, forcing strength into your voice. "Whatever it was, it’s clearly inhumane. Something that shouldn’t be in the hands of someone like—"

The chuckle came again, softer this time, almost indulgent. "Careful now," Asriel interrupted smoothly. "They don’t like being referred to as ‘it.’ If you want to meet them, it’s important you learn a little respect."

Them?

“Has Isaac taught his own pet no manners?”

You were about to respond when a voice murmured faintly in the background. It was low, guttural, and laced with irritation. You couldn’t make out the words, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

"Asriel," they said, sharper now.

"Ah," Asriel drawled, the faintest edge of amusement in his tone. "Pet, come here. Come say hello to our curious little friend."

There was a pause, a rustling sound that could have been movement, and then a new voice entered the line. This one was different—softer but no less chilling.

The single word hit you like a cold blade to the spine.

"Hello."

──

author's note: this may be one of my personal favorites, i know many are a fan of the pet x pickle duo so i wanted to write an interaction a little more realistic.

#zsakuva #sakuverse #isaac rhoades #zsakuva isaac #pet #asriel

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yoursinisforgiven · 16 hours ago

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SKIN TISSUE ──

pairing: xanthus x reader (love) x dontis

cw: pure filth. (smut), afab reader, threeway, porn with feelings, mentions of dontis’s listener (hunter) & their father, reader passes out, religious symbolism, mentions of alcohol, xanthus feeds off of dontis, bloodplay, light spanking, mfm aspects, infidelity (i suppose), no use of condoms, breeding without the intentions of pregnancy, anal (reader’s not receiving), spit used as lubricant, multiple orgasms. oral (male receiving) vaginal fingering, penetrational sex, floor sex.

you are responsible for your own media consumption.

The smell of herbs and sizzling garlic filled the air, a quiet symphony in the otherwise silent kitchen.

Dontis moved with effortless grace, his hands deftly chopping fresh basil, the rhythm of his knife almost hypnotic. “Do you believe,” he asked suddenly, his voice soft but laced with a thoughtful edge, “that people are meant to suffer to understand what it means to live? Or is suffering just… meaningless cruelty dressed up as divine design?”

His words slithered into the quiet, wrapping around your thoughts like vines. You leaned against the counter, watching him work, the question settling heavily between you. “I’m not sure,” you replied, your voice quieter than you’d intended. “Maybe it’s both. Or neither. Suffering changes people, but whether it’s meaningful depends on what we do with it.”

He turned slightly, the faintest smile curling his lips. “Interesting perspective,” he murmured. “Almost pragmatic, but not quite. It sounds to me like someone trying to reconcile chaos with order.” His gaze lingered on you, sharp and unyielding, like he was peeling back the layers of your soul one by one.

As he turned back to the stove, you felt it—a flicker of something foreign, something wrong. You couldn’t explain it, but in that moment, you saw him for what he truly was. A serpent. A deceiver.

The serpent beguiled me, and I did eat.

The thought struck you like a hammer. His every word, his every movement, felt like a calculated strike against the bond you shared with Xanthus. That bond was sacred, wasn’t it? A covenant, a tether blessed by something beyond comprehension. Yet here was Dontis, whispering truths and half-truths, sowing seeds of doubt with his silken voice. His charm wasn’t innocent; it was poison wrapped in honey, tempting you to take the bite that would undo everything.

The thought struck like a lightning bolt, your bond with Xanthus stirring as if in warning. You pulled back slightly, your gaze darting to the delicate bracelet on your wrist—a physical reminder of the connection you shared with him. Dontis’s presence felt dangerous, not because he threatened you physically, but because of the way he made you think, feel, wonder.

“You know,” he said, breaking the silence, “you remind me of something this dish always makes me think of—a delicate balance of bitterness and sweetness. Too much of either, and it’s ruined. But find the right harmony, and it’s perfection.”

The words sent a shiver through you, not because of their meaning, but because of the way he said them, as though he were speaking about you, to you, and not the dish. You realized then, in that fleeting moment, that he was dangerous in a way Xanthus had never been: not a predator, but a temptation. A choice.

“I should check on Xanthus,” you murmured abruptly, stepping back, breaking the fragile thread of the moment before it could tighten around you. Dontis looked up, his expression unreadable, the shadow of a smile still lingering.

“Of course,” he said, turning his attention back to the stove. “But remember—sometimes it’s the choices we don’t make that haunt us most.”

──

Surely God had been testing you, testing your loyalty, your endurance. Dontis was an incubus—surely he had been doing this on purpose, right?

His every movement seemed calculated, designed to draw attention, to spark desire, even when you tried desperately not to notice. The way his laughter lingered just a second too long, the way his gaze seemed to pierce through you as if he knew every thought in your head. It was maddening.

Xanthus stood nearby–despite you offering him to sit next to you, he assured he had to keep a ‘lookout.’, a silent sentinel, but his presence did little to ground you against the whirlwind of emotions Dontis stirred. The bond you shared with Xanthus hummed faintly, like a distant melody struggling to break through the noise of Dontis's presence. Was it enough to shield you?

Dontis leaned closer, his voice like silk, laced with both mockery and intrigue. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asked, his lips curling into a knowing smile. “It’s not intentional, I promise. It’s just… my nature.”

“Dontis,” Xanthus’s voice cut through the moment, low and warning. “Enough.”

The incubus’s smile widened, but he leaned back, his expression a portrait of feigned innocence. “I’m merely being a gracious host,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You know me, Xanny. I’ve always been accommodating.”

Something flickered in Xanthus’s eyes—a brief, almost imperceptible hesitation. It was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual stoic demeanor, but it was enough to make you wonder.

And yet, as the incubus’s laughter echoed softly, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d already failed just by letting the thought cross your mind.

You swallowed the spit gathering in your mouth. This was one moment of many, and with it, you were able to come to three conclusions.

First, Dontis was absolutely doing this on purpose. There was no mistaking the deliberate way he manipulated the space around him, the calculated charm in his every word and action. This wasn’t just his nature; it was a game, and you were the unwitting pawn.

Second, Dontis thrived on pushing boundaries. He wasn’t merely testing you; he was testing the strength of your relationship with Xanthus, probing for cracks he could exploit. Whether out of amusement or something more calculated, you couldn’t tell, but it made you all the more determined to hold firm

Third, and perhaps most unsettling, some part of you wasn’t sure if you wanted the tension to stop. It was a dangerous thought, one that you quickly pushed aside, but it lingered like a shadow at the edge of your mind. Did this mean you were weak, or simply human?

You glanced toward Xanthus, hoping for a moment of clarity, but his face was unreadable, his gaze fixed firmly on Dontis. The vampire’s presence was steady, grounding, but his silence spoke volumes. He was giving you space to navigate this, to prove your loyalty—to yourself as much as to him.

“You’re quiet,” Dontis remarked, breaking the silence. His tone was teasing, but his eyes gleamed with curiosity. “Deep in thought, perhaps? I do have that effect on people.”

You straightened, forcing a steadiness into your voice. “Some of us value thinking over speaking,” you replied, the words sharp enough to wipe the smirk from Dontis’s face for a fleeting moment—only for it to soon return.

Xanthus’s lips quirked upward ever so slightly in approval, a subtle but reassuring sign that your resolve had not gone unnoticed. The bond hummed stronger, a gentle reminder of where your heart truly lay, even as the challenges loomed large.

You closed your eyes and leaned back against the couch. Its upholstery was a deep shade of purple—not bright or garish, but rich and sultry, an echo of Dontis himself. It was as though the very fabric of his home was steeped in his essence, every corner of the space designed to draw you further into his world. The soft velvet beneath your fingertips whispered of indulgence, temptation, and secrets better left unspoken.

The air felt thick, almost tangible, laden with the faint scent of incense and something indefinable—something uniquely Dontis. It clung to you, invading your senses no matter how hard you tried to resist. Even the dim lighting seemed complicit, casting shadows that flickered and danced, teasing the edges of your vision.

This was more than a house. It was a reflection of him, a stage upon which he played his games with unnerving skill. And you? You were part of the performance, caught between the lure of his charm and the strength of your bond with Xanthus.

Xanthus, who remained steadfast, a silent protector in this den of sin. The faint hum of your connection thrummed louder now, a lifeline grounding you in the face of Dontis’s relentless pull. His presence was your anchor, a reminder that there was more to you than the doubts and desires Dontis sought to awaken.

For a moment, you let the tension ease from your shoulders, inhaling deeply as you tried to reclaim a sense of balance. Dontis’s world was suffocating, intoxicating, but it was also temporary. You had endured this long; you could endure a little longer.

"Comfortable now?" Dontis’s voice broke through the quiet, smooth and amused. You opened your eyes to find him watching you, his expression one of feigned innocence, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his true intentions.

You didn’t answer immediately, letting the silence stretch just long enough to unsettle him. Then, with a calm you didn’t quite feel, you replied, “The couch is nice, though it seems a little too fitting for you. I’m not sure whether to find that amusing or suspicious.”

Dontis laughed, the sound like warm honey with a bitter aftertaste. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, leaning back himself, the picture of ease. “It’s always gratifying to be... unforgettable.”

From the corner of your eye, you caught Xanthus’s faint smirk, the subtle curve of his lips like a quiet victory. Despite the incubus’s games, you weren’t as easily swayed as he might have hoped.

The room seemed to exhale with you, the tension loosening its grip. For now, at least, you had found your footing again. But the night was far from over, and in Dontis’s lair, the real test was only just beginning.

──

New Orleans was alive with glamour, music, and the tantalizing aroma of food that seemed to waft from every corner. The city was a living, breathing entity, its streets pulsing with a vibrancy that could only exist here. It took no small effort to coax Xanthus out of the sanctuary of Dontis’s home—his carefully constructed fortress of control.

The Trimidainy, had made Xanthus almost painfully vigilant. It wasn’t paranoia, exactly, but a relentless need to maintain constant awareness and control. Xanthus didn’t trust the world beyond his walls, not fully. He had his reasons, of course, though he rarely spoke of his thoughts. Dontis had mentioned it in passing, almost casually, as though it were obvious. “He’s always been that way,” the incubus had said with a smirk, though there was an undertone of something like exasperation.

The streets had an almost ethereal glow, the gas lanterns lining the narrow alleys casting flickering light onto cobblestone paths. Music spilled from every corner—haunting jazz melodies that seemed to weave into the humid night air, enticing you to linger. But there was no lingering with Xanthus. He moved with purpose, his eyes scanning every shadow as though he expected something—or someone—to emerge from it.

You trailed behind him, the bond between you a quiet reassurance, though his tension was palpable. Dontis sauntered a step ahead of you, his stride languid and almost dismissive, as though he owned the very streets beneath his feet. He tossed a careless smile at passersby, some of whom turned to watch him go, entranced despite themselves. The power he carried wasn’t merely in his nature but in his effortless ability to command attention.

“Relax, Xanthus,” Dontis drawled, his tone both amused and faintly mocking. “No one here poses a threat to your precious fortress of paranoia. It’s New Orleans. Let the city work its magic.”

Xanthus shot him a look that could have cut glass but said nothing, his jaw tight. You could feel his frustration like a ripple through the bond, though he held it back with his usual stoicism.

Dontis chuckled, clearly pleased with himself, and turned to you instead. “What about you? Surely you’re not immune to the charms of this place. The music, the lights… the promise of secrets waiting to be uncovered.”

You glanced around, taking in the sights. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spices, perfume, and something faintly metallic that made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t quite place. It was intoxicating, but also unnerving—like the city itself was alive and watching.

“It’s beautiful,” you admitted, though your voice held a hint of caution.

“See?” Dontis gestured at you with a flourish. “At least someone here has taste.”

Xanthus ignored him, his gaze fixed on a small group of musicians gathered on the corner. Their song was slow and mournful, a melody that seemed to resonate with something deep within you. Xanthus lingered, his posture softening just slightly, and for a moment, you saw a glimpse of the man beneath the armor he so carefully maintained.

The moment passed quickly. Xanthus turned sharply, his voice low but firm. “We should keep moving.”

Dontis rolled his eyes but fell into step beside him, though the tension between them was almost visible. “You’re wasting the night,” Dontis said, his voice lilting with exasperation. “There’s so much to see, to experience. Honestly, Xanny, I don’t know how you can live like this.”

Xanthus didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than you expected. “I need to keep them safe Dontis—it is my duty..”

Dontis raised an eyebrow, but there was a flicker of something in his expression—curiosity, perhaps, or recognition. He didn’t press further, though his silence felt heavy, as though the conversation had only just begun.

The three of you wandered deeper into the city, the vibrant energy of the French Quarter giving way to quieter streets where the buildings loomed taller, their wrought-iron balconies casting intricate shadows. It was here, away from the crowds, that the city’s true age became apparent.

“This,” Dontis said suddenly, his voice softer now, “is where the magic lingers.”

You looked around, unsure of what he meant, but there was a strange stillness in the air—a feeling that the past was closer here, brushing against the edges of the present. The city seemed to hold its breath, and for a moment, even Xanthus paused.

“This city has seen things,” Dontis continued, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “Things most people can’t even imagine. Blood, love, betrayal… it soaks into the very bones of the place.”

There was something in his voice, a hint of wistfulness that caught you off guard. You glanced at Xanthus, but his expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed on Dontis as though he were trying to decipher a puzzle.

“Don’t get lost in it,” Xanthus said finally, his tone sharp.

Dontis laughed, the sound echoing softly against the walls. “Oh, Xanny,” he said, his smirk returning. “Getting lost is the best part.”

The tension between them was like a taut wire, vibrating with unspoken words. You felt caught between them, their history a shadow that loomed larger with every step you took.

“Where are we going?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“Patience,” Dontis said, his smile sly. “You’ll see soon enough.”

And so you followed, the city wrapping itself around you like a living thing, its secrets waiting to be revealed. But with every step, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were walking deeper into something far more dangerous than the night itself.

──

The further you walked, the quieter New Orleans became, its bustling energy fading into a softer, more intimate rhythm. The narrow streets were kissed by the glow of lantern light, casting warm golden tones over the cobblestones. You followed Dontis as he led you through a labyrinth of alleys and courtyards, the city’s heartbeat slowing in these hidden spaces.

“Not much further,” Dontis said over his shoulder, his voice smooth and unhurried. His steps were deliberate, his presence magnetic even when he wasn’t trying—or perhaps especially because he wasn’t trying.

Xanthus followed closely, his posture stiff as always, though there was a subtle shift in him. The tension in his shoulders was less severe, the faintest relaxation in his gait betraying the pull of the city’s charm—or perhaps, something else.

The three of you emerged into a secluded courtyard hidden behind wrought-iron gates. It was like stepping into another world: a single oak tree dominated the space, its gnarled branches heavy with lanterns that bathed the area in flickering light. A fountain bubbled quietly in the center, its gentle melody mingling with the faint hum of the night.

Dontis paused beneath the oak, his silhouette a striking contrast to the golden glow surrounding him. “This,” he said, spreading his arms, “is one of my favorite places in the city. Quiet. Private. Beautiful, wouldn’t you agree?” His words lingered, heavier than they should have been, and his gaze flicked to you briefly before settling on Xanthus.

“I've only showed one other human this place, a hunte—”

Xanthus moved cautiously, his sharp eyes scanning the courtyard before stepping closer to the fountain. “Why bring us here?” he asked interrupting the incubus, his voice low, though not hostile.

“Because,” Dontis said, his tone softening, “even you, Xanthus, deserve moments like this. Even you can appreciate beauty when you’re not too busy pushing it away.”

Xanthus’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the fountain, his hands brushing over the stone as if grounding himself.

You hesitated, caught between the two of them. Dontis stood under the tree, a figure of deliberate ease, while Xanthus sat by the fountain, a quiet storm of unspoken thoughts.

“Don’t let him intimidate you,” Dontis said, his tone playful but carrying an edge of something deeper. “The fountain is plenty big for two.”

Three, you thought but held your tongue.

You moved toward Xanthus, sitting beside him. The bond between you hummed softly, a tether that steadied you even in the face of the tension Dontis so expertly conjured. But tonight, the bond felt different—alive, as if it were its own presence between you. It pulsed faintly, a living thread weaving through you and Xanthus, growing stronger not in opposition to Dontis but because of him.

Xanthus didn’t look at you, but you felt the faintest shift in him, an almost imperceptible easing of his guard.

Dontis remained where he was, leaning against the trunk of the oak tree. His gaze lingered on the two of you, something unspoken flickering in his eyes. “You know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “this city has a way of exposing what’s hidden. Sometimes it reveals things we’d rather keep buried.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you thought they might have been meant for Xanthus. But when you looked up, Dontis’s gaze was locked on you. It wasn’t the usual teasing glint—it was something deeper, rawer. A yearning that made your breath hitch.

Xanthus seemed to sense it too, his hand tensing against the stone. “Dontis,” he said, his voice sharp, “whatever game you’re playing, stop.”

“I’m not playing a game,” Dontis replied, his tone softer than you’d ever heard it. He straightened, stepping closer, though he stopped a few feet away. “Not tonight.”

You looked between the two of them, caught in the weight of the moment. Dontis’s eyes softened as they held yours, his usual smugness replaced with something achingly sincere. “You’re stronger than you realize,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “But even the strong need to be seen. To be wanted.”

Your heart twisted at his words, the vulnerability in them cutting through your defenses. It wasn’t just a ploy; there was truth in his gaze, a longing that made it impossible to look away.

Xanthus shifted beside you, his presence a steadying force. His hand brushed against yours—not just a fleeting gesture, but a deliberate connection. The bond between you surged in response, like a second heartbeat, alive and radiant. And for the first time, you understood: Dontis wasn’t unraveling it. He was strengthening it.

His words, his presence, his relentless push against your walls—they weren’t breaking you apart. They were forcing you and Xanthus to acknowledge the depth of what you shared. And yet, there was something else—a thread of tension woven into the bond itself, something that pulsed faintly in Dontis’s direction.

He saw it too. You could tell by the way his gaze lingered, not with triumph, but with something quieter. You felt Xanthus’s hand tighten on yours, a grounding force that didn’t deny the truth in Dontis’s voice.

The night seemed to hold its breath, the three of you caught in a moment too fragile to shatter. You glanced at Xanthus, his eyes dark and searching, and then back at Dontis, who stood before you with a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show.

The bond between you hummed louder now, not as a barrier, but as a bridge. It was alive, growing, adapting to encompass truths you hadn’t dared to face.

In this quiet corner of New Orleans, hidden from the world, the weight of what lay unspoken between you all pressed down like the humid air, heavy with possibility.

Music poured from open doorways, laughter bubbled over from shadowy corners, and the aroma of spices and sweet pralines wafted through the air, mingling with the faint scent of jasmine. But in the quiet, tucked-away courtyard where the three of you lingered, the world felt suspended, holding its breath.

Dontis leaned casually against the wrought-iron railing, his eyes glinting in the dim light like dark jewels. “You’ve both become... quite the pair,” he said, his tone light but tinged with something unreadable. His gaze lingered on Xanthus for a moment longer than it should have, a flicker of something in his expression—fondness, regret, maybe both.

Xanthus didn’t reply immediately. His grip on your hand was steady, grounding, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed the unease he refused to voice. “We’re stronger together,” he said finally, his voice low and firm. “That’s all that matters.”

Dontis tilted his head, a smile curling on his lips that was neither mocking nor entirely sincere. “Strong, indeed,” he murmured, his gaze flickering briefly to you, then back to Xanthus. “I can see why you’d hold onto it so tightly this time.”

This time. The words echoed in your mind, subtle yet loaded, like a secret whispered just loud enough to tease but not to reveal. There was history here, intricate and layered, but it stayed in the shadows, unspoken. It made the air between them hum with an unnameable tension, a thread you couldn’t quite grasp but couldn’t ignore.

The bond pulsed faintly within you, alive and aware, as though it too was listening, learning, feeding off the emotions swirling between the three of you. Where you had once thought Dontis was a threat to it, you now felt the opposite. His presence, his words, even the emotions he seemed to draw out—none of it was fraying the connection you shared with Xanthus. If anything, it was weaving the bond tighter, making it stronger, more vivid, more alive.

You had been so quick to see him as a serpent, a deceiver. A threat to everything you held sacred. Your bond with Xanthus had seemed untouchable—a divine covenant, a blessing etched into your very soul. And yet, Dontis’s words didn’t feel like poison anymore. They felt… like truth. Not a truth that sought to unravel, but one that sought to reveal.

You leaned against the counter, staring at the faint reflection of yourself in the window. Was this what the garden was truly about—That’s what he was, the garden. Not the garden itself, but what it represents. Choice. Change, Not the loss of innocence, not the bite of temptation, but the moment where choice created meaning. The moment when free will transformed the static into the infinite.

“Dontis,” you said softly, drawing his attention. His gaze shifted to you, dark and probing, and for a moment, it felt like he could see into the very heart of you. “You’re not as detached as you pretend to be.”

A laugh escaped him, low and velvety, but it lacked his usual sharp edge. “Detached,” he echoed, as if tasting the word. “Maybe I’m just... careful.” His eyes flicked to Xanthus again, something unspoken passing between them before he looked away, his expression shuttered.

Xanthus’s hand tightened around yours briefly, a silent acknowledgment, though of what, you couldn’t quite say. “Careful is one word for it,” he said, his tone edged but not unkind. “Calculated might be another.”

Dontis smiled, a faint, bittersweet curve of his lips. “And you would know.”

There it was again, that subtle thread of something deeper between them, something steeped in a past you weren’t privy to but could feel in the air, in the way they spoke, the way they moved around each other. It wasn’t hostility, not exactly. It was... complicated.

The tension shifted, not dissipating but evolving, becoming something heavier, more charged. The courtyard felt smaller, the space between the three of you narrowing as though drawn by invisible strings. Dontis straightened, his eyes lingering on you, then on Xanthus, his smile softening into something quieter, something more honest.

“Shall we call it a night?” His voice was smooth, almost teasing, but there was a vulnerability in the way he asked, as though he wasn’t sure what the answer would be.

Xanthus glanced at you, his expression unreadable but his bond with you thrumming faintly, reassuringly. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice steady. His eyes flicked to Dontis, and after a moment’s hesitation, he added, “You’re welcome to join us.”

Surprise flickered across Dontis’s face, quickly masked by a smile that was almost too casual. “How generous of you,” he said lightly, though his voice carried a warmth that betrayed the act. “I’ll take you up on that.”

──

As you walked hand in hand with Xanthus, the city’s nocturnal hum began to fade, replaced by the steady rhythm of your bond. It pulsed with warmth, a living connection that had carried you through trials and doubts. Tonight, however, it felt different—richer, as if the presence of Dontis had become a note woven seamlessly into its melody. Not discordant but... complementary.

The incubus walked quietly beside you, his gaze flickering from the ground to the horizon, then back to the two of you. His usual smirk had softened into something thoughtful, even vulnerable. It was an expression you rarely saw, but one that stirred a strange ache in your chest.

On an impulse, you reached out and clasped Dontis’s hand, intertwining your fingers with his. The warmth of his touch was immediate, steady yet electric. He glanced at you, his lips parting slightly in surprise, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his grip tightened, a silent acknowledgment of the gesture’s significance.

Xanthus, on your other side, gave your hand a gentle squeeze. The weight of his gaze settled on the intertwined fingers between you and Dontis, but he didn’t seem upset. If anything, his expression softened as his eyes returned to yours, his own hand grounding you further. The bond, once a private thread connecting only you and Xanthus, seemed to hum louder now, expanding, welcoming. It was alive, growing, strengthened not by division but by the shared energy flowing between the three of you.

The walk back to Dontis’s home felt longer than it was, each step steeped in unspoken words, shared glances, and the tension that coiled tighter with every passing moment. The air carried a charge that was impossible to ignore, a promise of something transformative waiting just beyond the threshold.

As you walked along the cobblestone streets, your gaze wandered to Dontis, whose attention seemed anchored to a bar you were passing. His expression, so often composed of teasing smirks and playful glances, now held something more subdued—something unspoken.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice cutting through the quiet.

“Nothing,” Dontis replied, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. His eyes lingered on the bar, its old wooden sign faded but still legible. “I just… I met someone there. A hunter. Long ago.”

Your brows furrowed slightly as you studied him. There was something in the way his shoulders tensed, the faint flicker of nostalgia or regret crossing his face. “Go on,” you prompted, sensing the weight of what he wasn’t saying.

He let out a soft laugh, the sound tinged with self-deprecation. “It’s a long story,” he murmured, his fingers brushing absently against the edge of his coat.

“We have all the time in the world,” Xanthus said, his voice low but steady. Dontis met Xanthus’s gaze, and for a moment, the incubus’s carefully crafted mask slipped. His eyes softened, the usual glint of mischief replaced by something raw and unguarded.

──

When you finally arrived, Dontis opened the door with a graceful sweep, his home aglow with a dim, golden light. The warmth of the room wrapped around you as you stepped inside, the rich, velvety scent of incense brushing against your senses. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing you away from the outside world.

Dontis turned to face you both, his usual playful smirk replaced by an expression that was unreadable, almost tender. His gaze flickered between you and Xanthus, searching, lingering. “I’d ask if you wanted a drink,” he murmured, his voice lower now, quieter, “but I think that’s not what anyone needs tonight.”

Xanthus took a step closer, his presence as steadying as ever, though his eyes gleamed with something unspoken. “You always were good at reading the room,” he said, his tone soft, yet there was a weight behind the words—a history that hinted at shared moments long buried but never forgotten.

Dontis let out a quiet chuckle, though there was no mockery in it this time. “I try.” His eyes met yours, and the vulnerability in his gaze was startling. “This… whatever this is… it’s not something I want to ruin.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions brewing inside you. “If anything, you’re part of what makes it stronger.”

The incubus seemed momentarily at a loss for words, his fingers still entwined with yours. Xanthus stepped closer, his free hand brushing against Dontis’s shoulder—a simple touch, but one that spoke volumes.

“We’re all here,” Xanthus said, his voice rich with meaning. “About the past, I’m—.”

“Enough, Xanny.”

The bond between you all seemed to thrum in agreement, alive with the promise of what was to come.

As the three of you stood in the softly lit room, the atmosphere was charged with unspoken emotions and a palpable tension that seemed to thrum in the very air around you. The bond connecting you and Xanthus pulsed with a newfound intensity, now harmoniously intertwined with Dontis's presence, creating a triad of connection that felt both exhilarating and profound.

Xanthus's gaze met yours, his eyes reflecting a mixture of love and desire, silently seeking your consent for the uncharted path you were all about to explore. Dontis, usually so confident and teasing, now watched with a vulnerability that spoke of his longing to be part of this intimate convergence.

With a slight nod, you affirmed your willingness, and Xanthus stepped closer, his hand gently caressing your cheek before his lips met yours in a tender, lingering kiss. The familiar warmth of his embrace grounded you, even as the excitement of the unknown sent shivers down your spine.

As you parted, Dontis moved nearer, his eyes searching yours for permission. You reached out, your fingers grazing his cheek, and he leaned into your touch, his breath hitching slightly. When his lips finally met yours, the kiss was both tentative and deep, a melding of curiosity and suppressed desire that had been building between you.

The three of you gravitated toward the large plush seating area, a silent agreement guiding your movements. In this intimate space, words became unnecessary, The air was thick with tension and anticipation as the three of you settled onto the plush, velvet-covered chaise. The soft glow of the room enveloped you, casting a warm, intimate light over your entwined forms.

Xanthus's hand found yours, his fingers interlacing with yours in a gesture of comfort and connection. His touch was familiar, yet now imbued with a new layer of intensity, a silent acknowledgment of the shared bond that had grown between the three of you.

Dontis, usually so confident and teasing, now watched with a vulnerability that spoke of his longing to be part of this intimate convergence. His gaze flickered between you and Xanthus, seeking, searching for a sign of acceptance, of invitation.

As if sensing your unspoken consent, Dontis shifted closer, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, a delicious anticipation of what was to come. His lips brushed against your neck, a feather-light touch that sent goosebumps racing across your skin.

Xanthus's presence remained a steadying force, his hand moving to cup your face, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. His eyes, usually so guarded, now shone with a mixture of love and desire, a silent pledge of devotion that transcended the physical.

The air seemed to crackle with energy as the three of you moved together, a dance of touch and caress that was both familiar and new. Dontis's hands explored your body with a gentle reverence, his touch igniting sparks of pleasure that mingled with the warmth of Xanthus's embrace.

As the moments passed, the barriers between you began to dissolve, the boundaries of your individual selves blurring into a single, harmonious entity. The bond that had grown between you and Xanthus now pulsed with a newfound intensity, intertwined with Dontis's presence, creating a triad of connection that felt both exhilarating and profound.

The room seemed to fade away, the outside world ceasing to exist as you lost yourself in the sensations of the moment. The scent of incense mingled with the heady aroma of arousal, Xanthus's eyes, already darkened with desire, flashed with a hunger that went beyond the physical as he gazed upon your exposed neck. His gaze was intense, almost feral, as he leaned in closer, his cool breath ghosting over your racing pulse. You could feel the heat of his body pressing against yours, his arousal evident even through the fabric of his clothing.

"May I?" Xanthus murmured, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble that sent shivers down your spine. At your whispered consent, he didn't hesitate. His lips parted, revealing the glint of his sharp fangs, and then he was upon you, his mouth latching onto the tender skin of your neck.

The sensation was unlike anything you had ever experienced - a sharp, intense pleasure-pain that had you gasping and arching into him. Xanthus's tongue lapped at your skin, his fangs piercing, and then the first draw of your blood hitting his palate. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through his chest and into your own.

As Xanthus drank, you could feel a corresponding ache building between your thighs, a throbbing need that grew with each pull of his mouth. His hips began to move, rocking against yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm that mirrored the cadence of his feeding. The hard length of him pressed against your core, separated only by the thin barrier of your clothing, stoking the flames of your arousal.

As Xanthus continued to feed, his hands began to roam your body with a newfound urgency. He tugged at your clothing, practically tearing it in his haste to remove the barrier between your skin and his questing fingers. Buttons popped, fabric ripped, and then his hands were on your bare flesh, calloused palms skimming over the soft curves of your body.

Dontis, not to be outdone, joined in the fray of disrobing you both. His deft fingers made quick work of the remaining scraps of your clothing, leaving you bare and exposed to their hungry gazes. The cool air kissed your heated skin, pebbling your flesh and making you ache for their touch.

"Exquisite," Dontis breathed, his voice rough with desire. "Even more beautiful than I imagined."

Lost in the haze of sensation, you barely registered Dontis's movements until you felt calloused fingers skimmed over the swell of your breasts, teasing the sensitive peaks until they pebbled and strained towards his touch.

Dontis leaned down, his tongue flicking out to lace over one straining nipple before drawing it into his mouth. He suckled gently, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud, sending jolts of electricity straight to your core. His other hand continued its exploration, drifting lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants to cup your mound.

The dual sensations of Xanthus feeding and Dontis's touch were overwhelming, pushing you closer to the edge of a precipice you'd never before approached.

Xanthus pulled back from your neck, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he licked the last drops of blood from his fangs. His eyes, now darkened with lust and power, roamed over your flushed face, taking in the dazed expression of pleasure that graced your features.

"Dontis," Xanthus purred, his gaze flicking to the incubus who was still lavishing attention on your breasts. "Have you ever tasted the blood of a human?"

Dontis paused in his ministrations, his head snapping up to meet Xanthus's gaze. There was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, a hint of the insatiable hunger that was a part of his very nature. "No," he admitted, his voice a low rumble. "Never."

A wicked glint entered Xanthus's eyes, a predatory smile curving his lips. In one swift motion, Xanthus grabbed Dontis by the hair, pulling him up and into a searing kiss. The vampire's tongue delved into the incubus's mouth, forcing the taste of your blood onto Dontis's tongue. Dontis's eyes widened, a low groan escaping him as the unique flavor of your essence flooded his senses.

Xanthus deepened the kiss, his fangs grazing Dontis's lower lip, the coppery tang of blood mingling with the heat of their passion. Dontis's hands fisted in Xanthus's hair, pulling him closer, wanting more of that intoxicating taste.

As the two men lost themselves in each other, you lay back, your chest heaving, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure. Your gaze drifted over the erotic scene before you Xanthus and Dontis locked in a passionate embrace, their mouths and hands roaming over each other's bodies with a hunger that was both primal and arousing.

The sight alone was enough to reignite the fire within you, and you found yourself arching into the cool air, craving more touch, more sensation. Your hands drifted down your body, fingers teasing over the sensitive skin of your stomach.

As they explored your body, their own clothing began to fall away, revealing the hard planes and sinewy muscles beneath. Xanthus's chest was a work of sculpted perfection, his abdomen a six-pack of lean, taut muscle. Dontis's body was no less impressive, his broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, his skin a warm, dusky hue that spoke of his incubus heritage.

The sight of them, all raw power and barely leashed desire, had your mouth going dry and your heart pounding against your ribs. You reached out, your hands greedy to explore the expanse of their chests, to feel the heat of their skin, the play of muscle beneath flesh.

Xanthus caught your wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth. He pressed a kiss to your palm, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin, before guiding your hand lower, over the ridges of his abdomen, to the thick, hard length of him. He was impressive, long and thick and throbbing with a life of its own.

Dontis mirrored Xanthus's actions, taking your other hand and guiding it to his own impressive arousal. The heat of him seared your palm, the silky hardness a stark contrast to the velvety softness of the skin. He hissed through his teeth as your fingers curled around him, his hips rocking into your touch.

You began to stroke them, your grip firm and purposeful, your thumbs swirling over the sensitive heads to catch the beads of moisture that leaked from the tips. Xanthus's eyes fluttered shut, a low moan escaping his lips as you worked his thick length, while Dontis's gaze remained locked on yours, his expression one of pure, unadulterated lust.

As you continued to pump their cocks, Dontis's hand joined yours on Xanthus's shaft, his long fingers wrapping around yours, stroking in sync with your movements. Together, you pleasured the vampire, your combined touches making him shudder and gasp, his hips rocking into your joined fists.

Spurred on by Xanthus's reactions, Dontis leaned down, getting on his knees, his tongue flicking out to taste the weeping slit of the vampire's cock. Xanthus let out a sharp hiss, his fingers tangling in Dontis's hair, holding him in place as the incubus's tongue swirled around the swollen head, lapping up the salty-sweet essence that leaked from the tip.

Emboldened, you joined him—sliding off the plush coach and joining him on your knees leaning in your tongue joining Dontis's in its exploration of Xanthus's thick length. Together, you lapped and suckled at the vampire's flesh, your tongues dancing and twining around his throbbing cock. Xanthus's grip on Dontis's hair tightened, a guttural moan tearing from his throat. You could feel the heat building, the air growing thick with the scent of sex and the sound of panting breaths and pleasured cries. Your own arousal mounted, your core clenching and fluttering around nothing as you lost yourself in the act of bringing Xanthus to the brink of ecstasy.

You and Dontis worked in sync, your mouths exploring every inch of Xanthus's thick, throbbing cock. Your tongues swirled around the swollen head, lapping up the salty-sweet essence that leaked from the tip, the taste of his arousal exploding on your taste buds. You could feel the heat of his skin, the silky hardness that pulsed with a life of its own as you both lavished attention on his impressive length.

Dontis's hand joined yours at the base of Xanthus's shaft, his long fingers wrapping around the thick flesh, stroking in time with the bobbing of your heads. Together, you pumped and suckled, your tongues dancing and twining around his cock, your lips stretching wide to take him deeper into your eager mouths.

You could feel Xanthus's grip on your hair tightening, his hips rocking into the dual assault of your mouths, seeking more of that exquisite pleasure. His moans and growls filled the air, the erotic symphony spurring you on, urging you to bring him closer to the edge of release.

As you pleasured Xanthus, Dontis's hand drifted lower, his fingers slipping between your slick folds. He groaned against Xanthus's flesh as he felt the evidence of your arousal, your body dripping with need. Two fingers plunged into your hot, tight core, pumping in time with the stroking of Xanthus's cock, the combined sensations pushing you both closer to the brink.

You could feel the coil of tension building in your stomach, your body aching for release as you lost yourself in the act of bringing Xanthus to his peak. Your free hand drifted to your breast, kneading the soft mound, plucking at the hardened nipple, the dual stimulation making your head spin with pleasure.

Xanthus's balls tightened, his shaft throbbing against your tongue as he neared his climax. With a curse, he came undone, his hot seed erupting from the tip of his cock, flooding your mouth and Dontis's in thick, creamy ropes. The taste was overwhelming, the sheer volume of his release making you both struggle to swallow it all.

Throughout his intense orgasm, Dontis continued to stroke Xanthus's shaft, coaxing out every last drop of his release, while his fingers pumped into your dripping core, taking you over the edge with him.

As Xanthus rode out the waves of his intense climax, his grip on your hair tightened to the point of pain, holding your head in place as he emptied himself into your eagerly suckling mouths..

Xanthus's moans and growls softened to low, satisfied rumbles as the last spurts of his release dribbled onto your tongues. Finally, his grip on your hair relaxed, his hands falling away as he slumped back against the plush of the couch, his chest heaving with the force of his breathing.

Dontis released Xanthus's spent cock, his tongue lapping gently at the softening flesh to catch any stray drops of the vampire's essence.

He turned to you, only then does he pull his fingers from your core. His eyes glinting with mischief and a hunger that was far from satiated, he brings his fingers to his lips sucking on your arousal from them. "You taste divine together," he purred, his voice a low, seductive rumble.

With that, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to dance with yours. You could taste the mingled flavors of Xanthus's release on his tongue, the salty-sweet essence making your head spin with renewed desire. As you kissed, Dontis's hands roamed your body, stroking and caressing, stoking the flames of your arousal that had only briefly been banked.

Xanthus watched the erotic display through heavy-lidded eyes, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Insatiable creatures," he murmured, his voice a low, approving rumble.

You couldn't help but notice that while Xanthus had found his release, Dontis had not. A flicker of concern crossed your mind, followed swiftly by a surge of determination to ensure the incubus was just as satisfied as the vampire.

Breaking the kiss, you trailed your fingers down Dontis's chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “You have yet to come Dontis”

Dontis's eyes flashed with hunger as he met your gaze, a wicked grin spreading across his face. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him, letting you feel the hard, aching length of his arousal pressing insistently against your stomach.

Rolling onto your back, you guided Dontis to settle between your thighs, your legs falling open in clear invitation. He settled his hips against yours, the head of his cock nudging against your slick, swollen folds, teasing you with the promise of what was to come. You shiver slightly against the carpet of the floor.

As Dontis began to slowly push forward, easing the thick length of his shaft into your tight heat, Xanthus moved off the couch to kneel behind the incubus. You watched, transfixed, as Dontis shuddered, a low moan escaping him as he felt Xanthus's presence behind him. "Fuck," Dontis gasped, his hips jerking forward, driving him deeper into your welcoming body.

Emboldened, Xanthus spat directly onto Dontis's hole, watching as the saliva dripped down to coat his fingers. Without warning, he pressed a finger into Dontis's ass, feeling the tight ring of muscle clench around the invading digit. He pumped his finger slowly, working Dontis open.

Meanwhile, you wrapped your legs around Dontis's waist, your heels digging into the small of his back as you urged him deeper,

Xanthus worked a second finger into Dontis's tight hole, then a third, pumping them slowly, stretching the incubus. Dontis grunted and moaned, his hips rocking back against Xanthus's hand, seeking more of that delicious friction. All the while, his own hips never ceased their steady thrusts into your hot, slick channel, the wet sounds of your coupling filling the room.

"Enough," Dontis growled, his voice strained with need. "I need more, Xanthus.”

Xanthus chuckled darkly, removing his fingers and replacing them with the swollen head of his impressive erection. "As you wish," he purred, gripping Dontis's hips tightly and pushing forward.

Dontis threw his head back with a guttural moan as Xanthus's thick shaft breached him, the tight ring of muscle stretching to accommodate the vampire's girth. Xanthus didn't stop until he was fully sheathed, his hips flush against Dontis's ass, his heavy balls resting against the incubus's skin.

You reach a trembling hand up to rub the pad of your thumb along Dontis’s cheek—an attempt at comforting, though you wondered if you found pleasure in the pain.

The dual stimulation of your tight pussy gripping his cock and Xanthus's thick length buried deep in his ass was almost too intense to bear.

Xanthus set a hard, driving rhythm, pounding into Dontis with supernatural strength and speed. The force of his thrusts drove Dontis deeper into you, his cock slamming against that sweet spot deep inside that made you see stars.

"Harder," Dontis demanded, his voice a low, feral snarl. "Fuck me harder, Xanthus."

Growling, Xanthus complied, his hips slapping against Dontis's ass with brutal force, the obscene sound echoing through the room. Dontis soon realized his body was no longer his own as he was used for both of their pleasure.

His cries of ecstasy filled the air, mingling with Xanthus's dark, approving rumbles and your own moans. The room grew thick with the scent of sex and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, the erotic symphony pushing.

Your inner walls clamped down around Dontis's pistoning shaft, gripping him like a velvet vice as your climax crashed over you. Wave after wave of ecstasy washed through you, your body convulsing and shaking, your toes curling from the sheer intensity of your release. You threw your head back, a silent scream of pure rapture tearing from your throat as your pussy gushed around Dontis's cock, drenching his shaft and balls with your honeyed essence.

Your head felt heavy, as though it were submerged in a fog you couldn’t quite shake. A strange, unnatural warmth coursed through your body, seeping into your limbs and making it difficult to move. Panic began to creep in as your vision blurred, the world around you fading into a wash of brilliant, blinding white.

Xanthus chose that moment to lean down, his lips ghosting over the tender juncture of Dontis's neck and shoulder before sinking his fangs into the soft flesh. Dontis cried out, his voice a mixture of pain and pleasure that echoed through the room. His body convulsed as a bolt of white-hot ecstasy surged through him, the sharp sting of Xanthus's bite melting seamlessly into an overwhelming flood of bliss that left him trembling.

The coppery tang of Dontis's blood spilled onto Xanthus's tongue, rich and intoxicating—a taste he savored not out of hunger, but out of pure, unbridled greed. Each pull from the wound was deliberate, each moment a declaration of dominance, and yet there was an intimacy in the act that left Dontis's heart pounding. “Xanthu—!”

Dontis's words dissolve into a guttural moan as his orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave, his cock pulsing and throbbing inside you as he found his release. His seed erupted from his shaft, painting your walls with his hot, sticky essence, the sensation pushing him off the edge.

Xanthus groaned above you, his hips stuttering as he rutted into Dontis's spasming ass, chasing his own rapidly approaching climax. The feeling of Dontis's silken walls gripping his cock like a hot, wet fist, along with the erotic sight of your body writhing in pleasure beneath him, was quickly becoming too much for the vampire to withstand.

"Fuck, I'm going to... I can't..." Xanthus grunted, his voice a low, guttural rasp as he teetered on the brink of release. With one final, brutal thrust, he slammed into Dontis's ass, burying himself to the hilt as his orgasm overtook him.

Xanthus threw his head back, unadulterated bliss erupting from his throat as his cock jerked and throbbed, painting Dontis's inner walls.

As Xanthus's hot seed flooded Dontis's ass, Dontis let out a guttural groan, his body shuddering with the force of his own intense climax. The feeling of Xanthus's thick, pulsing cock throbbing deep inside him, pumping him full of the vampire's potent release, pushed Dontis over the edge once more. His own shaft, still buried to the hilt inside your fluttering pussy, jerked and twitched as he found an almost immediate second release, his seed erupting from his cock to mix with the slick fluids already filling you.

As Xanthus's climax began to subside, he collapsed forward, blanketing Dontis's back with his powerful, sweat-slicked body. Dontis welcomed the weight, making sure to keep him upright.

──

How should I hold my soul, that it may not be touching yours? How should I lift it then above you to where other things are waiting?

Ah, gladly would I lodge it, all forgot, with some lost thing the dark is isolating, on some remote and silent spot that, when your depths vibrate, is not itself vibrating.

You and me—all that lights upon us, though, brings us together like a fiddle-bow drawing one voice from two strings it glides along.

Across what instrument have we been spanned? And what violinist holds us in his hand? O sweetest song.

-rainer maria rilke

──

author's note: said it would take me at least a week and it took me less then a day, true dedication.

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