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adragonprinceswhore · 7 months

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The Commune l modern!cult leader Aemond x Reader

Prev I Next I Series Masterlist

Chapter III: Assimilating

Summary: Feeling lost in life and depressed by your stressful job, you decide to visit your aunt Helaena and uncle Aemond at their new home out in the country.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns. This fic contains dark themes such as; descriptions of depression, manipulation, coercion, noncon/dubcon, and incest. Please mind the tags for each chapter. This chapter contains coercion, guilt, physical violence, blood, noncon/dubcon, black-mailing, petting, oral (m receiving), face fuccin', and incest (reader is Rhaenyra's daughter)

Word Count: 4700

A/N: I'm back from my trip! This is getting darker besties, enjoy 💫

Dividers by Saradika

You can’t take in anything Helaena is saying. You watch her lips move, try your hardest to take in her words, but nothing sticks. You hum and nod in reply, but haven’t got a clue to what you just agreed.

Should you tell her about what happened in Aemond’s office?

What if she tells him?

What if she tells mum?

Bile rises in the back of your throat at the thought. What if your mum ever found out what her brother had done with her daughter?

What if she found out how good he’d made you feel?

The only consolation in your misery is the fact that Aemond is sitting where he’d sat before, at the end of the long, beautifully decorated wooden table, looking out at everyone as if nothing was wrong. Like any other supper at the commune.

Maybe nothing was wrong?

What if you’d only imagined the entire thing?

You couldn’t bear to meet his gaze, and continued to channel all of your energy into the conversation you were having with Helaena. Or rather, that she was having with you.

“So when the queen bee dies, her workers will select a new queen from the larva and feed her this special thing called ‘royal jelly’ so that she becomes fertile”, she concludes cheerily, smiling from ear to ear. “Everyone here in our community gets to focus their attention on their chosen topic of interest, mine being insects and biology. I’ve learned so much, nature is truly fascinating”, she rambles on. Again, you notice how utterly elated Helaena seems to be here, her eyes shining as she continues to tell you about everything she’s learned.

It was hard to imagine that this was the same girl who’d seemed to be a shell of a person before. She’d developed a tendency to pull away from others since you were children. Seeing her this animated and filled with life should make you happy for her. But it feels off.

The following days go by quickly. Sensing your need to feel useful, the members of the commune assign you daily tasks, like helping out with harvesting plants, preparing meals and cleaning up the Sept. It doesn’t seem to be used for ceremonies or communal prayer, instead, it’s used by residents privately throughout the day. You were not too familiar with the Seven, but you swear you could remember Aemond and Helaena attending services at the Sept when you were younger, not merely going there in solitude. Perhaps they prayed together as well?

Putting all your energy into being productive stopped you from thinking about what had happened between you and your uncle three days prior.

Despite the initial disgust you felt, you’d now decided that if you acted like it never happened, maybe it never did. You’d sworn to never bring it up with Aemond, or ever tell anyone else for that matter.

He was still the Aemond you’d grown up with; the sensitive boy with a strong will, always on a mission to prove himself. He’d always been a bit too ‘by the book’. Maybe he’d sincerely thought that you would enjoy it?

Maybe he’d read something about Freud’s theory on female hysteria and the power of orgasmic release, seeing the act as more of a medical procedure than a sexual encounter?

It sure didn’t feel like a medical procedure.

Despite helping out at every corner of the residence, you hadn’t seen Alys since you’d left Jon alone with her. But this morning, after Aemond had asked you to help the residents clean up the leftovers from breakfast, you spot her standing next to your uncle, talking about something in hushed voices while watching the residents tidy up.

You’d only been there a short while, but already knew that Aemond and Alys held the highest positions in the hierarchy that seemingly penetrated the small community. They both had an air of authority about them that was hard to overlook, making the pair appear intimidating in a way that only a strict superior could. Yet, they both chose to be soft spoken whenever they address anyone, often complimenting the residents on their good work.

You notice Aemond nod towards you, which prompts Alys to approach you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I’d like for you to help me today”, she states, and although her voice is soft, as if asking a question, there seems to be no room for disagreement and you give her an unsure nod.

She ushers you to follow her as she makes way towards one of the almost overflowing flower beds, various plants fighting for space. Like every day since your arrival, the weather is practically perfect; sunny but with a comforting breeze passing through the fields. Alys reaches for two weaved baskets resting against the small cottage wall close by and hands you one before kneeling down by the flower bed. You follow her, admiring the abundance of herbs in front of you.

You’d never witnessed such a variety of plants grow so vigorously together. You’d hardly thought it to be possible. Maybe the weather and temperature conditions here were optimal? Or maybe they’d genetically modified the crops?

You’re pulled away from your wandering thoughts by Alys gentle, low voice.

“How has the stay here been for you so far?”

Even though you’d told yourself, decided, that you’d never even think about what had happened between you and Aemond in his office again, her questions forces your mind back there.

Sitting on his lap. His fingers inside you; stretching you out.

You shake your head slightly in an attempt to erase the thought from your mind.

You’re never going to think about that again. You can’t.

“It’s been great. Everyone’s so welcoming and I’ve been able to spend a lot of time with Helaena”, you reply, focusing on the positive. It was all true; during your time here you’d felt welcomed and comforted. Cared for.

“That’s lovely”, Alys replies with a smile as she begins to pick basil leaves off the thin stem of the plant. “We’ve worked hard to create the perfect environment for people to thrive here, just like you seem to be doing”, she explains and you briefly knot your eyebrows together in confusion.

Did you thrive here?

Sure, you looked a lot better; your skin had almost started to glow and you woke up in the morning feeling refreshed and rested. But that could just be down to the fact that you’d found uninterrupted sleep. Plus, the appetising food here seemed healthy, consisting of ingredients the residents grew and prepared themselves.

“Well, the fresh air and delicious meals certainly help one thrive”, you reply with a chuckle. Alys’ eyes light up as they sweep over your face.

“You enjoy the food? I’m happy to hear that. I’ve put all of the past year's energy into curating the plants, grains and menu here”, she tells you with pride evident in her voice.

“You truly have a gift, Alys. Any tips for an amateur like me?”, you inquire, relaxing a bit now that the conversation has taken a lighter turn.

She smiles at you as she pulls out a small, green tin from the large pocket in the middle of the apron she’s always wearing. She opens the lid and pulls out a small spoon from another pocket. It’s filled with what looks like dirt, or clay, and smells similar to a compost.

Your nose crinkles as she scoops some of the brown mush inside the tin onto her spoon, placing it by the plant's roots before firmly patting it down with the back of the utensil.

“I was doing my PhD at King’s Landing University before moving here; I was researching phytotherapy”, she starts to explain as she scoops out another spoonful of brown mush from the tin and moves to add it to the next plant's roots.

“I was in my final year, fully consumed by my dissertation. Despite loving the topic, I was so stressed out by my academic career that I seriously considered dropping everything and moving back to Harrentown. Then, I heard my professor tell me about this brilliant young man in the Political Science department”. As she starts to speak about Aemond, her eyes almost look dreamy.

“His ideas were so radical yet so natural, you know? He wanted to create a space where people were allowed to pursue their passions without the stress and pressures of modern society. Where the Seven provide enough guidance”, she continues. You feel uneasiness creep up your spine. Her facial expression was almost trance-like as she talked about Aemond; like he was a deity ready to be worshipped.

“Well, modern society provides us with plenty of comforts as well, don’t you think?”, you counter with a laugh, trying to ease the mood a bit. “What would you do if, like, one of the members got sick?”

Alys huffs a laugh as well and smiles to herself as she eyes the tin in her hand.

“We always get by”

After a quick lunch break, you continue to help Alys with various tasks around the residence; picking flowers, vegetables and herbs for her, plucking out weeds and organising seeds for future harvest. You’d never seen seeds like the ones she showed you before, pitch-black in colour and almost supernaturally round. When she saw your expression, she let out a laugh before explaining that they were from Yi Ti, used by herbalists for centuries. She did not, however, answer you when you asked what they were going to be used for.

Although she had felt intimidating at first, you felt yourself grow calm around Alys. Something about her was almost bewitching; like the way her emerald eyes would lock with yours whenever you spoke, or how graciously she moved about the commune, greeting residents in a gentle voice. Yet, you noticed that they never met her gaze, eyes cast down as she approached, only uttering a few polite phrases before rushing away.

Feeling more at ease with the dark-haired woman, you gather some courage and ask her about what you’ve been aching to know for the past days.

“The other day… What happened between you and Jayne?”, you ask, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Alys, who’s been plucking some wildflowers from one of the fields close to the residence, doesn’t halter once as she answers with her eyes still on the stem of the flower in front of her.

“Nothing for you to worry about”, she says as she plucks the flower and gently places it in her weaved basket.

“Okay”, you reply with uncertainty. “She seemed very upset though”, you add, trying to keep the casualty in your tone but sensing that you're falling slightly.

Alys finally looks up from the flowers she’s plucking and meets your gaze.

“Actions have consequences. I’m sure you know that. But with the justice of the father and the grace of the mother, mistakes can be forgiven”, she explains, face suddenly sterner than before. The comfort of the familiarity that had been established between the two of you disappears in an instance and you feel uneasy as her eyes narrow.

“Jayne has been forgiven and we will move forward. Just like how Aemond forgave you”, she states with finality before turning around and quickly making her way to the Sept, disappearing inside and closing the door behind her.

The thoughts in your head start to spiral as you take in her words.

Forgave you for what?

For what happened in his office?

Did she know about that?

As the members of the commune prepare for supper, you go back to your room to check your phone and enjoy a bit of time to yourself. The reception was not great out here and you’d not seen any of the residents use mobile phones so far during your stay, not even Helaena or Aemond.

After what happened with Aemond, your mind had been too preoccupied to put any focus on replying to messages. You see a few from your mum and send her a quick reply to let her know that you’re doing well. You still felt uneasy seeing her name appear, feeling guilty and disgusted at the same time.

A sudden commotion outside pulls you away from your thoughts. You hear raised voices, some sounding familiar, and you swiftly place your phone in your pocket before heading out.

You see Jon, eyes wide and face pale, on his knees in front of Aemond, mimicking how Jayne and Alys had looked a few days ago.

Aemond’s face is hard to read, it is stoic yet his eye looks furious, glaring down at Jon. Unlike Jayne, Jon doesn’t say anything but raises his hands in surrender as he locks eyes with Aemond; wordlessly pleading.

But for what?

You’re not the only one present, many of the residents have gathered around the two young men. Some look scared, others intrigued.

“Do you believe the Father to be just?”, Aemond’s soft voice inquires, contrasting his utterly intimidating appearance. Jon nods eagerly, eyes still wide with fright.

“Then you’ll accept a punishment befitting the sin you’ve committed?”, he continues, and Jon stiffens slightly, but eventually nods slowly. His eyes cast down to the ground as his head hangs in surrender.

Aemond hums at Jon’s agreement and pulls out a knife from the inside of the jacket he’s wearing over his usual white shirt and dark slacks. It’s one you recognise. It had been gifted to Aemond on his 12th birthday by your grandfather, who’d declared that he was now a young man; a young Targaryen man, and therefore needed his own reminder of his Valyrian heritage.

Aemond flips the dagger in his hand as he regards the man before him, holding his hand out in an invitation to Jon. He places his hand in Aemond’s, and you can now clearly see that he is shaking. Aemond turns his hand so that he’s holding the back of it, Jon’s palm turned upwards.

“Mistakes can be forgiven, but justice must prevail”, Aemond speaks, voice louder than before to address the crowd around him and Jon.

You hear the residents around you murmur in agreement as Aemond raises the dagger in his hand, eye cast down to make contact with Jon’s. He’s trembling out of fright and Aemond almost seems pleased at the display in front of him.

“We all need reminders of our wrongdoings, to prevent us from repeating them. Whenever you lose sight of the light, Jon, this will remind you to seek out the guidance of the Seven”, Aemond’s calm voice rings out as he suddenly presses the dagger into Jon’s palm. He grunts in pain as the blade breaks his skin and blood flows freely from his hand. Aemond’s knuckles are white from the force in which he’s holding onto Jon’s hand as he refuses to let the younger man go, staring into his eyes with a look so intimidating it demands submission.

You can’t take in the scene in front of you; can’t comprehend what’s happening. As reality slowly comes back to you, you try to speak up, try to tell Aemond to stop, but your body doesn’t obey you; frozen in shock. The other residents watch quietly, not making a sound as Aemond and Jon stay frozen, blade still penetrating Jon’s palm as he winces in pain.

Your uncle finally pulls away from Jon, gesturing for Alys to move forward. She obliges immediately, pulling out some gauze from one of the pockets of her apron as she kneels down next to Jon.

Aemond’s stoic facade seems to falter slightly as his breathing turn laboured; jaw shut tight. He appears agitated, giving Jon and Alys one final look before stalking away towards the nearby path leading to the forest where he’d taken you for a walk a few days prior.

Your body finally obeys you as you call out his name, voice urgent.

What the fuck did you just witness?

Aemond doesn’t turn around as he continues his brisk walk away from the commune, silhouette growing smaller and smaller. You throw a quick glance at Jon, whose face is even whiter than before, gauze around his palm already dark red with blood seeping through it.

You cannot bear to take in the gory sight, a thousand questions going through your brain. You need answers, and so you make your way towards where Aemond had disappeared.

The path into the forest grows blurrier as a thick fog settles over the commune. Still, you make your way towards where Aemond had disappeared, determined to confront him about what you’d just witnessed.

You spot a form in the white mist, sitting on a stump with his head in his hands. You approach him quickly, thoughts still spinning around in your head.

You’d had some time to think about what you wanted to tell him.

What was that all about?

Why would you cut Jon?

Why did he agree?

If he did agree, that is. The fear that was evident on Jon’s face as he knelt before Aemond made you shiver. He’d seemed so scared of Aemond; scared of what he might do to him. But no one had interfered as your uncle cut the hand of one of his cohabitants.

Was this the norm?

Aemond looks up as he hears your footsteps approach, face as unreadable as always.

“What the fuck was that, Aemond?!”, you question, voice shrill and accusing. Your eyes seek out his as you stop before him, expression furious and chest heaving.

“You need to call a medic or something, Jon’s bleeding heavily!”

Your cheeks feel hot as fury rolls through your body. It’s amplified by the seemingly indifference of the man before you.

“Don’t question how we do things here”, he warns, eye just as furious as it had been before. “Jon knew the consequences of stepping out of line, we all do”.

“What could he have done to make you mutilate his hand?!”, you counter. You still can’t fully comprehend what had happened mere moments ago. Had you just witnessed bodily mutilation in the name of religion?

Aemond clicks his tongue, seemingly annoyed at your accusations. He tries to school his face into a calmer demeanour as he looks you over.

“Sit down and I’ll explain”, he offers, gesturing for you to take a seat on the damp grass in front of him.

Despite your initial desire to defy him purely out of spite, your curiosity wins as you sit down in front of the stump where he sits, eyebrows raised in question.

“Everyone living here has consented to our communal agreement”, he begins. You can’t help but scoff as he continues.

“One of the reasons why people feel so depressed and out of place is due to the secularisation of the modern world. They’ve lost their connection to the Seven; lost sight of the light. A belief in the divine brings us closer together, closer to the seven faces of the God”, he explains, voice filled with conviction. You can’t help but roll your eyes.

“You all need help if you believe that physical violence will bring you closer to the gods”, you oppose, unable to hide the disgust evident in your voice. Aemond’s jaw shuts tightly and the calmness on his face looks forced.

“Help me then”, he bites back, irritation penetrating his serene facade. “Pray with me”.

He grabs both your hands suddenly and traps them in his, lowering his head as he recites a prayer you hadn’t heard before.

You try to pull your hands away but his grip is iron-like as he continues to mumble the prayer under his breath. As he grows quiet, he keeps the grip around your hands and seeks out your gaze. He looks like he’s contemplating something; different from his usual determined state.

“Maybe you should help me like I help you; easing the pressure from within”, he states as his hands pull yours towards the zipper of his slacks. Your body tenses as you try to pull your hands away, this time with more force.

He pushes your hands against his crotch and you feel a hardness there. Your mouth goes dry as you feel a rush of anxiety go through your body.

“Aemond, no, not aga-“, you begin but he cuts you off.

“Would you prefer it if I told Helaena what you let me do to you in my office? Or should I tell your mum?”

You feel cold all over as you shiver at his words, swallowing thickly. He lets one of his hands leave yours as he undoes his zipper and pulls out his length; already hard and angrily red.

You’re once again consumed by feelings of unreality.

This couldn’t actually be happening, right?

Aemond grips one of your hands, grasping it painfully hard as he pulls it towards his cock, fingers pressing into the sides and bending your fingers so they circle around him. He begins to move your hand over his length, his much larger hand enveloping yours.

He sets a fast pace; letting you know exactly how he likes it. His other hand moves towards your mouth, catching you completely by surprise as he plunges two fingers into your mouth.

Before you have a chance to pull your head away, he brings his spit-covered fingers down to the hand that’s using yours to pleasure himself. He stops, pulls your hand away from him and smears your saliva over the palm before he guides it back to his manhood again.

As your slick hand makes contact with his burning flesh once more, he grunts and closes his eyes; brows knit together in satisfaction. He lets you continue the motion by yourself, hands falling to the sides of his lap.

You can’t help but look up at him, admiring his beauty. Such an intimidating man, instilling fear in so many around him, currently at your mercy. You almost feel a headrush at the thought; having Aemond in the palm of your hand. Literally.

The continuous friction of your hand against his flesh removes some of the stickiness, and you hear him let out something similar to a whine as your hand grows drier. His previously intimidating face suddenly looks pleading as he gazes down, letting you know he wants you to add saliva again.

Without really thinking, instead of licking your palm, you move your head toward him, darting your tongue out and licking a stripe over his tip. He lets out a surprise moan, and you can’t help the feeling of pride rushing through your body, settling in your core, making you clench around nothing.

Why does it feel so good to be praised by him, even when it’s wordless?

You continue to work him with your hand, though Aemond’s eye has setted on your mouth, occasionally flicking down to your clothed chest and the cleavage visible from above. One of his hands grasp your chin as he makes you look up into his eye.

“Do that again”, he commands, and you suddenly realise the gravity of what you’d just done.

You shake your head. “No”.

He lets out a grunt, hand still on your jaw as he slowly and firmly brings your head closer to him. Like before, you try to push away from him, to gain some sense of control, but he is far stronger than you.

“You do as I say”, he counters, and in one swift motion, he pulls your head towards his cock with such force that you nearly knock your forehead against his stomach. As you part your lips to protest, he pushes himself inside of your hot, wet mouth; sighing at the relief.

You feel panic come over you as you try to pull away, but he quickly places both hands on your head; keeping you in place.

“Breath through your nose. Be the good girl I know you are”, he grunts as he starts to buck into your mouth. You place your hands on his thighs in another feeble attempt at escaping his assault on your mouth, but to no avail. He drags your face over his length, palms moving to grab each side of your head as his movements grow quicker. You gag slightly.

“You feel so fucking good”, he breaths out, voice drunk on lust. “You look so fucking good with my dick in your mouth, you know that?”, he questions in a mocking tone as he brushes away some of the hair that has fallen over your face with his thumb.

You know the ache in your core is inappropriate; disgusting even. You know that his words of praise shouldn’t make your underwear sticky.

But they do.

Your eyes water as he continues to fuck your mouth, not giving you any rest. You try to whine against him to make him stop; let you come up for air, but he takes your sound as a moan and groans, moving in your mouth faster and harsher.

He finally seems to sense your need for a break as he manoeuvres your head off of his cock, and you pant heavily as you gulp for air when your mouth is finally freed. A string of saliva connects your lips to his length, and his eye seems to be even more lust filled as he moves his hand so that he can caress your flushed cheek. He almost seems to regard you with fondness.

“Aemond, please, we can’t do this”, you protest. His gaze flicks from your spit-soaked, swollen lips to your cleavage, and then back. He doesn’t offer you a reply as he stands up abruptly, taking advantage of your startled face as he shoves his dick back into your mouth. Your hands instinctively come up to his legs to have something to hold onto as he fucks your face with even more vigour than previous, swearing under his breath.

You feel disgusted at the obvious arousal pooling in your stomach, seeping out of your core.

How could something so degrading feel so sensual?

How could you be aroused by your uncle using you like this?

Aemond moves his hands to the back of your head, pushing you so that your nose makes contact with the hairs at the bottom of his stomach, as he pushes his hips against you harshly and lets out a prolonged grunt.

You gag and stifle a cough, feeling his hot liquid fill your throat, your mouth.

He slowly pulls away, hands still gripping your head as his eyes return to their wholly intimidating appearance.

“Swallow”, he demands, placing a large palm over your mouth, blocking your nose at the same time.

You know that you have no choice but to oblige him and force the sticky, salty fluid down your throat, wincing. Aemond gives your kneeling form one last once-over before letting out a hum, swiftly putting his cock back into his trousers.

Without saying another word, he leaves, leaving you on your knees by the stump, fog now so thick that you can hardly see the path leading back to the commune anymore.

You wipe the spit off your face with the back of your hand before standing on shaky legs.

Could you pretend like this didn’t happen either?

As if in a trance, you make your way back to the commune; head filled with thoughts, yet too exhausted to truly comprehend anything.

You move to the basin placed in the corner of your room, reaching for your toothbrush. You brush your teeth three times, reapplying tooth paste as the lather in your mouth disappears. You try to get the taste of him out of your mouth. It doesn’t go away.

You realise that you’ve been carrying your phone in your pocket this whole time and pull it out, noticing a new message from your mother and brother. Without checking, you turn your phone off, tossing it in your bag as you make your way to the bed.

No one will ever know about what just happened.

This can’t be real.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading lovelies! If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a like, comment or reblog 🖤

Tag list: @moonlightfoxx @daenerysqueenofhearts @heimtathurs @qyburnsghost @kazuyatokue @chainsawsangel @mandiiblanche @beautifulsweetschaos @shygardengalaxy @angelicmars2 @croatianprincess @fan-goddess @youraverageaemondsimp @madelynwal @kimmiecub @tssf-imagines @toodlesxcuddles @shesjustanothergeek @persephonerinyes @the-common-cowgirl

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lipglossanon · 17 days

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Oh By Gosh, By Golly

<It’s Time For Mistletoe and Holly…>

Real Dad!Leon S. Kennedy x daughter fem!reader

• Prequel to Red Flags and Long Nights; this is the mistletoe ‘incident’ mentioned in passing from that fic 😉

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, INCEST, DEAD DOVE, kissing, sexual fantasizing, slight dirty talk, masturbation

not proofread, just a little quick fic 😉

Title from Mistletoe and Holly by ole Franky blue eyes 🤭

It’s late afternoon by the time you arrive at your parents on Christmas Eve. It’s kind of a pain in the ass to have to park on the street, but it’s what happens when you’re one of (if not) the last people to show up for their holiday party. Standing outside the front door, you brush your skirt smooth before ringing the doorbell. A very tipsy, very flushed looking aunt opens the door.

“Oh my god, look how big you’ve gotten!” She yells way too loudly, but it does the job and garners the attention of the rest of the party goers.

“Let’er get in the damn house before she catches cold,” an uncle gruffly states, nodding to you before making his way off to the living room.

You give her a polite smile as she ushers you the rest of the way inside, pointing out the various relatives you haven’t seen in years.

“There she is!” Your mom cries from her seat on the couch next to your dad.

“Hi,” a genuine smile crosses your face as you make your way over to them, setting your gift down under the tree.

“How was the drive?” Your dad asks, blue eyes glassy as he finishes off his whiskey.

“Not bad,” you answer, ducking down to give them each a quick hug, “the parking wasn’t great though.”

“Guess you’ll get here earlier next time,” he grins and your mom rolls her eyes.

“Drinks are in the kitchen, honey,” she makes to stand up but you press down on her shoulder.

“I’ll get it, mom.”

You’re at least five drinks in when you realize you’re on the drunk side of tipsy. But since you’re staying over for Christmas, you decide that one more definitely won’t hurt anyone (regardless of what future hungover you will think the next day).

You bump into a warm body as you leave the kitchen while they enter.

“Sorry,” you giggle, holding your drink up before it sloshes over the cup.

“No worries, sweetheart.”

You shiver at the low tone practically whispering in your ear. Turning, you come face to face with your dad who’s also looking like he’s on the drunk side of tipsy (maybe even the tipsy side of drunk). You laugh to yourself and he grins at you, crows feet appearing at the corner of each eye.

“What’s funny?”

“You wouldn’t get it, dad,” you pat his chest.

He takes after your mom and rolls his eyes but pauses before nodding up at the top of the door frame. Squinting in confusion, you tilt your head back to look and see a sprig of mistletoe stuck to the wood.

“Can’t leave til you give your dear old dad a kiss,” he teases, his hands cupping your jaw before he pouts his lips at you.

Finding it hysterical, you laugh softly before nodding, “Okay, okay, but now you can’t say I don’t ever listen to you.”

Both of you chuckle before Leon leans forward and presses a featherlight kiss on your lips, making you gasp in surprise at the tiny spark of arousal flickering through your veins. His eyes pick up on the change in your expression and he presses you against the door frame before kissing you more intently.

You sigh, lips parting as his hands grab your waist, fingers digging into your hips as his tongue dips into your mouth. Finding no resistance, only enthusiasm, he groans, the slick muscle licking into your mouth, spit messily dripping from your lips and making your clit throb.

You're unsure how long your dad keeps you pressed against the kitchen doorway, messily making out with you while he rubs his bulge against your thigh. Whimpering, you go to rock your hips, but the grip of his hands keeps you pinned in place, slick dripping into your panties from his assertiveness.

The loud slam of a door shutting down the hall breaks you two apart. You both stare at one another, eyes dilated as arousal throbs hot and heavy through each of you.

“I-I should-“

“Yeah,” his gruff voice makes you press your thighs together and his gaze darts down to the motion before dragging back up your body.

“Yeah,” you whisper, letting yourself give one last look to your dad’s kiss swollen lips before walking back to the living room on rubbery legs.

Catching up to your mom, you make some flimsy excuse about being tired and quickly make your way upstairs to your room. In no time, you change into your pajamas and climb into bed. Your head feels dizzy as you replay that dirty make out session from the kitchen. Whining to no one, your hand slips underneath the bands of your clothing to swipe across your slippery clit.

You can still smell your dad’s cologne, a heady mix of dark oak and cherry, that makes your cunt clench around nothing. Moaning quietly, you softly circle your swollen bundle of nerves as you daydream that you two went a little further. Pretending that it’s his own two fingers, rough and calloused, teasing across your pussy.

What if he would’ve pushed your skirt up? Seen the cute lacy panties you chose to wear that night. Would he like them? What if he just ripped them off, eyes greedily taking in your bare wet cunt.. watch as you drip slick all down your thighs just from some deep tongue filled kisses.

“Such a slut,” he purrs, “did your little puss get wet cause dad kissed you, baby? S’that it?”

That thought’s enough to push you over— orgasm cresting fast and hard, making your back arch and thighs shake as you cover your mouth to prevent too much noise from escaping.

Flopping down on your back, you let out a gusty sigh, pulling your hand out into the dim light of the room to see slick web between your fingers. Feeling too tired now to do anything, you lazily wipe them off on your sleep shorts, planning on washing them later. For now though, between the alcohol and cumming to the illicit thought of your dad, you fall asleep fast, leaving the crisis of the situation to be dealt with tomorrow.

#leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy x y/n #mind the tags #dont like dont read #dead dove do not eat

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munsonkitten · 9 months

Text

Steve gets Eddie out of the Upside Down. He doesn’t know how he does it, but he does. He holds his organs in with his own body, carrying him pressed front to front, one arm cradled under his thighs and the other wrapped around his back, Eddie’s head lolling on his shoulder. He has Eddie’s face on his bad side. If Eddie were to say anything to him, it would be lost to the constant ringing in that ear, but he hopes it’s nothing too important — Steve understands the situation. Either Eddie’s going to survive, or he isn’t and nothing he tells Steve now will be any help without a hospital.

All he cares about is keeping Eddie awake and keeping him alive.

Each heavy footstep as Steve runs jostles Eddie back into wakefulness, thank god. Steve doesn’t know what he would do to keep Eddie awake otherwise, seeing as his own voice is gone, unable to make its way through his throat because how the fuck could anyone talk after seeing the shit he’s seen?

They can’t get through the gate in the ceiling of Eddie’s trailer like this, that much was obvious from the moment Steve found Dustin cradling Eddie’s limp body to his chest.

Steve gets him out. He doesn’t really remember how. He doesn’t really remember what gate they went through. He just remembers running. He just remembers Eddie in his arms, weak and dying.

He doesn’t really know how he managed to carry him that long or that far with injuries of his own.

They get him into a car, Nancy behind the wheel because Steve won’t let go of Eddie in the backseat, cradling him to his chest. They get him to a hospital, they see an ambulance unloading a mangled, broken body with a shock of fiery red hair.

Max. It’s Max. Max is hurt — bad.

They take Eddie away from him. They take Max away.

Steve fights off nurses that try to help him, too. He’s fine. He needs to get to his kids. He needs to get to Lucas who is fighting his way over into the hectic emergency room, to Erica who keeps a hand gripping the back of her brother’s shirt so she doesn’t lose him.

He wraps the kids up in his arms, pulling them close, not caring that he’s getting blood all over their clothes. Nancy and Robin help a limping Dustin over to a seat. He gets taken back to get looked at. Steve can’t go with him despite his protests. That’s my kid! he thinks he screams. His ears are ringing so bad at this point, and he doesn’t think it has anything to do with the constant buzz he usually hears. His head feels like it’s full of static as he watches Dustin get taken away. That’s my fucking kid! he screams again, and now his voice is hoarse and he has no idea how long he’s been yelling, but he gets pulled into a chair and his head is pulled into Robin’s lap as he lays down, shaking and sobbing into her stomach.

Steve is woken up by a firm hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t even realized he fell asleep, really. Not this time. He’s been so in and out for what feels like days (but was more like hours), that it’s hard to tell when he’s awake or not.

He looks up to see an older man standing in front of him. He’s balding, and has a gray goatee. He looks like he has permanent worry etched into his features, like something has been going wrong for every day of his entire life. His eyes are soft, though, in such a familiar way.

“Mr. Munson?” Steve croaks. His throat is dry, his neck hurts from sleeping sitting up, and he’s still covered in blood and gore.

“You must be the Harrington boy,” the man says without answering. His voice is gruff, and he has a Southern accent, but Steve wouldn’t be able to place where. He still looks at Steve with those kind eyes, though, despite the shortness of his words.

“Yeah. Yes, sir,” Steve nods, standing up. He immediately regrets that, feeling a wave of lightheadedness was from the blood loss he’s experienced in the last several days— several years, really. He holds out his hand to shake, but draws it back when he sees the red stain covering the entirety of it. “Steve Harrington.”

“You saved my boy,” Mr Munson says. He pulls Steve into a bone-crushing hug and releases a sob. “You saved my Eddie. Thank you. And call me Wayne.”

“H-have you heard anything?” Steve asks him. “They won’t tell me.”

“He’s stable,” Wayne says, pulling away. “He’s… he’s in a lot of trouble. They think he did it; they have him strapped down and cuffed to the bed, but there's a good chance he’s going to make it.”

Steve breathes out a sigh of relief. He has no idea how they’re going to get Eddie out of this mess, but fuck, it’s better than him being gone. Steve was really scared there for a while.

“I don’t know what the state of your home is, but considering you’ve been here instead of going home and washing all that shit off you, I figure… I have a motel room outside of town,” Wayne says after a minute. “Unaffected by the earthquake. I can take you there if you want to get cleaned up and get some rest. Ed will still be here when you get back.”

Steve finds himself agreeing.

The water pressure in the motel sucks, and Steve finds himself washing blood away for what feels like hours. The water just won’t run clean no matter how much he scrubs and scrubs. He thinks his wounds might have reopened, but he won’t remove the bandages on his own. He doesn’t think he can stomach it. Plus, he didn’t want to rip open the wounds when peeling them off, so he figured soaking them would be the best option.

So much for not reopening the wounds, he thinks as blood continues to pour down the drain, and he feels less and less like he’s going to stay standing.

Feeling defeated and not at all clean, he steps out and grabs a towel from the rack. The white towel turns pink in an instant, then saturates deeper and deeper as more blood soaks into it.

A soft knock at the door nearly makes Steve slip in his haste to cover himself up. He opens the door to see Wayne standing on the other side with a pile of clothes in his hands.

“These are Ed’s. I grabbed them when I left home just in case he found me, but… Well, anyway, they should fit you,” Wayne says. He pushes them into Steve’s hands and stands there awkwardly. It seems like both of them have been feeling a bit awkward. They don’t know each other. Steve barely knows Eddie. But they’re in this together now, it seems, so they’re both trying.

Steve nods, looking down at the soft shirt and sweatpants in his hands. There’s a small hole in the neckline of the shirt, clearly worn and well-loved by Eddie.

“I don’t mean to overstep,” Wayne says. “But those bandages need to be changed.”

“Y-yeah,” Steve stutters. “Yeah, but I don’t have extras and I can’t r-really do it myself.”

“Alright,” Wayne says. He walks back into the main room, leaving Steve in the bathroom doorway. He picks up his car keys and his wallet from a table, shoving his wallet into the pocket of his jeans. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Steve ends up sitting on the bed in nothing but the underwear Wayne had given him. He doesn’t think too hard about it being Eddie’s. There’s a towel beneath him, catching the blood that runs down his torso and his back. There are a few chunks taken out of his thighs that he didn’t notice before, too caught up in, well, everything to really care.

Wayne comes back not too much later, a bag full of gauze and bandages and antiseptic and Tylenol. He begins laying everything out on the bed beside Steve.

He works in silence, disinfecting Steve’s wounds and bandaging them up. Steve, on the other hand, makes a myriad of embarrassing noises, laced with pain.

“Eddie’s come home beaten up more than once,” Wayne says as he finishes up bandaging Steve’s thighs. “I’ve had to fix that boy up plenty of times.”

Steve can tell, too. Wayne is gentle and practiced in the way he does this, like it’s definitely happened way too many times to count. He doesn’t even think between each step, just does them carefully without speaking a word or hesitating.

“I don’t… I don’t know if Eddie’s ever told you about me,” Steve says, swallowing down the guilt rising in his throat. “But if he has… Thank you for helping me, anyway.”

“Oh, sure,” Wayne shrugs. “Not that Eddie didn’t come home crying, saying Steve Harrington called him a queer and tripped him so he fell into a locker and busted his nose, or anything.”

“No, yeah, I — I know,” Steve whispers. “I’m sorry, and… I’m going to make it up to him, I promise.”

“You saved him, Steve,” Wayne says. He starts packing up the supplies and shoves the bottle of Tylenol into Steve’s hands. “And last year, I asked if you were still giving him any trouble, and he said you weren’t friends with that Hagan boy anymore and you were leaving him alone, even if the other boys weren’t. He said you’d changed and I’ll be honest, I didn’t believe him, but I see it now.”

“He said that?” Steve asks.

“Uh huh,” Wayne nods. “And that Henderson boy would come around to talking with Ed about that game they play. He always had good things to say about you… Never quite understood why. It’s like he was trying to set you two up on a date, or something.”

“What?” Steve asks.

Wayne just chuckles in response, and says, “Don’t worry about it, kid.”

Steve ends up falling asleep on one side of the bed, warm in one of Eddie’s sweatshirts and a pair of pajama pants. He wakes up at some point, sweating and feverish. He rips the sweatshirt off, kicks off his blankets. Wayne is there a minute later with a cold washcloth that he places on Steve’s forehead.

He falls back asleep, but it’s fitful. He knows he should probably see a doctor about his injuries, he knows he’s fighting off an infection as he sleeps. He’s just so tired. He just wants to keep sleeping.

Wayne leaves a few times, comes back, forces water and pills down Steve’s throat, replaces the washcloth, checks his bandages. He doesn’t think his own parents ever cared this much for him when he was sick. He has no idea why a man he barely knows is showing him so much kindness.

Steve wakes up to the shrill sound of the hotel room phone ringing. It’s just a few short rings, a swear from Wayne, and then the ringing stops. Steve thinks about falling back to sleep when he sees tears fill Wayne’s eyes, and hears a very quiet, ‘Thank you.’

He assumes the worst with the way Wayne gets emotional, but then he hangs up and breaks out into a huge smile.

“We can visit him, kid,” Wayne tells him. He goes over to a duffel bag in the corner of the room — Steve knows it’s the one full of Eddie’s clothes. He digs through it until he finds something, and tosses it over to Steve, who, in his fevered state, can’t even think about doing anything besides letting them hit him in the face.

In the end, Wayne has to help Steve get dressed, and it’s awkward, and the pants don’t quite fit right and the outfit is nothing Steve would wear in a million years — Black jeans with holes in the knees, a black shirt with the sleeves cut off and ‘Iron Maiden’ emblazoned on it in red. Wayne picks up Eddie’s vest from the chair Steve carefully laid it down on. He had been wearing it under his jacket that he wore into the Upside Down. Eddie hadn’t asked for it back.

“You know something?” Wayne says, holding the vest in his hands.

Steve just shakes his head.

“He wears this every single day. Won’t leave the damn house without it,” Wayne smiles. He turns it over in his hands, running his fingers over a fraying edge of the back patch. “This patch on the back here was a t-shirt at one point. I took him to St Louis to see Dio in ‘84… It was supposed to be a graduation present, but I couldn’t take it back when he didn’t graduate, not when I saw how excited he was. Anyway, I bought him a shirt because I had saved up as much as I could to go all out for this. It was his favorite shirt, wore it every day until the neckline was falling apart and the sleeves were just about coming off. He asked me one day if it would be okay to turn it into a patch, you know. He knows it cost money, so he thought he’d ask. I just laughed and told him he better before it’s completely ruined.”

Steve finds himself smiling as Wayne tells him.

“Anyway,” Wayne says, passing the vest over to Steve. “For him to give this to you — I don’t know if you know what that means. He’s put hours into sewing these patches on, he made some of these pins by himself, you know. Made the design, pressed it with one of those button presses the school has, or whatever, he spent his own money on others. It’s all the things he likes most… What I’m saying is that this vest is Eddie. It’s everything he is. You better keep that safe and understand how much trust he has in you. That’s why I’ve been helping you, even knowing you were a dick to him in school.”

Steve feels like he’s going to burst into tears. He hugs the vest to his chest, and then quickly slips it on to wrap himself up in it. It’s covered in blood, it smells, but it’s Eddie’s.

Eddie isn’t strapped down to the bed when they walk into his room. He isn’t cuffed. There are no police officers sitting guard outside his room, stopping everyone but hospital personnel from going in. Steve is just about to ask how when the answer walks into the room.

“Hey, kid.”

Steve turns around and can’t believe what he’s seeing. Jim Hopper is standing there, his head shaved, his clothes hanging loosely off his body, deep bags under his eyes. But alive. He’s alive and standing right in front of Steve, and he’s the reason Eddie isn’t being carted away to prison while he’s still in a coma. Eleven steps into the room behind him, and her head is shaved again, too. She’s taller now, her face is so much older. Like she’s aged five years in the eight months since Starcourt. Steve imagines she’s seeing the same thing when she looks back at him.

She walks right in and wraps Steve up in her arms, her head pressed into his chest. She lifts her head and presses in close to his good ear before speaking again, and Steve — well, Steve figures of course El would know. She has always been far too observant.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“For what?” Steve asks, returning the embrace.

“You have kept my friends alive,” El whispers. “You have taken care of everyone. Dustin says they would have had no chance if you did not drive them around.”

Steve laughs. That’s true, but he doesn’t feel like he’s all that important in the grand scheme of things.

Hopper pulls him into a hug next, and it’s weird because Hopper and Steve were never all that close, but it’s nice, too because Steve still mourned Hopper, and now he’s here. He’s here and he’s likely the reason Eddie isn’t cuffed to his bed rails, and he’s going to make all of the Upside Down bullshit better because he isn’t afraid to go in headfirst to anything.

“What are you wearing?” Hopper asks, taking a step back to look at him.

Steve feels even more heat rush into his face, even when he’s already feverish. “They’re not mine.”

Hopper barks out a laugh, then grabs Steve’s arm to pull him into the hallway.

“You need to get fixed up, kid,” Hopper says with no room for argument. “I got Eddie’s charges dropped, and now you’re going to do this for me, alright?”

“Or what?” Steve asks. “You’re going to re-arrest him?”

“I just might,” Hopper says, amused.

There’s a doctor at the end of the hallway that Hopper passes Steve off to, and he spends the next few hours being sewn up and pumped full of antibiotics. He spends that time worrying and wondering if Eddie is going to wake up anytime soon. He’s worried that he won’t be there when he does.

Steve doesn’t really know why that matters so much to him.

Read more on AO3

#this is chapter 1 so go ahead onto chapter 2!#mind the tags #sorry i’m just trying to promo all my recent fics bear with me #steddie #steve x eddie #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #my fics #steve/eddie #wayne munson

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melestasflight · 2 months

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A snippet from Against His Wisdom for @march-of-the-noldor

It is not the cold that eats as much upon Nolofinwë. There are things one can learn to produce warmth sufficient to keep walking. He learns, they all do.

But the quietness is an entirely different matter. There is no birdsong on the Ice. No buzzing of insects to fill the air nor the rustling of foliage to draw the ear overhead.

The Helcaraxë is a silent desolation interrupted only by the frightening pitch of frozen sheets beneath their feet and the repetitive rhythm of marching — step, step, swish, step, step, swish — for time immeasurable. The monotony drives him to madness so Nolofinwë concentrates on learning the strides of each of his people to keep his mind occupied. He does not need to look even to know who walks beside him.

In that agonizing silence, every small murmur travels like a breeze down the marching lines and rumor reaches Nolofinwë's ears, whether he seeks it or not.

Nolofinwë leads us against his wisdom, some say, for his son so urges him.

His son, the kinslayer, another mutters, is as mad as Fëanáro, may he be damned—

Nelyafinwë poisoned his mind—

Betrayed the kin of his friends, as brothers they were—

Fëanáro—

Findekáno—

Fëanáro—

Findekáno—

Kinslayers!

Nolofinwë cannot bring himself to command silence because his people are already stretched too thin and he sees them fragmenting, Findaráto’s followers on one end, Turukáno’s on the other. And because, in the hours when the wind howls with a peculiar intensity, even he sees some truth in the resemblance.

In profile, somewhat obscured beneath the thick layers of pelts, Nolofinwë recognizes Fëanáro in Findekáno’s high cheekbones and determined gaze. When his son walks before him, there is something about the strength in his marching steps that is almost unnatural. A power cracked open by drawing of blood from another body. When Findekáno looks behind him, as he often does to make sure his father still stands on firm ground, Nolofinwë catches himself expecting his brother’s stern face.

It grows as they walk further, this darkness. The same darkness Finwë had carried with him from Middle-earth and even in the calm of Valinórë passed some of it onto his eldest son. It now flickers behind the light in Findekáno’s eyes, calling for his bloodlust.

But unlike many of his people, Nolofinwë does not fear this power. Findekáno’s fire is not wholly of destruction. Its warmth when tamed nurtures life, even as Fëanáro’s had before grief consumed him.

It is now Findekáno who sings after those who stray away in the darkness even if they cursed his name. Findekáno who offers to step first when the ice turns more treacherous. Findekáno who hews Itarillë’s blackened toes and becomes her legs, carrying her on his shoulders beyond exhaustion.

His son looks after their people, so Nolofinwë takes the task of looking after him. He eats less so Findekáno can have more. Stands so Findekáno can sit. Keeps his dreams at bay in the precious moments of rest.

‘Walk with me, Findekáno,’ he says when his son marches alone at the head of the host for too long.

Kinslayer or no, Nolofinwë will walk by his son.

Read Against His Wisdom on AO3

#fingolfin #fingon #maedhros #feanor #helcaraxe #march of the noldor #silmarillion #tolkien #silm fic #nolofinweans #mind the tags

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underfaller · 9 months

Text

My Doll

18+ Pairing: yan!Dottore x reader Tw: noncon, yandere, doll fetish Notes: dead dove. slightly OOC.

“Ah, is my darling awake?”

Dottore hovered over you, smiling gently. His heart swelled upon seeing your open eyes gaze back at him. He never tired of seeing you wake. He kissed you on the forehead.

“Did you sleep well?”

You do not answer. It’s to be expected. After all, that drug Dottore gave you was a resounding success. Oh, how he loved being correct. It was almost as satisfying a feeling as his adoration for you. Though… Dottore supposed it’s quite unfortunate for you. You are unable to move now-- completely paralyzed and immobilized. You couldn’t even speak. The only thing you could do was look at him with those beautiful, emotionless eyes like water colored, glass marbles.

Oh, how Dottore loved those eyes.

The other versions of him loved the chase. They liked to see their prey squirm and struggle. But not him. He preferred his subjects a bit more compliant. He always thought subduing them took way too much effort to be any fun. It was a bit similar for you. He knew you wouldn’t be as willing if you had free will. It was honestly illogical. If only you knew the extent of his love, his fondness, his methodical planning-- you would know that it was better for him to control you anyways. After all, the Doctor only wanted the best for you in the end. Because of this, Dottore preferred you to be completely at the whim of his actions. You should trust him. That’s what lovers do, correct?

He never understood love. In his many years of existence, he never believed he would experience it so he deemed it useless to strive to understand such a foreign concept. Then, he met you.

It was an unceremonious meeting. He'd simply passed you on his way to the Palace. You shouldn't have looked his way. You should not have acknowledged him. You should have kept your head down and hurried past him as everyone else did. Your eyes met his. He locked onto your gaze. In that instant, he suddenly knew what love was. Love was you. And he had to have you.

It was then that your fate was sealed-- and you were too naïve to even know it.

The Doctor sat you up, before making his way towards your closet. He rummaged through it a bit before pulling out a thin, white dress. He turned to you, beaming with delight.

“How about this, darling? Shall you wear this today?”

Silence. Dottore laughs softly.

“Ah. I knew you would like it. I picked it out myself, after all. I do have a good eye, don’t I?”

Dottore sits on the bed beside you, kissing your head once again. He inhales deeply, taking in your luscious and intoxicating scent.

If he could bottle up your smell, he would keep it with him at all times.

“Let’s get you dressed now, my little doll.”

Dottore lifted you up, leaning you against the wall. He delicately lifted your nightgown as he removed it. He does the same for your undergarments. He was careful not to harm you. You were so fragile --and he does not want to break his toy. He could actually be quite gentle when he wanted to be. And for you, he would always be gentle. Dottore pulled the dress over you, buttoning it up with nimble fingers before straightening it out. He could see the goose bumps on your arms as he did so. Were you cold? Now that he thought of it, this dress was quite inadequate for the Snezhnayan cold.

A small sacrifice for perfection.

Dottore dug into the pocket of his lab coat and pulled out a red satin ribbon. He picked up the ivory comb on your bedside table next to your bottle of pills. As he brushed your hair, he hummed a familiar tune before tying your long hair in a neat bow. The Doctor stepped off the bed, admiring his handiwork. He smiled widely. He couldn't help it.

You looked so, so perfect.

“I knew it would look beautiful on you,” Dottore simpered as he checked his watch. "Ah, I almost forgot..." He once again made his way towards you, picking up your pill bottle and giving it a small shake as he untwisted the cap and picked up one of the light blue pills. It could almost be mistaken as candy if it wasn't in its labelled bottle. Dottore carefully grabbed a hold of your jaw, squeezing your mouth slightly ajar. He pressed his fingers delicately places your medicine in the back on your throat, before closing your jaw. He watched as your throat twitched, signifying you'd swallowed the pill. He kisses you gently on the lips.

"Good doll," He cooed. Dottore sighed before carefully lifting you from your spot and carrying you out the open door.

“Up we go. Let’s go now, darling. We have a lot of work today.”

Dottore brought you to his lab, setting you on his desk before preparing for the day’s experiments. He always brought you with him to work, even if the other segments teased him. He did not care of their opinions-- your presence was absolutely necessary and they were absolutely dim-witted for not seeing that.

However, if any of those imbecile pieces of him even dared to look at you for too long he wouldn’t hesitate to cut them down where they stood.

Dottore looked at you one last time before he began his work. Despite your close proximity, he hated to leave you. If he could, he’d have you by his side every second of the day. However, he did not want to get any of today’s subjects’ inferior blood on such a fine object. You would have to stay where you were, safe from any harm or filth.

“Don’t go anywhere, alright Y/N?” Dottore winked.

After work, the Doctor carried you back to your bedroom, bridal style. Dottore laid you back down on your bed, kissing you softly as his hands explored your body. He barely hid his excitement. He had been thinking of this all day--so much so that he was close to making quite grievous mistakes multiple times throughout his experiments. He didn't blame you, however. It was not your fault that you were so distracting.

How could I not be captivated by such flawlessness?

Your breathing quickened as he groped your breast under your dress. His fingers twist your nipple, chuckling quietly when it becomes erect. He was pleased to know that despite your paralysis, you could still enjoy such stimuli. He does the same to the other, playfully rotating it with his finger as he looks at your eyes. They were a bit wider, now. Dottore presses his head against your chest.

“Your heart is beating so quickly, are you excited, my doll?” He murmured.

Silence.

Dottore’s kisses trail from your slightly agape lips to the side of your face, down to your neck. They become more sloppy as he ravenously planting kisses up and down your neck. Suddenly, Dottore leaned even closer, sinking his sharp teeth into you and instantly breaking the soft, delicate skin. He mentally scolded himself for damaging you, but he simply couldn’t help it-- it was if he needed to devour you. You were something to be consumed by him and only him. He greedily licked your fresh wound, savoring every last drop of blood and even lightly sucking it as if he were trying to coax more of that sweet, red liquid out of you.

When he's had his fill, Dottore doesn’t even attempt to prep you, instead opting to penetrate you immediately as soon as his hardened member is freed from his pants. Your only solace is that he starts at a slow, methodic pace. Even if it was a bit uncomfortable, the Doctor relished in breaking through your tightness. Soon, your juices lubricated the painful friction and he quickly picked up the pace, pushing deep into you as his length filled your insides over and over. Dottore let out a soft groan as he gazed at you with ruby eyes.

Sometimes Dottore regretted taking away your ability to speak. This was one such time. It would’ve been lovely to hear your lovely, lewd moans as he fucked you. But he digressed, the silence was welcome as well. After all, dolls couldn’t speak. He bites your earlobe hard as he lets out a deep growl.

“Look at you ...so beautiful laying there… all mine...”

Your pathetic body flaccidly lolled against the sheets with each thrust. You looked as if you wanted to cry out, but you could only clench your eyes shut, avoiding the gaze of your captor as he slid in and out of you. He could feel every groove and bump in your walls as you clenched around his dick. You drove him insane. He grabbed your hips as he continued to fuck you, his thrusts becoming less rhythmic as he felt his climax build.

You were his. His doll to dress and fuck and do as he pleased. You were his plaything and no one else’s. You would stay here until he broke you. Even then, Dottore would preserve your body and keep you in his lab. He’d pluck out your pretty eyes and keep them on his desk so he could always peer into them. Dottore groaned loudly as he finished deep inside you, spilling his hot semen in your womb. He caresses your cheek as you once again look at him. As he pulled out, he peered at your limp body filled with his cum that oozed onto the bed sheets. Dottore gave a contented sigh

You would always be with him. You would always be his. Forever.

“My toy, my little doll. This is how things should be.”

#dottore #dottore x fem!reader #dottore x reader #genshin x reader #fatui harbingers #dead dove do not eat #yandere male #mind the tags

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sidekick-hero · 8 months

Text

Will you cleanse me with pleasure?

(steddie | 8.4k | explicit| AO3)

A little something for @steves-strapcollection birthday 💜

Gerry, I already told you how much I appreciate you in our DMs so let me just wish you the happiest birthday here. Please never change because true passion and authenticity are so hard to find and knowing you is a pleasure I wouldn't want to miss.

Summary:

People are always saying that the only way you really get to know your partner is when you move in together.

Steve has always dismissed those people. He already knows Eddie inside and out. He knows Eddie's favorite mug (the Garfield one his Uncle Wayne gave him), what food he eats when he's sad (Mac'n'Cheese because that's been his comfort food since he was a kid), where that little scar on his forehead came from (he fell out of a tree trying to rescue a lost kitten which Steve brings up every chance he gets).

Steve thinks it’s safe to say that he knows everything important about Eddie when they finally decide to move in together.

Everything, it turns out, except that Eddie sneaks out of the house in the middle of the night at least once a week.

CW: Tentacle Sex, Monsterfucking, Tentacle Monster Eddie, despite these tags this is one of the softest things I've written. It's a love story 🥰

Special thanks to @yournowheregirl for feeding me ideas and cheering me on like the amazing friend she is, @scarcrossdlvrs for being so sweet and encouraging me and beta-ing this baby as well as @stobinesque for finding mistakes like Sherlock Holmes

People are always saying that the only way you really get to know your partner is when you move in together.

Steve thinks it’s safe to say that he knows everything important about Eddie when they finally decide to move in together.

Everything, it turns out, except that Eddie sneaks out of the house in the middle of the night at least once a week.

Maybe he doesn’t know Eddie that well after all.

To be fair, he hasn't known Eddie that long either. Even for Steve, the way they fell in love with each other so quickly came as a bit of a surprise.

Part of the surprise is that he fell so hard, so fast, for another man because Steve had never dated one before. Sure, he had definitely thought about it. A lot. He definitely suspected that he wasn't exactly straight, thinking back to all the hand jobs he'd traded with fellow jocks and friends after basketball practice or behind the bleachers. But for most of his adult life he had been in a very committed and, at least in his mind, very loving relationship with a woman.

Until said woman broke his heart.

The breakup had been painful and Steve had just needed to get away from it all. So, in a spur of the moment decision, he packed his shit and moved halfway across the country from Hawkins, Indiana to Derry, Maine. Here he rented a quaint little house on the outskirts of town near the local lake, where he also used the basement for his physical therapy practice.

He was definitely not looking for another relationship at this point.

Of course, within the first month in Derry, Steve met Eddie, who turned Steve's already upside down life around a few times for good measure.

Steve's Beemer was already old when he drove it several hundred miles for the move. But here, with roads that can hardly be called that, it had started to give him real trouble. So he took it to Munson and Son Auto Repair in town.

The shop itself did not look like much, with the paint already peeling in places. The door to the office was locked, but he could hear noises coming from the garage section of the shop, so that was where he went. He expected to be greeted by another one of the gruff, flannel-wearing older men he had come to associate with many of the businesses here in town.

So he wasn't at all prepared for the mouth-watering sight of a man lifting wheels onto a metal track in nothing but work pants and an old, faded gray t-shirt.

The guy was about Steve's height, with shoulder-length curly black hair, broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist, and a muscular back that moved under his gray t-shirt as he lifted wheel after wheel. His arms were covered in tattoos, more black than skin, moving over lithe muscles. His legs were long, not exactly thick, but the way they bent and stretched easily with the added weight told Steve they were strong, too. Steve couldn't help but imagine them wrapped around his waist or his head.

Clearing his suddenly very dry throat, Steve got the man's attention, and when he turned around, Steve knew he was screwed.

His face was beautiful. It was long, with high cheekbones, a wide and full mouth, and the prettiest brown doe eyes Steve had ever seen. They'd looked even bigger with how wide they'd gotten as they fell on Steve, clearly surprised by his presence. Steve didn't miss the way they had roamed over his body appraisingly. Nor did he miss the way Eddie had flirted with him outrageously, with no respect for personal space, once he had gotten over his initial surprise.

Twenty minutes later, Steve walked out with an appointment for the next day and Eddie's number.

And even though the appointment was rather depressing, with Eddie telling him that it would be best for Steve to say goodbye to his Beemer because it was only going to get worse, it was still one of the best things that had ever happened to him. Because that very same day, Steve went out on his first date with Eddie to go shopping for a new car. It was the most fun he had in a long time.

The day ended with Steve buying a new Jeep and fucking Eddie in the back seat on the shore of Devilfish Lake. What better way to christen the car, Steve had thought as Eddie rode him to oblivion before there were no more thoughts, just breathless whimpers and moans of their names.

Steve is pretty sure that he was already half in love with Eddie at this point.

The thing is: Steve has never been one to take things slow. It's not in his nature. He's a shoot first, ask questions later kind of guy. A trigger-happy heart beats in his chest, and when he falls, he falls hard.

That's why, after barely a year of dating, he asks Eddie to move in with him.

Not that he hadn't wanted to ask earlier. No, Steve had thought about moving in with Eddie the first morning they woke up together. The morning light had streamed in and danced across Eddie's features as he slept peacefully in Steve's bed, his dark hair a wild mess and his cheeks flushed with sleep. Steve knew he wanted to wake up like that every morning.

He’s really proud of himself that he still managed to wait almost 11 months before he couldn't stop himself any longer. By this time they were sleeping at each other's houses all the time. Most nights were spent at Steve's because while Steve was living on his own, Eddie was still living with his Uncle Wayne.

Eddie had told Steve about growing up with his uncle because his parents had died when he was very young. He said he didn't remember them and that Wayne had always been like a father to him. It's a sentiment the old man seems to share, as he once told Steve about naming the shop and that Munson and Nephew never quite sounded right. Wayne decided to call it Munson and Son instead, explaining that as far as he was concerned, Eddie was his son. Eddie tried to hide it, but Steve had seen his eyes shine with emotion when he heard Wayne say those words so casually.

Steve really liked Wayne, and they hit it off after an initial wariness that Steve couldn't quite explain. Eddie told him that his uncle was just very protective of Eddie, who was not exactly popular around town, and that it always took him some time to trust strangers.

Wayne had watched Steve like a hawk for months. That's why Steve had decided to talk to him first about moving in with Eddie.

He had been nervous as he went up to Wayne and told him that he was going to ask Eddie to move in with him. Steve wasn't asking for permission, but he knew how much Wayne cared about Eddie, so Steve assured him that he would do everything in his power to make Eddie happy.

Wayne had put his hand on Steve’s shoulder and told him that he knew Steve cared about his nephew and that Eddie deserved someone who would do that without question. And then Wayne said the same thing Steve had heard too many times already: that the only way to really get to know your partner is to move in together, and that Wayne hoped Steve was ready for that.

When Steve asked Eddie to move in with him a week later, he thought he was ready. Hell, he thought there was nothing he could learn about Eddie that would really surprise him.

As it turned out, he was wrong.

Eddie had been hesitant when Steve asked him to move in. They were lying in bed, both naked, their skin still glistening with drying sweat. Their legs were intertwined and Eddie's head was resting on Steve's chest, his fingers dancing lazily over Steve's skin. There was cum cooling on Steve’s belly and he knew it would start to flake soon, but he was also basking in the afterglow of another mind-blowing orgasm and too content and satiated to move.

So when Eddie sighed wistfully and told Steve they had to clean up because he had to go, his work clothes were at home, and his alarm would go off in 5 hours, Steve didn't even think.

"Move in with me." Steve said, not even a real question. He felt Eddie tense in his arms for a moment before his fingers continued their dance over Steve's ribs and sides.

Marking the passage of time by the frantic beating of his heart and the racing thoughts in his mind, Steve figured it was at least half an eternity before Eddie asked, "Are you serious?”

Steve had tightened his grip on Eddie, his hand reaching for Eddie's and intertwining their fingers. "I've never been more serious. I want you to have your things here so you don't have to leave. I want to wake up next to you every morning and go to sleep with you in my arms every night. Move in with me. Please."

As he heard Eddie's sharp intake of breath at his words, Steve realized that a simple "yes" would have been enough. He didn't regret saying what he did, though.

Just as he was about to ask Eddie if everything was all right, if Steve had gone too far, if it was too much, Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve's chest, right over his trembling heart.

"Do you have any plans this weekend? I think I might need some help moving."

The move was a quick one, with Steve's jeep and Eddie's van and Wayne's help, it only took two trips to get Eddie settled into Steve's house. The rest of the day was spent barbecuing with Wayne in Steve's backyard, drinking beer and just talking. And when they said goodbye to Wayne, Eddie had taken his hand and led Steve up to their bedroom and laid Steve out on their sheets and made love to him, even though they hadn't said the words yet.

Steve had never been happier.

That had been two months ago, and for most of that time things had been perfect.

He knows that Eddie had been a little nervous at first that their different temperaments or rhythms would clash, with Eddie being a hyper ball of energy, sometimes unfocused and prone to insomnia and late nights, while Steve enjoyed his quiet times and early morning runs. But they work well together, mindful of each other's habits, needs, and boundaries, and willing to talk things out.

So why would Eddie not talk to him about the fact that once a week he would sneak out of the house in the middle of the night and come back at the crack of dawn smelling like lake water?

Steve waited for Eddie to come to him, vowing to be patient and give Eddie his space. He knows that this is Eddie's first serious relationship and that Eddie is used to doing his own thing without asking permission or telling anyone what he's up to.

But it's been weeks, and while Steve doesn't really think Eddie would cheat on him, he's still worried. It's not normal to leave your house, your bed, your boyfriend in the middle of the night, only to come back hours later without saying a word, is it? It confuses him and leaves him feeling off kilter, because why wouldn't Eddie just talk to him? He even brings it up once, says something off handed about Eddie's insomnia and if he ever goes for a walk or something when he can't sleep.

Eddie said no, lying to Steve’s face.

So when Steve feels Eddie leaving his arms and their bed again one night, he decides to follow him.

Eddie moves so cautiously, careful not to wake Steve. It is a shame for him that Steve has always been such a light sleeper. With his eyes closed and his breathing deliberately even, Steve listens as Eddie gets dressed and gently closes their bedroom door behind him. He smiles to himself as he hears the telltale creak of the loose stair that Eddie never manages to avoid, and the smile grows even fonder as he hears Eddie cursing softly to himself.

Steve follows him as soon as the front door closes, only slipping into his favorite pair of gray sweats and a hoodie he steals from Eddie before dashing after him. On his way out of the house, he notices that Eddie has left his car keys behind.

Slipping out the front door, Steve looks around, trying to decide which way Eddie most likely went. He remembers the smell of lake water on Eddie, so his best guess is Devilfish Lake. It's a short walk from Steve's house, no more than ten, maybe fifteen minutes on foot if you knew the shortcut behind the last house on the road.

And sure enough, there on the dirt road behind Mrs. Benson's house, a few feet in front of him, he sees a dark figure that must be Eddie. His long legs take wide strides, carrying him down the road fast.

For someone who claims to hate running, or any exercise for that matter, Eddie is surprisingly fit and hard to catch.

Which is good, because Steve wants to know what Eddie’s been up to before he talks to him, so Eddie can't know he's here yet.

Steve tries so hard to stay out of Eddie's sight that it takes him a minute to realize that he has actually lost sight of him. One moment he was walking in front of Steve and the next he's gone.

Shit.

Walking faster, he thinks about just calling for Eddie, his plan be damned. It's not exactly cold, but the nights here do get chilly, and in his haste he forgot to put on his shoes before he ran after Eddie. He just wants to go home, preferably with his boyfriend, and curl up in bed. And tomorrow they have to sit down and talk, because -

Before Steve can finish his thought, he hears a loud splash coming from the lake. It sounds like something big hit the water, something like a human body.

Eddie's body.

Eddie, who told him he couldn't swim when Steve asked him to join him for his morning laps in the lake.

It's not even a conscious decision when he starts running toward the pier, his legs pumping as fast as they can.

"Eddie!" He calls, his voice frantic. "Where are you?"

The ground changes beneath his feet, the earthy soil of the path giving way to the wooden planks of the pier, and his bare feet carry him almost all the way to the edge before he stops. His eyes search the lake for any sign of Eddie, but the water is still beneath him. Small waves lick at the wood of the pier, but the surface is flat and unbroken, with no trace of him.

"Eddie!" He shouts again, cupping both hands over his mouth to carry his voice over the lake. Fuckfuckfuck. Every minute he wastes calling for him, Eddie could be sinking deeper and deeper to the bottom, slowly drowning...

His hoodie hits the ground next to him and his sweatpants follow. Steve’s going to go in and the only thing they're going to do is pull him down as they get soaked with water.

He steps closer to the edge of the pier, arms raised above his head, ready to jump in when Eddie's voice stops him.

"No!" Eddie yells. "Steve, stop!"

Startled, Steve does.

Instead of jumping in, he scans the lake with his eyes until he sees Eddie's head above the surface, floating in place, the water around him barely rippling. He must be at least 700 feet away.

"Eddie? What are you doing? Are you hurt?" He asks, his voice lower than before, his tone confused. Eddie doesn't seem hurt, but why would he be in the water if he can't even swim?

Although, with the way he's still floating in place, it looks like he's doing just fine in the water. But why would Eddie lie to him about not being able to swim?

Steve wraps his arms around himself, a shiver running through his body. The air is cold as it whispers across his bare skin.

"I don't know what's going on." He hates how small his voice sounds.

Eddie makes a sound of distress and before Steve can blink, he's so much closer, just a few feet away. Steve didn't even see him move. Above them, the moon is full and bright in the night sky, its light illuminating Eddie's beautiful face. It looks pale in the cold light, his eyes huge and sparkling, somehow seeming even bigger than they usually are.

"Steve." He breathes out, a look of pure heartbreak on his face, and Steve has no idea what it all means, but it scares him. Eddie should never look like this, nervous, almost afraid. But most of all sad. "Please, Stevie, go home. You're shaking."

Steve takes a step toward him, but Eddie puts more distance between them immediately. Again, he moves too fast for Steve's brain to register. He’s now right on the edge, his weight balanced precariously on his heels, and Eddie is looking at him from way too far away for Steve's comfort.

"Not without you." When Eddie doesn't move, Steve adds, "Please. Just...come home with me? We don't even have to talk right now. I just... want to go home with you."

Another shiver runs through his body and he sits down on the edge of the pier, his knees tucked into his chest and his arms wrapped around them. He won't leave without Eddie. Steve doesn't even know why this is so important, but something in him feels that he has to stay, has to go with Eddie, otherwise he will lose him.

This time, as Eddie swims toward him, he's slower than before, almost hesitant, ready to bolt at Steve's first move. It still looks faster, more fluid, than anyone else he's ever seen swim. And Steve has been captain of the swim team for years.

He waits with bated breath for Eddie to approach him, and this time Eddie comes even closer. But he still leaves enough space between them that Steve can only see his head and neck where they stick out of the water. Something tells him that if he jumped in now, Eddie would be across the lake in seconds.

Looking into Eddie’s wide eyes, Steve sees so much emotion in them that his heart aches in his chest. He's also almost certain that the wetness on Eddie's cheeks isn't just lake water.

"Eddie?" Steve tries again when it seems like all Eddie can do is look at him with his hauntingly sad eyes. Steve wants to take him in his arms, run his hand through his hair like he always does when Eddie is having a bad day, and tell him that everything will be all right. They will figure it out, whatever it is.

He wants to tell Eddie he loves him.

"I'm so sorry, Stevie. I... I can't. Please go home, I promise I'll be there soon. But I... You have to go. I can't lose you, so you have to go."

Nothing about this makes sense to Steve, but Eddie sounds like he's in pain, his voice cracking. This time Steve is sure he sees tears on his face. There's also something desperate and wild in his eyes, like he's genuinely afraid of... of Steve.

"You're scaring me, Eddie. I don't know what's going on, but I can help you. I want to help you. Please. Talk to me."

Eddie swims even closer (more like glides) and Steve slowly lowers his legs, unfolding himself until his feet rest in the water beneath him. The water is surprisingly warm, the late summer days still clinging to it.

Steve can see something dark moving in the water beneath him, but he doesn't pay much attention. It's probably a fish or an eel. As far as he knows, nothing dangerous lives in these waters.

"Stevie..." Eddie starts again, his eyes searching Steve's and there is so much naked longing on his face. "I can't. I couldn't survive if you thought I was a freak like the rest of them, that you would be disgusted with me." Eddie's eyes beg him to understand, to not make him do this, to save them both. "You'll hate me. Or worse. You'd be afraid of me.”

"I could never hate you, Eddie. Or be afraid of you. Only ever for you." He takes a deep breath, thinking about finally saying those three little words that have been on his mind for months. He never said them before because he was afraid it would be too much, too fast.

That he would scare Eddie away because he knows Eddie has some baggage, that he can get skittish and overwhelmed at times with their relationship. Steve is still surprised that Eddie agreed to move in with him, if he's being honest.

But maybe it's time to let Eddie see the depth of his devotion to him, even if he can't say it back yet.

"Eddie, I -"

Something touches his leg, stopping him in mid-sentence. Something alive. It's firm, feeling smooth and warm against his skin as it slides from his heel up his calf to his knee, a soft touch, almost like a caress.

"OhmyGod." Steve whimpers as another joins the first, gently exploring his other leg, going as far as his thigh, and he has to force himself to look down. When he does, it's just in time to see two long black vines wrapped around his legs before they disappear as suddenly as they had appeared.

"What the -"

"I'm sorry," Eddie cuts him off, sounding horrified, staring at Steve's legs with an expression somewhere between horror and...shame?

Eddie has put some distance between them again. Steve looks from Eddie's face to his own legs and back to Eddie, slowly beginning to put the pieces together. Eddie's reluctance to come closer, his fear that Steve might hate him or be afraid of him, the black vines that only appeared when Eddie came closer.

"Eddie...what's going on? Were those, those things yours?"

He wishes he could take back the word "things" as soon as he says it, because Eddie pulls back again, his face shuttering, and Steve hates himself for putting that look on Eddie's face.

"It's okay if they were, I promise. I was just... surprised, is all." Steve tries to reassure, his hand reaching out to Eddie, desperate to get him to come back, to get close again. Let Steve touch him.

What he doesn't expect is Eddie's harsh laughter at his words, bursting out of him as if he couldn't help it. It almost sounds like a sob to Steve.

"It's not okay. You don't... you have no idea." Eddie's hands are buried in his hair, his frustration in every line of his beautiful face. His hands look different, Steve notices. Darker, shimmering in the moonlight, and his fingers look longer somehow.

"Steve, I'm a monster." Eddie almost spits out the word monster as if it's something vile. The words sound painful, spilling from him like from a freshly opened festering wound.

A monster. That's just... Steve doesn't even know. Laughable. Because Eddie, his sweet, goofy boyfriend, a monster? The same guy who fell out of a tree trying to save a kitten. Who still spends every Sunday with his Uncle Wayne, even hungover and sleep-deprived the few times he and Steve have gone to the nearest town for a night out. Eddie, who reads to Steve when Steve can't sleep and plays him sappy love songs on his acoustic guitar. The man who holds his hand when they fuck and looks into his eyes with every thrust, who kisses him when he comes, every time. That same guy is supposed to be a monster?

"That's not true." Eddie snorts derisively, but Steve continues. "You're not a monster. You're just Eddie. My Eddie. You always will be." Steve sees Eddie move again, incremental movements that bring him closer to Steve. "Nothing will change who you are."

His expression carefully blank, Eddie comes even closer. But Steve knows him, knows his face and all its many expressions better than his own, and he can tell that there is hope glimmering in his eyes.

"You mean these won't change who I am?" He asks Steve, showing him exactly what touched his legs earlier. They are not vines, but tentacles. Many of them, varying in thickness and length, all black and smooth as they break the surface and hover around Eddie. Steve can't help the sound that slips from his mouth, too surprised to catch it before it falls out and reaches Eddie's waiting ears, confirming all his worst fears.

Eddie laughs again, the sound just as joyless and harsh as the first time. "I knew it. Of course, this changes everything. Who would want to be with someone, something, like me?"

Eddie is so quick to assume the worst, to believe the worst, that Steve can't keep his voice from rising in frustration.

"I do, okay? I fucking do. They just caught me off guard. You gotta let me get my head around this for a second. I wasn't expecting... any of this when I followed you here, and I should be allowed to take a second."

He looks into Eddie's eyes and realizes how much closer he is again. This close, Steve can see more changes: Eddie's canines are longer where they nervously gnaw at his lower lip, his eyes are bigger, darker, than before, and his skin is paler, almost reflecting the moonlight. There's something different about him, but at the same time, he's still Eddie.

"I want to be with you. Tentacles or not, human or not. You're still Eddie. You're still the man I love."

Eddie gasps at Steve's words, obviously not expecting to hear those words from him. Especially now.

"Stevie..." he breathes out, reverently, and once again he moves faster than Steve's eyes can follow. He stops at Steve's shins and his hands touch Steve's ankles tentatively, as if he's still not sure if he's allowed. His tentacles seem to have no such qualms as they slide up Steve's calves again, and Eddie curses as he pulls them back.

Steve somehow misses them already.

He reaches out and sighs in relief when his hand finally touches Eddie, running through his wet curls.

"I love you, Eddie. All of you. Every single appendage." Steve adds the last part with a playful grin, and it elicits a smile, however small, from Eddie.

"Are you...sure?"

Instead of answering, Steve bends down, his hands cupping Eddie's face as he pulls him into a surprisingly sweet kiss. Eddie still tastes the same, his lips soft but firm against his. Eddie's tongue teases along the seams of Steve’s lips and it's warm and wet as it slides into his mouth, exploring it with a single-minded devotion as if it's been months instead of mere hours since their last kiss.

Steve can't help but moan into it and he feels Eddie's fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs in response. More and more tentacles have begun to creep up his legs as Eddie loses himself in their kiss, and Steve feels them teasing along his bare skin. Like Eddie's tongue, they feel warm and wet as they slide along his skin, some kind of fluid on their insides making the glide easier. Still, some of them get stuck to his skin with their suckers and it feels like Eddie is giving him hickeys on his thighs. Steve wonders if they'll leave suction cup shaped bruises.

It feels strange, not like anything Steve's ever felt before, but it's not unpleasant. It's just a lot. They seem to be everywhere and every touch, every caress, every suck sends another thrill through him. Steve is used to Eddie's hands as they map and explore his body until Steve is a withering mess begging to be touched, fucked, anything. Everything.

It feels like that, but more.

One of the tentacles finds its way between his legs, teasing along his shaft where it still rests mostly soft against his thigh, and he gasps into Eddie's eager mouth. The sound makes Eddie pull back, apologies already spilling from his lips, but Steve's hand on the back of Eddie's head keeps him from pulling too far away.

Their faces are still close as Steve whispers in the sacred space between them, "I...like it. Them. They feel good."

Eddie searches his face for any trace of a lie, but he finds none, because Steve is not lying when he says he likes the way they feel on him. He wants to feel Eddie's tentacles on every inch of his body, he wants them to wrap around him and hold him tight. He wants to touch them with his hands and find out how smooth they really are.

"Can I join you in the water, Eddie? Wanna be closer."

Steve presses another kiss to Eddie's stunned lips and that's enough to spur Eddie into action. His tentacles slowly begin to wrap around Steve, surrounding him on all sides as they pull him closer to Eddie. He wraps his own legs around Eddie's hips and feels the base of the tentacles somewhere on Eddie's lower torso. His hand is still on the back of Eddie's head, the other wrapped around Eddie's shoulder.

Their mouths are only inches apart and the world has stopped on its axis, waiting for them to take the final step, to fall somewhere from which they cannot return.

"You sure you want this?" Eddie asks, giving him one last chance to back out, to change his mind.

Steve has never been more sure. "I want you."

The tentacles on his body tighten and Eddie pushes forward into Steve's arms, wrapping his own around Steve and pulling him into the lake.

The water surrounds him on all sides, warm against his cold skin, and he tightens his grip on Eddie, trusting him to bring them both back to the surface. And Eddie does, their heads breaking through the water at the same time. Steve blinks the water out of his eyes and is rewarded when Eddie's face comes back into focus. He's still looking at Steve like he's not sure if this is okay, still worried that Steve will realize at any moment that he's in the arms of a monster.

Steve cups Eddie's face in his palm, his eyes soft as he looks at his boyfriend. "I want you, Eddie. I love you."

Turning his head, Eddie presses a kiss to Steve's palm. He looks back at Steve through his lashes, and Steve can see all the love he feels reflected back at him.

"I love you too. So much, you have no idea. I was so scared of losing you. I hated keeping this from you. I'm sorry, I shoulda trusted you -" Eddie begins to babble, the palpable relief coming off him in waves turning into a nervous energy that Steve is already all too familiar with.

"Shh, it's okay. I know."

A particularly adventurous tentacle wraps around his waist and Steve can't help himself, he has to touch it. His fingers run along the smooth and surprisingly warm flesh and Eddie whimpers softly in his arms.

Oh.

Steve grins at Eddie and he knows his face looks smug as hell as his fingers continue to stroke along the flesh of Eddie's appendage.

"They're, uh... they're sensitive," Eddie stutters, his cheeks gaining some color in the still bright light of the full moon above them. His tentacles really seem to have a life of their own, for while Eddie seems embarrassed by his reaction, his tentacles demand more of Steve's attention.

Another joins the one wrapped around his waist and Steve lets go of Eddie completely, still blindly trusting him to keep them both afloat so he can use both hands to explore their texture. They seem to writhe under his attention, as does Eddie, his hands clutching Steve's back, his nails leaving welts on his skin.

"Fuck," Eddie moans as Steve's finger runs over one of the suckers attached to his stomach. "It feels like you're touching my dick, ohmygod." Steve feels Eddie's hips moving between his legs, subtle thrusts that he can't seem to help.

Steve wants to see how Eddie reacts when he takes one of his tentacles in his mouth.

"Has no one ever touched them before?" Steve can't help but ask, feeling a strange sense of possessiveness over this part of Eddie. Neither of them were virgins the first time they had sex, but this is somehow more intimate. Something that should only belong to Steve.

Eddie bites his lip, trying to hold back his needy sounds and shakes his head.

That won't do.

"I want to hear you say it, baby. Has anyone else had their hands on your tentacles before? Or am I the only one?" Eddie's still biting his lips with those fucking prolonged canines, and Steve wants them on his body, marking it, brandishing him as Eddie's. He thumbs at them, gently prying Eddie's mouth open. " C'mon, lemme hear you."

Another whimper breaks free and with it the thing Steve wanted to hear so badly. "Just you. No one else. Only you."

"Good. They're mine."

Eddie's lips are on his with a hunger he's never felt before. It's like Eddie's trying to crawl inside him, their kiss all teeth and tongue, wet and dirty and so fucking perfect that Steve thinks he could come from that alone.

"I love you so much," Eddie pants into his mouth, unable to stop kissing Steve for more than those few words. Warmth spreads through Steve's body from the way Eddie kisses him, from the sound of those words coming out of Eddie's mouth and from the way he sounds so fucking reverent when he says them.

As Eddie loses himself in their kisses, his tentacles become more and more adventurous. They're everywhere, on Steve's thighs, his waist, between his shoulder blades. One is curling across his chest right now, it's suckers on his nipples, sending electric jolts of arousal straight to his achingly hard cock. Another plays with the head of his weeping cock, spreading more of that slippery liquid on it, and it's tip teases his slit, causing Steve to whine into Eddie's open mouth.

Eddie must have noticed the same thing. "Shit, you're bleeding. I didn't mean to..."

Steve is licking over his lip to pick up the red droplets when the tentacle that is still resting around his neck moves again, it's tip prodding at his bleeding lip. The tentacle also brushes Steve's tongue and some of the clear liquid drips onto his tongue. It tastes sweet, almost like honey, and before Steve knows what he's doing, he closes his lips around Eddie's appendage and sucks it into his mouth.

The taste of it explodes over his taste buds and Steve feels his head become light again, almost as if he's floating. He doesn't even realize that he's licking and sucking on the flesh in his mouth until he feels Eddie's hands fall to his ass, grabbing it hard and grinding his thick, hard cock against it as high-pitched moans and whimpers continue to pour out of him.

There must be something in the fluid coming from Eddie's tentacles, some chemical that makes Steve feel drugged, his body lax and his mind hazy with lust.

"SteveSteveSteve," Eddie almost chants, and nothing has ever sounded sweeter to Steve's ears than his desperation. His own cock is trapped between their bodies and he hitches his hips to get some kind of friction, but it's not enough.

"Fuck me, Eddie. Fuck me with them, I need them to fill me up, please." Steve begs around the appendage in his mouth and he feels more fluid squirt out of the suckers, almost like a cock dripping pre-cum. This feels like sucking Eddie's cock, the way the flesh throbs in his mouth, warm and thick, but also different. Heady and addictive.

Steve's hands wrap around the girth, forcing it in and out of his mouth until more of the sweet liquid comes out and fills his mouth. He moans around it, wanting nothing more than to be stuffed full of Eddie's cum.

As if they can hear his thoughts, another tentacle joins the one in his mouth, making his jaw ache as they pry it open so they can both fit inside. Then a third, thinner than the other two, begins thrusting in and out between them. It goes deeper and deeper with each thrust, hitting his soft palate and teasing his throat until it opens for it.

Liquid collecting along the flesh begins to drip down his throat, relaxing his muscles further as he chokes on the thick tentacles filling his mouth. A broken moan gurgles up his throat, the vibration of it enough to reward him with more thick spurts from the tentacles in his mouth.

While his mouth is being stuffed, the rest of Eddie's appendages are not finished with him.

Eddie's hands are still gripping Steve's ass tightly, not moving so much as holding Steve in place as his tentacles continue to explore and worship his body. The one that's been teasing the head of his cock begins to slowly jerk him off, its grip just the right side of too much but the pace maddening. Steve wants to thrust into it, but more tentacles have joined those around his waist and chest, and even more have wrapped around his thighs, effectively tying him down and restricting his movement.

"Fuck, you should see yourself, so beautiful, so perfect. I can't believe we could have done this the whole time." Eddie sounds as out of it as Steve feels, his voice raspy and so low Steve can feel it reverberating through his body.

Steve realizes that the tight coil in his groin is ready to snap, his muscles trying to tense despite the relaxing effect of the tentacle's pre-cum in his system.

Just when he thinks he can't take it anymore, Steve feels another tentacle slide along the sensitive inside of his thighs. It slips between his legs, forgoing his cock to wrap around his balls, squeezing them tightly enough to stave off his impending climax.

He tries to whine around the thick flesh still fucking in and out of his throat, and comes out sounding muffled and desperate.

Eddie shushes him gently. "Shh, sweetheart, I know. I know. But I thought you wanted me to fuck you and I could tell you were already ready to make a mess between us."

Another muffled whimper.

"You still want me to fuck your needy hole, stuff it until your belly bulges with how full you are?"

The groan that fights its way past his mouthful sounds pained, the mental image almost enough to make him come anyway, no matter how much Eddie squeezes his balls.

It's Eddie's turn to look smug. "Thought so. I will be so good to you, sweetheart. You'll get what you want, I promise."

The tentacle that has been squeezing Steve's balls loosens its grip and slips behind his balls to his taint, stroking along it with just enough pressure to slowly drive him crazy. He wants it to go further, to sink into him, his hole clenching around nothing in needy desperation.

It doesn't. Instead, he feels the tip of a thinner one nudge his hole, spreading some of its liquid over it. It's the sweetest kind of torture when the tip dips inside him, stroking his opening, relaxing it and lubing it up at the same time. Preparing him to take more, so much more.

Steve feels Eddie's grip on his hips loosen and the tentacles holding him down follow his lead, allowing Steve to move again. "It's your show, sweetheart. You can play with them however you want."

The tip pushes deeper into him, the flesh inside of him hardening, ready for Steve to fuck himself on it. He pushes down and feels it sink deeper, his muscles giving way easily. He begins to undulate his hips, slowly fucking the appendage in and out of him.

It's maddening, not nearly enough, and he whines unhappily.

Eddie's hand comes up and cups his cheek, thumb stroking along his cheekbone. "Another one?"

Steve nods, his eyes pleading. He wants to tell Eddie to give him two more, he doesn't care, they've taken it slow enough. But his mouth is still full, and he loves the way the tentacles gag him, forcing him to communicate by whimpering and moaning.

Thank God Eddie doesn't need words to know what Steve needs.

He feels another tentacle pushing at his hole, its tip also slipping in with ease. But the further it sinks in, the thicker it gets, stretching him further and further around it. With the added girth it definitely rivals Eddie's thick cock, the feeling of them spearing him open just as good.

Until the tentacles start to take turns fucking him, no set rhythm or rhyme to it, keeping Steve on edge the whole time. The slick squirt from the suckers must be dripping out of him by now and he wishes they were somewhere dry so he could feel it. As it is, all he can feel is the thick flesh going into him like a knife sinking into butter, and before his next whimper has finished crawling up his throat, Eddie is sinking another thick one into him.

There is no teasing this time, just one smooth thrust that causes Steve to throw his head back in ecstasy.

"Oh my God, Steve, you're perfect, so perfect, I love you so much, the way you just take them, driving me crazy, I'm so fucking close," Eddie sounds almost delirious with lust, like Steve really is driving him crazy, making him feel so good he's about to lose it.

The thought makes him clench around the tentacles inside him, desperate to make Eddie feel even better, to make him feel as good as Steve. His tongue begins to rub along the suckers on the underside of the ones in his mouth and he can feel the spurts of pre-cum getting thicker, their taste even sweeter now. He drinks it down greedily, its effect on him not fading.

Steve's hands let go of the appendages in his mouth and instead search blindly for Eddie's hands. When he finds them, he laces their fingers together and grips Eddie's hands tightly, signaling that he's close as well. He brings their joined hands to his stomach, untangles the fingers, and presses Eddie's palms against his skin.

"Fuck, I can feel them." Eddie sounds awed, and when he looks up at Steve, there is an expression of naked hunger on his face. "Think you can take another one?"

For Eddie, Steve would take another ten.

He really wants another one too, the feeling of being stuffed to the brim is intoxicating, the constant pressure against his sweet spot and the way the sensitive nerve endings at his entrance feel overwhelmed again and again with every thrust stretching him wide. He's never been so full, never felt like this, and he already knows they need to do this again.

He nods, his fingers entwining with Eddie's once more, his palms resting on the backs of Eddie's hands. As Eddie slowly enters him with another thick limb, he chokes on the overwhelming sensation. His hole clenches almost painfully around the intrusion, the circumference almost too much, even with the relaxing effect of the tentacle's fluid, and Steve whimpers.

Before the sensation can become unpleasant, the tentacle around his cock quickened its pace, adding to the pleasure and overriding any discomfort Steve might have been feeling.

The tentacles in Steve's mouth pulse and writhe, the pre-cum squirting from them overflowing his mouth, dripping from the corners and running down his chin. He can tell that Eddie is close, too, and Steve knows he's holding back because he needs Steve to come first.

As if reading his mind, Eddie whimpers brokenly. "Steve, fuck, you feel perfect around me. God, I wish you could fuck me right now, your perfect cock inside me as I fuck you with my tentacles, my cock rubbing against your belly bulge."

It's Eddie's words, the picture he paints, that pushes Steve over the edge and he comes in thick spurts between them. His inner muscles clench rhythmically around Eddie, his girth almost too much to handle.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck," Eddie chants, and Steve feels him coming everywhere.

Eddie's hips buck up, forcing his cock between Steve's cheeks and it jerks against him as Eddie comes in thick spurts. They quickly dissolve in the water, but he can feel their warmth.

Even more overwhelming is the feeling of his tentacles squirting thick ropes of cum into his mouth and ass. It's so much that it keeps spilling out of his holes, filling him to the brim with Eddie's release. Their hands are still joined above his stomach and Eddie stares at him in shock as Steve's belly expands even more.

"Stevie, fuck, look at you. So beautiful when you're filled with my cum, your belly feels so big," Eddie sounds like he's having a religious experience and Steve is not far behind. In his mind he can see how his hole will be gaping when Eddie pulls out and he knows he will feel the way they just fucked for hours, if not days. The thought causes another thin rope of cum to spurt from his already softening cock.

Eddie carefully pulls his appendages out of Steve's mouth and ass, mindful of the overstimulated flesh. They slide out easily with the way Steve's whole body is limp after his release.

Once they're out of his body, Steve sinks into Eddie's arms like a puppet whose strings have been cut, letting Eddie hold his weight. Eddie's hand comes up and runs through Steve's hair, his chest rumbling with the soothing sounds he makes against Steve's head.

"That was..." Steve begins, but he doesn't even know how to finish the sentence, feels like there are no words in the English language sufficient to describe how he feels.

"The best thing that ever happened to me," Eddie suggests, and Steve hums in agreement. "You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Steve." Eddie adds, planting a kiss on Steve's ear. "I never thought anyone could want me, love me, knowing what I am."

This causes Steve to leave his comfortable resting place against Eddie's neck and look into Eddie's eyes as he says, "I think I've been in love with you since we christened my Jeep. I wanted to tell you that first morning you made us burnt toast for breakfast. But I was so afraid to tell you because I thought it was too much. That I was too much."

There's sadness in Eddie's eyes, and Steve doesn't know if it's for Eddie or for Steve. Maybe for both of them. They've both been so afraid to show the other who they really are for so long.

Eddie's lips find his in a kiss that is almost painfully soft, just their mouths pressing their love into each other's bodies, their tongues writing their devotion on each other's souls. When Eddie pulls away, his eyes are as soft as his kiss.

"You can never be too much, Steve. The way I want you? It scares me sometimes. No matter how much you want, how much you need, how much you love? I'm meeting you every step of the way."

Tears form in his eyes at Eddie's words, and his heart beats so loudly in his chest that he's sure Eddie must hear it.

"Marry me."

Steve surprises them both with his words, judging by Eddie's eyes, which are as wide as his own must be, but he doesn't take them back. He just adds, "Not today. Or tomorrow. It doesn't even have to be this year or the next, but someday I want you to be my husband."

The way Eddie's arms tighten around him should be answer enough, but his heart still soars as Eddie presses kisses all over his face, each one accompanied by another breathless yesyesyes.

It's only when Steve starts to shiver in his arms that Eddie stops peppering every inch of skin he can reach with kisses.

"You're cold," Eddie says and Steve can't help but laugh.

"Brilliant observation, Sherlock. How come you're not?"

Eddie just shrugs, "No idea. I don't feel the cold as much when I'm like this. It would suck in the winter otherwise."

This makes Steve pause. "You come here in the winter too? But the lake freezes over."

“Don’t I know. Wayne is helping me clear some of it off further down the shore so I can get in easier. I can show you next winter. For now we should get out. "

With that, Eddie swims them closer to the pier and helps Steve up onto it, because Steve's legs still feel like jelly. As Eddie lifts himself out of the water, Steve sees his tentacles in all their glory for a moment before they retract back into Eddie's body. His hands also return to their normal color and shape, and his face loses that otherworldly look.

He's just Eddie again.

Steve can't wait for the next time they can do this. But for now, he just opens his arms and Eddie immediately steps into his warm embrace.

"Let's go home, my love."

#steddie #steddie smut #steddie fanfic #steve x eddie #stranger things fanfiction #my writing #nsft #mind the tags

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writingjourney · 10 months

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Friday Nights at the Cinema Club | Vampire!Primo x gn!Reader

Summary: The handsome old gentleman who attends the late night showings is certainly the best part about your small town weekend job. But as the gentle attraction between you slowly begins to bloom, you realise that there’s more to him than meets the eye – and promptly find yourself chased into the woods by an unexpected monster.

Content: 14k words, vampire!primo, gn!reader, horror, violence, being hunted, harassment, men being assholes, smut (18+ MDNI, biting, blood kink/blood drinking, oral sex r!receiving, penetration, coming inside, unprotected sex)

This was originally intended to fill the “hunted” prompt for the @petrifyingpapas challenge. I am a little late but I hope you enjoy it anyway and give Primo his chance to shine! ♡

Masterlist – Ao3 link – Part 2 | Secondo's story

“This life of earth, whatever my attire, Would pain me in its wonted fashion. Too old am I to play with passion; Too young, to be without desire.”

― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust: Part 1

Now

He’s been following you for weeks.

Primo just can’t stop himself, no matter how many times he tells himself that he’s overstepping. As he watches the hurried pace you set, carrying you home in the early hours of a cool spring morning, he smells your distress like an overly strong perfume. Jacket tightly wrapped around your tense shoulders, your steps quicken whenever you leave the safe light of a streetlamp. You’re always nervous walking home alone, even more so since the incident at work.

This is the very thought that calms his conscience – his concern is rightful, necessary even. He has to protect you because you have no one else who will. Not that you cannot protect yourself, he knows you can, you hold your own quite nicely, but why take any unnecessary risks? Four eyes see more than two, especially if two of those have preternatural vision.

Suddenly you stop, glancing around with searching eyes. “Hello?”

Primo stops as well. It’s impossible that you heard him, he didn’t make any sounds that a human ear could process. Your eyes dart in a different direction and he’s on alert immediately. A few rapid beats of your heart pass. You seem to decide that you’re alright because you continue on your journey even if your legs move that extra bit quicker, walking as fast as possible without actually running.

No, Primo knows you don’t need him. You never ask him to walk you home and when he offers, you politely decline every single time. You don’t need him. You don’t need him how he needs you, and yet it feels good to imagine that you do. That anyone does. The thought he will not entertain, however, is that his motive is a selfish one. He’s been lonely for so long that he pours all that he has into this… whatever this is. And why should he not? In all the centuries that passed since he was cast upon this earth you’re the most wonderful thing he ever had the pleasure to behold and his time with you is so tragically limited, no matter what happens.

“Fuck,” he hears you mutter then, effectively distracting him. Again, you stop very suddenly, glancing vaguely into the direction he’s hiding in but without any real focus. “Who the fuck is there?”

Primo doesn’t sense anyone else. Possibly, you just heard a strange noise which wouldn’t be the first time since the incident. You’ve been on edge ever since and understandably so. Of course you don’t know that there is no danger of the same thing ever repeating. Which doesn’t mean you’re safe from other perils. Primo dares to stalk closer, foolishly so, because he’s too close now and you must have spotted his movements in the dark because you start to run like your life depended on it.

To his utter terror, you don’t follow your usual route home but take the shortcut through the woods. With breakneck speed, you run along the mud path that meanders through thick pine trees and mossy hills. Primo has no issue keeping up with you of course but he worries about protruding roots and sharp stones you may not see with your human eyes.

His fear is misdirected. He’s so distracted, watching your every step, that he doesn’t notice the odd smell at first, the second strong, comparatively slow heartbeat amongst all the quiet and rapid ones of the forest animals. But this is no rabbit, no deer, no boar. When he finally notices the presence of the strange entity, the spike of panic is clouding every other rational thought.

He is after you – and he’s fast.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Four weeks ago

The man has been attending the late night showings for weeks now, every Friday and Saturday. Every week, he shows up exactly fifteen minutes before the screening starts, even though there are practically no waiting times in the small club cinema you’re working at. His attire was what drew your attention to him that first night, even before you’d seen his face, and his choice of clothing seems deliberate. Most evenings, he wears simple black slacks over expensive-looking Italian leather brogues. Tonight, he combined them with a loose white shirt with frills and an open collar that peeks out of a burgundy tailcoat with black lapels and gold embroideries. It looks old-fashioned but not out of place in the similarly dated establishment.

As he approaches you behind the counter, you’re struck yet again, despite being familiar with his almost ethereal looks by now. He must be close to eighty but his deep wrinkles only add to his effortless beauty. His most notable feature, however, is the skull paint adorning his stern face with two uncanny, mismatched eyes – one iris in green and one impossibly white. With his face framed by long blond hair spilling over his shoulders, silky and curled at the ends, he looks like a man who knows exactly how to present himself. An air of easy sophistication surrounds him as he takes deliberate steps in your direction. You’re not surprised that he shows up on weekends when your boss screens his beloved classics. At least that’s what he calls any movie that came out before the year 2000.

“So, Dracula today, yes?” It’s not a question as much as a statement, dripping with distaste. “And the 1992 one at that.”

“Do you not enjoy vampires, sir?” you ask, taking the money for his ticket. Every single bill looks pristine, like it’s been freshly printed, and again, he won’t accept the change you hold out to him, waving off with a gentle smile. Buy yourself a drink on my behalf, tesoro, he’d said once, and you aren’t questioning him anymore, you just pocket the money since there is no one you could split it with.

He regards you with interest. “I enjoy them, sì, though I never found their portrayal in cinema quite believable.”

You chuckle. “Well, perhaps that is because they’re not real.”

“Perhaps, yes,” he says unfazed. “Or perhaps it is the clichés, no?”

“I really like the movie,” you admit. “Though I wish she would just get with the vampire. I certainly wouldn’t hesitate.”

He cocks a curious eyebrow. “Davvero?”

His thick Italian accent makes you blush on any given day, even more so when he speaks plain Italian. There is something about the timbre of his voice that changes, like gold melting in the heat of a forge, the syllables fused together with a flick of his tongue.

“Mhm,” is all you can answer.

“Will you watch it as well, little flower?” he asks and you smile at the nickname he chose for you weeks ago when he caught you arranging a bouquet in the foyer.

“Oh, no, I’m not allowed to leave the register unattended. Or… well, watch movies while I’m supposed to work.”

“I see.” He smiles again, the black lines over his lips shifting so that he looks almost gentle, the severity of the paint watered down by the kindness in his eyes. “That is a pity.”

Is he flirting with you? You can’t tell. Surely, he is just being nice, a polite older gentleman. Would you want him to be flirting with you, though? No, of course not. You couldn’t even flirt back. Your boss might fire you if he found out that you even so much as looked at him the wrong way.

“Can I offer you a snack or a drink, sir?” you ask, remembering your actual job.

“You know, I will take a whisky today,” he says. “If you have it.”

“Of course we do, sir, you can choose your seat and I will serve it in a second.”

The stranger heads off towards the screening room with its soft, polished leather armchairs and moody lighting, jazz tunes wafting from the speakers. You look after him, his long hair gently swaying with every step, and the door to the backroom springs open. It’s your boss, Max, a man in his mid-forties, so unremarkable with his shaggy black hair and his blatant misogyny that he could be any man you ever met. Only that he practically owns you by way of paying for your every bill while you finish your degree. Jobs in small towns are hard to come by, decent men even harder.

“Go serve our customer, come on,” he urges. “I heard him ask for something”

“The register…”

“I take it. Move your pretty ass over, perhaps wiggle a bit when you do, the old pervert is going to love it.”

You make to leave without wiggling, heading towards the small serving station in the hallway. “Oh, hey,” Max calls after you. “I need you to clean up tonight. Cleaning lady called in sick. Feeling faint or whatever, broke down in the supermarket if you can believe it. They say she’s anemic, that’s their excuse for everything women have these days.”

“Okay,” you reply, hoping he chokes on his tongue one of these days. “Of course, Max. I’ll clean up. No problem.”

“Be a good little thing, don’t forget to check under the seats, always tons of junk down there after the evening showings.”

You nod and try not to run into the screening room and away from him. By now, all anger towards him has been numbed by the sheer amount of obnoxious remarks but you’re never sure if he’s above trying to actually touch you one day. So far, he’s all bark and no bite, but with men like him you never know. Being the only employee who works the night shifts doesn’t help but there is just not enough demand to bring in the others.

You find the stranger in one of the top rows, comfortably seated in what is your favourite spot as well. A smile creeps onto your face. “Here is your whiskey, sir.”

The man peers up at you in what looks like ingenuine surprise, his white eye showing a glimmer of sympathy. He must have heard you and Max but is clearly trying not to show it. You wonder how – you can’t even hear Max outside right now over the jazz music.

“Grazie mille,” he says as he takes the glass from you.

“Of course, sir. Enjoy your movie.”

“Thank you, fiore.” He smiles, always such a kind smile. “You are a wonderful host.”

You can’t help but smile back, looking at him for just a little longer than is appropriate. But Max must have started the film because the lights dim suddenly until it’s fully dark and you hurry back outside right as the title music starts playing.

Your stranger is the only guest tonight.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

You run. You run so fast that your lungs are burning in the cold night air. There is no palpable explanation for why you feel so panicked. For most of your way home you’ve felt almost paranoid in your constant fear of being followed. You felt like someone was watching you right from the start but when you came close to the woods your instincts just told you to run. By now, your legs carry you almost automatically despite the fatigue in your limbs. There is a tiny voice in your head that tells you you’re in danger. Big danger.

Halfway through the forest, the track gets steeper. Less feet have trampled it flat as the usual walking path ends and you struggle to keep up your pace. Unsettling noises grow louder to your right – panting, hurried steps, moans and whimpers. Two seconds later you suddenly hear an echoing growl that puts any wolf to shame. Your head whips around but before you can make out anything in the pitch dark your foot gets caught on a root. The impact is suffocating. Your lungs empty out and you think you’re choking on nothing. Only after a long moment in which you struggle for breath do you feel the sharp pain in your arm where it hit a rock, warm blood seeping into your sleeve until its wet and sticky.

Meanwhile, the steps hurry closer and even in the full moon light it’s hard to tell where you are right now. But then you see the trees swaying at the edge of the path and all you know is that you need to keep going. Everything hurts but you manage to get to your feet. As the world sways around you, you leave the safety of the trail in favour of the cover of the trees, their canopy shielding you from the moonlight and hopefully any following eyes.

But of course the creature chasing you doesn’t rely on their vision to find you. Before you walk another mile you can hear rapid footsteps and panting breaths behind you. Too scared to look around and risk another fall, you just run and jump and run even faster. The woods grow thicker, harder to navigate. You try to fish for your phone but when you finally pull it out, it slips from your grasp. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you mutter but you keep running. You can’t stop.

A familiar boulder appears somewhere in your peripheral vision and you wonder if you’re running in circles. You’re so lost. Even if the creature doesn’t get you, you’re doomed. But the thought is distant as a branch strikes you in the face like a whip. You run but more fallen branches block your path and as you try to jump, you get caught.

A shriek tears from your throat, so loud and drawn-out that your voice gives out before it ends. The steps are so close now that you know you’re going to get caught any second now. Cowering, trying to get as small as possible, you slowly shift around, ready to beg for mercy. An enormous shadow sprints towards you and suddenly, a bright streak of moonlight falls through the trees. You cry out again as your eyes take in the sight: Spit-coated fangs, claws, thick rough fur on what you can only describe as a giant made of muscles and the horrors of the night. Its facial features look familiar, shaggy hair falling into its cruel eyes. Whatever it is has no merciful bone in its body, that much you can tell. This is your death, you realise. This is it.

But before you feel the fangs sink into your skin or the claws tear you open, the monster loses balance. All you can see is a vague human-like figure pushing it aside into the shadows with a strength that is impossible to comprehend, two tall silhouettes wrestling for a moment before the huge hairy creature lets out a bone-chilling scream. The giant body slumps in on itself, lifeless, silent. You breathe in gasps, swallowing air that does nothing to calm you down. You fall over, sobbing silently in short-lived relief.

The monster is dead. But you’re not alone.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Three weeks ago

“So, are you a big movie fan?” the stranger had asked you today when you served him his whiskey. He always orders something now, almost like knowing you serve him permanently changed his ’no thank you’-attitude. Whenever you bring him his order he asks you questions and you end up chatting with him for longer than you should.

“Oh, I like them, yes, but the reason I work here, if that’s why you’re asking, is that it’s one of the few jobs I can do on weekends that pays extra for night shifts.”

“So do you have a day job as well?” he asks, taking his first sip. He’s wearing all black today, black leather gloves, a black shirt and black tailcoat. The only pop of colour is a red rose that he has tugged into a buttonhole of his open jacket.

“Finishing off my degree,” you explain. “I don’t think I’ll work here after that.”

His brow furrows in surprise. “No?”

You chuckle. “No, it doesn’t pay that well. It doesn’t pay well at all, actually.”

“I see.” He turns the tumbler in his hand, the amber liquid twirling inside. “I have to say I am glad. I do not think he treats you well.”

You glance towards the door but Max seems to be busy behind the counter still. “He’s… okay.”

The stranger huffs out a laugh. “No, è un stronzo.”

The smirk that tugs at your lips is hard to shake off, especially with the way he rolls the R in the word. “Yeah, he is. But I have to pay rent and get groceries, so...”

“I understand.” Another sip, slow, barely coating his lips. “Fiore, I do wonder… what is it that you truly burn for? What would you do if no restrictive invention like money mattered?”

You take a deep breath and then you start to tell him about your real interests, your passions. He listens with the avid attention of someone who genuinely cares, who doesn’t just ask out of mere politeness. It’s addicting, the way his intense eyes are glued to your lips, how his whole body is angled into your direction. You get so lost in his gaze, in your explanation, that you forget yourself for a moment.

“Eh!” Max suddenly calls out from the doorway and you jump at the sound of his voice. “Come over for a second, will you?”

You reluctantly leave the stranger in his armchair with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. Enjoy your movie, sir.”

“I will,” he says. “Thank you, fiorellino.”

Max watches you with a scowl, roughly pulling you aside as soon as you’re within reach. “Do I pay you for chitchat?”

“No, Max, I’m sorry. I just…”

“You just what?” he snaps, clenching his jaw. “Flirting with the old men won’t get you higher tips, it only screams pathetic whore. You think he can still get it up?”

You stay silent, waiting for him to calm down enough to notice the impropriety of his words and actions. The urge to kick him is so hard to fight that you have to actively push your feet harder into the ground. Your fists ache with how hard you’re clenching them.

Eventually he simmers down, smoothing out his shirt as he clears his throat. “Anyway, you need to clean up again today. The cleaner still hasn’t shown up.”

“What happened?” you ask.

He shrugs but it’s an ingenuine, uncaring gesture. “Apparently she ran away or something. She’s been missing for a while.”

Missing? Wasn’t she anemic? Before you can ask any more questions he leaves you standing right there to start the movie. You head back to the register even though you know no other guests are going to be coming in tonight. For the whole duration of the movie, all you do is wait, scrolling on your phone from where you’re hiding it underneath the desk. No local news site is able to tell you anything about the missing cleaner other than the fact that she just left over night exactly a week ago and hasn’t been found ever since.

“Oh, did we miss the movie?”

You look up to see two men strolling into the lobby. They sway slightly, probably drunk, and smoke despite the big no-smoking sign at the entrance that’s impossible to miss. They look familiar in how unremarkable they appear, one is blond, the other one dark-haired, jeans and crumpled t-shirts betraying their status even though they move with the confident audacity only mediocre white men have.

“Yes, I’m sorry. The movie is almost over,” you say. “By the way, you’re not allowed to smoke in here, sir.”

“Are you off soon, then, sweetheart?” the blond one asks, taking another drag of his cigarette

“No, I have to clean up.”

“Ah, cleaning up… whatever, can’t be that dirty in there, huh?” He grins. “Unless… we make it dirty.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, a feisty one!” the dark-haired man says. “That’s how you treat your customers?”

“You haven’t bought anything.”

They whistle almost in unison, though their tunes are slightly off-key. This is not the first time this happens, it’s not even the first time these exact men show up here and try to harass you.

“Come on, maybe you can show us where you keep the liquor?” the blond man asks. “Have a drink with us?”

“I don’t think so, sir. If you don’t want to buy anything, I have to ask you to leave.” You try to stay polite, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Please.”

He chuckles, tries to round the counter to touch you but there is a sudden shift in atmosphere. It’s almost like all of the warmth is sucked from the room, like the charged air of a thunderstorm is crackling inside its walls. The men seem to feel it too because they suddenly stop in their movements, giving each other nervous glances.

“You were asked to leave, signori, no?”

You look up to find your stranger entering the lobby. The movie must have ended because the lights are on again and he looks so menacing that even you feel a chill running down your spine. His white eye glimmers dangerously, the other one shimmering almost red now but it could be a trick of lighting. They’re narrowed, the skull paint and severity of his features giving him the air of a predator. When the blond man takes another step into your direction, out of spite or stupidity you’re not quite sure, the stranger is on him in a second. You’re surprised by how agile he appears in his age, wondering briefly if he just looks older than he is or if you’re just prejudiced. But the man backs away immediately, joining his buddy by the door. A second later Max enters as well from the backroom, looking mildly irritated but unbothered by the weird atmosphere as he slams the door shut.

“Any issues here?” he asks, taking in the two loiterers.

The men slowly backtrack, holding up their arms in pretend innocence. While the dark-haired one slips out the door, the blond man lingers. “No issue, no. Just had a question about your schedule.”

Max gives a dismissive wave of his hand and when the man is finally gone, he turns to you. “Were you rude to our customers?”

“They weren’t customers,” you say defensively, angry that he’d even assume something like that. “They were drunks.”

“Hmpf.” He gives the stranger another glance, still unimpressed, then grabs his bag from under the counter. “I’m off now. See you tomorrow. And hey, don’t forget to clean and lock up.”

“Yeah, see you,” you say, trying to swallow the lump of anger in your throat.

As soon as Max is gone, the stranger’s whole demeanour changes. His expression softens and he reaches out, his hand hovering right by your arm.

“You are alright, little flower?” he asks.

You nod but it’s hard to fight off the tears. Situations like that make you feel helpless and you hate it. Being at the mercy of these men is frustrating, especially with a boss who just lets it slide instead of protecting his employees. You could have handled the situation, you tell yourself, you’ve had to handle so many similar ones before, but it just feels so incredibly good that someone cares.

“I think so,” you finally choke out. “I just… This is not uncommon and I’m so fed up.”

“I understand,” he says. “Did these men bother you before?”

“Yeah, but other people as well. Even Max treats me like a piece of meat just because I’m young.”

There is a hidden anger in his face, a barely noticeable clench of his jaw, his brow slightly pulled together. You’re not scared anymore, though. The menacing energy he exudes is directed at something else, not you, and you can’t bring yourself to wonder how he manages to command a room like that.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” he asks.

You nod and he reaches out, running a gloved hand up and down your arm in silent comfort. You take a step closer and he lifts his other hand as well, gently cradling your cheek. When a fat tear of anger falls from your eye he catches it, telling you it’s okay if you need to let it out. But you don’t cry, you don’t want to feel weak or fall into his arms like a sobbing child. Nevertheless, his comfort feels like a gentle hug, calming you so easily.

For a moment, he lets you breathe in the same air, a leather-clad thumb swiping over your cheekbone with a calming steadiness. You smile at him and he smiles back, so softly that not even the skull paint can hide the gentleness of his features.

“I have to clean up now,” you say. “Thank you for being here.”

He simply nods, slowly pulling away from you. Only when he’s gone and you smell a faint flowery scent do you notice that he’s tugged the rose from his jacket into your hair. You press it to your chest, right above your fluttering heart, and pray that he never stops coming back.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Their blood tastes like shit.

Not literally but it’s by far the worst he’s had in a while, certainly worse than that of the cleaning lady he’s been feeding on last month. Admittedly, he did not consider that losing her would prompt your boss to just make you work longer. At the time she was just an easy victim on his way home, sweet young blood that was easy to obtain, the blue veins shining through her pale skin like they were begging to be used. But as he cleans his jaw with a handkerchief, Primo thinks that perhaps he can linger after the movies now. Any more time with you, however long, is of immeasurable value to him.

A groan. Primo looks down at the man, the blond stronzo who tried to touch you. He feels no sympathy, no reluctance. Full moon rolls around in three weeks and if they happen to die before then… well, bad luck for his partner. Though he can’t say he’s very tempted to drink from them again with all the junk in their blood – cheap alcohol, so much nicotine and other poisons. Perhaps he should just end it now, they’re at his mercy in any case. But no, they deserve to be punished for what they did and he knows bleeding out is not a very painful death.

Primo is not a cruel man, he likes to think. The nature of his being prompts him to act cruelly sometimes for self-preservation but unlike some of his fellows he finds no enjoyment in the kill. Not anymore, not after his initial lust for blood was quenched centuries ago. Nevertheless, he has to admit that his obsession with you is testing those limits in ways he’s never felt before. For you, he thinks, he could turn into a killer.

A gurgle. The second man is starting to wake up and Primo decides to leave. He placed the wounds in unobtrusive spots, never using both fangs to puncture their skin, too obvious. They’re going to think they’re hungover and move on but he’s going to find them again, slowly drain them until the next full moon is here and they’ll find their demise in a different way.

Primo is not a killer, no, but he chooses the killer’s victims.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

You’re frozen in your spot amongst the thicket, branches and rocks digging into your body, the throbbing pain in your arm slowly spreading out. The sight before you is absurd. A giant dead body, a monster, a… a werewolf? You can’t bring yourself to properly think the word and yet you know that’s what it is. Not that it matters anymore. The smell of death mixes in with the earthy scent of the woods and spreads out in the air around you. The second figure hovers above the body for as long as it takes you to gather your thoughts. Why, you cannot tell. Are they shocked by their actions? Making sure the creature is really dead? There seems to be a hesitation in their every movement as they slowly back away and move into your direction, their frame blurring with the surrounding darkness.

“Stand back,” you yell. “Don’t come closer!”

Your voice is high-pitched, unrecognisable in its trembling state, hoarse from screaming into the emptiness around you. Your fear has your senses heightened and every snap of a twig, every howl of the wind makes you flinch. The being before you now is smaller than the one before, human-shaped if your eyes don’t betray you. The canopy is so thick here, the trees surrounding you so close to one another that you struggle to see anything. And yet you can feel them moving.

“Stop,” you yell again. “Fucking stop!”

A sudden sliver of light catches their face and you can see two glowing eyes, the one that you know as a deep green shimmering red like it did in the lobby of the theatre the night the two men harassed you and the other one is still as white as bone. “It’s okay, fiore mio. You’re safe now,” he says and you immediately recognize the Italian accent, the nickname. “I’m here to help you.”

You slump in on yourself, not quite relieved but still a little calmer.

It’s him. It’s your stranger.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Two weeks ago

“It’s nothing personal,” Max says. “But I’m losing money here.”

You nod like you understand. You do understand, just not why it has to be now of all times, so close to when you would have been done anyway. A few more months.

“Just not enough people coming in,” he continues. “And the old guy doesn’t pay that much no matter how often you flirt him up.”

Again, all you can do is nod. Your boss wants to cancel the night showings and lay you off. Supposedly, no other shifts are in need of any more people and he can’t keep you on. It’s a cheap excuse, you know it is.

“So, I’m off then,” he says. “You can manage on your own one last time, right?”

You nod at him once again, watching him whistling a merry tune and twirling his keys on a finger on his way out. The tears come only after you hear his car driving off. You have no idea how to find another weekend job for the next few months and the sheer surprise of his decision has your stomach in knots. If he’d at least given you some time to prepare…

“Buonasera, fiore. Can I… uhm…” You look up into the stranger’s eyes, trying to wipe at your tears but it’s too late, his expression has already changed into what you can only assume is pity. “Scusi, is this a bad time? Can I help you, perhaps?”

“I’m so sorry… I just… Ugh, Max wants to cancel the late night screenings,” you explain, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “I guess this is our last night here.”

“Cancel?”

You sniffle, your voice scratchy when you speak next. “Well, as you may have noticed, you’re kind of our only guest.”

The stranger takes your hand, soft leather pulling you from the desk and towards one of the run-down couches in the waiting area. He’s so gentle when he beckons you to his side, never letting go of your hand.

“He wants to fire you, sì?”

You nod, staring at your intertwined hands against the velvet upholstering of the couch. His thumb draws lazy circles into your skin, his hand so big it almost swallows yours. You want him to swallow you as well, his whole body wrapped around yours, engulfing you with his safety – but you’re not sure that you could ask him for a hug.

“I’m sorry, it’s really not your problem. I mean, you’ll lose your weekend activities but I’m sure you can just get Netflix or something.”

“Netflix?”

You look up with a smile. “Or… I don’t know, buy a DVD.”

The stranger smiles back, squeezing your hand just a little bit tighter. “Now, my little flower, do you really think I am just here for the movies?”

When your eyes meet it’s like you’re sucked into a vacuum. You don’t know whether to focus on his white iris or the burning need that’s visible in his green eye. The decision is taken from you when he leans in and captures your mouth in a kiss. You reciprocate without hesitation and yet he’s holding back, a suppressed moan bubbling in his throat, despite the tenderness of his lips. It’s not enough, not nearly enough. You press against him, opening your lips for him, and then the moan finally spills out as his tongue vibrates against yours. His free hand pushes into your hair and settles at the back of your head, angling your face in whichever way he wants to taste you. His lips feel surprisingly cold just like his cheek as you bring a hand up to touch him. The makeup smears under your fingers, at your jaw, mingling with your spit.

And yet it’s not enough, not until you’re half in his lap, until his hands roam your body with reverent desperation, searching, exploring. The kiss never loses momentum. He sucks in a breath and you push your tongue into his mouth, running it along his upper lip until you can feel his teeth. You frown into the kiss when you feel something pointy, pulling your tongue back, but there is no time to think before he sucks at your bottom lip. A sharp sting as he punctures your flesh with his teeth. He moans as the taste of your blood settles between your joined lips, sucking whatever he can into his mouth. You allow him to drink you in, offering yourself up in a way you haven’t done with anyone else before.

There is a moment in which you think, hope, that it never ends. But then he pulls away and you gasp for air. You stare at him, traces of red blood fuzing into the grey smears around his mouth. He’s a mess, equal to how you feel, but his eyes are focused, his gaze sharp.

“Do you want to see the movie?” you ask, hoping he’ll say no, hoping he’ll just take you away.

But he just chuckles, his hands slowly disappearing from your body until you slump into the soft cushions on the couch.

“Actually, I think I have to leave early tonight,” he says. “I will see you next week, fiore mio. Please, per favore, do not worry about your job, I will set things right.”

You want to ask what he means, if he’s going to talk to Max for you, but before you realise that he’s leaving, before you even finish blinking, he’s already gone. Furrowing your brow, you walk outside and enter a clear moonless night. Your flushed face soaks up the cool air and you look around, searching feverishly, but there is no sign of your stranger. You expect to see him along the sidewalk, perhaps he’s in one of the cars getting ready, but even after a few more minutes none of them roar to life. Nothing disrupts the soft silence of your sleeping small town and you shake your head in wonder as you make your way back inside, the metallic taste of your blood still lingering on your tongue.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Primo is livid, furious in a way that he hasn’t felt in close to a hundred years. You are not part of their deal and yet this feels like a violation of conduct. Making you cry should be a criminal offense and he wants him to pay for it, in what currency Primo is not sure yet. He knows he can’t let his anger win but when he smells the creature from two streets away, even in his human form, he’s ready to sink his teeth into his throat. And of course he finds him in a nearby bar, nursing a beer while he watches football videos on his phone without a care in the world.

“You won’t fire them,” Primo spits out.

Max looks up in pretend confusion. “Huh?”

“You heard me, stronzo.”

“Your little flower?” He pouts, mocking him, then huffs out a laugh. “It’s business, man.”

“The job is important,” Primo says calmly, trying not to get too riled up. “A few more months.”

“Cry me a river. Just do with them what you want, fuck them, suck them dry. Whatever gets your blood pumping, Count Dracula.” A sardonic smirk. “Oh oops, I forgot.”

Primo won’t be provoked, not from the likes of him. “You’ll give them time,” he says calmly. “Or I have to rethink this… agreement.”

Max sighs in annoyance. “Fine. A little longer. And don’t think I haven’t smelled you on those two assholes yet. I only get to feast once a month and I expect the vampire to have better taste, that’s why I agreed to this in the first place.”

“I do have taste,” Primo says. “And we both know that’s not the reason or why are you sitting here all alone, lupetto, eh?”

Max snarls but says nothing to this painful reminder. Primo doesn’t feel bad. Their agreement serves the sole purpose of attracting less attention and would not work if Max wasn’t an outcast. Their solitariness saves them and keeps their peace intact. For now.

Primo leaves with an aching heart, hoping the werewolf stays true to his word. He comes back to the cinema only to see that you got done in the meantime and left. It’s not like he actually planned to continue what you started earlier but he really wants to catch another glimpse of you, see how you’re feeling after what happened.

He finds you two streets away, hurrying home even faster than usual. You’re scared, he can tell immediately as he hears your rapid heartbeat, the blood rushing through your body like a raging river. Since the two men tried to corner you you’ve been especially on edge. He knows it’s because you expect them to try again and he wishes he could tell you that they won’t, that he’s watching over you, that he’s been slowly draining them ever since despite the awful taste of their blood. He can handle it, he can handle anything if it’s for you.

Only for you.

Primo relaxes after he sees you closing the door to your apartment and your heartbeat slows down. That’s when he leaves – always. He’s promised himself that he never lingers, that he doesn’t stalk or overstep, only makes sure you get home safely after your shifts. Tonight, it’s harder to leave. He can still taste you on his tongue and what a taste it is. Never before has he savoured blood quite so sweet, quite so rich in aroma, and the violent hunger inside of him tries to keep him by your house for more.

But the kiss was a mistake to begin with and he’s not sure yet how to proceed because he never expected you to respond quite so enthusiastically to his advances. Of course he could immediately tell that you wanted him, the smell and taste of your excitement so overpowering that it cut off any reasonable thought while it happened. He hasn’t lost control of himself like that in over two hundred years and now he set things in motion that may cost him this precious connection that he has with you if he’s not careful.

For now, however, he allows himself this small pleasure and lets the happy, giddy feeling settle in his hollow chest. If he wasn’t aware that he was a few centuries old he would promptly assume that he’s a lovestruck teenager. And he could get used to it, he realises, because with you he’s quite ready to start this empty life all over again and fill it with everything that he’s been missing.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

“You’re a vampire,” you state, twigs and stones digging into your butt but you feel to weak to stand up.

The stranger approaches you slowly like you’re a wild animal he’s trying to tame, the roles reversed now in your agitation and his calmness. “I am, sì.”

The urge to back away, to run for your life, continues to simmer in your belly but you fight it because you know there is no escape now. You want to trust him but you feel like you’re in a fever dream. It has to be a hallucination, maybe you were drugged at work today, maybe you inhaled the fume of some rare mushroom when you fell.

Your eyes meet the dead creature again. “Is he-”

“Yes, Max is dead.”

“Max?” Your shrill voice betrays your shock. “My boss?”

“Yes.” He sounds oddly calm, not like he just killed a werewolf. “Please, allow me to take you home with me.”

“Home? Your home?”

“Yes, my little flower. I want to look at your scrapes and cuts. Allow me, please.”

You hesitate, even as you see the shape of his outstretched hand, the same black leather gloves now ripped and torn, revealing slivers of his pale skin.

“I understand you don’t… trust me,” he says. “But I promise, I will explain everything to you in as much detail as you want and then you can decide for yourself. I just want to make sure you are okay first.”

You swallow, your throat still painfully sore from screaming. “Are you going to… I don’t know, drink from me? Eat me?”

“I will not eat you. And I will not drink from you either,” he says. “All I want is to look after you.”

You suck in a deep breath, ready to collapse on the forest floor. He could lure you into a trap, he could have been plotting this for weeks now, and yet you still feel the butterflies in your belly stirring at the sound of his voice, your body aching to be with his, even now in its weak state. Reluctantly, you place your mud-smeared hand in his and when he lifts you up with ease, his arms wrap around you tightly. You have no strength to lift your arms but you let him hug you anyway, slumping against his frame.

And perhaps you’ve lost your mind. Perhaps you should use the opportunity to kick him, to fight, but instead you start to sob into his shoulder. The world you thought you knew comes crashing down around you and he holds you through it, whispering that it’s going to be alright.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

One week ago

You can’t stop thinking about him.

The week passes slowly but you do get a text message from Max telling you he’s extending your employment for as long as it takes you to find a new job. You have no idea how your stranger convinced him but you never wanted to get back to work so urgently before – to thank him, to ask if there is a chance that you could see him outside of this place.

Any thought you can spare is spent thinking back to your kiss, extending it in your mind for hours and hours, exploring the fantasy alone in your bed at night with your hand between your legs. You ignore any of the worries that this intimate moment conjured up. So what if the stranger has a bit of a blood kink and conveniently sharp teeth? You certainly don’t mind doing it again. He can bite you wherever he wants, you realise, and you’d gladly let him suck on the wound.

He’s back Friday night and you can’t help but feel relieved that he’s not ghosting you after his sudden disappearance last week. Maybe it’s because of your intense crush on him but you swear he looks more beautiful tonight than ever before. His long blond hair is shiny and smooth as it falls into his face, the paint more pristine than usual. He’s wearing his usual black slacks but today he paired it with a deep red shirt under a black tailcoat with a red pattern of embroidered roses. His tall, slender frame leans against the counter as he regards you with a smile.

“So, what am I watching tonight?” he asks.

“Hitchcock,” you say. “The Birds. Max is a big fan.”

“Hm, I haven’t watched that one since it premiered,” he says and then he removes his gloves. You watch as he slides his now bare hand over the counter until it touches yours.

“Well, I’m afraid I wasn’t born yet back then.”

“No, fiore.” He runs his thumb over the back of your hand. His skin is cold and pale and wrinkly, the lines and bumps revealing a map of his life that you can’t wait to explore. His long fingers slide under yours, surprisingly sharp black nails raking over your palm until he holds you comfortably. They look almost manicured, his hand dwarfing yours as he closes it. “You’re such a young thing and yet our souls have found such a deep connection, no?”

You gaze into his mismatched eyes, a fondness in them that makes your heart beat faster. As if he can feel it, the corners of his painted mouth curl upwards into a smirk until you can see the crow’s feet under his eyes deepen despite the dark paint.

“Yes,” you finally say. “Actually, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to–”

You’re interrupted by the door to the backroom opening. You jump, pulling your hand from his as you see Max casting you a curious glance. He’s been in a bad mood all evening so you’re not taking any risks tonight.

You cough. “Ugh, here’s your ticket, sir. Enjoy the movie.”

The stranger doesn’t seem offended by your reaction. Instead he smiles at you, accepting the ticket from your shaky hand. “Grazie, fiore. I will let you know if I enjoyed it.”

As he leaves for the screening room he doesn’t even look at Max. You remain frozen behind the counter, watching his elegant form with a rapidly beating heart. Mindlessly clenching the hand he just held in his, you desperately hope you get to ask your question later.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

The werewolf won’t leave earlier tonight. As he lets the movie run in the background, only vaguely paying attention, Primo listens for any signs. It looks like he has to sit it out today, though, even as his patience slowly wears thin. One more week until full moon, so Max must be getting antsy, and Primo made sure to keep the prey alive despite his protests in the bar. Every time he feeds from them, he is tempted to bite into an artery instead of a vein, watch them bleed out, not even drinking their blood. But having Max go hungry will piss him off and since he is already aware of you, Primo can’t risk not providing him with any easier targets.

After the movie concludes, Primo lingers but he doesn’t spot you in the foyer. When Max finally heads out he sees no reason not to look for you and conveniently, the only place you could be at is especially private.

The backroom houses a tiny kitchenette and two desks for computers with displays that are already black. You’re standing in front of the open door of a supply closet to gather your cleaning materials when he approaches soundlessly.

“Don’t be scared,” he says from a safe distance. “It is just me, fiore.”

You spin around, your beautiful face lighting up at the sight of him. “Oh, hello.”

“I owe you the money for the ticket,” he says. “You never gave me a chance to pay.”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry… It’s not… I’m not embarrassed or anything, it’s just that Max…”

“Oh, it is quite alright, fiore mio, I know.”

A grateful smile. You don’t flinch when he steps in front of you, taking your hand in his to press a soft kiss to your palm. How lovely you are, Primo thinks, a pure, honest sort of beauty that he doesn’t deserve but wants with every fibre of his ancient being. He could show you a whole new world of pleasure and he knows it’s always the quiet ones who are so proficient in the art of sin.

“I was hoping I would have some more time with you,” you say and he perks up.

“Were you?”

“The kiss…” A hint of red dusting your cheeks as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “I really enjoyed it.”

Primo can’t help but smile. “Me too, my little flower. Perhaps we should try it again?”

He can hear your heartbeat quickening at his words, can feel your skin heating up with the rush of your blood. Even now he is surprised by the evidence of your returned affections, struck by how perfect you are for him, your trust just another sign of hope that you can find it in you to love him back if he allows you to.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he says and then he effortlessly pulls you into his arms. To his surprise, you kiss him first, standing on your tiptoes and melting into his body. Your mouth is insistent, soft and sweet and so eager for him. Primo’s hands explore the shape of your body, memorising your curves for eternity. Impatient now, he pulls you over to the kitchenette that consists of nothing but a mirror over a sink with a few cupboards housing a coffee machine and snacks. There is enough space for what he’s planning to do, though, and he grabs you tightly before he removes his tongue from your mouth.

He can’t see his own image in the old silvered mirror as he hoists you up but he can see the dips of his fingers in your ass as it hits the counter. You hold onto his shoulders as he kisses down your jaw and chin. He skips your neck, skips the temptation, and drags his mouth down your chest instead, ripping the button of your shirt open as he goes. No complaint leaves your lips, only soft gasps and tiny whimpers. Primo pauses to pull at his gloves and then at your pants and then at your underwear, impatient, urgent, until he can finally feel your hot skin burning against his fingertips. Goosebumps form where his cold hands touch you and you shiver against his palms.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please.”

He knows what you’re begging for and under different circumstances he might make you beg until your voice gives out but with the smell of your arousal in his nose there is really no way he can hold back now. His hands on your hips pull you to the edge of the counter and he kneels between your thighs, placing two open-mouthed kisses that leave blotchy grey marks. Your eyes are half-lidded, hazy with lust as he gazes up at you and that’s enough to break his resolve. As he wraps his lips around your most sensitive spot, sucking gently, your head lolls back in pleasure. You’re so hot, so sensitive, reacting to even the softest of stimulations, and it’s addicting in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

You cling to the edge of the counter as his mouth works on you with violent passion, urging you higher and higher with his lips and his tongue, carefully avoiding his teeth. The taste of your arousal is so intoxicating that he can’t stop himself from moaning and he can feel a shudder tearing through your body. Primo increases his pace and you move your hips as well, following his rhythm and chasing your pleasure without shame.

You cum with a scream. Your hand digs into his hair, tugging, holding on with surprising force and it’s the most delicious pain he’s ever felt. He runs his fingers through your cum, licking them clean with a soft hum as he tastes you once again. But he needs more, he needs so much more–

“Do you want to come home with me?” you ask breathlessly as he gets up from his knees, the pain in his joints distracting him momentarily. “Spend the rest of the night?”

He looks at you in surprise but then a soft smile forms on his face. You’re so eager, so fearless. “You should be careful who you invite into your home,” he says. “You may find yourself hosting guests other’s would not deem welcome.”

You huff out a laugh. “What, like the devil?”

A chuckle and he presses a kiss to your forehead, longing to feel your warm skin on his cool lips again. “I wish I could, fiorellino, but I’m afraid my schedule is a little different from yours.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we have to do this another time,” he explains, despite the painful tightness in his pants. “Preferably, I want to invite you to dinner. I don’t like that we did this in here, it is not very… classy. Maybe next Saturday?”

“Oh, okay sure,” you say, a hint of confusion crossing your face. “Of course.”

He stands to his full height, his frame towering above yours and it takes him every ounce of self-control not to just take you right here. You’re pliant, needy for him in ways he’s only ever dreamed of, and while it tempts him to no end he suddenly becomes painfully aware of his responsibility. He needs to get your full consent before he gives in to a possible relationship with you. But right now is not the moment to tell you what he is.

“This… this is not you turning me down, right?” you ask with wide, hopeful eyes.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Oh no, tesorino, this is just the start of what I want to do with you and now that I got a taste, I don’t think I will ever get enough.”

You smile, the bliss of your high still evident on your face, and he rubs your thighs in small circles for a moment, the softness of your skin a gentle reminder of how fragile you are. Primo leans in to kiss you and fights a grin when you lick into his mouth to taste yourself. Maybe not so fragile, he thinks, maybe your hunger matches his after all.

“I will see you next Saturday, fiore mio,” he says. “I’ll be here to pick you up and we can dine at my home.”

You nod tiredly and he feels bad for leaving you like this after what just transpired. He can smell your cum on his fingers even as he waits for you to finish work and probably will for the next few days. But Primo needs to collect his thoughts. This is the start of something big, something messy, and now that he tampered with the forces there is no going back. The regret that comes with it is excruciating. He can invite you to dinner, treat you like you’re the stars in the night sky, make love to you until you both pass out in exhausted bliss – but it won’t change what he is. And what he is might scare you off. The thought pains him but he tries to cling to the small shimmering light of hope inside his heart that perhaps you can accept him.

Until he figures out the logistics of having you over for dinner without giving you the scare of a lifetime, he decides to keep away from you. The temptation is too strong now, his need, his hunger, a quickly expanding black-hole inside of him that might eat you alive if he’s not careful.

His resolve is strong, he tells himself, and it remains strong all week. Well, that is until he sees you running into the woods a mere day before your date, chased by a starving werewolf.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

He lives in the old castle at the edge of town.

It really shouldn’t come as a surprise but as he carries you through candle-lit hallways and multiple small chambers, old is the last thing that comes to your mind. Everything looks well-kept, orderly, the old-fashioned style of his attire translating to the interior as well. You never stay in any room for too long, the castle so big that you have to climb several staircases until you reach another long hallway. Several men in black hooded robes that look like monk’s habits pass you on your way. They don’t turn into your direction as you pass, some of them carry books, some carry laundry.

“Who are these men?” you ask.

“They’re my ghouls.”

“Ghouls?”

“Mhm.”

You don’t ask any further questions but cling to your stranger’s neck even though there is no need to. You’re safe in his arms, his strength limitless, and he does not seem tired even as you finally enter a chamber that appears to be his bedroom. Big arched windows make up one whole wall of the room and a double glass door that seems to lead to a balcony. The only light source is the full moon outside, casting milky white rays through the old windows. A huge wooden bed with silky white sheets dominates the room from the centre, most of the old hardwood flooring covered by a burgundy rug with a floral pattern, two chests of drawers lining the opposite wall as well as a desk covered in what seems to be his correspondence.

“You’re safe here, my flower,” he says as he sets you down on the bed. “I promise.”

You sit, watch him as he kneels down beside you. His face is nothing but kind, so full of concern and affection, but you can’t help but feel out of place. Knowing what he is now, while it doesn’t change the core of your feelings, still circles in your mind and you have to fight your disbelief.

“You still hesitate?” he asks.

“Are you reading my mind?”

“No, fiore, I do no such thing.” He takes your hand, covering it with his broad ones. “I would not abuse your trust, even if I could. And we have trust, no?”

“I feel like I can trust you,” you admit, tears of overwhelm pricking your eyes. “But I don’t really know anything about you. I don’t even know your name.”

“Primo.”

You exhale and let the word roll off your tongue. “Primo.”

He smiles at the sound of it, a soft, recognising smile, as if he hasn’t been called by that name in a long time. “All I ask is that you let me look after you right now, sì? I will explain and we can talk in depth later, amore.”

“Amore?”

His brow softens, giving his smile a sad quality. “My affections for you have not changed. Though I do fear that yours might have.”

You shake your head at him but before you can say anything profound, two of the black hooded ghouls enter the room. Another one joins right after, rolling a big copper bathtub inside, and you don’t even question their magic when they lift their arms and the tub fills with water. One of the other ghouls lifts his hands as well and suddenly the water starts to steam. The third ghoul places a piece of soap and a washcloth on a nearby stool, then hangs a soft-looking cotton bathrobe over the edge before they all leave without uttering a single word.

Primo helps you out of your shirt and you gasp when you see the blood covering your forearm. The bleeding has stopped but the scrape is still burning, the pain a distant throb. When he sees it, his gaze hardens but he just leads you to stand without any commentary, helping you undress, radiating tension and concern.

“It is okay that I am here?” he asks when he sees you unbutton your pants.

You nod in reply. After everything that happened you can’t say that you feel very embarrassed being naked in front of him and you feel safer in his presence, safer when he helps you.

The water is scalding and you have to take a moment to get used to it before you can fully let the heat ease the tension you hadn’t even noticed before. Primo pulls up a chair, sitting right by your head, and picks up the cloth. You watch his brow furrow in concentration when he cleans your cuts and scrapes and his eyes meet yours a few times throughout, gazing at you with barely hidden hope. You want to tell him that your feelings are the same, if not stronger, but you can’t find it in you to disturb the silence with anything other than the occasional hiss when he touches a painful spot. It feels too fresh still, too many uncertainties plaguing your mind.

Once you’re clean and the water has cooled significantly, Primo helps you out and immediately wraps the soft cotton robe around you. As you sit back down on the bed, he walks over to his desk and fetches a small brown leather bag. Inside, you find multiple small vials in different colours and an antiseptic that looks just like any modern ones. He uses a cotton pad to clean out your wound before he grabs one of the small bottles, holding it out for you to see.

“Let me apply this to your cut,” he says. “It’s a tonic, it will help you heal.”

You roll up your sleeve to grant him access. “So, are you a healer of some sort?”

“Well, I am more of a pharmacist.” He chuckles and lets a small amount of the white liquid drop onto your arm. “Not a doctor.”

“It feels good,” you admit, the cool tincture sticks to your wound, easing the pain.

Primo smiles and wraps a bandage around your arm, tight but not too tight, like he’s done it a hundred times before. You can’t help but stare at him, his eyes and his whole face so beautiful and mesmerising, barely hiding his emotions in the depths of his features. When he catches your gaze, he tugs his hair behind his ear like he’s flustered and you spot a small cut above his left brow.

“He got you as well,” you say, grabbing a new cotton pad and reaching out for his face.

“It’s nothing, it will be gone within the hour,” he replies but he still lets you clean the scratch with careful dabs. “I suppose that I am not as powerful as I need to be to truly protect you.”

“What do you mean? You seemed very powerful to me earlier.”

“I am not ugh… how do you say? In my best years.”

You furrow your brow. “I always thought vampires stayed young forever.”

“Well, you see, I was turned well into my old age. I am not as strong and agile as someone who is born with it or turned earlier in their life,” he explains. “Usually, vampires do not like old blood, they prefer the young and healthy. But mine was… very hungry and very cruel.”

You lean over and press a kiss to his shoulder. “Is it painful to talk about this?”

“No, fiore mio, this was many centuries ago.” He regards you with caution, letting his eyes roam your body for a moment. “Do you feel better?”

“I do.” You reach out for his hand again, fiddling with his long, spindly fingers. “So are we… I mean, do you want me to stay here?”

“Yes, I do.”

“But we won’t…”

“No, I will not touch you intimately again before we speak,” he says, squeezing your fingers. “But perhaps you need some rest before we do. You can sleep in my bed, amore. The sheets are fresh.”

The exhaustion is too strong to fight for much longer, he’s right in that, and you crawl under the sheets, careful not to strain your arm. The silky material feels cool and soft against your skin but you keep the robe on for some warmth. Primo sits by your side, watching you with the fascination of a scientist observing the bacteria in his petri dish. You wonder when he last spent time with a human like this, if he was ever intimate with a human before, but that is a question for another time.

Instead you smile at him. “Do you want to join me? Or do vampires not rest?”

“Are you sure you want me to?”

“I would really like you to hold me,” you admit.

He visibly fights off a happy smile as he rounds the bed, shedding his clothes until he’s only in his pants and his white frilly shirt. Hesitating at the edge of the bed he pulls off the shirt as well and you can’t help but stare as he reveals his pale chest to you, speckled with light grey hair that runs all the way down to his waistband. He’s slender, bony around his ribs but with muscular shoulders and a soft belly, his slightly saggy skin the only real sign of his body’s physical age. You wonder how long he has now looked exactly like that. Centuries he’d said but that is a surreal thought you don’t quite grasp.

When he finally joins you in bed, you sink into his embrace, feeling his cool skin against your cheek as you rest your head on his chest. It’s odd, the quiet, the lack of a heartbeat, but with his fingers running along your spine, his nails scratching softly against your skin, you’re lulled to sleep in no time.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

You wake up in cold sweat – and alone. The bed is empty but you immediately spot Primo with a glance through the wide arched windows. He’s right outside the now open double doors you saw earlier, wearing a heavy, dark red robe, his blond hair softly swaying in the wind. You rise from the silken sheets and grab his wide shirt that lies as a puddle on the floor. The frills cover your hands when you slip it on and it’s long enough to cover you, his smell still clinging to the fabric and tickling your nose as you breathe in the fresh night air.

The doors don’t lead to a balcony like you initially assumed but to a small garden, surrounded by the castle walls and illuminated by the full moon. You have no idea how long you slept but it seems to be the middle of the night. You don’t take the time to fully admire the garden, instead wrapping your arms around Primo and burying your face in his back.

“Oh fiore, did I wake you?” he asks, covering your hands with his.

“No,” you whisper. “I’m not tired anymore.”

“Come here.”

He wraps you up in his robe, pressing you tightly to his chest. You feel his lips ghosting over your forehead, then he presses them more firmly to your temple. His skin feels smooth and you turn your head enough to take in the surrounding area.

“What were you admiring?” you ask, your eyes caught on a plant that’s blooming despite the lack of daylight, long white blossoms opening themselves towards the night sky.

“Datura,” Primo explains. “They call it the devil’s trumpet. Highly poisonous. Many night-blooming plants are but of course they offer more to see to me than others.”

You smile. “The rose you gave me, was it from your garden as well?”

“Yes.”

He hugs you tighter and the pressure on your arm brings back enough pain to make you hiss in surprise. Primo tenses and you look up, only to find him staring at you with his brows drawn together. His anger isn’t directed at you and yet you feel a hint of anxiety. You know you won’t like the conversation you’re stearing towards.

“It’s my fault,” he says. “You’re hurt because of me.”

You raise a hand to his cheek. “No, no, it’s not. He attacked me.”

“But he attacked you because of my carelessness,” Primo says, leaning into your touch but avoiding your gaze. “I marked you. When we first kissed, I bit your lip and marked you.”

“Marked me for what?”

He swallows as his eyes finally meet yours. “We had an agreement.”

“An agreement? To… to kill people?”

“No, I don’t do the killing,” Primo says. “It is not my style. I am too old for carnage, amore. Or at least I thought I was.”

You furrow your brow, his explanation not helping you understand what he means. “So what is the whole deal with Max?”

“He was a werewolf,” Primo explains. “We ugh… we had this pact, I want to say. My victims, I don’t kill them, I just drink what I need and he… he gets the rest. He can smell me on them, so he knows who to target once he turns and loses most of his rational thinking. When I bit your lip, I must have marked you without my intent.”

You feel your blood rushing through your body now. “So what, he kills your victims?”

“He eats them, sì.”

“So the guys who…” You swallow hard, balling your hands to fists against his chest. “The guys who harassed me who never came back, the cleaner who disappeared… did you…”

“I never said I am innocent. But I did not kill them.” He takes your hand, softly uncurls your fingers before he looks at you with so much sadness that your heart shatters in your chest. “I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore now. I know it is a lifestyle you have to condemn but it is the only way I survive.”

You feel tears welling in your eyes, uncertain whether you can accept the man you love harming other people like this. Of course it keeps him alive but handing them over to be killed is not very different from actually killing them. There has to be a different way, a way without murder.

“If we… if we were together… could you just drink from me instead?” you ask. “No more innocent people?”

“Have you ever donated blood, fiore? They will not let you give it too often, half a litre every three months.” He pauses, smiling sadly as he squeezes your hand. “That is to say… you do not produce blood fast enough. I would either starve or kill you.”

“But you could drink from me? And perhaps a bit from someone else and no one has to die?”

He nods. “I can but you might not like it, you might regret agreeing to this.”

“Try me.”

Primo furrows his brow. “Try you?”

“Show me what it’s like. How does it work? You bite my neck and suck?”

He shakes his head. “I will puncture your vein and drink until the bleeding stops.”

“You won’t suck?”

“Not when it’s you. I will just drink what spills out,” he explains. “Sucking would make the wound very bad, it would hurt you more, even though it is faster and gives me more of you.”

“It’s… it’s okay if you want to suck,” you say. “I want you to do it to satisfy you.”

“No, not this time, but thank you, amore.” A deep sigh as he relents to your request. “Va bene, but if we try this we have to go inside.”

Primo calls one of the ghouls as you settle back in bed and tells him to get you some fruit and a sweet drink for later. You’re buzzing, partly with anxiety but partly with sheer excitement. You remember the intense pleasure you felt when he bit your lip and wonder if this is going to be a similar experience.

As soon as the ghoul is gone again, Primo settles in bed behind you, ridding you of your robe and pulling you between his legs as soon as you are naked. You hold onto his thighs, the fabric of his black slacks rough against your palms.

“I will stop if you tell me to,” he whispers against your ear. “We go easy, I will not drink too much, yes?”

“Yes.”

You sink against his solid chest, unclenching your muscles. His fingers run along your neck, brushing any stray hairs aside and gently positioning your head how he wants it. A moment passes before you feel his lips trailing over the exposed skin, pressing soft kisses to the tendon at your neck that make you shiver.

“Relax,” he mumbles. “No sudden movements, amore.”

You try your best to follow. Primo positions his mouth so very carefully that you almost anticipate the bite. His fangs poke at your skin and he gently increases the pressure until you can feel them puncturing it. The pain is not unexpected but you’re still surprised by the impact, moaning softly. His hands grab at your thighs, a deep groan leaving his throat that vibrates against your skin. You can hardly feel the blood leaving you with how tightly his mouth is attached to the violated skin. At some point, you can feel his tongue swiping along the curve and his grip tightens, long fingers digging into your flesh.

The more he drinks, the more he’s stirring behind you and then he’s suddenly rutting against you in his chase for more friction. You can feel his hard cock against your lower back and you can’t help but grind back against him. Primo stops to moan, his hands roaming your form all the way over your hips and up to your chest. His cold fingers feel heavenly against your heated skin.

“I’m sorry,” he says breathlessly. “Drinking from your… from your love can be a very intense, intimate feeling.”

You hum in agreement and his tongue laps at your neck again, leaving a wet trail all the way from your shoulder to your ear before he attaches his mouth to the wound. He doesn’t drink for long before his hips buck again. Subconsciously, you follow the movements, gripping his thighs so tightly that your fingertips dig into the firm muscles.

“Can you feel it, fiore? Can you feel how our bodies long to become one?”

You only whimper in reply, your head lolling back onto his shoulder as a sick sort of pleasure tears through you, a throbbing need settling in your core.

“I want you,” he says, his voice resonating deep inside of you. “I want you, my love. Will you let me have you?”

“Please,” you whine.

His mouth leaves you altogether. The bleedings has mostly stopped, his spit and your blood cooling against your skin in the still brisk air. Primo slips out from beneath you, urgently pushing the red robe off his shoulders and his pants from his legs before his weight pushes you into the mattress. He settles between your legs, his now bare cock digging into your thigh, and you moan when his bare skin touches yours. He feels warmer now, not hot but definitely more… alive.

“You are the most wonderful thing I have ever seen,” he says and it’s beautifully grotesque, those pretty words leaving such a feral creature after he just drank from you, his face still showing the evidence of his attack.

Your heart clenches with unspoken love for him.

You lift your hand to his jaw, dark red blood dripping from his open mouth and onto your chest. He’s breathing heavily with his fangs bared to you, staring at you in wonder as you cradle his cheek and run your thumb over his skin. His eyes close and there is something so heartbreakingly intimate about the way he’s melting into your touch. A predator, a being who spent centuries on this earth, who hurt and fought and killed for you softens at the mere touch of your fingertips. You’ve never wanted anyone as much as you want him in this moment and you already know that you won’t hesitate to do whatever it takes to be his.

Primo shifts sideways, moving one of his hands between your legs. He probes at your entrance, slowly stretching you open until he can slide two of his fingers into you, careful not to hurt you with his sharp nails. You can see how hard he’s trying to hold back, every muscle in his face clenching. But he holds your gaze, watching your lips part as he curls his fingers, fucking into you until you’re whimpering with every thrust.

“Primo,” you whine.

He nods like understands your need for more but he doesn’t stop yet. Running your hand over his jaw you collect all the blood and spit around his mouth that you can get and reach down to find his hard cock. He gasps at the contact, more blood spilling from his lips and pooling between your bodies. You pump a few times, spreading the wetness, and he unravels, hips bucking into your hand as he moans.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please don’t hold back.”

His pupils dilate and he removes his fingers from you, gathering more blood from your chest to spread on his cock. He aligns himself and slowly pushes in, watching as he his length disappears inside of you. The stretch is incredible. You keen when he bottoms out, one of your hands fisting his hair and then he finally kisses you. The metallic taste of your blood startles you at first but then you can’t help but want more of it, pushing your tongue into his mouth. Primo won’t indulge you for long before you can feel him losing his restraint, battling for dominance over your mouth. He sucks at your tongue as his hips start to move, slow thrusts at first but he quickly loses patience.

His mouth slips from yours as he speeds up, leaving a mess of drool, face paint and cooling blood behind. He drives himself into you without holding back, just like you wanted, his gasps and moans filling your ears over the sound of his wet skin meeting yours. You tug at his hair, wrapping your legs tightly around him to get even closer, spreading the blood all over your bodies. Primo nibbles at your jaw, not breaking the skin but running his teeth along the edge before they settle at your neck again.

“I want more,” he growls against your skin. “I need more, amore mio, please. J-just a little bit.”

In reply, you angle your head to expose your neck to him. He immediately latches on, sucking the wound back open. He was right, it hurts more this time and perhaps it’s a figment of your imagination but you can feel your blood rushing out of you in a way that is dizzying, intoxicating. Everything feels more intense now, the deep thrusts, his sharp nails digging into your flesh, the throaty moans in your ear as he drinks.

You clench around him and the orgasm hits you without warning. You cry out in pleasure, raking your nails down his back as you ride out your high with a few rolls of your hips. Primo falters, his hips stuttering into yours as he approaches his own release. His mouth leaves your neck with a pop and he pants desperately. You’re overcome with emotion when you hear his needy sounds, when you feel him twitching inside of you, so close to letting go. The last few drops of your warm blood run down your clavicle as the wound slowly closes, stopping right at your heart.

“I love you,” you breathe. “I love you, Primo.”

He shudders, his cock jumping wildly inside of you before he freezes, spilling his seed with a deep, drawn-out groan. You hold him through his high, stroking his hair and back. He gives two more slow pumps, drawing out your pleasure until he collapses on top of you.

“I love you, fiore,” he mumbles, then he props himself up on his elbow, staring into your eyes. “I love you.”

A surprisingly gentle kiss. A hand caressing your wet cheeks. Primo rolls you onto your sides and you can feel your mingled cum, blood and sweat glueing your bodies together. It’s messy and sticky but you’re not ready to let him go either. His gaze falls to your bruised neck and he frowns, grazing the skin with his thumb until you groan in pain.

Primo shakes his head in displeasure. “I am sorry, amore. I made it worse.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “I wanted it, my love, and I have no regrets.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “You want all this, fiore? You want this old man?”

You take a deep, shaky breath, your lungs burning and your head still dizzy, but there is not a hint of doubt in your mind. “I want you and all that comes with it. I’m not scared, Primo.”

“No, you’re quite fearless,” he agrees with a smile. “We will have to take care of your wound, clean up this mess, sì? But maybe we can wait a few more minutes, I am quite exhausted.”

You hum in agreement and pull him closer. He doesn’t object as his head comes to rest on your chest this time. The blood loss seems to register now because your vision starts to swim, and so you close your eyes for a moment to let the wave of dizziness pass. Your thoughts are jumbled, so many questions, so many things to consider.

“Primo?” you ask after a moment.

He hums. “Yes, fiore mio?”

“Will you ever turn me?”

A scoff, bitter and sharp, like it’s the absurdest thing he’s ever heard. “No, amore, I will do no such thing.”

“But if I wanted you to?”

“No.”

You open your eyes to find him looking up at you and lift a hand to smooth out the stern crease on his brow. “We’ll have to talk about this.”

“No,” he says again, then buries his face in your neck with a deep hum, wrapping his arms around you tightly. A moment passes. Then another one and he seems to mull the thought over in his head. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“We will talk about it but not soon. We have many years to come before this ever matters.”

You’re satisfied with that for now, giggle when he presses a plethora of bloody kisses all over your neck and chest, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. You know he’s trying to distract you and it works. Your feelings for him flutter to live inside of you like a colony of bats and you breathe a kiss to his soft blond hair. As he falls asleep, he slowly exhales with his lips against your windpipe. You close your eyes and savour the feeling of his body wrapped around yours, thinking that if you’re lucky, this is a moment you’re going to remember for all of eternity.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed vampire primo – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Read now Part 2: Friday Nights at the Vinothek | Vampire!Secondo x gn!reader

Masterlist – My Ao3

#vampire primo owns my heart #primo #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus x reader #primo x reader #papa emeritus i x reader #vampire primo #vamprimo #??#papa emeritus i fanfiction #papa emeritus i smut #papa emeritus smut #papa emeritus fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfiction #mind the tags #my writing #petrifyingpapas #friday nights

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rapturousrendezvous · 8 months

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++---Next Door---++ Toji x Reader (femme presenting/she/her) Explicit Tags: Single father Toji, Reader is Single Mother/Neighbor, Spontaneous sex, semi-soft to hard cock oral, cunnilingus, rough fucking, teasing, finger and tongue play, creampie, messy, mentions of "husband stitch", vaginal penetration, mention of feeder/eater kink Words: 3090K Inspiration from fanart by artist Yunonoai (on twt)

Again? At this time of night…

You hear loud banging on your bedroom wall and an intense moan that could probably wake the entire complex floor. It had been like this for a week since you moved in, and you were more than willing to mind your business. If it wasn't for the fact that you had a sleeping toddler in the next room that was extremely fussy and that you hadn't slept well.

You get up, not caring that you're only wearing an oversized T-shirt and underwear, hair tied into a scarf, as you make your way to the neighbor to the left of you. Taking a deep breath, you knock, waiting a few moments before you attempt again, only for the door to swing open, and your fist hits the rock-hard barrier that was your neighbor's chest.

Looking up, you retreat your hand, seeing that the much larger and taller man with mid-length dark hair and green eyes was utterly naked, a look of irritation clear on his face with an arm leaning on the side of the door frame.

"Yeah, what?" He gruffly states, almost spitting in your direction and scratching behind his ear.

"I, uh," You made the mistake of looking down. Your eyes met with a soft shaft, still slick with whatever juices covered it.

"If you wanna fuck, come back tomorrow. I'm busy."

Offended by his attitude, you snap.

"That's my problem. You're too loud, disturbing me and my kid's sleep. Keep it down."

Another neighbor opens their door, glaring at the two of you until they notice the naked man and suddenly shut their door without a word. He smirks and looks down at you, and shrugs.

"Whatever, lady."

Before you can protest, he shuts the door in your face. Typically, you'd knock again and demand he actually address the issue. But it was 3 am, and you only had two good hours of sleep left before you had to wake up and prepare for the day ahead.

I'll deal with him later.

Those two hours went by fast, though they were quiet. As you finished getting your kid dressed and ready, you gathered all your things and headed out the door. Thankfully you made it to the daycare center down the street on time, handing the caretaker the lunchbox and other items before kissing your little one on the forehead.

As you stand, you turn to see the same face that was only hours ago, giving you a death glare. Strapped to his chest was a small dark-haired child looking around in curiosity. The caretaker shoves you out of the way, beaming and kissing up the man as she pinched the cheeks of his child.

You roll your eyes and gather your own things, barely noticing that he is staring in your direction. This doesn't bother you in the slightest. Even so, it intrigues you to know why he's staring. Once you pass him, you put a stride in your step, swaying your hips confidently with your head held high. You notice in the reflection of the glass door that he's completely turned his head to watch you leave, and it satisfies you for the moment. Though, you weren't sure why you cared.

It was hard to shake the neighbor from your mind during work, significantly… his size. If that's how he was soft, you could only imagine what he was like in full action.

Kudos to whoever was taking that.

You try your best to focus, but it becomes increasingly difficult with the day dragging on. Once lunch comes around, you nearly sprint from your desk, going to the break room to retrieve your food. Frustration hits you immediately when you open the fridge, seeing that someone has stolen your lunch…the second time this week.

What the fuck? I swear…

You look in your wallet, sighing at the few dollars and coins you had that weren't enough for anything except a soda from the vending machine. You would have to go back to your apartment and eat there.

It was a short walk, a good 15 minutes, which was on purpose for the choice of living at the specific complex. It meant you only had 30 minutes instead of an entire hour to eat.

Back at your front door, you fumbled in your purse to get your key, only to realize…you had left them on your desk.

Today is just not my fucking day…

Defeated, you slump against the door, not paying attention to the large hand reaching over to tap your shoulder.

"Yo, ya locked out or something?"

You look up, startled to see your neighbor standing next to you, a look of amusement on his face.

"No. I left my keys at work."

He laughs, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

"Just as you deserve, bothering me last night."

You narrow your eyes, fed up with his smug grin. Before you can say anything, he sighs and looks away.

"You clean up nice. That offer still stands."

Confused, you tilt your head. "What?"

"If you wanna fuck, remember?"

He, in fact, did say that so casually, but you only figured he was joking or being obtuse due to being interrupted. You look at your phone, annoyed that you still had 20 minutes before you had to return to work, but without your key, there was no point in standing in the hallway entertaining this man's lifestyle choices.

"Yeah, you wish; I have more important things to do."

He shrugs and points to your door. "Right, like getting locked out of your apartment."

"Look, I was only trying to enjoy my lunch break."

"Come to my place then. I have leftovers."

Your stomach betrays you, growling before you can even decline the invite.

"Fine. But I'll be quick."

You enter his apartment, surprised by how clean and minimalist it appears. Even the toys neatly tucked into the corner made your place look like a mess. He had to of had someone helping him.

"Chicken, vegetable, or beef?" He asks, sliding over take-out cartons toward you. You make your selection as he grabs it and tosses the contents on the stove in a frying pan. After a few moments, he holds a stray plate from the drying rack and slides the food onto it.

"Here."

You look at it in awe, picking up the chopsticks and tasting it. It was alright, especially for reheated takeout. You eat a reasonable amount, pushing the plate away and bowing.

"Thanks for the meal." You look up, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not sorry for bothering you last night. You do need to keep it down."

He smirks. "Why…jealous?"

"You know what, never mind. I'm leaving."

"Sure, whatever. You owe me for the food, by the way."

You watch a grin spread across his face as he crosses his arms.

"How much?" You ask with annoyance, half expecting he'd pull this on you in the first place.

His fingers point down, your eyes following down to the semi-bulge that protruded from his sweats.

"What? You…seriously?"

"I have a thing for watching women eat what I make. Those lips of yours look soft too."

The compliment inflates your ego, but you look at your watch and realize the time. Plus, it was a high assumption that a girlfriend made all that noise last night.

"I can pay you. How long-uh? I mean, how much?"

"9 inches, soft. You tell me how big, hard." He smirks at you again, mocking your slip-up.

" I don't have time for this."

"I saw you at the daycare, making me watch you leave." He walks up to you, grabbing your chin from across the counter to look up at him.

"Think I wasn't gonna watch that sweet ass of yours? I can see why someone wanted to put a baby in you."

Your cheeks heat up, your words coming out in stammers. As much as you couldn't help but admit, you were trying to get attention but only to be petty, not to entice. It worked too good, and this man was hooked. If you weren't going to be late going back to work, and the possibility of his partner walking in, you would take a chance in seeing that giant cock of his again.

"It's now or never, sweetheart."

You frown, correcting him by saying your name. He leans down and takes your lips in a deep, sloppy kiss, biting your lips as he pulls back.

"Y/N, huh? Just to hear your sharp tongue scream my name, call me Toji."

Fuck. I'm already late headed back. What do I do…

The temptation was eating away at you. Leaving now would only be a waste of returning late from your break. And it wasn't like you were late all the time.

You inhale and exhale slowly, meeting eyes with Toji. Your focus draws to the scar on the corner of his lips, and he notices, using a thumb to trail around your mouth.

"So, I take it you're staying."

You pull your face away and go over to the other side of the kitchen island. There was no need to get comfortable or set the scene. You just wanted to finish this and return to your job.

He smirks, leaning against the sink, watching you untie the drawstring of his sweats and pull down on the waistband revealing his twitching swollen cock, the tip of him peeking from the foreskin. What surprised you is that he wasn't even hard, your hand grasping his shaft to bring it to your lips. A musky, earthy smell also hits you as your head comes closer. Judging by the cleanliness of his apartment, you could only assume he showered regularly, and this was his natural scent.

He gives you no time to think further about it, grabbing the back of your head and shoving himself right into your cheek. Your mouth opens to allow him access, your tongue trailing up and waiting for some witty retort or sarcastic teasing. But it's only the sound of a short grunt, followed low hum as he grips your hair.

You continue trying to take as much of him in your mouth as possible, realizing just how thick he is toward the middle compared to the tapered mushroom head. You manage, though it appears he's grown harder, adding an inch that pressed against the back of your throat.

So a shower and a grower? This isn't fair…

You gag, which makes him groan louder, eagerly pushing your head even more until he's touching past your tonsils. You were officially halfway down his cock (now fully erect), having to breathe through your nose and hold on to his hips to brace yourself.

"I knew it. That pretty mouth of yours is taking my dick so well..now sit still."

You do so, keeping your eyes locked with his gaze as his hips move forward at an even pace. With each stroke, he pushes further into your throat, grunting and breathing heavily as his grip tightens on your hair. He stops and grits his teeth when you begin to mimic those same movements, your head bobbing and your tongue trailing the underside of his shaft. You feel the slight tug of his foreskin slides against your cheeks, the look of pleasure forming on his face as he bites his lip.

"Fuck…."

You'd smirk if your mouth wasn't so full. Suddenly, Toji stops you, pulling himself from your mouth and hoisting you onto the kitchen island in one movement. He tears away your pantyhose and slides up your dress, roughly shoving you back as he pulls down your panties to your ankles. Without giving you any chance to speak, his head dives between your thighs, and you feel his wide, wet tongue press against your clit. You cover your mouth, but you feel him snatch your arm down.

"Nuh uh, none of that shit."

He presses his tongue against you again, trailing it to dip into your heat. You mewl and squirm, hands held down by his own so you can be heard. He pauses to inhale your scent, laughing loudly as he growls with heavy-lidded eyes.

"Your pussy smells just as good as it tastes, Y/N."

You look down at him, half concerned at the compliment but too aroused to comment. He smirks and surrounds the sensitive flesh with his mouth, licking and sucking relentlessly to make you cry out. Toji pulls back, staring at your hole covered in his salvia. Taking two fingers, he slides them into you, humming with satisfaction.

"As I thought, you…are tight as hell. The doc must have stitched you up good."

It took you a moment to realize that he was referring to the infamous "husband stitch" doctors made if they had to cut you during childbirth. That he was betting on that being a possibility was typical. You didn't even know this man for a day, and he was so transparent in his tastes, not that he bothered hiding it from you.

To hell with it; as long as I get off…this will be worth it.

He pulls out his fingers, putting them to his mouth and using his other hand to push you down.

"Open 'em."

Your legs part, but he pulls them further as he positions himself at your entrance. He was tall enough to make this position work, which impresses you. Your body flinches when he smacks the tip of himself against your clit, pushing down to your hole before roughly thrusting up into your wet cunt. He groans loudly when you scream from the stretch, your walls clinging around him with a snug fit. He'd been right about you being tight, but he was also thicker than most toys You've used during your intimate time.

He doesn't pause, immediately thrusting into you quickly, causing your entire body to jiggle and shake with each stroke. He lifts your leg onto his shoulder, allowing him to enter you deeper, though he bottoms out only a fourth of his cock left.

"God damn, I'm about to cum already…shit."

He presses a thumb against your clit, rolling it clockwise as he slams into you. He was so hard and thick that you could feel him possibly push around other organs in the area, even press against your cervix with rough taps. The sound of skin slapping and the smell of sex fills the room. The kitchen counter is covered with juices and arousal. Your head becomes dizzy with pleasure, the haze coming over you as your eyes roll in the back of your head. He watches you, panting and grunting.

"That's it…come on fucking say it…"

At the peak of your climax, you scream his name, clear fluid spilling out of you as your walls tighten around him to indicate your orgasm. His cock twitches and swells before shooting out thick ropes of cum deep into your pussy, as he leans to growl in your ear.

The two of you breathe heavily, stuck in the aftermath of your pleasure for a few moments. Finally, Toji pulls out, leaving you a mess of cum and other fluids that spill onto the counter.

"Damn…it's been a minute since I've come like that. You're a fucking mess."

It takes a few more seconds to process, looking down at what he was talking about and realizing just how much shit you were in. One, you noticed none of you bothered to use a condom (thankfully, you were on the pill), and second, the time on the clock showed you were more than an hour late coming back from your break.

"Oh fuck me, I can't return to work like this!" You try to stand on your feet, but your knees give out, having to brace yourself on the counter. You flash an angry glare at Toji, who chuckles at the sight of your distress.

"You can't even walk, Y/N. Need me to carry you?"

You didn't have any patience left to deal with his teasing. You could only wobble your way to your bag and pull out your phone, seeing a missed call from your co-worker. Quickly calling back, you give an excuse that there was an emergency during your break and you'd be back shortly. The good news was that your boss had to step out, so I didn't notice you were gone for so long.

You hang up the phone looking back at Toji, who is still smugly watching you.

"Leaving?"

"Yes. I am. If you wanted a second round.."

He looks down casually at his hands before looking back at you.

"Nah, I'm good. But…"

He saunters over to his bathroom door, giving you a wink.

"Might wanna wash the smell of my dick off before you go."

After a quick shower, you inspect your dress to ensure nothing gets on it. Your pantyhose was ruined, and you couldn't find your panties. You decide to just slip back in your bra and dress, slipping in your heels, not bothering to say a word to your neighbor that just fucked the life of you.

The rest of the work went by fast, thankfully so. After picking up your kid, you both head home and catch Toji speaking to a woman who looks indifferent to your presence in the hallway.

That must be his girlfriend…

You go to your door, ignoring the two until he calls you. You turn, seeing that the other woman has left.

"Hey, you left something at my place."

To your horror, he holds up the panties you assumed you lost. You snatch them quickly.

"Are you insane? Wasn't your girlfriend just here speaking with you?"

"Her? That's my ex-wife. We were just talking about our son. Her turn to pick him up from daycare."

You stand in silence, annoyed more than ever that he even answered you truthfully. You open the door, allowing the toddler to run in and laugh happily as you stand in the hallway.

"What? Need something else?" He asks with a cocky tone to his voice.

"No." You turn your head, but he reaches out to grab your jaw and turn it back, giving you a quick kiss with a sly grin.

"Bring that sweet, tight pussy over any time."

He lets you go, humming to himself while he shuts his door. You stand speechless in the hallway, taking a moment before shaking yourself back to reality.

This man is going to be trouble…

#jjk smut #oneshot #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x y/n #single dad toji #mind the tags #reader is single parent with kid

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aziraphales-library · 10 hours

Note

Hi! First off, I've been following you for a little while and I really want to thank you for this page, it's been so useful to me so bless you.

Now, my question. I've seen there's a tag for holy water, do you happen to have a similar one for hellfire? I've been meaning to read some fics with hellfire involved!

Cheers <3

Hello! We have both #holy water and #hellfire tags, so you can check both out. Here are a few more to add to the hellfire collection. Mind the tags on some of these!...

Don't Move (You Could Get Hurt) by Skywing80 (T)

Aziraphale and Crowley had been enjoying their day outside when suddenly everything went south. Now Crowley has to take care of an injured Aziraphale while also dealing with the guilt of not saving him from getting hurt

Jailbreak by Tigerphoenix (M)

Crowley was just relaxing in the bookshop when Muriel returned from reporting to Heaven. They bear horrible news. Aziraphale got himself into serious trouble. He's locked up, with the threat of being cast down to Hell hanging over his head. Crowley has to do something.

ignited by ineffableserpent (T)

As soon as they exit the office, Aziraphale suddenly freezes, midway to the main shop entrance. His nose wrinkles, and he looks around, eyes widening. “Crowley —“ he asks, turning to face him. “I’m terribly sorry to ask — have you made any recent trips Downstairs?” Crowley blinks at him, shaking his head immediately. “No, I ‘aven’t. You’d know if I did. Why d’you ask —“ Any further words die on the serpent’s tongue as soon as he opens his mouth. He can smell it, taste it; the smell of smoke, rapidly intensifying. Not just smoke, but sulphur. Dark clouds of it begin to envelop the inside of the shop, sending a flood of memories through the demon’s head that he’d tried everything to bury. OR; Aziraphale’s beloved bookshop is set aflame by a revenge act from Hell. Crowley is there to pick up the charred pieces, while taking care of loose ends.

Hell Hath No Fury Like Idiots in Love by Somewhere_in_Wales (M)

After Crowley drinks the laudanum, he gets pulled down to Hell for punishment. But what if a certain Angel still had a tight hold of his waist when it happened? In the depths of darkness, they face torturous beasts, HellFire, personal demons and a Lord of Hell in their bid to escape. Featuring a long-suffering Lord of the Flies, wall-pinning and (consenting) undressing (not sexual... okay, it's a bit sexual).

Inferno by EdosianOrchids901 (T)

Aziraphale and Crowley’s assignments in the town of Herculaneum take a deadly turn. Earthquakes rock the area as angels and demons clash nearby, and something odd is happening with Mount Vesuvius. Soon, they’re struggling to survive a fiery cataclysm. Can they find a way to save each other?

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #hellfire #hurt aziraphale #hurt/comfort #mind the tags #mod d

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gaiaseyes451 · 10 days

Text

A Little Life - Chapter 5 - Most of You

First and foremost, a MASSIVE THANK YOU to @ineffablecrankshaft for this gorgeous sketch for one of the scenes in this chapter! I squealed when I saw it. Just, I LOVE IT, UGH!!! <3

Rated: E, Words: ~30k/~71k. 5/12 Chapters. Read the tags!

Chapter Excerpt (Read on AO3):

Over the years he’d built a reputation for asking questions at seminars. Not at every one, of course, that’d be obnoxious, but at a reasonable majority of them. Being questioned by Professor Crowley meant he found the research engaging, his questions were difficult but insightful. It was a compliment.

The first presenter stepped to the podium. As he listened he jotted down thoughts, a few observations, some values as the questions began to form. When she’d finished speaking and opened the floor to questions he raised his hand, glancing down at his scrawl to bring the question into focus.

His notes were gibberish. The page was covered in half words, broken midway through the thought. Partial observations and fragmented questions were all he’d recorded; parsing them together into a coherent question was impossible. He began to lower his hand.

*~*~*

Summary:

When Professor of Botany Anthony Crowley met bookshop owner Ezra Fell one November afternoon both knew their lives had irrevocably changed. From that moment forward, Anthony and Ezra’s existence was intertwined. Their story was written in the moments and memories they created as they moved through life’s chapters of coming together, building a family and facing the challenges of being human. This is a story of unconditional love and the joy and humour, obstacles and grief that inevitably come with choosing the same person, day after day, over and over and over again.

*~*~*

A huge thanks to @goodomensafterdark for the writers community. And an extra special thanks to @hakunahistata and @the-literal-kj for beta'ing this story. Finally, a huge thanks for @fuzzygoblin for the song prompt that inspired this work.

#mind the tags #good omens #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #human au #ineffable dads #best beta's ever!#my fic writing #my fics

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adragonprinceswhore · 6 months

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The Commune I modern!cult leader Aemond x niece!Reader

Series Playlist

Summary: Feeling lost in life and depressed by your stressful job, you decide to visit your aunt Helaena and uncle Aemond at their new home out in the country. The community they’re part of seems like a safe heaven, but what dark secrets lurk behind the perfect façade?

Chapter I: Leaving the City

Chapter II: Reconnecting

Chapter III: Assimilating

Chapter IV: Forgiving

Chapter V: Prospering

Bonus: Aemond teaching her how to be dominant

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lipglossanon · 21 days

Text

Red Flags and Long Nights

Real Dad!Leon S. Kennedy x daughter fem!reader (one shot)

hello hello 👋 this is the fic written for the milestone celebration poll winner (real dad taking accidental viagra); big big thanks to all of you who have gotten me here!! 💜 💜 I’m so thankful everyday that you guys choose to read/like/share/interact with my fics and just me in general! 🥰 so without further ado, I hope you enjoy this one shot!!!

WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, INCEST, dead dove content, dad/daughter incest, groping, slight cnc, dirty talk, breast play, oral (m receiving), kissing, teasing, unprotected sex, creampie

not proofread 😅 some of it was written while sleepy so hopefully it makes sense haha

title from Red Flags and Long Nights from She Wants Revenge

<<prequel: Oh By Gosh, By Golly>>

One day, your mom calls you up out of the blue wanting to talk about planning a family vacation this year. Somewhere with sandy beaches and clear blue water. Something over an extended weekend once everyone can take off work. She’s already talked it over with your dad and he’s agreeable as long as it doesn’t cost an arm and a leg.

As she talks, you pull open your calendar and look over your work schedule. Once you find a date that works, she promises to text you the details of the Air B&B she plans to book. You bid her goodbye and hang up the phone, quietly excited about a beach trip even if it is with your parents.

You keep busy as you slowly count down the days; long graduated from college but still struggling to find work in your major, you’ve had to settle for any job opportunity that will pay the bills. Luckily enough, you were hired to work at the local post office. It’s not a glamorous job by any means, but you do get federal holidays off and your boss is pretty lenient with you. It’s a cinch to put in your PTO for the extended weekend you plan to spend with your parents.

The morning you drive down to the beach house is pleasant; it’s early enough you miss out on a bunch of traffic which helps you save enough time to splurge a little and grab some coffee. Following the GPS, you get to the beach house in the afternoon with plenty of sunshine left to enjoy. Your parent’s car is already parked outside so you don’t have to worry about figuring out how to unlock the joint.

You grab your small suitcase and make your way into the lovely three story home. As you walk up the gravel sidewalk, you take in how secluded the area truly is and how lucky your mom was in getting such a nice place. You’re pretty sure it cost out the ass, but hey who’re you to deny such generosity?

The door swings open before you touch the handle and your mom pulls you into a hug.

“Oh honey, I’m so happy you could make it!”

Breathing in the perfume embedded into your brain from childhood, you give her a quick squeeze back before pulling away.

“Me too,” you smile, “this place is amazing!”

She laughs and moves further into the house, looking back as you follow along behind after closing the door.

“A friend of a friend owns this place so it was pretty easy to get. Even your father can’t throw one of his little hissy fits about the cost,” she rolls her eyes and you breathe out a laugh.

“Where is he?” You look around but only see the open kitchen leading off into the dining room.

“Down at the beach,” she points to the sliding glass doors on the other side of the living room, “I told him I wanted to stay up here for when you arrived.”

You nod and smile at her again, “Thanks, I appreciate it. I’m gonna go put my stuff up and change then we can head down ourselves.”

She nods, “There’s a handful of bedrooms on the second and third floor. Your dad and I are staying in the master down here so you have your choice of rooms.”

“Nice, be back in a sec,” grabbing your luggage, you climb the stairs to scout out where you want to sleep.

You pick a cute room on the third floor; it has a little balcony with a couple of chairs that gives you a fantastic view for miles around. You toss your clothes into the dresser and quickly change into your swimsuit. Grabbing a towel and some sunscreen, you slide on your sandals and make your way back downstairs. Your mom, wearing a big floppy hat, is already standing outside the sliding doors.

You chatter with each other, just catching up on your day to day, while you both make your way down the little path that leads out onto the beach. As soon as your sandals hit the sand, you see a huge beach umbrella.

“Glad to know he won’t burn,” your mom laughs, toeing off her own sandals to walk barefoot over to your dad.

Following her lead, you take off your sandals and carry them over to the blanket underneath the shade of the umbrella.

“‘Bout time,” a groggy baritone meets your ears.

“Shush, Leon, it didn’t kill you to nap on the beach now did it?”

Your dad just mumbles a reply to your mom before raising up. He squints over at you, eyes heavy lidded from sleep as you set your stuff down.

“The drive okay?”

You laugh and finally look over at him, “It was fine.”

His blue eyes sharpen as they read your expression before darting down to give you a once over. Your nipples tighten against your will and his gaze seems to linger there for a split second before flicking back up to your face. Plastering on a fake smile, you sit down and grab your sunscreen.

“Want some help with that?” Your dad nods to the little bottle in your hands.

“S-sure.”

You kinda hope the ground splits open to swallow you whole, but instead you just move over to where your dad is sitting up on the blanket, hand outstretched to grab the sunscreen.

“Well while you two do that, I’m going to go take a dip,” your mom beams at you, completely leaving you alone to wallow in this newfound awkwardness.

Keeping your back to your dad, you feel his broad calloused palms drag the slick lotion all over your back and shoulders, deftly massaging it in. For the last few years, there’s been a line of tension between you and Leon. An accidental kiss under the mistletoe where you both used too much tongue to be appropriate (any tongue isn’t appropriate but you’re blaming the alcohol everyone had been drinking).

Since then, you’ve both watched the other. Glances too heated to be innocent, brushing against each other unnecessarily… and now with his sun warmed hands rubbing across your back, your brain empties as your body buzzes with arousal.

It’s why it takes a second for you to realize that your dad has moved on to rubbing in the sunblock across your ribs and over your clavicle. His hands come up and cup your breasts, stiff nipples showing through the fabric.

“Gotta make sure to get everywhere,” his breath gusts past your ear as his hands slip under your top and massages the fat of your breasts.

“Ohh,” you whimper quietly, cunt pulsing warmly in time with your heartbeat.

He squeezes and rubs across your soft skin, fingers plucking at your stiff peaks until you moan brokenly.

“Dad,” your breathy exaltation has him pinching and twisting your nipples before groping your breasts roughly in his hands.

“‘M almost done,” he licks the shell of your ear and your thighs twitch, “you’ve got such nice tits, princess. Don’t want’em to burn.”

You press your hand over your mouth to muffle the whine you let slip. With one last harsh pinch to your nipples, he lets go, scooting back away from you.

“Should be good to go,” he grins at your dazed look, “don’t keep your mom waiting.”

Shaking your head, you blink rapidly and slowly climb to your feet. As you pass by Leon, his hand reaches up and smacks your ass hard.

“Be a good girl, okay?”

“Y-yeah, dad.”

You pad out to the ocean, waving to your mom as she looks for seashells in the shallow water. Wading out far enough for water to hit your chest, you finally let yourself sigh out loud.

“What in the fuck?!”

You rub wet hands over your face as you gaze out onto the horizon. Flirting is one thing, but getting felt up by your dad is definitely crossing the line. You shiver, clit still throbbing as you reach down to press your palm against your cunt. Even as messed up as it may make you, you wish he would’ve slipped his hand down and fingered your pussy.

The sun glaring off the water makes you squint even as you enjoy the scenery, trying your best to squish all the other thoughts and feelings you’ve had in the past half hour down into a little box you can open later. It works for a time, until the squinting becomes too much and the glare is driving sharp little needles into your brain.

Leaving the water, you make your way over to your mom as she scoops up more shells with a net.

“I’m gonna head in, got a bit of a headache,” you wince as the sun bounces off her watch into your eyes.

“Let me walk with you,” she frowns, “you’re looking a little washed out.”

You nod and follow her back up to the beach blanket, eyes skirting over where your dad’s lounging reading a book.

“We’re headed up to the house, do you need anything?”

Your mom grabs her bag and your stuff as your dad sets his book down onto his lap. He looks at you then back to his wife.

“No, once I finish this, I’ll be heading up, too.”

She hums and takes you by the arm, helping guide you back to the house since the pain beats a tempo behind your eyes and makes your vision a little blurry. Once in the house, she helps you upstairs to your room. In doing so, she makes sure to stop in at the bathroom on the bottom floor to point out the migraine medicine in the cabinet.

Entering your room, she sits you down on your bed. She tucks you in and makes sure to close the blinds before walking back into the hallway. Turning, she gives you a concerned look.

“I’m going to head into town. It’s about an hour's drive from here so I won’t be back til later. If you need anything, call, okay?”

You hum in reply already drifting to sleep in hopes you’ll feel better once you crash for a few hours. The nap helps and by the time you come to, your headache is completely gone. Waking up is a chore however; it takes you a minute to realize where you are, eyelids sticking together, gummy with sleep.

Raising up on your elbows, you reach over to the side table and grab your phone. Eyebrows pinching together, you blink sluggishly until you can read the time. It’s only late afternoon even if it feels like you’ve slept through the night. Climbing out of bed, you change before leaving your room with a plan on grabbing some water from the kitchen.

It’s noticeably quiet as you finally step out on the bottom floor. Your mom must still be gone since you don’t see her shoes by the front door.

“Fuck.”

You hear the muttered curse from the half open bathroom door that you’re walking past heading to the kitchen.

“Everything okay?”

You slowly press the door all the way open and your dad fumbles with a towel before placing it over his lap as he sits heavily down on the edge of the tub.

“I thought you were out with your mother,” he bites out, tone sharp.

“No,” you frown, leaning against the doorjamb, “I had a headache and took a nap. Are you alright?”

He blows out a breath and scrubs a hand over his face.

“I’m fine. What time did she say she’d be back?”

You shrug, “Couple of hours I think. I don’t really remember.”

“Goddamn it.”

“Should I call—“

“No,” Leon nearly shouts, “no, don’t. It’s not a big deal.”

“Dad, I can help I just need to know what’s wrong,” you step closer into the bathroom.

He laughs without any humor, “Sure.”

You go to ask him why when your eyes catch on the bottle sitting by the sink. It’s similar to the migraine medicine you saw in the medicine cabinet earlier, the one your mom pointed out if the nap didn’t get rid of your headache. Who knew your dad needed help getting it up?

“Did you..?”

You trail off, feeling awkward and nervous and disgustingly turned on to think your dad’s dick is hard underneath that flimsy towel.

“Yes,” he sounds tired, “I thought it was the other medicine.”

“Ohh,” you bite your lip, brain completely in the gutter as your eyes drift down to his lap, “I mean, I can still help.”

It seems insane but your dad’s not stopping you as you shuffle closer to stand between his legs. His blue eyes stay steady on yours as you kneel in the floor, knees digging into the soft rug in front of the tub. Leon tugs his briefs down and his cock slaps against his stomach, precum drooling from the head. He’s so hard, the foreskin has drawn back from the tip showcasing how red and swollen his cock has gotten from the medication.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out, eyes greedily taking him in.

“Fuck, don’t look at it like that,” he groans, hands gripping the tub so tight his knuckles blanch.

“You’re just really big,” you press the dough of your thighs together, trying to put a little pressure on your throbbing clit, “you’ve got the fattest cock I’ve ever seen, dad.”

You watch as precum blurts from the tip to drip all down his length while he moans low in his throat.

“Christ, you’ve got a filthy mouth,” his pupils are blown as he gazes down at you, “since you like how big my dick is, sweetheart, why don’t you show me, hmm?”

Your tongue licks up all the precum leaking down his dick before softly suckling on the head.

“Oh fuck, that’s it,” he grunts, “suck that cock.”

Moaning, you bob your head down, tongue tracing the thick vein you can feel on the side as you sink down inch by inch. Your dad pulls out to trace your lips with his drippy tip, smearing precum across your mouth like sticky gloss. You moan and press a kiss to his dick, tongue lapping at the crown until he’s rocking back into your mouth. Humming low in your throat makes his cock kick in your mouth, precum coating your tongue.

“Damn, so good,” he groans, hand smoothing across your jaw, cradling it as he pulls his cock out, “never get head from your mom anymore. Feels so good.”

More slick wets your panties as you mewl, throat clicking as you swallow around his thick length. You hungrily suck his cock, tongue circling his head before dipping into the slit to taste more of his precum.

“Like sucking me off, sweetheart?” he tosses the fringe away from his eyes while he rocks his hips, pushing himself deeper into your throat with smooth strokes until you gag heavily.

“Love that, choke on it a bit more and I’ll be spilling down your slutty throat.”

Thick strands of saliva bridge between your mouth and his dick like shimmery spiderwebs as he slips out. You moan when he ruts his cock across your tongue. Leon groans and reaches down to tap his cock against your lips before feeding it back to you. Whining, you suck him deeper into your mouth, licking across the head before messily bobbing your head further down his thick length.

“I'm about t’cum, swallow it all up, princess,” he thrusts a few more times before pulling out until the tip is sitting fat and heavy on your tongue.

Leon grunts and moans as hot thick spurts of cum fill your mouth. Swallowing quickly, you try to keep his cum from spilling out around your lips, but it ends up leaving a sticky mess to drip down your chin in thick strands.

You watch as he groans, stomach flexing while you suckle on the head of his dick, making sure to not miss any of his hot jizz as his balls empty into your mouth. After giving the tip of his dick a kiss, you pull back and wipe the spend from your face with the bottom of your shirt.

Your cunt feels soaked, panties sticking to your pussy lips as you shakily stand onto your feet.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Your dad stands up beside you, cock still hard and leaking, making you whimper. Pulling his briefs back up, he leaves his shorts and shirt lying on the floor. He grabs you by the forearm and leads you out of the bathroom and all the way upstairs into your room.

“No surprises if your mom comes home early,” he informs you, pushing you further into your room followed by closing and locking your door.

Heat radiates from your cunt, more slick dripping into the already soaked gusset of your panties. Leon shoves you back onto your bed before climbing on top of you, kissing you heatedly as he sinks down onto your body. You wrap your legs around his waist while you run your hands through his messy hair. You're so turned on you can’t think straight anymore.

“Thatta girl,” he coos, pulling back to drop kisses across your neck, “can’t wait to feel your wet little pussy, baby.”

You whimper and pull him back up into another kiss. This time he licks into your mouth messily, spit dripping from the corners of your lips to slide down your jaw. You feel him grind his cock against you before pulling away.

He sits back on his haunches and slips his briefs off, maneuvering until he can toss them into the floor. Next, he leans forward and grips the bands of your panties and shorts. You help him, shimmying to move your clothes down off of your legs. As he moves those into the floor, you slip your shirt off and let it too fall onto the pile of clothing.

“God, love your tits,” he groans, shoving his face into your breasts, mouth licking and biting every inch of skin they come across.

His mouth suctions around a nipple, tongue teasing the stiff bud as he tweaks the opposite one with his fingers.

“Dad,” you moan, nails digging into his scalp.

“What?” He coos, “your dad can’t show his appreciation?”

A whine rasps from your throat and Leon laughs meanly before biting the swollen bud he was sucking. With a grunt, he moves across your sternum, leaving hot open mouthed kisses across your chest until he can suckle and tease the other nipple, fingers plucking and pinching at the now wet one.

Your hips writhe, leaking cunt dragging against his stomach as his cock grinds against the cleft of your ass.

“Gonna let daddy stuff your tight wet cunt?” He chuckles as your eyes flutter as he lathes your nipples with broad swipes of his tongue.

“Yes,” you whisper, “wanna feel you split me open. You’re so big.”

Whining on the last word, you rock down, feeling his tip catch against your pussy lips and driving you crazy.

He growls and sits back on his heels, taking his cock in hand to smack it against your clit.

“So slutty,” his pupils swallow the blue of his eyes, “want daddy to stretch this little hole out? Show you how a real dick feels?”

Nodding along with his words, you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, teeth sinking into the plush skin.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, spitting in his hand to slick his cock before pressing the head against your soaked heat.

Using his thumb, he presses his cock down so the tip slides into your hole. Keeping it there, he rocks against your hips, sinking inch by inch into your pulsing cunt as his thumb keeps his cock steady. Pulling halfway out, he flexes his hips and thrusts forward faster than before.

“Even your mom doesn’t let me go raw anymore,” he chuckles, bottoming out so fast you choke on air, “so this is a real treat, sweetheart.”

“Ohh god, dad,” you moan, voice high as he starts sliding his cock in and out of your pussy, rough thrusts that make your breasts bounce.

You whine when he grinds against you, his pelvis rubbing over your swollen clit just right. His balls smack against your ass on every thrust, the loud plap plap plap of skin driving your arousal even higher.

“Dad, fuck, s’too much,” you gasp out another whine, head feeling dizzy as your blood rushes, arousal making your pulse feel heavy in your throat.

He groans and drops his weight down on you, bare skin sticking together from the sweat building between your bodies. Leon kisses across your neck, mouth grazing your skin with barely there nips that makes your pussy flutter around his cock.

The thatch of hair at the base of Leon’s cock grazes your sensitive clit, sending little electric shocks of pleasure that brings tears to your eyes. You feel so good, you can’t stop the slutty noises from leaving your mouth. Rutting into your body, your dad’s fat cock grinds against the spongy spot along the front of your cunt. Slick gushes from your pussy as he hammers your g-spot so perfectly you can’t help but squeeze him tighter and tighter.

“Princess,” he murmurs in your ear, “is this little pussy gonna cum? You’re so soft and wet— I can feel you tightening up around me. God so much tighter than your mom, can’t believe I’ve been missing out.”

His words push you over the edge. You babble out little chants of dad, dad, dad until a guttural moan spills from your throat, thighs jumping as your pussy clamps down on Leon’s dick like a vice.

Your low moaning twists into a scream as his hand sneaks down to rub and tease your clit. Instead of your orgasm tapering off, it ramps up, gaining speed until it hurtles you into cumming again.

“Aww, she’s gripping me so tight,” Leon mocks sweetly in your ear, “yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.”

“Dad,” you whimper, tears clumping your eyelashes, “dad, please.”

A moan rumbles from his chest and he humps your cunt faster, cock never pulling completely out as he ruts inside your slick pussy walls. Half a dozen thrusts more and he’s growling down at you, pressing his cock balls deep into your cunt, thick cum spurting from the tip of his dick to stuff you full.

“Oh so tight, baby,” he sighs, hips pressed against yours as he spills inside your snug little cunt, “your little pussy fits me like a glove.”

Shuddering, your walls milk another small load of cum from his heavy balls and he pants noisily against your clavicle. He presses up onto his forearms, hips swiveling to pull his cock halfway out before sinking it back inside, a mix of your creamy arousal and his spend making a ring around the base.

“Good, huh,” his laugh tinges on mocking, “don’t worry, ‘m not done with my daughter’s cute pussy, gonna keep you here for as long as it takes.”

After that, it’s all a pleasurable blur. You're unsure how many orgasms your dad has given you at this point, but you know he’s only had three and his cock is still so thick and hard.

“Think this one will be it, princess,” he grunts, hoisting your limp thighs up, the bend of your knees slotting perfectly over the bend of his arms.

You can only pant in reply, mouth as dry as cotton. He notches the head of his drooling dick at your entrance, dragging the tip up to smear the cum from his last creampie all over your used cunt.

“One last load for your greedy little pussy,” he grins down at you, “then we can take a shower.”

He sinks his cock into your sore pussy at the same time he leans forward, pressing your sweaty bodies together. Your eyes roll back as the tip of his cock kisses your cervix, thighs shaking against his arms.

“So deep,” he groans, “best cunt I’ve ever fucked and to think it belongs to my sweet daughter.”

Your pussy spasms and clenches down on his thick length as you cry out. Brain melting pleasure seeps down your spine as he pulls out to grind across your g-spot before fucking back into your cunt roughly.

“S’good, dad,” you mewl, mouth drooling as he hammers his cock into your sensitive hole, “so good.”

“I know,” he croons, “I feel good, too. Not g’nna be able to give up this sweet little pussy. She grips me too good, baby, I’m gonna want her all the time.”

Another orgasm slams into your body, pussy pulsing and sucking his cock into your hole as your head thrashes against the bed. Leon’s hands grip your wrists to push them down against the bed so you don’t scratch him.

“Fuck, milking your dad’s cock like you’re made for it,” he groans, humping into your pussy with deep strokes until you’re crying from overstimulation.

“Shh, shh, just take it a little more, ‘m about to cum,” he licks into your mouth, biting on your bottom lip before pulling back, “that’s it, take it, take your dad’s dick deep into that hot, greedy little pussy.”

Hiccuping a sob, your cunt steadily milks his cock as he buries himself all the way, as deep into your pussy as possible. He grunts against your skin as he grinds his dick against your cervix, spilling rope after rope of cum to paint your walls white. The sticky heat makes your clit throb even as your body aches, wanting to succumb to exhaustion.

The distant question of how your mom isn’t back yet buzzes at the corner of your consciousness. You must slur it out loud cause Leon laughs as he pulls his softening cock from your puffy leaking cunt.

“She texted you to say she got stuck in a traffic jam and the road’s blocked for a few hours,” he sighs as he slaps his cock down onto your messy pussy, a wet splat that makes you wince.

“Dad, ‘m sore,” you pout.

“So sorry, baby,” he coos, a grin overtaking his face, “want me to kiss it and make it better?”

Chest fluttering at the thought, you go to agree when your phone buzzes with an incoming call. Leon grabs it to silence it but turns to look at you.

“It’s your mom,” he chuckles, handing it over to you, “better see what she wants.”

Sliding it open, her voice rings out clear in the quiet of your room.

“Hey honey, your dad didn’t answer but I wanted to say I’m about five minutes from the house if you wanted to preheat the oven for this frozen pizza I picked up,” she laughs to herself, “well, it was frozen.”

Your dad sits down on the edge of the bed, listening in to the conversation.

“Okay, sure, we’ll see ya when you get here,” Leon nods at you, “bye, mom.”

After she says goodbye, you put the phone back on the side table.

“Well we should get cleaned up,” Leon helps you stand on weak legs, “I’ll help you to the tub and I’ll head downstairs.”

“Thanks, dad,” you smile up at him and he drops a kiss on your cheek.

“Of course,” he leads you out into the hallway, helping you inside the little bathroom next to your room.

He sits you down onto the toilet, turning on the shower to allow it time to heat up.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss on your temple, “I know it’s all kinds of fucked up, but I still love you.”

Heart beating double time, you give him a crooked smile, “I love you too, dad.”

He presses his lips together, looking like he wants to say more, but he blows out a harsh breath and walks back out into the hall.

“I’ll handle the oven and your mom, you just come downstairs when you’re ready.”

“I will,” you say as he swings the door shut.

Sitting there with your thoughts, you let yourself feel. Satisfaction filters through followed by a smidgen of guilt and shame. You hate that your mom is an innocent party in all of this, but you don’t regret letting your dad fuck your brains out. And since this is a complete one off, it’s just a little family secret that you’ll both be taking to the grave.

Once steam wafts from the shower, you stand up and step into the warm water. You whimper as the heat works on your sore muscles. By this time tomorrow, this will all seem like some really deranged fantasy you dreamt up. Finishing up in the shower, you dry off and make your way back to your room. Getting dressed, you descend downstairs, the smell of pizza growing stronger.

“Oh there you are! Feeling better?”

Your mom comes around the counter to feel your forehead.

“Yeah, I just slept it off.”

She ushers you to sit down at the table and brings the pizza over, your dad following behind with the drinks. Your mom sits to your right and your dad sits across from you both. He catches your eye and winks, making you look down at your plate out of shyness.

“Eat up, I’m sure you’re wore out from the hard day,” his mirthful tone draws your gaze back up.

“Yeah,” you clear your throat and take a drink, “it’s been a hard day alright.”

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