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#friday night smut
butwhyduh · 2 months
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I love stories where it points out how deadly all the robins are.
Yeah Jason’s guns kill with amazing accuracy but he’s literally assassin trained with multiple teachers around the world in hand to hand combat.
Tim might be a tech genius but he’s also trained by Lady Shiva. He welds the bow staff like an extension of his arms. He has the least amount of pre Robin training but can keep up with the others.
Damian is trained by the league of assassins and he can use a sword non-deadly which is amazing control. That’s before he learned how to be robin.
Dick tho, everyone sleeps on. He’s learned flexibility and balance that none of the other bats could even dream of. He’s learned from multiple combat artists. He can go through a weapon cache and use anything he grabs. The bow staff, escrima sticks, throwing stars. He literally wears no armor because he’s amazing at not even getting touched by his opponent.
I think it’s great when they point out how hard they work to not kill their opponents.
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hungharrington · 6 months
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I just can’t stop thinking about stevie’s huge hands, huge fingers…so fucking HOT
me too bestie…. me too 😳 mdni this entire blog is 18+
Faintly, you wonder how you’re supposed to go any further than this. You want to— god, even just eyeing the obvious strain in his pants which hides his leaking cock from you makes you keen for it.
You’re not ashamed to admit that the thought of Steve Harrington’s cock has been the star of several late-night fantasies. And you’re very close to making those fantasies a reality.
But it’s just, well…
“Fuck, listen to you…” Steve pants in your ear. “All this just from my fingers, baby?”
You whine loudly. Steve’s cocky tone makes a fair point even if he’s saying it just to make you squirm; you can feel the stretch it takes just to take his fingers. His long, slender fingers that rut into you, curling sinfully well. You’re gushing around his digits, your own hands clutching his shoulders as your forehead presses to his collarbone.
“I— ngh- shit, Steve. Fuck, that feels good, your fingers feel so good, so good,” It all feels like it comes pouring out of your mouth without your control, moans wrapped around every word.
“I know, baby,” He coos. His other hand sweeps over the back of your head sweetly, pushing back stray hairs. He nudges you up with his shoulder, hand on the back of your neck, and tries to meet your eye.
“Feels so good, doesn’t it?”
The squelch as his fingers fuck into you, fast and deep, is answer enough— but you open your mouth to answer anyway, knowing he loves your words.
Any semblance of a sentence is swallowed up. Steve’s hand slows for a moment, twisting so he can thumb at your clit before he continues, both motions in tandem. You cry out, eyes screwed closed, hips shoving forward. You want more. You’re not sure you can handle more.
Eyes struggling to stay open, you catch the flash of Steve’s pleased grin— fixed on your lust-filled expression before he focuses back between your thighs.
“Such a pretty pussy,” He murmurs, brushing a quick kiss to your forehead. You whimper, heat drawing up in your tummy. “Why don’t you cum on my fingers, mm?”
You’re panting now, clawing closer as Steve’s name leaves your lips in a string of whines and moans. Steve drinks it all in, his hand deserting the back of your neck to pinch at your nipple.
“C’mon sweetheart,” He says, cockily and sweet all in one. “Cum f’me and the we’ll see how well you take my cock, yeah?”
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writingjourney · 5 months
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Friday Nights at the Vinothek | Vampire!Secondo x gn!Reader
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Summary: When the local vintner who buys his cigarettes at the kiosk you work at offers you a job you can’t believe your luck. But after moving to the vineyard where the attraction between you only grows, you soon realize that he is not quite who you thought – and that working for a vampire comes with unexpected dangers.
Content: 26k words, gn!reader, smoking, alcohol consumption, blood donation/needles, fainting, vampirism (blood drinking, mind control to keep you asleep), werewolves, violence, hurt/comfort, smut (biting, blood kink, fingering, spit kink, praise, cuming in pants, cockwarming, p in hole sex, no protection), 18+, MDNI
I'm happy to finally share this story. Thank you @foxybouquet for your help with the nicknames ♡ This is a continuation to my fic Friday Nights at the Cinema Club with Primo. You don't have to read that one. However I recommend reading them in the correct order if you do! The Ao3 version is split into 3 chapters for easier reading.
Masterlist – Ao3 link – Part 1 | Primo's Story
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“You must come with me, loving me, to death; or else hate me and still come with me, and hating me through death and after. There is no such word as indifference in my apathetic nature.”
― Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, Carmilla
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May
It takes all of two minutes of regular walking until he finds himself at his destination. Kiosk the sign reads in chipped away block letters, the color faded from decades of exposure to the sun. 
Secondo steps inside. The neon lights flicker unrhythmically, uncomfortable to his sensitive eyes but the small corner store is the only business in a radius of forty kilometers that’s open after eight pm. Two tall newspaper racks greet him by the door, another long shelf that sells all sorts of cheap booze, a random assortment of groceries and drug store products, a bunch of dead flowers slowly rotting in their sad plastic prisons. His brothers would hate it here. Hell, sometimes even he hates it here but as the lovely face behind the register comes into view these feelings quickly change. He wonders why on earth you would choose to spend the limited years of your life working late night shifts in this dingy, outdated shop. Weekend nights, at that.
“Buona sera,” he says, then points to the Marlboro reds behind you.
The selection is abysmal here. You hand him the cigarettes, the picture of a rotting lung barely catching his eyes from the packaging. It means nothing to him, would have meant nothing to him even if he wasn’t beyond mortal diseases. Meanwhile your own curious eyes roam his form like they always do. Not very subtle but he does the very same thing with no hint of shame, your hair and skin tone flat and ashen in the horrible lighting, a wide, deformed black polo-shirt with your name tag on it hiding most of your body.
“Grazie,” he says, handing you a twenty. “Keep the change.”
At first, you fought him over the money. By now you accept it without question, the whole interaction usually playing out in exactly the same way as it does tonight. All this morality, all the politeness. You’re wasted here, wasted in this joyless life.
“Do you want to smoke with me? You close in a few minutes, no?” he hears himself asking, not sure where it is coming from. The clock above your head tells him it’s almost ten. 
“I’ve never smoked before,” you say. Such a soft voice. He wonders how it would sound in a scream.
“That is not a no.”
You smile. “No, it’s not.”
What does it say about him, that he wants to corrupt this young, innocent human? Maybe that he has seen too much, the way they tend to throw away the few years of life that they have to work and work some more, energy wasted for corporations, for family drama and horrible vacations just to feel a short sense of adventure every once in a while. Then they die full of resentment and regret and once they’re gone their offspring fight over the little money and the few possessions that they leave.
Not that his own family is much better.
You meet him outside of the kiosk a few minutes later. Wordlessly he hands you a cigarette, followed by his luxurious gold Dupont lighter, worth about a thousand euros, a little splurge he treated himself to in Paris a few years ago. When you open the lid, it gives its signature cling, a well-measured flame flickering to life as you spark the flint.
“This is a fancy lighter,” you comment, bringing the cigarette to your lips.
Secondo smiles. So you have an eye for these things, even if you lack the funds. Even more curious now he watches you light the Marlboro, promptly coughing in pained stutters. He doesn’t fight the amused smile that tugs at his lips as he carefully extracts the expensive lighter from your hands, slipping it back into the pocket of his tight black slacks. 
“What do you say?” he asks.
“It’s not bad,” you reply. “But I don’t think I’ll stick with it.”
He’s not surprised, though he is impressed you so easily gave in. “There are many more ways to sin, more ways to enjoy life, that might be more to your liking, little dove.”
“Like what?”
“Hmmm.” He examines you, lingering on the playful smirk on your face. “Wine of course, riding a motorcycle, expensive clothes, parties, good food… sex.”
An unmistakable heat reaches your face. He can hear the blood pumping faster through your veins, smell the first few hints of arousal oozing from your pores. It satisfies him, your reaction.
“So what, are you the devil trying to corrupt me?” you ask, covering the tremor in your voice with a chuckle.
He takes a drag from his own cigarette, exhaling a long veil of smoke. “Something like that.”
You get more restless beside him, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “If ugh… if you’re asking me for other favors, I’m really not–”
“No,” he interrupts. “I am not. I am not in the habit of finding my lovers in old shops or dark alleyways of small towns.”
“Where do you find them then?”
You pose the question quite genuinely, a flirty undertone to your words that he’s not sure you’re even aware of. He eyes you curiously. “I thought you weren’t interested?”
He can sense more heat rising to your face, radiating off into the cool night air. “I never said that.”
Ah. He averts his gaze, resisting the temptation. Secondo does not take human lovers. Not anymore. After centuries of losing people, of swimming around aimlessly with no one to anchor him, a ship lost in the endless expanse of sea that is an eternal life, he has set himself firm boundaries. Humans are a source of food, at best a companion for a few minutes of conversation, but they are never permanent. Allowing them into your bed leads to lies and wrong expectations. Falling for them, loving them even – it is hopeless, it’s a non-exhaustive well of pain and grief and misery. And attempting to make them last, turning them? He won’t make the same mistake that his younger brother made, inevitably breaking promises and dooming an innocent human to the same restless fate until they despise him for it.
He watches you stub out the cigarette on the metal lid of the nearby trashcan before throwing it away, turning back to him with a glimmer of excited anticipation in your eyes. He’s not sure what you see in him – a sophisticated older man looking for a young lover? A lonely customer in search of a few minutes of company? The local vintner out for a smoke after a long day? 
“Maybe next time we will try something else,” he says.
You don’t reply as he stubs out his own cigarette, heading back home without looking back.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Vampire Gazette 02/05
Werewolf Presumed Dead After Fight In Central European Woods
A fight between a vampire and a werewolf during last Friday’s full moon supposedly ended in the death of the lycanthrope. Multiple anonymous sources claim that the victim was a middle-aged outcast who resided close to the scene of the conflict in a small Central European town. A source close to the family suggests that the vampire, who remained unharmed, is Primo Emeritus. Known as a former Papa and eldest son of the current head of the Church of Emeritus, the vampire moved to the town no more than twelve moons ago. The source states that it was an act of self-defense and that the Emeritus ghouls took care of the body. No remains could be found within the castle walls of his now abandoned home, according to a representative of the werewolf community. A team of impartial investigators has been hired by the authorities to look into the case. Upon editorial request, Primo Emeritus was not willing to comment on the accusations at this time.
Instances of fights between vampires and werewolves have become rare over the past two centuries. This is the first instance of a killing between the two groups in almost a decade. Further consequences remain to be observed. Experts expect the respective authorities to be able to smooth the waters fairly quickly considering the high social standing of the Emeritus clan.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Secondo nearly spits out his evening coffee, Terzo next to him breaks out in manic laughter. For a few minutes after reading the paper they both sit around the large dining table in pure, unadulterated wonder.
“He killed a fucking werewolf?” Terzo finally speaks into the silence.
“It would appear so.”
More laughter. Terzo is holding his belly underneath his pristine white blouse, his chest heaving with the intensity of his fit. Secondo knows his brother is not breaking out in amusement but sheer disbelief and yet, it is a rare, almost heart-warming experience to hear him actually laughing for once. If only the circumstances weren’t as dire.
“I’m not surprised no one informed us,” Secondo muses. “Father must know.”
“He must, yes, but he doesn’t give a shit.” Another bout of laughter as Terzo’s elbows crash down on the majestic wooden table, his head landing on his hands in a gesture of wild incredulity. “He killed a werewolf. Primo.”
“Will you stop laughing? This could have serious consequences, outcast or not. We have to keep an eye on this.”
“Do you think they’ll be after us?”
A shrug. “That would be foolish but it is a possibility.”
Terzo rests his head on his upper arm now, elegantly draped over the table with his raven hair falling into his face as he turns to his brother. “Why do you think he killed him?”
“Perhaps it was self defense. Some werewolves still hold a deep hatred for vampires. Though it is very stupid to attack Primo. He must have known who he is.”
Terzo pauses, drumming his fingers against his head. He was never able to keep still for long, a little fidget with a tendency for clumsiness, drawing attention to himself if he wanted to or not. “I wish we knew what he is up to. I hate this separation. Can’t you invite him over for that big fancy new wine tasting?”
“He clearly stated that he wanted to be alone for a while to build a quiet new life.”
“Yes but by now a while is four decades.” 
Secondo breathes out a sigh. “I can invite him, I am not sure he will come.”
“Let him know I’m here.”
“I don’t know if that is an incentive or a sure way to get him to never call again.” 
His voice is deadpan, yet Terzo breaks out in more laughter. “You can be so funny, fratello. If only you wouldn’t hide it behind that scary scowl of yours.”
“Aren’t you supposed to help the ghouls clear out the west wing today? We need to renovate the rooms.”
“I don’t know why you assume I am the new bellhop in your hotel business.”
Secondo waits until Terzo meets his eyes, narrowing them for extra emphasis. “Don’t think I do not know why you suddenly felt the need to visit me over the summer. Surely it was not because you missed me so.”
“I don’t know what you mean, fratello.”
“What makes you think they will be here?”
Terzo holds his gaze, similar white and green eyes meeting, only breaking away when the door to the dining room flies open and a black-hooded ghoul steps inside. “They will be, I know it.”
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June 
Time feels especially gooey on weekend nights. Customers are a rare sight, not even Mr Emeritus, the attractive older and suspiciously well-dressed man who occasionally buys cigarettes from you, shows up tonight. The tinny music from the old radio behind the counter is somehow worse, every shift a ten hour train ride without stops. Usually, you sit on your little stool reading your book or scrolling on your phone. Today, it’s so boring that you open the daily newspaper to scan the job listings, just in case something pops up.
As expected, it is hopeless. Another dead town center of a remote village with no qualified job offers, your salary a joke but your boss never fails to stress that you at least get the employee discount and free Wrigley’s Spearmint bubble gum. Even with your meager savings you can’t afford the move to a bigger city right now, the prospect of being alone in an even larger just as hollow space with too many strange faces around you not at all enticing. At least here people know you, even if all of your friends have long since moved away in search of jobs and a place to settle.
You turn the page, a rustling sound that feels too loud in the quiet vacuum of the kiosk.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Nordsteiner Abendblatt
– Ad –
Wine is not the only juice of life that makes it worth living. Donate your blood to help the local hospitals this weekend at the Emeritus Vineyard.
Date: June 25th, 4-10pm
Reward: 50€
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Fifty euros? You pause. Have they always offered money for this? It’s not a pay rise, it won’t get you very far either, but for a bit of blood it’s certainly tempting. There haven’t been any blood donation campaigns here in quite some time, not since they closed the local medical center after pretty much all of the doctors retired, their offices long since abandoned. 
You mull it over until you close the shop half an hour later after another sluggish Friday night without customers. You walk past the Vinothek, peeking inside like you always do on your way home. For a shop slash bar that sells wine in an almost abandoned old town it is incredibly fancy, antique looking wooden interiors, deep green velvet wallpapers with a subtle pattern of tendrils of vine that seem to be crawling up to the ceiling, dipped into the soft shadows of dimmed wall lamps. Everything is centered around a bar that is too well-stocked and professional for a town like this, expensive liquors, a wine fridge that must have cost more than your tiny old car. Two men are nursing their drinks – only one of them is peering over the rim of an actual wine glass, black hair falling into an aging face, the other one tipping the remainder of a beer into his mouth.
The only explanation you have is that this is Mr Emeritus’s little playground while the actual money comes from the export of the wine they produce in the vineyard at the edge of town. You’ve been to the old Mansion before, tugged away in the rolling hills framing the area. They offer guided tours with subsequent wine tastings, hikes, really, that are especially beautiful in early fall when the grapevines are filled with deep purple fruit and the leaves of the surrounding trees are slowly turning yellow. Even though you don’t drink all that often and are by no means an expert you have to admit that you’ve never tasted wine quite as smooth, quite as delicate as Mr Emeritus’s.
That day a few years ago you didn’t get to see the owner himself, you’re not sure if you’ve ever actually seen him in broad daylight, but now you do spot him standing in the doorway at the far end of the bar. He looks dashing, wearing tight-fitting black slacks, a matching black button down shirt with expensive-looking leather gloves and the sunglasses you never see him without. He’s Italian, that much you know, polite yet reserved when he’s not coaxing you into smoking. Even a few weeks later you’re not quite sure what got into him that night, talking to you about enjoying life and sinning, about alcohol and sex and then just… leaving. Not even mentioning it again when he picked up new Marlboros the week after.
Lost in thought, you almost miss that his gaze shifts towards the window. Under his glasses it’s hard to tell if he is actually looking at you but you decide to leave anyway before he gets the idea of inviting you inside. Somehow you must have got stuck for a moment, frozen in time, because before you’ve even passed the bar he suddenly pops up right in front of you. Confused, you glance from the entrance back to him, the door only slowly swinging shut. How–
“Buona sera,” he says, lighting a cigarette with the fancy gold lighter he let you use last time. For a man who seems to indulge in luxuries, he seems so very down to earth, minimalist in a way, no word, no detail that feels out of place. 
“Hello,” you reply.
For a moment you stand there like you’re waiting for the bus to pick you up, unsure if you should just leave or if he is trying to start a conversation. Maybe he’s just out for smoke, maybe he didn’t even notice you from inside. The tip of his cigarette burns up brightly when he takes the first drag, a bright orange fleck of light in the darkness surrounding him. His mere aura beside you seems to command the night, wholly different from how you perceive him in the kiosk. This is his private kingdom, this is where he feels at home.
“Did you finish your shift?” he asks then, puffing out smoke.
“Yeah. It was a calm night.”
“I see.” He takes another drag, then he holds the cigarette out for you, secured between his gloved fingers. “Hm?”
You instinctively shake your head and his pencil mustache twitches. He does not pull away, a dare, maybe. “Okay,” you decide. “Sure.”
A rare smile. He takes a step closer which sends you into a nervous spiral, your heart pumping faster and faster. A slight tremor runs through his hand as he places the filter at your lips, the very part that was trapped in his own mouth mere seconds ago. At this thought, your hands start to sweat, warmth spreading out in your lower belly. His eyes are fixated on your mouth as you close your lips around the cigarette, taking a brave inhale that burns in your lungs. This time you don’t cough or stutter. Your face starts to burn all the same.
“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks. “On the house.”
“I don’t usually…” You catch yourself before you finish the sentence, shaking your head to dismiss your own hesitation as you remember his words. “Yes, thank you.”
If he notices how flustered you are, he does not let on as he holds the door open for you to invite you in. The man who finished his beer earlier is slipping past you by the entrance and you notice that whoever had the wine is not inside the bar anymore. At the prospect of being alone in here with Mr Emeritus, your stomach does a somersault.
He disappears behind the bar and you set your bag down on one of the stools before you shift into a comfortable position right next to it. The seats are soft and plush, inviting you to stay for more than one glass. Observing the happenings behind the bar from here is a lot more exciting than from the outside. Mr Emeritus is in his element, that much is certain, whipping out glasses and corkscrews with expert movements.
“You do not drink often,” he states. “I think I have something that you would like.”
You nod your consent and watch him pick out a bottle from the fridge. It looks expensive, a white label with gold-foiled lettering. Papastrello, it says. The rest of the words are too small.
“What are you reading?” he asks as he opens the bottle. His eyes have found your bag, the spine of a worn old paperback peeking out of the open zipper
“Carmilla,” you say. 
“Ah, vampires.” The cork pops, a deep, satisfying sound. A rich, slightly sweet scent escapes the now open bottle. “Do you enjoy the old tales?”
“I prefer them over the newer adaptations, yes.”
“So do I,” he says, expertly filling a glass with the red liquid. “I am surprised a young person such as yourself is so fond of the classics.”
You chuckle. “I think many people are. Or they would not be classics.”
He hums, setting the glass down in front of you. “Not blood but a red that is just as beautiful and rich,” he remarks. “One of my fratellino’s favorites.”
“I don’t uhm…” You carefully take the delicate stem of the thick-bellied glass. “I don’t really know how to–”
“Smell it for a moment, grappolino,” he says. “Do not worry about drinking.”
You bring the glass to your nose. The scent is so strong to your unused senses that you barely have to sniff. Even so, you’re not sure what you’re smelling. It reminds you of different fruits, cherry maybe, almost sweet but with a hint of acid.
“There are different categories of aromas,” he says. “Primary, secondary, tertiary. Many factors influence the smell, the type of grape, the fermentation process, the aging in the barrel.”
He explains it calmly, knowledgeable, not like he wants to brag or taunt you for your lack of expertise. You have to admire how soft-spoken he is for someone with such harsh features, such a domineering aura. Seldom have you met a man of his standing who was so pleasant to talk to, who drew you in like this.
“Now try,” he instructs. “A small sip, hold it in your mouth for a moment, breathe in and see how it makes you feel.”
You do as he says, taking some of the red liquid in your mouth and swirling it around your tongue, breathing in as you let it sit. Somehow the aroma is still there, different from the taste, more intense, but together they fill your senses in a most pleasant way. The wine feels smooth in your mouth just like you remember, even as you swallow, not at all like the cheap supermarket wine you know from when you were younger and drinking with friends.
“No blood, you were right,” you say with a smile. “But it is good. I like it a lot.”
He nods, content with your reply, and fills your glass up a little more. Somehow you feel good about satisfying him, about following his instructions and earning his approval. You wouldn’t mind following him in other areas of your life.
“Speaking of blood,” you say to distract yourself from these thoughts. “I saw your ad in the paper earlier. The one for the blood donation.”
“Are you looking to donate?” he asks, perking up. With his interest so focused on you, you suddenly feel almost shy about it.
“I am thinking about it,” you say. “I used to go years ago.”
“We are happy about everyone who donates. It is for a good cause, we are going to do it every few months now.”
“I didn’t know that you get money for it or I would have looked into it sooner.”
“The kiosk does not pay well?” he concludes.
You huff out a pained laugh. “No. It’s a struggle. But there aren’t many jobs available around here.”
He regards you curiously, at least from what you can gather without seeing his actual eyes. You wish you could. His mustache is a dark brown color, even without hair on his head you assume his eyes must be dark just like that. Or perhaps green, maybe even hazel. Without seeing them your own gaze quickly falls, dancing along his sharp cheekbones and down his prominent nose, the lines on his face leading you to his mouth, pencil mustache, full lips over a strong chin. You’ve been eyeing him for months now, every time he visits the kiosk, but somehow the change in lighting, the change in atmosphere, gives him a magnetic, almost preternatural aura.
A smile tugs at his lips then and you panic for a moment that he might have read your thoughts, that you must have been staring. You quickly avert your gaze, downing way too much of the wine to keep up a graceful appearance.
“Can I offer you some food? Some cheese, perhaps?” he asks.
“Actually, I should um… I should head home,” you say, already feeling a little lightheaded. “It’s late and I have a shift tomorrow.”
“Take the bottle,” he says.
“What? No– That’s–”
“Grappolino, I want you to have it. Don’t insult me by refusing a gift.”
You’re not sure what the name means, something with grapes, probably, but you’re too flustered now to pay much attention. When he hands you the bottle you blindly take it, uttering a few words of thanks. He remains steady, unbothered, which you assume is a good thing. He’s not truly offended. You wonder if anything could shake him enough to break his measured temper.
“I will see you at the donation?” he asks when you slip from your stool.
“Yes. I will see you there,” you promise. “I can’t wait to give you my blood.”
He chuckles, a foreign sound coming from the depths of his throat. Without looking back up, you grab your bag and almost rush out of the bar. The cool night air slaps you in the face like a whip, clearing your head and senses from the effects of the wine and its producer in mere seconds. You take a few deep breaths, pressing the cold bottle against your burning chest. If he is flirting with you then it is certainly working, if not then his mere presence affects you in ways you feel almost ashamed of. Either way, you can’t deny that the money has suddenly become a secondary motivation to visit the vineyard next week. No, there is something way more thrilling waiting for you.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Specks of dust dance in the sunlight like a thousand tiny feathers, sinking to the ground almost weightlessly. The two empty sitting rooms on the ground floor should be enough to meet the demand that Secondo expects for today. Everyone who donates their blood gets a voucher for the Vinothek and fifty euros cash on hand. The incentives promise a high yield, enough to fill every pre-order as well as the glasses of his special guests once the blood “wine” is ready to be served.
To his chagrin, all the ghouls are busy renovating the guest rooms, and so Terzo is the one helping him prepare the localities. The partnering hospital has sent a truck with enough donation chairs to line the walls opposite of the south-facing windows of the two rooms, granting a nice view over the vineyard. Come sundown, the ghouls will handle the donations. With their monk-like appearance Secondo hopes the people will be trusting. All the bureaucratic hassle, all the licenses and administrative obstacles better be worth it.
“So, how many times do we have to do this?” Terzo asks, rolling another chair into the room.
“This will be the first harvest, another one in September,” Secondo says. “We will keep sixty percent of donations, the rest goes to the local hospitals. It should give us enough to last over the winter if the demand is stable. Then we continue in spring.”
“Mhm and you’re looking forward to tasting the blood of someone special?”
Secondo’s gaze snaps up in a withering look. “Are you eavesdropping on me?”
“It was hard to avoid, fratello. After I finished my wine I had to use the bathroom and it is so close to the bar, no?” He shrugs, smiling to himself. “Now, what happened to Mr. I-don’t-fuck-humans?”
“Who said anything about sexual intercourse?”
“Sexual intercourse?” Terzo repeats. “That’s not a very romantic word. Not very sexy either.”
“I am not looking to fuck, I am looking for a food source.”
“So you want to sample their blood today?”
“Yes.”
“What makes you think it’s good? Why are they special?”
Secondo has no answer to this. Instead he pushes his sunglasses up his nose, adjusts his gloves, biding time. When he finally meets Terzo’s curious gaze again, he shrugs. “I have a feeling.”
“Where exactly is this feeling located? Just below your belt?”
He heaves an annoyed sigh. He won’t grace with him a reply to this, maybe even because he knows that there is a certain truth to his brother’s words that he would rather ignore. There is just something about your smell, about your presence, your positive aura, the warmth in your eyes, that wakes a certain hunger in him. Sexual or not, Secondo knows that he needs to taste your blood.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
The mansion is just as impressive as you remember from your last visit years ago, throning over steep hills with neat rows of lush grapevines. The sight takes your breath away as you carry your already tired body towards the open entrance gates of the estate. A grand, majestic building sits partly hidden behind two tall beech trees with their voluminous crowns, U-shaped, well-kept and exuding the impressive historic atmosphere of centuries past. Ivy and vine tendrils crawl up the high walls on either side, hiding some of the rich ornamentations of the façade that are partly embellished in gold.
You leave the winding trail through the landscape, your muscles burning from the steady uphill climb, and enter a spacious, stone-flagged courtyard. An almost Mediterranean ambience welcomes you – old wine barrels have been stacked in one corner, beautifully planted with lush flowers and shrubs like a small magical garden. A small outdoor sitting area dominates another corner, shielded from the sun by a pergola that’s overgrown with more vine tendrils. Terracotta planters scattered around the open space house even more greenery and the whole area smells richly of herbs and pollen.
You soon spot a sign with a red arrow, the words blood donation written underneath, leading into one of the side entrances. An old chair secures a wooden door that opens into a cool but gloomy hallway, flagged with old stone tiles that remind you more of a castle than a stately home. You’re met with voices chattering in the rooms on either side – it seems busy. Glancing into one, you spot a small reception area and decide that this is where you must be registering for your donation. One wall of the room is lined in medical chairs, almost all of them occupied by donors with black-robed men that remind you of monks tending to them.
You are greeted by one of them, only not with words but a gentle nod as he guides you through another door. Inside is a small office where a pale but kind-looking doctor receives you. After a short talk he clears you for donation and you’re assigned one of the chairs near the entrance. One of the black-hooded men approaches. He really must be a monk, you decide, doing charitable work. Perhaps Mr Emeritus has connections to the church – it would make sense if he is veering into the philanthropic lane now. So many religious orders have their own humanitarian organizations who offer volunteers in the field of medical care, maybe he even has his own. You don’t question the process as everyone else in the room seems comfortable.
The monk does not speak to you when he prepares your arm but he is certainly skilled as he slides the sharp needle through your skin and into your vein. You hardly feel any pressure and as the tube fills with your blood, you start to relax in your seat. He hands you a black rubber stress ball, mimicking how you’re supposed to squeeze it to your palm to increase the blood flow. For the next ten minutes you stay exactly like that, your arm outstretched and your fingers wrapped around the squishy toy. Time passes fast, an older lady begins to chat with you before she is done and leaves you to yourself. Once your bag is filled, the monk removes the needle and expertly wraps up your arm. You don’t see where he carries the bag as he leaves through another door.
With your donation complete, you first sit and then stand up, cautiously stretching out your limbs as to not overwhelm your circulation, following the lady’s advice to take it easy. Another sign in the hallways indicates that there is a sort of break room with snacks and drinks, so you decide to head there and wait until your body has recovered. The sudden change of light and temperature as you leave the sunny and warm sitting room does you no favor. Suddenly your head begins to swim, an icy cold wrapping around your body like a blanket of snow. Your fingertips tingle, cold sweat spreading over your back and then you’re sinking, falling–
“Careful,” a steady voice says and instead of the cool stone floor you hit a soft, strong body. Your vision is blurry but you clearly see the outline of black sunglasses over a strong nose and then those soft, full lips. The man cradles you against him, sitting you down with his knee supporting your back. “I need you to lie down, grappolino. Do I have permission to carry you?”
You nod, not quite sure what is going on as your brain struggles to cling to the world around you. 
“It’s you,” you whisper when he gathers you in his arms like you weigh nothing at all. 
He carries you down the hallway, the sudden movement only making you dizzier until you feel like you have to throw up. “It is me,” he says at length. “Do not worry, little dove, I will take care of you. I will take care of you forever.”
You close your eyes at the sound of his soothing words, spoken in such a deep but somehow soft voice that caresses your ears like the gentle touch of a lover. Comforted, you rest your head on his shoulders, breathing out a tired sigh, and drift off.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
“This is the right bag?” he asks, even though he can smell it through the plastic and antiseptic layers surrounding it. The same scent he detected from your arm when he carried you upstairs, a scent that already has his nerves on edge with an appetite that he can hardly contain.
The ghoul nods and Secondo shudders as he cradles your blood in his hands. What a beautiful red, richer than any wine he ever made. He takes off his sunglasses to admire how it moves when he flexes his gloved fingers, the texture so smooth, almost silken. Saliva gathers in his mouth and for a moment he forgets the presence of the ghoul.
Impatient now, he looks up to dismiss him. “Grazie.”
He’s already in the kitchen when the door closes, ripping open cabinets in search of a glass. But his body is on fire, burning, longing, craving. He feels like a starving man, like an addict in search of a fix, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s abandoned his search. With both hands he takes the bag and sinks his fangs into the plastic, penetrating the material until he can finally taste you. A deep, rumbling moan breaks from his chest as the first drop of blood meets his tongue. It’s not enough. He bites harder until more of the liquid spills out. Secondo drinks like he has never drunk before. Any attempt at savoring it is in vain. He can’t remember the last time he lost control like this, gulping it down with a greed that would make Lucifer proud, an unquenchable thirst. Your blood is infernal, drinking it an unholy sacrament, the closest he has felt to his faith in decades since leaving the Church. More and more he sucks into his mouth until it dribbles down his chin and onto his sleek white shirt, the one he ironed before knowing that he would meet you today. He rips it from his chest as soon as the bag is empty and the taste starts to fade. Impatiently he sucks at the stains until the aroma finally escapes even his hyper sensitive taste buds.
He’s a wreck. The smell lingers in his nose long after he’s licked the last remnants from his gloves. He sinks to the floor, shamefully gathering the last few drops of blood he spilled and bringing them to his searing, ruined tongue. A pathetic, shameful whimper escapes him and he has to sit in quiet solitude for several minutes until he manages to gather his wits. This is embarrassing, he decides. He has to get cleaned up and dressed.
Secondo enters his bedroom where he brought you to rest a mere ten minutes ago. The sight of your innocent form sleeping in his bed nearly sends him into another frenzy, your neck exposed over the collar of your shirt and practically begging for his mouth. He stands and looks at your weak body, watching your eyes twitching behind their lids, even if they stay closed. For now he is sated enough to stay in control, pushing any animalistic thoughts to the side. You’re beautiful, such a lovely young human, sleeping in the bed of a bloodthirsty monster. The thought makes him chuckle. Perhaps human prejudice against vampires is not that unfounded, even if he usually thinks of himself as a rather sophisticated specimen.
He allows himself another moment of silent reprieve, his eyes roaming your peaceful form without his glasses now. Eventually he brings himself to take a quick shower in the en-suite, freshening up, more cologne, less blood to spook you. He decides on a simple dark green polo shirt, showing off his arms. As he splashes his face with water, he can’t help but wonder what is happening to him. 
Your taste is unlike any he has ever experienced before. If he sold it in bottles, even watered down, everyone would flock to his business. But just the thought of sharing you with any other vampire makes him recoil in disgust, the hair on his arms standing up in defiance. It is an entirely new sensation, entirely unwelcome, and yet he can’t shake it. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do about these intrusive feelings, about his lack of control, the possessiveness that overcomes him in your presence. He’s not even sure if he can trust himself to be near you.
But even so he knows that he cannot let you leave. Not anymore.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
You dream of him. 
The outlines are blurry, a room that feels dark, the lights blended out and only coming in through cracks that won’t allow your eyes to focus. Then his handsome face comes into view. Your vision clears for just a moment. Blood covers his face. Not his face. His mouth. His eyes are weird, one is a dark red and one is incredibly pale, the strong brows above drawn tightly together. His gaze is intense, a hunger, a craving reflected in his glowing irises. You’re scared for just a moment but then his expression changes, a sudden tenderness glossing over the harshness of his features and the red eye turns to an emerald green. He looks quite beautiful like this, even with the blood covering his mouth. Especially with the blood covering his mouth.
When you break free from the tight grasp of your hazy dream and open your eyes, his face is right there. You startle, your slow heartbeat suddenly jumping into a sprint, but there is no blood, no discolored eyes, just his sunglasses as he pushes them up his nose.
“Don’t be scared, grappolino,” he says from the edge of the bed. “It is just me.”
You nod, blinking yourself awake. Your head hurts, a low thrum that penetrates your skull like a fly repeatedly hitting a window.
“Do you remember what happened?”
You sit up slightly, propping the pillow up behind you and the way it hurts, the pressure and numbness in the crook of your arm, brings back your memories. “I donated blood.”
“You did. And you fainted,” he explains. “This is my own private bedroom.” 
“Do… do all the patients get this treatment?”
A chuckle. “No.”
Heat rises to your chest and you avert your eyes. They are immediately drawn to his bare arms, to the dark hair covering them before his gloved hands appear in your peripheral vision. The polo shirt suits him, a dark green color, the cut accentuating the solid shape of his shoulders. A tuft of dark chest hair peeks out of his open collar and you can see his nipples through the fabric. It is cold in here, you realize. Or perhaps your goosebumps have a different origin.
“I brought you something to drink,” he says, lifting a dark glass bottle he must have set down beside the bed. The distraction is imminent. You eye it curiously, a frown settling on your face. 
He can’t possibly be offering you wine right now? 
“Grape juice,” he states.
“Oh.”
You feel silly now, maybe your brain is still not fully awake. He opens the screw and fills a glass that was previously set down on the bedside table. When he hands it to you, the tight bandage on your arm hinders you yet again from moving freely and you have to hold out your other hand instead. Mr Emeritus is patient, waiting until you’ve taken the first few sips before he stands from the bed.
“I will bring you some food, little dove. We need to increase your blood sugar, give you some energy. In the meantime you will be good for me and drink your juice, yes?”
His words make you choke on your spit and you cough uncomfortably into the burn. “I ugh… I will. Thank you.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile but it’s enough to have you flustered. You take small sips of the juice that, just like his wine, feels smooth on your tongue and has a rich, intense flavor. It warms your belly, brings life back into your limbs and other parts of your body. You’d be good for him in so many different ways if he let you.
That thought makes you abruptly realize that you’re in his actual bed. You use the chance to properly look at the spacious room surrounding you. It is furnished rather simply, heavy dark curtains cover most of the windows but even with most of the light locked out you can’t see anything beyond the huge canopy you’re resting on. You’re draped between dark green cotton sheets that must have an incredibly high thread count with how soft they feel underneath your fingertips. The dark wooden bed frame is kept upright by four artfully carved posts, solid and dominating the room, the drapes tied to them with rope. You spot two doorways – one is closed, the other slightly ajar. The wall next to the open door is home to a huge painting, the edge of the gold frame shimmering in an odd ray of light that breaks through a gap in the curtains. You don’t know the artwork, it seems to be a dark one, mostly covered in shadows now, but you think it must be a religious subject because you can make out monk-like figures, a goat, a building that resembles an old abbey.
“You walked here?” 
Mr Emeritus reenters the room, carrying a tray as he pushes the door open with his black leather brogues. 
“Ugh, yes. Is that bad?”
“You cannot walk back,” he decides. “No one is available right now to drive you and I cannot leave before we are done with donations. I suggest you stay and rest.”
“As in… stay the night?”
“One of our guest rooms should be finished by now. You can stay there.” A pause as he settles back beside you and places his cargo in your lap. On the tray you find a basket with a few slices of bread, ciabatta from the looks of it, a plate with a small piece of butter, two different wedges of cheese, a bunch of grapes and other fruit. It looks delicious. “I hope this is to your liking.”
“It looks wonderful, thank you.“ You look from the tray to him. “You’re not from the area originally, are you?”
“No, I am not from the area. Does that matter to you, grappolino?”
“No, you just… you don’t look like you belong here,” you finally say, popping a grape into your mouth. “You should be in… I don’t know, Rome, Paris. Or Tuscany, maybe. Why did you bring your business here? Just because of the vineyard?”
“The mansion has been in possession of my family for a long time,” he says. “I always had an interest in wine making, so I took over when the previous tenant expressed his wish to retire.”
“So you actually chose to live in the middle of nowhere?”
“I enjoy the quiet and solitude.” He cocks his head to the side. “And besides, so do you.”
“Hm, touché.”
You eat as much as you feel comfortable with. He watches you throughout your little meal and while it unsettles you you’re more than willing to accept his hospitality. You promised to be good for him after all and you don’t intend to break that promise. Once you’re done he relieves you of the tray and sets it down on the floor. He gives no indication that he wants to leave.
“Do you feel better?” he asks instead. “Let me feel your pulse.”
You don’t object when his gloved hand reaches for yours. The leather feels thick, sturdy, which makes his hand look huge when it surrounds yours. But then he seems to make a last minute decision to remove the gloves, revealing pale but strong hands, dark hair trailing from his knuckles down to his arm. His fingers are cooler than you expect even though there is a warm glow pulsating underneath his fingertips. Your heart immediately begins to hammer in your chest, rapidly beating against its cage of bone and skin. This will not be a useful measuring, at least not if he’s trying to anticipate your health.
Perhaps his train of thought is similar, for his eyes search yours the moment he feels the increase. The corner of his mouth pulls up slightly and his thumb gently strokes over your wrist. You’re quite incapable of looking away, even through the sunglasses there seems to be a sort of shine in his gaze. If only you could properly see them, not just their shadowy outlines. Sparks fly just below your skin, sending shivers through your whole body.
“You seem livelier to me,” he concludes. “Perhaps some more sleep will do, hm? I will have your rooms arranged, you can stay here for the time being.”
“I have a question,” you pipe up before he can leave, a hint of embarrassment laced into your words that you can’t quite hide. “Am I still getting the money?”
“The money?”
“The fifty euros.”
You’re acutely aware of his thumb still stroking your wrist, so softly that it tickles. “You will, grappolino. But there is… something I want to talk to you about. I was going to wait but perhaps now is a good time, no? Before you are too tired again.” 
“What is it?” you ask.
“I want to offer you a job.”
Your eyes widen, the words so unexpected. “A job?”
“I need an employee for the Vinothek. Wine tastings take place on Friday nights every few weeks and I need someone to take over the regular business as I take care of them. The rest of the time you can help out in the vineyard. We have a few important events soon where we introduce new varieties, some international guests will come to visit and there is a lot to do until then.”
“Are you sure this is… not just a pity job offering?”
“No,” he states so matter-of-factly that all your questions vanish. “I can use two extra hands and a sharp brain. I will double your current salary and you can move into your own quarters here for no extra cost. I will make sure your rooms are to your liking.”
You let the thought sit for a moment. Double your salary? Living in an actual mansion in the midst of beautiful wine hills? You wonder what the catch is, if he’s just going to fire you once fall is over or if he’s going to give you all the most horrible tasks he can think of. Even so, for that much money you wouldn’t mind cleaning toilets, sweeping the floors or brewing his morning coffee. It’s not that different from what you’re doing right now anyway.
“Of course there will be no eh… bad blood if you say no.”
“That seems exceptionally dumb,” you say, cringing a bit at your words. “What I mean is, that’s a… a tempting offer. It’s one that sounds too good to be true, actually. It’s just… I don’t know much about wine.”
“I can teach you all that you need to know, grappolino, non preoccuparti,” he says, his voice deeper and almost sultry. His thumb presses into your pulse then, drawing a line along the vein in your forearm until he stops just below the crook of your arm. Then he seems to snap out of whatever thought occupied his mind and pulls away. “Think about it. I do not expect a reply right away.”
You nod, missing his fingers on you already. When he finally leaves the room, you sink back into the soft mattress and imagine what a life here would be like. The offer is too good to refuse and your undeniable crush on Mr Emeritus urges you to agree even more, no matter how foolish it would be to pine after your employer. Subconsciously you bring your thumb to the wrist he just held, mimicking his touch. You think you might die if you don’t feel his hands on your body again. Perhaps he was right, perhaps you would like to explore all the different ways of sinning that he mentioned to you, and perhaps you would very much like him to take part as well.
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July
Even though you’re still not quite sure what to make of the masked and hooded monks living in his home who never seem to speak, you accompany them to pack up your belongings. They follow all of your requests and directions without question, treat your things with utmost care and make sure nothing gets lost. What is even more astounding is how they carry even the heaviest of boxes filled with books without any visible strain. Most of the furniture you won’t need anymore is quickly sold or gifted to people on eBay and in the span of one afternoon, all you need is neatly packed into boxes that are now stacked in your new quarters.
You’re not quite sure how he did it but Mr Emeritus handled your job transition quite seamlessly. Your old boss agreed immediately, at least that’s what he told you, and a day later you signed all the necessary paperwork. It gives you a whole day off to familiarize yourself with your new living situation. All morning you unpack boxes, sort books into shelves, clothes into drawers. Your quarters are bigger than anticipated. A decently sized sitting room with beautiful antique-looking green sofas leads into a wide, canopied bedroom that has an en-suite bathroom as well as a walk-in closet.
You are free to use the impressive kitchen downstairs and really, you still haven’t found the catch in the whole arrangement. In search of a cup of afternoon tea, you make your way exactly there, hoping that the pantry is stocked since you’re pretty sure Mr Emeritus has his own private kitchen somewhere else in the mansion. This morning, when you picked up a cup of coffee, he was nowhere to be seen and no dishes or any other evidence betrayed that he was down here. 
When you enter the room now, you spot someone else – a raven-haired head stuck in the fridge. The man looks like he just woke up, wearing grey sweatpants and a purple dressing gown. When he turns around, you notice that his upper body is naked and for a moment you’re not sure where to look. The sweatpants barely conceal the outline of his cock and his bare chest and the soft pouch of his belly are covered in thick black hair. A few small tattoos litter his pale skin, an upside down cross underneath his ribs, two more symbols you don’t recognize just above the dip of his hips. His face seems familiar, broad and handsome, beautifully aged with lines that bring out his strong features, bushy dark eyebrows over eyes that… You halt for a moment. One of his irises is green and the other is white, just like the ones you saw in your dream. Heterochromia is nothing new to you, but for an eye to be this pale?
“Oh, buon pomeriggo,” he says with an openly flirty smile. “We have not met yet, I believe?”
“Uhm... no. I don’t think so.”
“You can call me Terzo.”
You give him your name as well, introducing yourself as a new employee. Before the man can say anything else, steps resound behind you and Mr Emeritus appears in the doorway, eyeing him with barely concealed disdain. “Am I interrupting, fratello?”
“Oh, we just met,” you explain. “I wasn’t aware there was anyone else living here.”
“This is just my brother,” he states. “Don’t mind him, he is ugh… hanging around.”
Terzo scoffs dismissively. “I am actually also working here–”
“I thought you were not my new bellhop, fratellino?”
“I help with the guest room renovations. Really, I am the eh… interior designer, you could say.” He grabs your hand, bringing it to his lips with a smirk. “Anyway, it is a pleasure to meet you, tesoro. How lovely to have a youthful presence in this old house.”
“Likewise. I actually wasn’t aware this was a hotel also.”
“It is not,” Mr Emeritus explains, taking a few steps into the room now. He looks incredibly handsome today, wearing his usual black slacks as well as a black button down shirt, sleeves rolled up and the collar open just enough to reveal some of his chest. “We are going to host some of the guests who submit to long travels in order to attend the wine tastings. Now, I was looking for you. I think you need a tour of this place, grappolino, no?”
Terzo dismisses you with a gentle smile, waving after his brother when you both leave the kitchen. Mr Emeritus briskly walks ahead, leading you down a long hallway.
“Were you going to eat?” he asks. “I interrupted.”
“No, I wanted a cup of tea. But I can just have that later.”
He hums, then leads you up a staircase to show you where the guest rooms are going to be located. You see some of the monks again, carrying furniture, painting walls, cleaning rugs. They don’t acknowledge your presence, only step aside when you pass.
“Mr Emeritus–” you start.
“You can call me Secondo,” he interrupts. “Since you are already calling my brother by his first name.”
You’re not sure if you’re imagining the hint of jealousy tainting his voice. He certainly did not look too pleased when he entered the scene earlier. “Secondo and Terzo,” you say. “Like the numbers?”
“My father was not very creative when he procreated like a dog in heat. He argues that he followed an old Italian tradition which is just convenient, no?”
You make a mental note that his father is not a good subject to broach just as he leads you back into the main staircase. “Can I ask you something else?”
“I understand you must have many questions. Feel free to pose them whenever you wish.”
“Well, the biggest one I have is… uhm…” You pause but he does not seem bothered at all. “Who are the hooded men? They look like monks but also not like any real monks I’ve ever seen before.”
“They are something similar.”
“Like a cult? Is that why they don’t talk?”
“No, grappolino, not a cult. We call them the Nameless Ghouls.” His voice is even and patient considering the amount of questions you’re shooting at him. As you walk down the stairs you notice that he is not even remotely out of breath while you’re already struggling to keep up. “They are bound to certain rules of their community such as to not speak to outsiders. They work for me because they were summoned to do so for which I am very grateful. I have arranged one of the former guest houses on the property where they live amongst themselves.”
You furrow your brow, a little confused as to how much of a red flag that should be for you. Ghouls, the religious painting, the upside down cross on his brother’s chest… it does seem suspiciously like a cult. His pace is so fast that you almost stumble down the stairs now. “Do I… do I also have to join them?”
“Oh, no, non preoccuparti. They have nothing to do with you.”
“So they just… help out here?”
“Sì. They make all of this possible.”
“I mean, if they want to live like that, I guess that’s okay.”
He stops in the middle of the staircase. You almost stumble into his strong back, catching yourself on the railing just in time. “I assure you it is all consensual, grappolino. They are free to leave and do as they please. Just like you. Nothing here happens without great enthusiasm.”
You look at him, toying with the hem of your shit nervously now that his gaze is back on your body. Enthusiasm does not sound like he is talking about work but at least it also doesn’t sound like a cult. “This word, is it a good thing?”
He chuckles. “It is a… how do you say? Pet name?” Suddenly he takes the step that separates you, inching closer until his face is right in front of yours. “Do you want me to stop?”
Your eyes widen. “Oh, no. No, I like it. I was just wondering… is it a common name?”
“No, it is not common.”
You stare through his glasses, trying to make out the expression in his eyes. Is he flirting with you? Is he making fun of you? The tension is unbearable but you cannot be sure if he feels it as well with half of his face hidden from your sight. You have half a mind to take the glasses from his face.
“If you follow these stairs all the way down,” he finally says, stopping you from any foolishness, “you will reach the wine cellar. It is the door at the bottom, right next to the main entrance.”
“That’s… that’s where all the treasures are kept?”
His mouth curls into a rare smile. “Not all the treasures.”
“Can I ask another question?”
“Certo.”
“Do you have the same eyes as your brother?”
He cocks his head to the side, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “You will have to find out, grappolino.”
You swallow, about to take a foolish step closer to him when he suddenly backs away. His face is out of reach before you can even attempt to rid him of the sunglasses and he’s halfway down the next flight of stairs when you finally catch yourself.
“Now let me get you some tea and some food also,” he calls, not even making sure whether you’re following. “You have to eat a lot of iron and vitamins to increase blood production. We don’t want you to get anemic, hm?”
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Vampire Gazette 02/07
A group of rogue werewolves attacked two unsuspecting vampires in the Styrian mountains last Monday. The perpetrators fled the scene after they did not manage to kill their victims and attracted the attention of a nearby group of vampires. Both victims fully recovered in the span of two days while further circumstances of the incident still escape the authorities. Unnamed sources claim that one of the vampires is an old acquaintance of Primo Emeritus. Since last Wednesday, speculations on Social Media suggest that the incident could be connected to the death of a lycanthrope in May in which the former Papa was supposedly involved. Neither the authorities nor the Emeritus family were willing to give statements to confirm or deny these rumors.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Secondo is not proud of slipping into your room that first night. He’s not proud when he sees you sleeping so peacefully, trusting that you are safe in his care. You look lovely, young, the picture of innocence and trust. A human so lively, so curious and quick-witted. There is an intelligence in you that is way beyond your years and maybe it is the very reason why you so foolishly trust him – you’re not superstitious.
Before he drinks from you, he inspects your quarters. Sheer curiosity, he tells himself, he always liked to learn. Your bookshelves are filled with all sorts of genres – classics, romantic novels, thrillers, horror, historical fiction, non-fiction. What is most telling however are the books on your bedside table. He finds the same copy of Carmilla you carried in your bag, a book about wine making you must have recently ordered and another book that looks suspiciously like a cheap erotic novel. Maybe not so innocent, he thinks, wondering how he would find you if he came in here a few hours earlier, just before your bedtime.
Secondo is not proud when he slips into your room again a few days later. He’s not proud when he does it again and again and again until one day he notices the first signs of anemia in you and gives you a week of reprieve that has him shaking like an addict. At least he found the strength to be careful now, exerting the control he lacked when he tried that first bag of blood, barely puncturing your neck with one of his fangs and drinking as slowly as your blood flow dictates. He does not want to hurt even a hair on your head, does not want you to wake up the next morning with a wound like an animal attacked you and get suspicious. No, he needs you to stay here and stay well, a source of food, a source of joy.
Still, the moment he drapes himself over your sleeping body and your blood hits his tongue it takes all of his strength to stay calm, to suppress the moans spilling from his lips, to stop himself from growing hard against your sleeping body and humping you like a horny teenager. Just a late night drink, nothing else, a meal to sustain him throughout the night. The restraint he displays is impressive even to him. It goes against all of his predatory instincts that tell him to simply drain you, to consume you until you have nothing left. 
No, Secondo is not proud of any of it. And he slowly starts to realize that it is not stealing your blood that affects him in such a way that he struggles to keep his eldritch powers measured, to ensure that you stay asleep when he feeds. The kiss of a vampire can be impactful even for the vampire himself, at least when other feelings are involved. So no, it is not your blood that breaks his resolve, that makes it so hard to treat you like any other food source.
It’s the feeling of your skin against his lips.
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August
Every day in the vineyard feels like a dream. 
You never realized how much your job at the kiosk and living in your tiny flat with nothing but the bare essentials had drained you of the joy of living, how it had put you into a sluggish rhythm of loneliness and unfulfilling work – not until you started to see a different life for yourself, that is. Perhaps Secondo was right when he told you to try out different ways to enjoy yourself all these months ago, perhaps he saw how stuck you were before you got here. Your growing crush on him certainly helps to envision a happier future for yourself in this place.
Your favorite thing are the quiet afternoons with him. Usually, you never see Secondo or his brother before two o’clock. It seems like they are night owls – it is not a rare occurrence that you spot light underneath his office door well into the late hours when you head to the kitchen to grab a cup of tea. In the mornings, you get most of your work done, usually helping out with wine orders that the Nameless Ghouls pack and a post truck picks up around noon. In the evenings, you help out at the Vinothek, taking care of the shop or waiting on people while Secondo tends the bar. But the afternoons? The afternoons are priceless.
Secondo and you usually get comfortable underneath the pergola in the mansion’s courtyard. While he prefers to sit in the shade you have opted for a sunny spot. First you share a break with some afternoon coffee for which his brother usually joins you, then, once Terzo leaves, he starts to teach you everything he knows about wine and wine making. As expected, he is a most patient teacher who takes great delight from your genuine interest in the subject. Today, he is talking to you about different grape varieties and their differences in taste.
“Sangiovese is a red variety,” he explains. “Very common and the base for many wines that I have shown you, grappolino. Chianti, for example.” 
“Like in the Silence of the Lambs.”
“Sì, like that one.”
“Have you ever had it with liver?”
“You see, my dove, Chianti is actually not a good wine to have with liver. Amarone would be much better suited, or some lesser known ones. Dr Lecter would have known that, in the book he did.”
You have to smile at that. Of course he would take note of such things while watching a movie or reading a book. While he continues on his lecture on Sangiovese, you breathe in the rich scents that waft over the courtyard, carried by a gentle summer breeze. For a moment you turn your face into the sun, letting the warm rays caress your features. Mild summer days are your favorites, being outside in a simple shirt without freezing or sweating too much. When you turn back, you notice Secondo watching you. When you smile at him he cocks his head to the side, still observing you without shame. As though he only notices now, he suddenly turns away and reaches into his pocket. When his hand comes back into view it holds a silver flask and he makes a face when he takes his first sip.
“Not good?” you ask, chuckling.
He shrugs, giving a dismissive hum. “I am… used to drinking better things these days.”
“What’s in it?”
“A new drink I have been working on. I try to sample it throughout the day.”
“Can I try?”
“No, grappolino, it is not ready for that yet.”
“You will tell me when it is, though?”
He smiles, a genuine, almost soft smile that you see on him more often now when you’re just among yourselves. “I will, little dove. You are always so eager to learn and try new things.”
The compliments he gives you, if rare, are always meaningful. They manage to fluster you every single time and you subconsciously start to scratch at your neck again. This has been going on for some time now – a few mosquito bites that never stop tingling and as soon as you touch them they start to torment you.
Secondo eyes you, brow furrowed, as if to ask why you’re fidgeting so much. The itch won’t leave, however. At this point it’s hard not to just give in and scratch until it’s bleeding and hope that it will just heal off.
“Mosquito bite,” you explain. “I’ve had them since I got here. Somehow they love to drink from my neck.”
“It is a very tender spot, no? Well supplied with blood.”
“Hm, I think so.”
You scratch until it hurts, then you force yourself to stop. Meanwhile, a distant noise becomes louder and louder until a truck enters the courtyard. Its loud beeping as the driver turns around and goes into reverse hurts your ears to the point where you cover them.
“Oh, I quite forgot about that,” Secondo says and stands up. 
You watch from the pergola how a few of the Nameless Ghouls appear and carry boxes as well as barrels of wine outside loading the truck. Secondo further rolls up the sleeves of his button down shirt to help, carrying boxes until there is not much space left. The Ghouls bring three more barrels and you watch in utter fascination when Secondo picks one of them up like it weighs nothing more than a feather, placing it inside the cargo area. A minute later the truck takes off to his destination and the Ghouls disappear.
“This… was this a full barrel?” you ask, still in shock, the moment Secondo joins you again.
“Oh, no, of course not.”
“Why would you deliver an empty one?”
He eyes you, sitting down, not even out of breath. How is he so fit? You never see him working out. “Always so many questions, grappolino. So curious.”
“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” you say with a shrug.
“Some people buy them,” he says at last. “For eh… decoration purposes.”
You eye him skeptically. Even carrying an empty barrel would take a lot of strength. At the same time, you assume, he has been carrying boxes and barrels and heavy pieces of furniture for years now. When he reclines against his chair, you again take notice of how pale he is.
“You should wear sunscreen,” you say. “You look like the pale type that burns easily.”
“I am Italian, my dove. I am not the pale type.”
“Still, sunlight is the main cause of skin aging and skin cancer.”
“Are you telling me I look old, grappolino?”
“After you just carried all these things old is the last word on my mind that I would use to describe you, no.”
A smirk tugs at his lips but when you take out your sunscreen, waving it in front of his face, he still allows you to apply some to his cheeks, chin and forehead. You think that any excuse to touch him is worth it, even if it means acting like a mother hen to a significantly older man. Despite your inner desire, you don’t let your hands linger on his face. Touching him feels vaguely forbidden, even with his consent and over the greasy layer of sunscreen. Your shaky hands certainly betray the nervous flutter in your body and when you sit back down on your chair, your stomach is in uproar.
Yes, these afternoons are your highlights because with every day you feel like you take a precious step closer to him. And if you’re really lucky and he’s not too busy he takes you back to his private kitchen afterwards to give you your own little tastings, introducing you to flavors your tongue has never met before. One month in now, you can honestly say that the decision to come here was the best one you ever made in your life.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Vampire Gazette 04/08
Ad:
Don’t miss when the new special varieties of the world famous Papastrello wine are introduced. Now with a hint of blood and many more flavors.
What? Food, Wine, Socializing
Where? Emeritus Vineyard
When? September 29th
⛧ ✦ ⛧
It is a subtle art to manipulate the taste of blood. You have to feed your prey the right flavors of food and pour the perfect drinks down their throats to influence the aroma in just the right ways. Too much alcohol and the blood is ruined, too much sugar and it tastes like cheap supermarket wine. Secondo has refined his approach over the past centuries to match his personal preferences.
“Grappa,” he says, pushing the thin-stemmed glass in front of you. “A young one.”
You sway the glass underneath your nose, inhaling the sharp scent. There is not much you could deduce from the smell, not with your human senses, but he appreciates how you always try to use them regardless of how futile the results.
“It is distilled from the pomace after the winemaking,” he explains as he watches you nip. “Nothing goes to waste.”
You smile. “That is a very progressive view.”
“I think it is a very conservative view. Traditional, if you will.” He raises his brows, waiting for your reaction. “Do you like it?”
“It’s nice, it burns in all the good ways.”
“It used to be the drink of farmers,” he explains, filling your glass again. “Until technology progressed in the last century. The taste improved a lot, now it is very popular. I learned how to make it in Northern Italy not too long ago.”
“Were you always a winemaker?”
“No.” He does not elaborate, though his brow furrows as the ghost of distant memories tries to haunt him. The flicker is gone as fast as it came. “Come here, grappolino.”
You do, walking over to where he is sitting and stopping right in front of his chair. He grabs your hand with his gloved one, the back facing upwards before he takes some of the grappa and spreads it on your skin.
“Go on,” he says. “Take in the aroma.”
The scent that hits your nose is pleasant, much more pleasant than the taste. When you are done, looking back at him, he reaches out for your hand and brings it to his own nose, holding your gaze. His lips graze your skin when he sniffs and you think you’re about to combust, your whole body tingling nervously at the unexpected touch.
“Impurities show in the smell,” Secondo explains, remaining unfazed. “Of course, this one does not have any. It is perfect.”
“Of course,” you repeat and when he looks at you with his intense discolored eyes, you’re not sure if he meant the grappa. “So… is that true for people as well?”
His brows rise, a smile tugging at his lips as he nuzzles your hand. “Hm, I don’t smell any impurities in you.” A pause in which you stare at each other, unmoving, unblinking. “Unless they are…” His hand slides up your arm, agonizingly slow. Fingers sprawl out on your cheek, cradling your face before he taps his index finger against your temple. “In here.”
“I can’t say my thoughts are very pure when I’m around you, no.”
Your admission, so readily given, hits him like a gut punch. His cock jumps in his pants, swelling until his slacks are uncomfortably tight. It’s not like hasn’t daydreamed about making you come in a hundred different ways, about having you sprawled out underneath him in the very bed you first opened your eyes to him, to have you begging for him, showing him just how obedient and good you can be when it really counts. Right now, he wants to bend you over one of the wine barrels and have his way with you until you’re crying out his name, until every bit of boldness leaves your body and you’re at his mercy in more ways than one. He wants to teach you the sin of lust until you’re fluent in its very language.
“You’re the first human in a long time that’s tempted me,” he admits with a sigh, pulling his hand from your face. “But the sinner knows temptation when he sees it. I won’t fall, little dove.”
You chuckle, leaning further back against the edge of the table. “The first human? That sounds ominous.”
He huffs out a humorless laugh. “You should thank Satan for the gift of ignorance. I know you like to ask questions but sometimes it is better not to know.”
“Secondo,” you whisper and then you’re closer, your leg touching his knee. It is evident by the way your blood rushes to your face that you can see the predicament in his pants. He makes no attempt to conceal it. “I don’t know what it is that you think you need to protect me from. But I just wish… I just wish…” You visibly swallow. Then your tongue darts out to wet your lips, slowly, sensually. “If you’re a sinner, then why not sin?”
It is foolish of him to allow you to slide into his lap. Even more foolish to place his hands on your hips and pull you closer, to feel your soft flesh against his thighs. Your hands land on his shoulders, delicate, curious fingers that feel him without shame. They stay there until you sit so comfortably that you don’t need the support anymore at which point they start to travel – over his chest, down to his belly, back up over his bare forearms. The skin contact is more intoxicating than the grappa. You’re always so warm.
It is only when they reach his face that he flinches. You stop immediately, trying to meet his gaze through his glasses. He takes a deep breath. You’ve seen Terzo’s eyes, there is no reason why you would be spooked by his now. And yet–
“Please?” you whisper.
He knows that meeting your gaze with no barrier is going to bring him to his limits. It is a last safety measure, a shield to prevent you from seeing into his soul and to stop him from falling into yours. Curious, beautiful eyes who have seen way more of him than he ever wanted to bare. Still, it seems like you have softened the hard edges of his resolve. More and more of him trickles from the cracks and he can’t quite figure out how to mend the leaks. 
His cautious nod is all it takes for you to take the frame of his glasses and carefully pull them off his face. You hold his gaze so bravely, even as you set them down on the table. The quiet that follows is agonizing even to him. His muscles tense and even though he tries not to blink, he’s the first one to do so.
“You do have the same eyes,” you finally whisper.
“Runs in the family.”
“Ah.”
Those soft fingertips dance along his jaw now, tracing the lines on his skin as though you’re drawing a map. He allows you to get to know his face, even allows your palm to cup his cheek when you gain more courage. The warmth spreads inside of him like a flame, kindling his deepest, most carnal desires that used to be latent for so long. 
It terrifies him and yet he craves nothing more than to give into the pull of their current.
“Secondo,” you whisper, his name laced with all of your needs, and then you’re leaning in.
He already feels your hot breath against his lips, your thumb swiping along his sharp cheekbone, and he can’t help but admire your boldness. It would be so easy to give in and accept his fate, accept that he is not as immune as he thought. But to do so would be to admit to his feelings and the consequences, the pain this would cause you both, is not worth a fleeting moment of passion.
He turns away at the last second, your nose brushing against his, even as your lips miss. You pull back, looking at him with your heavy-lidded, lust-filled eyes. It takes everything in him not to grab you. Confusion ices over your features then and he uses the moment to gently push you off his lap until you land on your feet again.
“Go to bed, grappolino,” he says and to his own shame he can’t meet your eyes as the words leave his mouth.
Even so he catches the hurt of rejection that flickers over your face. He can already smell the salty tears gathering in your eyes, even as he fully turns away and starts to clean the table. Your footsteps retreat with no argument, no witty comeback, not even an insult or a sound of annoyance. He almost wishes that you would have slapped him.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
When he sneaks into your room that night dried tears stain your velvety cheeks. They present him with a feeling he has not dealt with in centuries – guilt.
He falters, thinking that he should not feed from you tonight, not after refusing your intimacy earlier when you offered it to him so willingly. And yet, perhaps even more now, he wants to feel your skin against his as if to offer you the comfort he cannot give by day. Against his better judgment he settles in bed next to you, facing you this time instead of just taking your neck from behind. You’re sleeping on your side, one cheek squished to the pillow, the other one available to him. Secondo pulls at his gloves and gently strokes along your cheekbone, gathering what little wetness remains. You’re warm. So warm.
With some effort he leans over you, finding the spot on your neck and reopening the wound with his fangs. As he begins to drink, his arm wraps around you, pulling you into a more comfortable position. It is the closest thing to a hug.
The contrast between you and him hits him with full force in that moment. He’s not sure why you’re not afraid of him. Most humans sense the presence of a vampire. Unaware as to what the threat is, they still usually feel unease or a vague air of danger. Perhaps you have no sense of self-preservation or perhaps you truly just don’t fear him. Perhaps you’re one of the few people who are unaffected, too curious for your own good.
Or perhaps you were simply made for him. Perhaps Lucifer made your paths cross for a reason.
The thought of having you, of leaning into what has been building between the two of you is terrifying but thrilling at the same time. With your blood in his mouth it is easy to imagine claiming you, revealing himself to you, bringing you into his world and showing you its magic.
He’s not sure how you sense his line of thinking but in that moment you start to shift, moving against him like you’re trying to get closer. He slips, losing grasp on his powers for just a moment but it is enough to make you rouse. You don’t fully wake but your sleep lightens and with a tired sigh you cuddle up to him, tilting your head so he has even better access. An arm wraps around his middle, fingers playing with the hem of his black shirt until they graze his bare midriff. 
“Secondo,” you whimper. 
It awakens something inside of him he has not felt before, not a sexual feeling but a thrum somewhere close to his heart. Need is dripping from your voice, the smell of your arousal hits his sensitive nose, and he’s sure you must be dreaming about him now. Before he knows it he has sunk both of his fangs into your neck and is sucking the blood oozing from the wound. His senses explode, the feeling of your skin on his fingertips, your taste, the way you sigh and seek out his embrace. Lust he can handle, hunger he can handle, but these feelings run deeper, digging below the surface and clawing their way into his very core.
Suddenly it’s all too much. He pulls away from your abused neck, already discolored and swollen, and the sight of what he’s done is enough to propel his overwhelm and guilt into new heights. Secondo slips from the bed and before he knows what he’s doing he finds himself back in his own bedroom. He throws his gloves to the side and stares at his shaking hands. Hands that held you not five seconds ago. Hands that are already yearning to hold you again. His body is buzzing with the need to be close to you, trying to chase the feeling he had when you clung to him, and he hasn’t felt this alive in centuries.
He slides to the ground, leaning against his bed and staring through the window at a growing, nearly full late August moon. What he should be focussing on is the Vinothek, the preparations for the event not even a full month in the future, the growing tensions with the werewolf community and the upcoming wine harvest, not playing around with his little human. 
Secondo licks along his teeth, grazing his fangs, but the taste of your blood won’t fade from his mouth, no matter how many times he swallows and swallows and swallows. It remains there, a phantom of you to remind him of his folly. He knows he won’t find any peace tonight.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
When you dream of him this time, it sets your body on fire. Your imagination, in comfort or torture, brings him into your bed where he wraps himself around your body and kisses your neck with reckless abandon. It seems to last all night but at the same time you feel like you’ve only slept for an hour. Waking up is like being ripped from paradise and cast back into the raging horrors on earth. At first you think you still feel his lips on your neck but the sensation turns into a dull pain, not that of a love bite but that of a hammer repeatedly hitting your skin. You remember his rejection from last night and promptly feel like throwing up.
With your mind still stuck in the fragments of the dream, you enter your bathroom to splash your face with some cold water. The pain on your neck has reached into your whole shoulder area by now and you pause when you spot your reflection. A huge purple bruise has spread over the area around the bite. How–
It would not be the first time your body has let his frustrations out on yourself in sleep. Maybe you scratched the mosquito bite too hard, maybe that’s why you dreamed about him kissing your neck in the first place. At any rate, what you really need right now is a cup of coffee and some painkillers.
Without as much as changing you quickly head downstairs. The house is eerily quiet as usual, the morning has just begun after all and the sun is creeping up over the horizon. Every window you pass reveals a spectacular view of the vineyard with its rows and rows of wine dipped into the soft orange light of a late summer sunrise.
The sight helps improve your mood somewhat. Though that is quickly reversed when you reach the kitchen. You’re already halfway to the coffee maker when you jump after spotting Secondo sitting at the large kitchen table. His own cup of coffee sits in front of him as he reads the paper and you’re wondering if he never went to bed in the first place. 
Of course he has already detected you, eying you curiously. He’s not wearing the glasses, you note, only his gloves, a simple black polo shirt that draws your attention back to his forearms. Quickly, you avert your gaze and focus on the machine in front of you, your face hot in shame for your silly attempt to kiss him as well as your dream.
“Buon giorno, grappolino,” Secondo says, closing the newspaper he’s spread out in front of him and folding it neatly. You can’t read his expression, not even with his eyes revealed to you. 
“Good morning,” you say. “You are up early.”
“Sì. We get some important deliveries today.”
The noise of the espresso machine drowns out your hum of acknowledgment and briefly ends the conversation. However, Secondo’s gaze lingers on your neck and you realize that you’re still only in your loose sleeping shirt and pajama bottoms, the bruise in plain sight.
“It’s… it’s not a hickey.” You’re not sure why you’re saying it. It’s not like you could have got one in the span of the few hours that you’ve been separated. “I don’t know how I got it, probably scratched too hard in my sleep.”
He doesn’t reply, not with words, but there is something in his expression that is wholly foreign to you. His brow is furrowed, his lips slightly parted, and without his glasses you can see a range of emotions reflected in his eyes. If you didn’t know any better you’d think it’s a mixture of shame and guilt. He doesn’t stay long enough to let you see more.
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September
Harvesting wine is a brutal job. That is what you’ve been told, anyway.
Hand-picking the grapes instead of using machinery protects the soil, Secondo told you, which is why the Nameless Ghouls head out every morning and every evening to gather them manually while the sun sits low on the horizon.
“The grapes have to stay cool,” he told you when you asked him why they left at four in the morning each day. “It reduces the risk of bacterial infections.”
You watch the bustle from your window, how they start at the bottom of the hillside and make their way up, row after row with buckets and containers on their backs. Once their shift is over, they bring the yield back into the courtyard where they prepare it for further processing. 
It seems like they never get tired.
Most days, Secondo and Terzo either help them pick or they take care of pressing the grapes. Things stay a little awkward, at least for you. Secondo does not really acknowledge that anything happened at all and since the whole vineyard is busy with the harvest while you’re stuck in the office or in the shop, restocking shelves, checking inventory, taking care of shipments, you hardly even see him. On one hand, his rejection still hurts, but on the other hand you’re relieved that he has not fired you or had any other negative reactions to your advances. It would not be the first time you meet an emotionally repressed man who pushes you away. Not the first time you calm your anxiety by nurturing your foolish hopes that maybe one day he will find it in him to like you back.
You learn that the harvest has to go over quickly before the grapes are overly ripe. It’s no surprise when they’re done after no more than three weeks. The cold storages are filled with grape juice just like the wooden barrels in the wine cellar where it now rests, fermenting slowly over the next few months until it turns into wine.
With the harvest done, focus shifts to the upcoming tasting event. When you don’t see Secondo chasing the ghouls through the guest wing for some last minute changes to the interior, you usually know he’s busy in the wine cellar, entrenching himself in one of the back rooms which he told you are not for nosy little doves. You’re sure he’s working on his new wines, perfecting the secret recipes. He prefers to work undisturbed in silence, so whenever he is busy down there he has you stock the mini bars in the guest rooms, make floral arrangements to decorate the sitting rooms or prepare small self-made gifts for the visitors. Anything to keep you occupied elsewhere.
You’re not sure if he really wants to work in solitude or if he’s just avoiding you.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Secondo never took himself for a coward. 
He is a smart, calculated man who has a few centuries of experience under his belt that help him go through life mostly unscathed. He tries to anticipate risks and act accordingly and he might come across as cold or dismissive at times because of his measured choices. He hides, he protects, he does what he has to do. But he is not a coward. 
He is not a coward but since that night, he has not drunk from you.
It bears the question if avoidance and cowardice are two sides of the same coin. If he can’t win either way. The impulse to ignore an issue is not exactly familiar to him but with the event coming up, with the harvest and goings-on at the vineyard it is easy to slip into a mode of focus that pushes you away by keeping busy.
If it weren’t for that hunger.
He’s drinking enough blood from his supply to sustain him but somehow it will not sate him in the way that your blood does. Even as he works with Terzo now, preparing the rooms for the guests that are arriving today and tomorrow, all he can think about is you. It certainly does not help that your smell lingers in every single room.
“Fratello,” Terzo pipes up behind him. “Did Primo say he would bring someone?”
“Hm?”
“He’s…” His brother snorts, pressing his greasy palms against the freshly cleaned window. “I swear to Satan, he’s with a human.”
“Di che parli?”
Secondo can’t help but join him, glancing out of the window like that one annoying neighbor everyone hates, scanning the courtyard in search of his older brother. Primo’s old Bentley has been parked at the far side beneath the beech trees. His long blond hair dances in the breeze behind him as he rounds the car and opens the door to the passenger seat. Someone else steps out, not a ghoul nor anyone else Secondo has ever seen before. The person holds his gloved hand and he immediately pulls them into his arms, wrapping his deep red cloak around them. He leans down to kiss them on the mouth, tenderly, taking his sweet time as he cradles them in his arms like they’re the most precious thing in the world.
“Ma che cazzo…” Terzo whispers. “The old man found someone before I did.”
“He’s with a human,” Secondo states.
“No shit, Sherlock, eh? Not all of us are anthropophobic.”
“I am not–”
“Satana, are they going to stop making out? That’s disgusting.”
“Stop spying, stronzino.”
He practically pulls Terzo from the window and forces him to welcome their brother in the entrance hall downstairs, as respect demands. They have to wait another five minutes until Primo appears, carrying two large suitcases, the human he brought with him entering alongside. They’re young. Very young in fact. Probably around your age, he can’t help but note.
“Fratello!” Terzo greets him exuberantly, opening his arms to him. Primo barely has enough time to set down the suitcases before Terzo’s lips press to his cheeks in two loud kisses. “You look well! And you brought someone, che sorpresa!”
“I am well,” Primo says as Terzo quickly moves on to the human, taking their hand delicately in his and bringing it to his lips. Meanwhile Primo faces Secondo who is still rooted to his spot behind the reception desk. “Grazie per l’invito.”
“Grazie per essere venuto,” he replies diplomatically. “It is good to see you, fratello.”
“To be honest, we need a place to stay for a while.” He turns to his companion who has since been freed from Terzo grasp, wrapping a possessive arm around their waist with a sort of love-sick expression that Secondo has never seen on him before. “This is my little flower, my greatest treasure. I want you all to meet.”
Terzo and Secondo exchange a quick look but before they can say anything the human speaks up. “It’s nice to meet you both. Primo told me a lot about you.”
“Only good things I hope, eh?” Terzo asks.
“They know,” Primo says then. “You don’t have to hide.”
“You told them?” Secondo asks, the shock evidently woven into his voice. 
“Fratello, what is going on?” Terzo’s reaction is quite similar. “Werewolves, a human?”
In that moment Secondo’s senses detect you coming down the stairs. He shushes his brothers, nudging Terzo towards the suitcases in hopes of giving the appearance of a normal check-in. The last thing he needs right now is another human finding out.
“I told you I am not your bellhop,” Terzo complains.
You round the corner, then, and they finally pay enough attention to notice you as well. Secondo can’t help but take you in when you descend to their level. His eyes find your neck, the bruise mostly faded but even so the memory of that night is clear in his mind. That appetite inside of him stirs, the urge to have his lips on your skin again to taste not just your blood but all of you.
“Oh, hello,” you say, effectively bringing his attention back to the situation at hand. “I thought I heard voices. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, grappolino.” He has to force himself to stop staring at you. “The first guests have arrived. This is our brother, Primo, and his… partner.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“And who is this?” Primo asks, shooting Secondo a knowing look before he greets you with a gentle smile. “How lovely to see a new face in these old halls.”
Secondo introduces you, not without a hint of barely concealed shame. He can feel Primo’s eyes boring into him throughout, the accusation of hypocrisy very evident in his narrowed mismatched eyes. Of course Primo would see right through him. His older brother’s senses are even stronger than any of theirs. He would not be surprised if he still smelled him on you.
“Can you find a Ghoul to carry their luggage?” Secondo asks. “I would like to have a moment with just my brothers.”
“I won’t leave my flower,” Primo says, vehemently shaking his head.
“It’s okay,” they interject, running a soft hand along his arm. “I will just start unpacking.”
It is only with a great deal of reluctance that Primo follows him and Terzo into the kitchen and leaves his little flower to you. The eldest immediately finds the kettle and brings some water to boil. Old habits die hard, Secondo supposes. Serious conversations are only to be held over a calming cup of herbal tea.
“Cos’è successo?” Secondo ask once they all sit over their mugs. “With the wolf?”
“It was not done on purpose,” Primo says. “I was protecting someone I love. That is all you need to know.”
“The human?” The word comes out with much more venom than he anticipated.
“Ah and you are here to pass judgment?” Primo asks, giving him a withering look. “You?”
Secondo presses his lips together. “Not judgment. I am trying to understand why.”
“Is it so hard for you to imagine caring about someone? To love them so much that you would kill for them?”
”No, I–“
“I am not here to be questioned,” Primo interrupts. “You invited me to an event, no? That is what we are here for. If you allow us, we would like to stay a few more days until we can move into our new home. But apart from that, I do not wish any commentary on my life.”
“You are moving?” Secondo asks. “With the human?”
“Oh, don’t mind him, fratello,” Terzo chimes in. “He is just grumpy because he fell in love with a human as well but unlike you he already messed it up. We are very happy for you and your little flower.”
“I will not have this childish conversation,” Secondo says. “There are werewolves running amok because of this, attacking our kind.”
“And they will calm down,” Terzo says. “There are a few rogues, it is not the whole community.”
“Secondo, I know you are worried.” Primo’s voice lost the defensive tone, instead it sounds much more like the caring, diplomatic voice his brother is used to. “But I don’t need your protection. If any werewolf is foolish enough to attack us, they will face harsh consequences. I will defend what is mine and I urge you to do the same.”
Secondo lets those words sit for a moment. He has never felt protective of anyone outside of the family before but now the first person that comes to his mind is you. Would he have done the same, killing a werewolf to save you? Potentially rekindling a centuries-old conflict between two communities? 
The answer comes surprisingly easy.
“Did you invite Copia?” Primo asks then. “He is not here?”
“Oh, he is busy playing Dracula somewhere in the Slovakian mountains,” Terzo replies. “He said not to expect him but to send him a few bottles.”
“He is not doing well.” Primo takes a long sip of tea. “It has been half a century.”
“Until father steps down this will not change,” Secondo says. “Copia has the rightful claim to the title.”
“Well, we had this argument before and it caused a family feud that made us vulnerable in the first place,” Terzo snaps. “The old stronzo doesn’t give a shit.”
“Let’s not get into this now,” Primo says. “We are here to celebrate that your business is doing well, Secondo. It will give the community something else to talk about for a while.”
This is as long as they manage to keep Primo from going to look after his flower, leaving them to stew over their own tea mugs they won’t be emptying. Secondo struggles to grasp what he learned today. Primo – the experienced, the wisest and most reasonable of them – is in love with a human. A young, kind, lovely human. And he is happier than ever before.
But perhaps that is not what is so hard to understand. Perhaps it is the fact that Secondo wishes he had the very same thing. Primo’s words still ring inside of his head. Is it so hard for you to imagine caring about someone?
The answer is no. He knows exactly what it feels like.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
The next twenty-four hours are the busiest since you came to the vineyard. Guest after guest arrives and Secondo puts you in charge of welcoming them. You’re behind the reception desk most of the night because apparently most of them traveled through the evening hours. By twelve pm on the very day that the event takes place the last guest arrives. He is a middle aged man with dark hair and kind brown eyes, looking far more average than the rest of the guests with their fancy clothes, aristocratic features and expensive cars. He reveals his name to you and you scan the reservation, finding him at the bottom as one of the last ones to book a room. There aren’t any left, so he must have got lucky. 
“That would be the blue room, sir,” you offer, handing him the key.
He eyes your neck, then, and you’re not sure what he is looking at, if he can still somehow see the faint remnants of your bruise in the dim lighting inside. Before you can apologize for your appearance, he glances away again, smiling. “Thank you, little one. The blue room sounds lovely.”
“Let me ask someone to carry your luggage, sir.” 
You’re ready to ring the bell and call for a Ghoul. However, the man stops you with a wave of his hand. “Oh, not necessary. I shall carry it myself. A little workout never hurt anyone.”
“Oh, okay.” 
He’s already up the stairs when you’re distracted from the encounter. Secondo strolls into the entrance hall. He does not appear nervous, despite only having eight hours left until the event begins. Right now he’s dressed in a simple polo shirt, slacks, his usual gloves and sunglasses. You love it when he looks somewhat casual, at least to his standards. Still, you can’t quite revel in his handsome appearance. Since the tasting is so close now, your anxiety has risen to an uncomfortable level. He said he needed an extra pair of hands but he never specified for how long.
“Has everyone arrived?” he asks when he reaches the desk.
“Yes, the last guest just went to his room.” You eye him as he scans the list in front of you, not even taking notice of the state you’re in. “Actually, do you have a moment?”
He looks up, then, and you freeze. Even through the glasses meeting his eyes has the heavy impact of a gut punch. You’re surprised by how gentle his voice is. “Of course, my dove. What is it?”
“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” you ramble before you can think twice about it. “I know, we were just being a little flirty with each other and that this is very different from actually attempting to kiss you. I feel very stupid now that I… that I misread the situation and I want to apologize. I love working here and I don’t want to lose it when the event is over. I enjoy being here, spending time with you and I don’t want to leave.”
“Grappolino, who said anything about leaving?”
You’re almost crying, tears pricking your eyes like a thousand needles. “You’re avoiding me. I just assumed that when you don’t need me anymore…”
He stops you by reaching for your hand, pressing his thumb into your palm. “You do not have to worry about this right now.”
“How can I not? You’ve been acting all sorts of weird with me.”
Secondo sighs deeply and you regret bringing it up now when he’s already stressed. But then he perks up as though something caught his attention. He pulls you into the door to the wine cellar by the stairs just when you hear voices and footsteps approaching. Blindly you stumble after him, shivering when you reach the cold stone masonry downstairs where he turns on an old, dim ceiling light. Down here it smells of fermentation, wine and vaguely of must. You lean against an old table, listening to the gurgling sounds of the carbon dioxide leaving the barrels.
“You won’t go, grappolino,” Secondo says, running his gloved hand over his face until he reaches his sunglasses and takes them off. “In fact it is I who should apologize for how I’ve been treating you. For things you don’t even know about.”
You stare into his odd eyes, the white iris almost glowing in the gloomy old cellar. He takes two steps until he’s right in front of you and you feel a cold shiver of anticipation running along your spine. You haven’t been this close since the grappa incident and the smell of his cologne makes you dizzy with need.
“My dove, you did not misread the situation. I very much wanted to kiss you.” He cages you in, resting both of his hands on the table at your sides. “And I very much want to do so right now.”
“Please,” is all you can say. “Please, Secondo.”
The corner of his mouth pulls up into a smug grin at your begging tone, the lines on his hollow cheeks deepening. He leans in until your breaths mingle, until you can feel his exhales tickling your lips. “We shouldn’t,” he whispers into the tight space. “It is foolish.”
And yet he does not pull away. His hooked nose nuzzles yours as if to savor the moment for just a bit longer. You dare to reach out and wrap your hands around his strong neck, playing with the collar of his shirt. He hums when your fingertips brush the tender skin at his nape and his own hand moves to cup your cheek, looking for more contact. The leather feels soft, hiding how his firm grip keeps your head in place. His eyes are stuck on your lips and you decide to close yours, mentally tracing the line of butterflies that flutter from your belly all the way up to your throat. Another hum leaves him when you part your lips in a sigh and then his thumb pushes your jaw up, tilting your head just right before his lips capture yours.
His mouth is cooler than expected, softer too. Secondo takes charge of the kiss in a way that makes you weak in the knees. Gentle but firm at the same time he moves his lips against yours, slowly increasing the pressure. You moan softly, clinging to him as your body sinks and sinks against him. His hands move to your hips to catch you and he easily sets you down on the table, stepping between your legs until you can feel his whole front against yours. He’s already half-hard and his outline is only growing against your stomach.
You snake a hand between your bodies, cupping his length through the tightness of his slacks. Secondo groans into your mouth, pushing his tongue between your lips with urgency. You kiss back with the same hunger, swollen mouths and eager tongues exploring each other to the last crevice. When you break away, saliva drips from the corner of your mouth to your chin and he licks it off, kissing from your cupid’s bow down to your jaw.
Before you can properly recover your breathing, Secondo’s hand toys at your lips and he slides two of his fingers inside your mouth. You receive them, allowing him to press down on your tongue.
“Get them wet for me, hm?” he murmurs into your skin. “My perfect little dove. So eager, so filthy, just waiting for me to fill you.”
You suck at the digits spurred on by his praise, swirling your tongue around their length while his lips firmly attach to your neck in a bruising kiss, just like in your dream. You struggle to keep your grasp on reality, lust and pleasure overwhelming all of your senses. When he finally pulls his hand from your lips you feel horribly empty. He gives you no time before he pushes his hand into your pants, not even playing with you before he immediately slides it in deeper. He finds your opening, fingers probing and widening before he slips one inside. You keen, grasping his shoulders for support and he adds a second one shortly after. The stretch is beautiful, thick, gloved fingers that he crooks expertly to hit that sweet sensitive spot inside. You think he moans louder than you at the contact, sinking against your body for a moment as the sensation hits him.
“You…” He shudders, groans deeply into your ear. “You’re so… warm.”
He gasps when you impatiently rut against his hand, rolling your hips in sync with the movements of his fingers inside of you. He helps you along, pumping his fingers in and out of you while still kissing your neck with his insistent mouth. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper, closer, until his hard cock rubs against your front at every thrust of his hand. Secondo grunts like a wild animal and then his teeth sink into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. A stinging pain shoots through you and you cry out in surprise. The feeling is not unpleasant, on the contrary – the pain mixing with your pleasure makes you wonderfully dizzy. He must have broken the skin because there is more wetness now than just his spit trickling down your throat. Secondo startles when he feels it, breaking away from your neck, and you can see blood staining his teeth and lips. “I’m sorry– I–”
“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “It’s okay, I like it rough. Don’t stop.”
His lips press to yours urgently. You moan, tasting your warm blood in his cold mouth, and you push your tongue inside even deeper for more. Secondo’s movements speed up. His fingers fuck you roughly until you can’t help but clench around them. It only takes a few more flicks of his tongue against yours, a few more strokes of his fingers until you’re tumbling over the edge. The moan that breaks from your throat echoes loudly in the old stone halls and you whimper pathetically at every thrust with which he carries you through your pleasure.
You notice that his hips still hump your front in sync with the last few pumps of his hand, chasing the friction of your body. He’s grunting, his open lips pressed to the corner of your mouth before they slide down to your neck. His tongue darts out to lick the remaining blood from your collarbone, eager strokes of his tongue that leave a wet trail over your skin before his lips close tightly around the wound. Suddenly he stills, releasing a drawn-out moan stifled by your wet skin and you feel his cock jumping inside of his pants when he cums. For a moment he holds you against him, removing his fingers to wrap both of his arms tightly around you.
“Perdonami, per favore,” he whispers, pressing a thousand soft kisses along your neck. “I hurt you. I hurt my little dove.”
“Don’t apologize,” you stress. “I like it rough, I would have told you if I didn’t.”
“That’s not…” He sighs. “No, I cannot hurt you. It has to stop.”
“Secondo.” He falters at the sound of his name, frowning at you. “I liked it. Please, don’t worry.”
He takes a shuddering breath, shaking his head vehemently. “Grappolino, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” 
You smooth out the deep line between his eyes, caressing his features with all the tenderness you feel towards him. He slowly relaxes, resting his forehead against yours. For a while you stay like that, embracing each other, breathing each other in. Your heart beats strongly against your ribs, longing to reach him. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been this happy before.
“Secondo,” you whisper, nuzzling his nose with yours. “I think I’m in love with you.”
He freezes against you, his limbs going rigid. After a moment he pulls away to meet your eyes and there is such visible confusion etched into his features. His mouth opens slightly, revealing the edges of two sharp fangs, still dipped in your blood. His eye turns from a deep red to its usual green.
Suddenly, it all begins to fall into place. Perhaps you breathed in too many alcoholic fumes down here, perhaps you’ve finally lost your mind. But the way he lapped at your blood, the way he avoids the light, the bruising around your neck, the sunglasses and late nights, how you dreamed about him with blood staining his mouth, his eye glowing red–
“Secondo!” a voice calls down the stairs. “Sbrigati!”
His head whips around and he tries to break away. You attempt to keep him there, holding onto his shoulders, urging him to stay. “Secondo, are you… are you a–”
“We have to talk later,” he says, tearing himself away from you with ease. “We have to head to the Vinothek and get ready for the guests. I will wait for you in the courtyard.”
”But–“
He won’t hear you out. Before you can say another word he’s already upstairs.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Somehow you manage to get dressed. Your legs hardly carry you upstairs, weak from the force of what just happened as well as the sudden stress added on top. With your evening outfit already neatly laid out on your bed it doesn’t take you too long to get ready but you also can’t find any calm moment to gather your thoughts. Your suspicion spreads in your mind, carrying a hint of fear but also curiosity. You’re sure you’re slowly losing grasp on your sanity. It’s impossible. You’re not superstitious, on the contrary, you’ve always relied on your thirst for knowledge, on the fact that you learn fast, that you see through things and quickly understand them. But if your notion turns out to be true, you ran into the trap of a predator with open arms and a bared neck.
Even so, your suspicion doesn’t stop your cheeks from burning when you meet everyone in the courtyard, Secondo and his brothers already waiting for you in the shade of the pergola. When his eyes meet yours you feel a pull, a need unlike any you have felt before. You can’t help but wonder if you’re being manipulated, if this is all a mirage and he’s been toying with you all this time.
Real or not, their looks for the night take your breath away. What strikes you the most is how all three of them are wearing face paints that shape their features like skulls. They’re all slightly different but Secondo’s looks the most menacing, stressing the sharp edges of his jaw and cheeks. In contrast to that of his brothers his eyeshadow is glittery, sparkling in the light that meets his face.
Suddenly you’re wondering how the thought of them being vampires has never occurred to you before. Secondo looks quite like Count Dracula himself in his white button down shirt, a green brocade vest under a perfectly cut suit jacket, an emerald green bowtie, black slacks and leather brogues that match his gloves – the same gloves that were inside of you not even half an hour ago. Terzo’s outfit is quite similar only that his shirt has ruffles, the vest is a deep purple and he’s fixed a silver brooch on his collar that bears the upside down crucifix you’ve seen tattooed on his body. Primo is wearing a crimson brocade tailcoat, his long blonde hair curled at the edges while his partner’s outfit was carefully chosen to match his. They look like they jumped straight out of a classic horror movie – elegantly menacing, aristocratic and weirdly out of time.
During your ride to the Vinothek, you’re closely pressed to Secondo’s side on the backseat of a short limousine with darkened windows, driven by one of the Nameless Ghouls. Even dressed up you feel quite out of place. His strong thigh is pressed against yours, distracting you enough that the five minutes pass quickly. You stare at his hands resting in his lap, toying with the hem of his gloves, and you wonder if he wore the same pair on purpose.
At the venue, more Nameless Ghouls arrange tables and chairs in one of the side rooms that are usually empty. You feel pretty useless while the others discuss the tasting, so you refill the shelves in the store up front and distract yourself by preparing the bar for the evening. At some point Secondo approaches you behind the counter. “You can handle the hum-” He coughs. “The evening bustle while I lead the tasting?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Thank you, grappolino.” He stops, almost reaching for your hand but pulling back just before your fingers touch. He looks like he wants to say more, you want him to say more, but his lips stay sealed. It is odd to look at his painted face, a man you thought you knew, thought you were in love with. Now it is hard to say if any of it was real.
Once the first guests arrive, you’re tasked to show them into the event location. You know the actual tasting is going to take two hours with the subsequent chance to socialize. Once the door closes you get somewhat comfortable behind the bar. Throughout the night you only have to tend to two guests, the rest of the time you spend googling everything that you can about vampires on your phone. No helpful sites pop up, only a few intense subreddits about suspected vampire sightings that only serve to confuse you even more. 
About two hours later, the door to the side room bursts open and Terzo storms past. He pulls at the door of one of the wine fridges, blindly reaching for one of the bottles. Secondo follows two seconds later, closing the door quietly behind him with a deep sigh. You step aside when Terzo reaches for a corkscrew, pulling the cork out like it’s nothing.
“You don’t know if it is true,” Secondo says, leaning in the doorway.
“Well, they’re not here,” Terzo says. “They didn’t come.”
“You should be glad they did not, fratello. It spares you the pain of another rejection.”
Terzo lifts the bottle and places it at his painted mouth, taking a long swig until the paint is smudged and his lips take on a deep crimson tone. He lets the taste sit for a minute, seemingly content before he starts to empty the bottle without pause.
“Fratello, you need to calm down,” Secondo warns him. “This is a wine tasting.”
“Yeah, so? Are you supposed to be boring at those?”
“They are a more… sophisticated sort of event. Come sai.”
“What I know, fratello, is that I’m here for a good time, just like everyone else. I want to have some actual damn wine and find someone to fuck later, sound sophisticated enough?”
“Terzo,” Secondo says. “You can’t fuck or drink the pain away.”
His brother frowns, grabbing another two bottles from the fridge. “Watch me try.”
You follow Terzo with your eyes as he pushes past his brother and disappears in the other room. Through the open door you can hear the bustle of people socializing, the clinking of glasses. “Will he be okay?”
Secondo closes the door and shrugs. “This is going to cost me a lot of wine. It is not easy to get him drunk.”
“So ugh… who didn’t come?” you dare to ask.
“His ex.” Secondo lifts his hand to rub at his eyes but thinks better just before they touch his make-up. “It is a long story. Someone told him they’re with someone else.”
“Secondo,” you try, now that you have him alone. “Actually, I’ve been wondering…”
“I need to look after him before he causes a scene. Can you do me a favor and get some of the orders sorted? The bottles are in the backroom. You can pack them in the usual boxes and bring them out back where one of the Ghouls will pick them up later.”
You want to argue with him, force him to listen to you, but he seems too tense to risk an attempt now. Instead you nod. “Where are they?”
“I will bring you the forms.”
With that he disappears into the side room as well. You’re curious, maybe too curious for your own good, but you just have to risk it and slip inside as well. The sight that meets you has you gasping. All of the guests have gathered around bar tables, wine glasses filled with a deep red liquid as they eagerly chat and drink. Even in the dimmed light you realize that this is not the same wine you’ve seen served at the bar, nor does the texture resemble any of the ones Secondo had you try. No, if it’s true and they’re– 
A sudden sense of terror overcomes you, even more so as you notice the first curious pairs of eyes on you that you swear are a glowing red. They don’t look real, they don’t look even remotely human, and most of all they look hungry.
“You are too curious for your own good.”
Secondo is by your side immediately, blocking your view before he ushers you out of the room. You let him carefully manhandle you until you’re outside of the door, still petrified from what you just saw, from the sudden horror fantasies your mind conjured up.
“The orders,” he says, pressing the documents into your hand before he gently cups your cheek.  You’re panicking, maybe. Or perhaps you’re not breathing at all. “My dove.”
“Hm?”
“Are you alright?”
You nod, telling yourself that this can’t be true. It simply can’t. You’re seeing ghosts, your brain has taken hold of an idea and ran wild with it. This is the real world, not one of the many novels you read. Secondo is right here, looking just like always, his iris green and not glowing at all.
“I’m sorry for busting in,” you say, realizing your silly mistake now. “I just… God, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m losing my mind.”
“Grappolino, I promise we will talk tomorrow. First we have to get this done, yes?” His thumb swipes over your cheek, so gently that you decide to believe him. “I will meet you once the guests leave and we will talk about what happened today.”
“Alright.” You nod, leaning into his touch. “I’ll… I’ll take care of the orders.”
He must know of your suspicion, he must know. His eyes tell you that he’s not going to let you leave, that he has an eye on you if you want to or not. For some reason you still feel safe knowing that he’s here, his touch nothing but comforting. His nod is barely noticeable but he does let go of your face eventually to go back inside. 
For a few minutes you have to hold onto the wall, slowly breathing in and out, trying to calm your racing heart. Perhaps it’s the lack of proper sleep. You spent most of last night checking in guests, only getting a few hours of rest in the early morning. 
This is ridiculous, you tell yourself, vampires aren’t real.
Once you’ve recovered, you start to pack the boxes, distracting yourself with the basic, monotonous work that is packing order and updating inventory. You’ve already carried a couple of boxes outside into the alley behind the Vinothek when your sneaking suspicion grows stronger again. There is an easy way to find out whether they were really drinking blood. One way to prove to yourself that you’re overreacting.
Without thinking you rip one of the boxes back open. The bottles look like any other wine bottles. Papastrello, the label says in gold-foiled lettering that is all too familiar by now. The only difference is the upside down cross that is stamped into the paper. The bottles are about the same weight, the dark glass no different from the other wine bottles you’ve seen. The only way to know for sure is to open it, to look at the wine itself.
In that moment you’re too scared to head back inside, too scared that someone is going to sense your suspicion and either laugh about your paranoia or possibly harm you for finding out what no one should know. You feel quite unhinged when you grab the bottle and smash it on the concrete of the sidewalk. What splashes out and mixes with the shards of glass is a red liquid that might be wine or might be blood, you can’t quite tell. The pale light of a full autumn moon reflects in the color, making it much paler than it looked inside. You know that you have to try it to know for certain whether it is wine or not.
It takes you a long moment of persuasion, silently debating with your inner voices until you reach out and wet your finger. On your skin, the liquid feels wrong, thicker, creamier, but also not quite like blood. You swallow your fear and bring it to your lips.
The moment your finger hits your tongue a deafening growl echoes in the street behind you. The sound is predatory, animalistic, ringing inside your ears long after it stopped. The hairs on your arms stand in alert as you turn around, expecting an aggressive dog or perhaps even a wolf straying from the woods. But what meets your eye is anything but. The creature is huge, filling the width of the whole alley with its broad shoulders and even as it cowers, resting on his two huge clawed hands, it’s almost as tall as the cars lining the main road. 
The metallic taste on your tongue is forgotten the moment you spot it. Another growl and the beast jumps into action, galloping along the alley just as you scramble to your feet. Flight is hopeless, you barely take two steps in an attempt to sprint before its heavy steps are right behind you. Still you run and suddenly it seems like you’re making headway, the sounds gaining distance. You dare to turn around when you finally reach the end of the alley. What you see feels surreal, like a nightmare brought to life.
Secondo is standing between you and the monster who seems to have stopped, assessing the situation. Against all instinct you take a few steps back in their direction, watching the furry creature with its deformed but still somehow human body. Suddenly you recognize him, dark hair, the same brown eyes. It has to be the man who checked in this morning.
“You attacked the wrong human,” Secondo says. “This is not who you’re looking for.”
The creature does not seem in control of itself as it paces the road, sniffing audibly, baring its fangs to you in an attempt to intimidate and scare. Secondo stays in front of you, the image of a predator himself, but compared to the werewolf he looks small, almost fragile. Fear buries its way deep into your body. Suddenly you’re not worried for yourself anymore but for him. Your heart is hammering so fast that it echoes inside of your skull, your whole body sweating and shaking. 
When the beast finally pounces, you shriek. Secondo grabs its massive arms to keep it at a distance but the werewolf tears at his clothing, ripping until its claws sink into his torso. His voice stretches into a pained scream that penetrates your whole body, deeper and deeper until you can feel it all the way into your marrow, rattling at your very core. The wolf is going to rip him to pieces in the blink of an eye. It’s going to kill him the moment he breaks his powerful hold.
You would never forgive yourself if he died because of you, if he got hurt trying to protect you. And maybe it is foolish, maybe you should let him handle the fight by himself, but you close the gap anyway until you can duck and reach into his pocket. Before you can think any of it through you’ve already sparked the flint and shoved the flame of his stupidly expensive lighter into the wolf’s fur. At first you think it is too dense to burn but then the beast starts yowling. The softer underfur has caught on fire, a disgusting sulphuric smell spreading around you. For a moment the wolf recoils in pain, letting go of Secondo who stumbles backwards. You’re trying to reach him but then the wolf deals one final blow, throwing his massive arms around his body. At the last moment, his paw smacks into your flank and pushes you down.
You land on the concrete, all breath brutally ripped from your lungs, and the intense pain of the impact explodes in your whole body. Secondo falls to the floor next to you with a heavy thud, dark non-human blood oozing from the cuts in his body. You hear more sounds as your vision slowly fades. Terzo is storming out of the back door, more people blurring into one big mass of faces behind him – and then you’re gone.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Vampire Gazette 04/09
Last night’s wine tasting at the Emeritus Vinothek ended in a brutal fight between the owner Secondo Emeritus and an unknown lycanthrope. The werewolf attacked a human employee outside of the establishment but could be stopped when the vampire intervened. He fled the scene while the other attendees took care of the victims. Both vampire and human escaped the fight slightly injured but are going to recover with no permanent damage, according to a spokesperson of the family. This is the tenth incident of violent conflict between vampires and werewolves in the past four months, following a surge of cases after the killing of a lycanthrope in May.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
“Here then, were all the admitted signs and proofs of vampirism. The body, therefore, in accordance with the ancient practice, was raised, and a sharp stake driven through the heart of the vampire, who uttered a piercing shriek at the moment, in all respects such as might escape from a living person in the last agony. Then the head was struck off, and a torrent of blood flowed from the severed neck. The body and head was next placed on a pile of wood, and reduced to ashes, which were thrown upon the river and borne away, and that territory has never since been plagued by the visits of a vampire. ”
You wake up to Secondo’s voice as he reads you the last few pages of Carmilla. Slowly noticing the world around you, you realize that you are in his bed in the mansion, the same soft white sheets surrounding your tired body that you found yourself in that first day. You keep your eyes closed, listening until the story is over.
“They always kill the vampire,” he says. “Perhaps they are right to do so.” A pause in which you hear the rustling of pages as he closes the book. “I know you are awake, grappolino.”
You turn around, opening your eyes to see him lying in bed next to you. The memories of what happened flood your brain, the way he protected you from the attack, saved you by risking his own life. You remember falling, the impact of the hit you took, and you’re surprised that you’re well, that you feel no pain other than the heaviness of your tired limbs.
“You slept almost a whole day,” he says. “I thought you might be angry with me. But I needed to watch over you.”
You take the book from his hand, running your palm over the smooth cover. Secondo looks tired, paler than usual and without the sunglasses you can see the extent of his exhaustion in his eyes. He’s wearing a dark green robe over black sweatpants, an altogether unfamiliar sight compared to his usual put together looks. No matter what happened, no matter what you now know, an intense surge of love for him floods your whole body and you can hardly shake it or push it down.
He saved you and you saved him. Everything else seems almost insignificant in that moment.
You shift so you can get closer and he watches you like a hawk, tracing all your movements.  “My dove you shouldn’t move around.”
You don’t listen, you can’t, even as the soreness in your muscles makes it harder. Eventually you settle with your head on his belly, closing your eyes until the wave of emotion has crashed over you. He only seems half as frightening from here, in fact he looks incredibly soft as he gazes down at you.
“What do you think would happen,” you whisper, “if instead of killing we started loving them?”
He exhales – a pained, heavy sound that carries a distinct sadness. His expression shifts and he shakes his head, watching you with glossy eyes. “How can you say this when you know what I am? When you see what my world can do to you?”
“Because I feel it,” you say with no pause. “Because my heart screams that it does. I’m not scared.”
“Of course you are not. You never were.” His hand reaches out but he stops himself. “Per favore, may I touch you?” You press your face into the soft fabric of his robe, giving him a firm nod, and he gently strokes your hair, running his fingertips over your scalp, more to soothe himself than you. “I will never forgive myself for being late. That I missed the wolf in sheep skin because I was too distracted. When it hit you…” His hand stills and his lips press together tightly. After a moment he cradles your cheek, caressing your skin with his thumb. “I will protect you. I will never let any harm come to you, my dove. I swear it.”
You turn your face, leaning into his touch. “Why did he attack? To get to you?”
“I drank from you,” he says. “Imprinting myself on you. He must have thought you were Primo’s partner. Or perhaps he was just looking to hurt any one of us and went after the smell. There has been an ongoing conflict.”
“Vampire werewolf politics?”
A smile tugs at his lips. “Yes.”
“I’m so confused, Secondo. I have so many questions.”
“I know, my dove. I will answer them in time but you need to rest.” He sees your disappointed expression, running his hand along your lips now. “One question.”
“Your business…” you start. “Does this mean vampires don’t harm people? It’s not like they show us in all those movies? They drink from bottles and you get it from blood donations?”
He cringes slightly at your question, a painful twist, perhaps at the prospect of disappointing you. “Many vampires still… hunt. Some are more predatory, some are more subtle, some prefer to not hurt anyone. There are a million ways to feed, amore, and we have no laws to regulate this.”
“But why would they still hunt?” There is irritation, confusion in your tone. “If there are easier ways?”
“Some vampires enjoy the taste of fear in the blood,” he says. “A lot of adrenaline, stress hormones, it flows faster after biting too. Even here sometimes people are scared of needles and you can taste it later after taking their blood. But it is not as intense as it is when you… hunt.”
“Do you… do you like this taste?”
“No.” He falters, cocking his head to the side. “Not anymore.”
“But you have?”
There is a hint of accusation in your tone but he does not seem disturbed by it, on the contrary. “I will not lie to you. I have in the past, grappolino. Many young vampires do, a bit like teenagers who drink alcohol for the first time. But taste changes with time, as it does for humans, and I have left those wild, young days long behind me. In fact, since I tasted you…” He trails off, running his finger down your jaw until he strokes the faint remains of the bite on your neck. “I have no desire to hunt for a better taste.”
His words send a shiver through your body. His thumb presses back against your neck, then underneath your jaw, following the line of your pulse. Even knowing what he is and what he did – your body longs for his touch and you don’t know what to do other than give in. You press your cheek into the softness of his belly, the fabric of his robe smooth against your skin, trying to hide how easily affected you are. “So you were my mosquito? The bites were yours?”
“That is the second question.”
You furrow your brow, trying to pull away but he won’t let you. “Secondo–”
“You take me for a monster now,” he states. “And maybe I am, maybe I am cruel for wanting you for myself in ways that made me keep the truth, in fear that you could not accept me. But my feelings for you are real, they are consuming me more than any thirst for blood ever has. I am…” He swallows, his voice firm as he continues. “I am devoted to you forever.”
For a moment you let those words sink in. This is as close to a confession of his love that you got until now and you realize that it must take him everything to be so open with you. He seems to mistake your silence for rejection.
“I understand if you want to leave,” he says. “I will not stop you.”
You shake your head, finally managing to sit up and properly look at him. “I don’t want to leave. I don’t ever want to leave you.” He looks pained at your admission, like he has almost been hoping for a rejection. “Why are you so hesitant? Is it that unheard of to be with a human? Your brother is with one as well.”
“Every time I have opened myself to someone it ended in pain and it will end in pain with you, grappolino. Unbearable pain, loss, grief, loneliness.” He stops himself, his eyes red and glistening. “With you I have let the sun back into my life. And I cannot… I cannot bear to have the world take it from me again. Non credo che lo potrò sopravvivere questa volta.” (I don’t think I can survive it this time)
“It doesn’t have to, Secondo,” you assure him. “There are ways… there are ways to make it last, right?”
“There are ways. But this… it is not something to take lightly, amore.”
“Secondo, I want you to know that… that if it ever happens, if I ever die, I want you to turn me,” you say. “I don’t want to leave you, ever.”
He pauses, shaking his head at the conviction in your tone. “We will discuss this later. You need time to think about it, to learn more.”
“You saw how fast it can happen. I feel like–”
“Amore,” he interrupts. “Not now. The next time I think about your death it will not be in this bed.”
You sigh reluctantly, trying not to mope as you settle against his chest. If he has a heartbeat it is too slow and quiet for you to hear it. But his body underneath yours feels nice, soft and welcoming. You notice that he doesn’t seem to be in pain either.
“Why am I not hurt more?” you ask. “I know that’s another question.”
“We have healers in our midst. They have some influence on your circulatory system.” His hand moves to rest on your waist, playing with the hem of the loose white shirt someone put you in. “You will feel sore for a bit, I think. As will I after my body healed my wounds.”
“Would it… would it help if you drank from me?” you ask.
“You’re too weak, my dove, but I appreciate the offer.”
You sigh, bringing your hand up so you can run your fingers over the sliver of chest that peeks out of the robe. Slowly you open it more and more, toying with his dark chest hair and feeling the smooth skin underneath.
“What do you think you are doing, hm?”
You just smile up at him, pushing the robe all the way open. He doesn’t stop you from exploring more of his body, following the line of hair down to his belly, supple and slightly raised. His own hands start to grab more of your body then, squeezing the flesh on your hips, grabbing at your ass. Before you know it he takes hold and pulls you fully on top of him. Your core meets the outline of his hardening cock, barely concealed by the sweatpants. You gasp at the contact, slowly rolling your hips for a bit of friction.
“You feel good enough to tease me,” he says. “Then you feel good enough for a kiss?”
A smile breaks out on your face and you lean in, resting your upper body against his. Before your mouths can touch he has already grabbed you and sits you both upright. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer and trapping you in his lap until you can feel all of him. Only then does he allow you to close the gap. The kiss has a bruising force, lips pressing in hard, teeth clashing until you adjust and find a heavy but more controlled rhythm. His tongue licks into your mouth hungrily, flicking against yours and you moan, vibrating against it. Your whole body shudders, looking for more, anything to quench the need pooling into your core. Secondo groans at every roll of your hips, sucking on your tongue, biting your lower lip like he wants to consume all of you within seconds. You kiss back with just as much hunger, tying to keep pace. Your whole body is burning with need for him, carrying you higher and higher. After a while he slows, hitting an invisible break, and you follow, pulling away to look at him.
Secondo heaves an exhausted sigh, not letting go of you but creating a small gap between your faces to breathe. “I am not quite in shape yet, amore. I don’t think I can keep up tonight.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to drink?”
Maybe it is the way your voice is practically begging him to do so, maybe it is the hunger in your eyes or maybe he truly needs the energy that your blood provides because he finally relents. You pull at your shirt, baring your upper body to him and for a moment he hungrily takes you in, running his hand over every curve, thumbs teasing your nipples until you arch into him.
“So responsive,” he murmurs as he kisses along your jaw. “So good for me.”
His words make you squirm in his lap, the hard friction of his cock adding to the pleasure that runs through you at every touch. “Please. Please, Secondo.”
“Already begging for my cock?” He huffs out a chuckle, hooking his fingers underneath the elastic of your underwear. He rips the fabric apart with ease, running a bare finger over your arousal. “And already so eager. Always so, so eager.”
“I need you,” you whisper. “Please, all I want is to feel you.”
“Hmm, that is all I want too, grappolino. Perhaps you can use the time while I feed...” His fangs scrape over your skin, not breaking it but leaving a burning trail along your throat. “… to keep me nice and warm, hm?”
“Yes,” you immediately squeeze out. “I will do anything.”
“But there is a catch.” He pulls at his sweatpants, freeing his cock until it slaps against your abdomen, trapped in the tightness of your bodies. “You have to be so very good for me. You cannot make a single move. Can you do that?”
“Yes. Yes, I can.”
“Good.” 
He lifts you up carefully, keeping you on your knees above him. You leak onto him, drops of your arousal landing on his cock, and he hisses, his fingers digging into your flesh. With one finger, he wipes it off and smears it over your entrance until he can slip it inside, quickly adding a second. A deep moan leaves you at the intensity of the stretch but you quickly adjust and find pleasure in the stimulation. He pumps a few times, spreading his fingers to widen you even more. When he seems satisfied he pulls them out and grabs both of your hips to pull you down into his lap. The tip of his hard cock slides into your entrance. Before he is even fully inside you already clench around what he offers, making you both moan at the sudden intensity. Slowly you sink down further, his mouth hot on your neck while you run your hand over his shoulders. Once he is fully sheathed, he gives a full body shudder.
“Satana, you are so warm,” he whispers, his voice as delicate as if he is saying a prayer. “So, so warm.”
You don’t speak, allowing him his moment of silent reverence. However, patience is not on your side today and you can’t help but squirm after a second, trying to find the smallest amount of friction. His cock is big, girthy, stretching you open like nothing else you’ve felt before.
“No moving,” he finally says. “I need to be precise.”
With that his lips search for the spot on your neck. He stops eventually, opening his mouth and wetting the spot with his tongue. You expect the pain and yet the sting draws a whimper from you. Secondo stops at once, waiting for your reaction. 
“It’s okay,” you whisper. “Keep going.”
His fangs pull out and you can feel the blood oozing from your vein. Hungrily he laps at it, not quite sucking but firmly holding his mouth over the wound, tongue swiping at the hole in your neck with every swallow. It’s slower than you expected, even as your heart rate goes up in arousal an anticipation. His cock jumps inside of you and you clench around him, earning you a moan from somewhere deep inside of his chest. For a few minutes you hold out, desire building inside of you with every drop of blood that leaves your body.
Eventually, Secondo breaks away. You notice that his skin feels slightly warmer underneath your fingertips, that his eyes look more alive when they finally meet yours again. The green one has turned red just like in your dream and a drop of blood runs down his jaw. You lean in to kiss it away, the metallic taste on your tongue an intense reminder of who you are with. Secondo reciprocates the kiss with renewed energy, licking the blood from your lips and tongue. You taste more of it in his mouth and you can’t help but moan.
“Your taste,” he says, breaking from your lips. “It is the most exquisite thing, my dove.”
“Do you feel better?” you ask breathlessly.
A nod. You squirm again, his cock shifting inside of you as you try to find a comfortable spot. Secondo huffs out a deep breath, the same strain visible in his eyes that has you whimpering with every little movement. “This is not how I want you,” he says. “I told you I would show you how to sin, no?”
With that he grabs your hips, a sudden invigorated strength that seems effortless as he easily manhandles you onto your back while he stays buried deep inside of you. The impact reopens the wound on your neck and you feel drops of the warm liquid running along your skin.
“White sheets…” you whisper as more blood dribbles onto the fabric. “Bold choice for a vampire.”
He chuckles, licking along your shoulder to catch the few remaining drops. He hums, his tongue almost rough when he cleans every drop you have left to give.
“Your blood sugar is low,” he whispers then. “When we’re done here I will feed you, amore. After a nap, perhaps.”
You giggle but it quickly turns into a gasp when he finally starts to move, slowly thrusting into you in a steady rhythm. He grabs your thighs then, pushing them deeper into the mattress until he has you folded in half. With him so deep inside of you your whole body is boiling. You can’t help but hold onto his shoulders, allowing him to move faster, fucking into you almost desperately now. Your arousal leaks all over your joined bodies, wet, squelching sounds soon filling the air around you as his hips piston into yours. You moan without shame ever time he hits that sweet spot inside of you, every time his skin rubs against the other sensitive areas on your body.
“I’m so close,” you whisper, keening and closing your eyes when he thrusts even deeper, slower now.
“You look at me, amore,” he warns. “You look at me when I make you cum.”
Your eyes snap back open, meeting the liquid fire reflected in his red iris. Secondo’s grip on you is tight and his own grunts echo in tandem with the sounds of your skin meeting, with all the desperate noises that leave your lips. You dance along the precipice for a moment, trying to last, trying to stretch out time for a little longer. But when he begins to stutter, his own eyelids fluttering in pleasure at every slow, deep stroke in an attempt to keep them open, you finally fall. The climax that hits you is stronger than any you have felt before and you’re a mess, mewling and whimpering, breathing in jolts as the heat spreads in your body like fire.
Your muscles clenching around him soon has Secondo following. His cock jumps, pumping you full with his seed while he breathes a low moan into your ear. You feel every raw shudder, every  little twitch, until it starts to leak out of you and he finally loosens his grasp. Your legs sink back to the mattress and he settles on top of you. Skin against skin, his cool while yours is hot and burning. For a long time you both calm down. Even if he doesn’t seem out of breath, it is clear that he needs the quiet moment of reprieve just as much as you do.
“Ti amo,” he whispers, first almost too low for you to hear but then louder. “Ti amo per sempre. Not even death can part our union.”
You press a gentle kiss to his cheekbone. “I love you, too.”
He huffs out a breath, turning you both to your sides where he holds you close against him, his lips tickling your temple as he presses more and more soft kisses to your skin. You start to relax, his sweet touches lulling you into a state of half-sleep. Your mind finds back to what really occupies it, all the questions and insecurities. A thousand thoughts are swimming in your head, some of them have to do with the sticky mess between your legs, some of them leave the four walls of this bedroom altogether.
“I can hear your mind working,” Secondo grumbles. “I thought I had distracted you well enough.”
“It’s just… are the Nameless Ghouls real ghouls then?” you ask. “And is the special wine all blood or is it some sort of amalgamation? The healer you mentioned, was it the doctor from the donation?”
“Grappolino,” Secondo warns. “All in due time.”
He shifts onto his back, pulling you on top of his chest. You have to bite your tongue to stop interviewing him because he is right – you’ve had enough exertions for the day, and you’d rather spend your remaining energy on more of this. 
“Should we have a smoke?” he finally asks.
“In your bedroom?”
“In our bedroom,” he corrects and reaches for the bedside table.
He grabs a pack of Marlboros, retrieving one to trap between his still swollen lips. The gold Dupont lighter opens with a cling and you have to smile. When he hands you the cigarette this time you don’t hesitate. You take a deep drag, pressing your mouth to his before you exhale. Secondo holds it inside, then releases the smoke into the air above you. When his arms close around your body in a firm embrace, you rest your eyes – and listen to the quiet sizzling of the cigarette as it slowly burns out.
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Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed vampire Secondo. If you want to be tagged in any future Friday Nights stories pls let me know! Terzo and Copia will get their own stories, as you might have guessed from the hints in the plot ♡
Masterlist – My Ao3
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kingtomura · 1 month
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Uber Eats
synopsis: What a crappy Friday night! You’re the only driver for your restaurant and you have to deliver to this Tomura S. guy. The worst part? He never tips. wc: 2.7k content: tomura shigaraki x female reader, quirkless au, oral (f! receiving), overstim, degredation, vaginal fingering, mdni cross posted to ao3
You hated this guy. 
He ordered every week without fail, like clockwork. 
“Do I have to make this delivery?” You ask your manager, wishing the ticket in your hand would burst into flames. 
It did not. 
The black ink only stared back at you as you stewed in your own misery: 
Tomura S. 
“You’re the only driver we have!” Your manager calls back to you, tossing some rice around in a wok before dropping it into a takeout container. “But after this, you’re good to go.” he placed the next order into the wok and the hiss of the food only added to the bustle of the restaurant.
You sigh, accepting your fate and crumple the receipt in your hand. It was the last delivery of the night so you find solace in at least being able to leave once you were done.
This guy was a known regular, and better known for not leaving a tip. Ever. It didn’t matter how big the order was and it didn’t matter what the weather had been outside — Tomura S. would not tip. And unfortunately for you it seemed he was more likely to order on your shift so you had to be the one to deliver. What awful luck.
Your manager waves you off after he finishes packing Tomura’s order and you step outside to your bike. It was about a fifteen minute bike ride, and the sweet promise of going home was all the motivation you needed to get it over and done. You put the order in the front basket of your bike and were off, hitting more than a few bumps in the road on your way.
Once you reach the apartment complex, you set your bike aside and head up to his door.
You’ve been here many times before, but that doesnt stop the nerves. 
Tomura was an… interesting fellow. Never a smile on his face and rarely a thank you. 
You steel yourself at the door of his apartment, taking a breath before raising your fist to knock. Maybe today would be different, you ponder, shifting your weight to cool your nerves. Maybe he would tip generously and send you on your way.
Everything could all be a big misunderstanding and you start to feel yourself get a little hopeful. He could be a nice guy under that rocky demeanor — maybe you’ve misjudged him.
The door opens with a little too much force and a vermillion glare meets your eyes. 
You feel yourself falter under his gaze. “Um, Tomura?" You put on the best smile you could and extend your arm, the bag of takeout presented to him. "Here’s your order.”
He looks down at the bag and then back up to you — carmine eyes giving away ill hidden boredom before ripping it from your hand and turning on his heels. The slam of his door making you jolt as you strained to hear his muttered thanks. So quiet you’re sure you may have imagined it. 
It would be generous to say you were shocked, but tonight had not been a kind night to you. A few too many potholes on your way here and a few too little tips given out has your lips pursed and fists clenching in anger. You had just about had it with this man. 
What was his deal? You come all this way, make sure his food is hot — hell, you even smile and that's still not enough. Well, you were done playing nice and found your fist tapping against his door before your brain could process your actions.
In less than a few seconds the door swung open, this time a much more annoyed Tomura greeting you. 
“What?” He rasped, face turned down into a scowl, much different from his earlier indifference. 
You don't waver, “What is your deal?”
His brows shoot up in surprise, “Excuse me?”
“I said, what is your deal? I’ve been delivering to you for months and not a single time have you tipped me! You know that's how I make a living right? It's just unfair.” you huff, exasperated.
This seems to surprise him further, and if you weren't crazy you would think that was amusement on his lips. “Tip? Is that what you want?”
You are surprised, but you nod. 
He huffs, taking a step back, “Fine.”
And then he’s gone. 
You’re not sure if he intends for you to follow him inside the apartment, but you have an idea that he wouldn't leave his door open otherwise — so, against your better judgment, you go in. 
It's dark in the apartment, and not very spacious. The dim lighting gives you little to work with but the blue light from the idle game screen playing on the tv in the living room helps you make out what you're looking at. Tomura has already gone deeper into the home, no doubt to his bedroom or wherever he may keep his money. You decide to stay where you are in the living room and look around a little.
The space wasn’t… awful, messy — yes, but not disgusting. It looked average to what any other twenty-something living alone would look like. 
You try not to make a habit of getting to know customers you deliver to, but judging from the nintendo switch docked near his television, it seems you may have a little in common. 
What surprises you are the anime figurines and plushies lining the bookshelf near the television. He didn’t strike you as a plushie enjoyer. Finding yourself smiling, you walk over to one. A green dino with goofy teeth and cute eyes. Cute. You reach out to touch it, the plushie feeling as soft as it looked.
The sound of footsteps on hardwood break your focus and you look back to see a grumpy Tomura, looking through his – assumedly empty –  wallet, “I don’t have any cash on me.”
His hair is fluffy and white, but looks a pale blue in the hue of the paused game on the television screen. His frustration is prominent in his scowl and you take this moment to really look at him, carmine eyes focused and brooding. He was taller than you originally thought and his black shirt was loose around the collar area, exposing his collar bones and you find your eyes drifting lower. You could tell he was toned under the thin black shirt he wore but you had never had a chance to really notice. Unconsciously, you lick your lips.
“Did you hear me?” 
Your eyes snap up, cheeks flushing, “Y-yeah!”
He huffed, irritation obvious but continued anyway, “well, what do you want?”
You don't know what you want anymore. If he doesn't have cash then it doesn’t matter. This seems like it may have just been an oversight on his part, so you may be better off letting this go. Maybe he would order again and tip you extra next time.
You take a few steps forward, every intention to walk by him and get to the front door when you stop, finally responding to his question, “nothing, just remember next time.” Your gaze catches his and then drifts lower, to his lips. Tomura catches the trail of your gaze and it forces you to look away. You swore there was a hint of a smile on his lips but maybe you were tired, it has been a long day. 
You shift your weight, ready to continue on your way out when Tomura reaches for your arm, grip tight and demanding. It takes you by surprise, but surprises you even further when he dips down and crashes his lips into yours, rough ones meeting the softness of yours. The kiss is not smooth or slow, but needy and hungry, Tomura playfully nipping your bottom lip before pulling away. 
“I have an idea,” he breathes and pulls you by the hand to his couch, falling ungracefully onto it and in an instant he's on top of you. 
Your cheeks are burning as you place both palms onto his chest to halt his movements, “H-hey, what are you doing?”
His laugh is low as if you should already know the plan. “I’m going to give you your tip.” 
And then he's down again, lips warm and demanding. A moan escapes your throat and you fist a hand in his hair, overwhelmed and desperate to get more of him. His tongue swipes your bottom lip and you waste no time letting him in. His large hand trailed down your side, and you pressed closer to him. He felt intoxicating, and arousal pooled in your belly as Tomura pulled away, panting. He was just as flushed as you knew you were, the wild look in his eyes only making the arousal between your thighs slicker.
Tomura trailed kisses down your jaw and neck, leaving soft bites in between licks. A particularly hard bite made you gasp, gripping his shoulder and turning your head, giving him better access to your neck.
He only chuckled, sitting back and looking down at you, “You look like whore.” he spat, teasing tone in his smile. “All spread out on my couch like this.”
His hands moved to your pants, popping the buttons and pulling them down. You should stop him, tell him to wait because you barely know him and it's a little soon, but his words have you biting your lip and lifting your hips to help him get your pants down and off. 
That only makes Tomura shake his head in disbelief, a pleased smile betraying his false disappointment. 
He reaches down and presses his middle finger to your clothed cunt, rubbing soft circles and laughs, “You’re soaked. Didn’t take you for such a slut.”
The words only spurred you on, spreading your legs further and closing your eyes. It felt good to finally get some kind of contact – he was right where he needed to be. Until he pulled away, leaving you more desperate and a complaint on your lips. You stop in your tracks though as Tomura leans down, tongue licking you through your panties. 
Your hands fly to his hair, moan erupting from your lips. You’re unsure how thin his apartment walls are, but you don't care. The feeling sends pleasure shooting up your spine and your heart picks up its pace.
Tomura laps at your clothed cunt, fabric muting the full feeling but giving you enough to cry out. You find yourself grinding closer, body begging him to keep going and he obliges, only for a moment. He gives your cunt one more kiss before pulling back and pulling your soaked panties down and off, tossing them across the living room. 
He wastes no time diving back in, tongue licking a strip from your hole to your clit and your back arches. The hold you have on Tomura’s hair is so tight, you're sure it’s painful at this point, but he only groans, wet muscle lapping your clit eagerly. Your thighs reflexively try to close, but Tomura is faster, hand stopping them and thumb rubbing soothing circles. 
“Oh, god,” you squeeze your eyes shut, the pleasure building quickly and you will yourself not to go over – not yet. That would be embarrassing. 
You feel the pressure in your abdomen tighten and it's clear you won't last much longer. Tomura took that moment to suck your sensitive nub and you spill over, mouth open in a silent moan and thighs quivering.
Tomura rides you through it, only pulling away from his ministrations once you catch your breath. “That soon, huh?” There's no bite to his words and you only give him a halfhearted glare, heavy lidded eyes still reeling from your orgasm. 
You’re distracted and don’t notice Tomura’s not finished with his antics. It wasn’t until you felt a digit pressing at your heat, slipping in slowly and making you mewl in pleasure. You were soaked, and the pressure making your head loll onto the armrest of the couch. It felt so full already. 
“Ah!” you gasped, feeling the familiar glide of Tomura’s tongue against your oversensitive clit once more. 
It was almost too much, your cries reaching new heights as he pumped his digit in and out of your sopping cunt, juices from your arousal mixing with his saliva. He was taking his time building your next orgasm, moving slow and steady, making your toes curl in pleasure. 
The push of a second finger against your hole had you tapping Tomura’s shoulder, “t-too much! Tomura!” 
Your cries fell on deaf ears as he continued, tip of his tongue flicking your clit as the second finger pushed in to join the first, waisting no time fucking you in earnest. His fingers were thick and the feeling of being so full made you dizzy, pleasure spiraling as you tried to ground yourself mentally. You grabbed Tomura’s shoulder, fisting his shirt in your hand as you lost yourself in the pleasure once more. 
Tomura’s motions ceased as his eyes met yours. You could only imagine how blissed out you looked in this moment, breath ragged and sweat clinging to your brow. Tomura wasn’t much better off — he was as desperate as you, hair splayed in wild directions after your hands ravaged through it. You open your mouth – impatient words on the tip of your tongue and Tomura curls his fingers, digits hitting that spongy spot inside that made you see stars.
He flattens his tongue, giving your clit a final lap and it sends you over – for the second time tonight. 
Your back arches and your legs shake as your orgasm washes over you. The feeling sends waves of pleasure throughout your body, eyes squeezed shut and mind buzzing. 
Tomura watches as you come apart, palming his erection in awe. You meet his eyes once you come down from your second high of the night and Tomura wastes no time in crashing his lips to yours, clumsy and wet. You could taste yourself on his lips and groan when he pulls you closer. 
There's a trail of saliva linking the two of you once he pulls away, but Tomura’s heavy gaze is only on you. He leans back in once more to give you a much softer kiss, before pulling away again and giving the same soft kiss on your cheek — heat rushing to them for reasons entirely different from what just transpired between you both. 
It was very… intimate – in a way you did not expect from someone who had just called you a slut. 
It makes you want to reach out for him when he pulls away further, eyes seemingly pondering something you’re unaware of. He looked down at you one more time, before looking to his television and his unopened takeout bag on the coffee table. 
“My show is about to start, so…” he starts, picking up the remote to change the channel of the television, screen lighting up and noise filling the room. You stare as Tomura sits back and gets comfortable, opening his takeout bag and removing the contents. 
Was he… was he kicking you out right now? Seriously? 
Your brows fly up, eyes widened in disbelief — his lack of reaction at your scoff only proves you right. He was kicking you out. Bullshit. The humiliation is evident as you scurry to find your pants, not bothering to find wherever the hell he tossed your underwear earlier, and get the hell out of there before you said something you would regret. 
The only thing on your mind was the front door as you brushed by Tomura one last time. 
“Hey!” he called, gluing you to your spot. Your heart jumped as you turned back to him vaguely hoping he would offer you to stay a little longer.
That small flame of hope died as soon as it came because Tomura was only extending your long forgotten phone to you. 
You snatch the device from his hand and make your way out the door, face burning and legs still tingling from the way he made you come undone mere moments before. 
Once you reach your bike you find yourself huffing in annoyance. What else did you expect? Him to offer you some of his takeout? That would just be silly. You’re walking your bike to the sidewalk, ready to hop on and go back to the restaurant – sure your manager is worried sick about his only driver – before your phone buzzes in your back pocket. 
Tomura S.
Your eyes widened as you read a text from the name you knew you hadn't saved in your contacts before. 
You forgot my drink.
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punishereditz · 3 months
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Wannabe
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Pairing: La Knight x f!reader
Warnings: 18 plus only! Minors DNI! DO NOT COPY! Smut. Edging. Fingering. P in V. Rough sex. Dirty talk. Praise kink. Spanking kink. Marking kink. Choking kink.
AN: I am so very sorry for not posting. I have been very busy lately, but I'm going to try and make time for writing and get back to posting stories regularly.
Word count: 2k
Summary: Knight didn't like what you had to say about him. So, he decided to teach you a lesson.
~
Before you could even celebrate your win against Auska, La Knight's theme song played throughout the arena. Knight walking out in an arrogant way and clapping his hands together as if he cared.
"Congrats Sweetheart." He said as he walked down to the ring. A big cocky grin on his lips. His eyes on you as he stepped over the ropes, and he took one step. Now standing in front of you. "What are you doing?"
"What? I can't come out and congratulate you after that win?" His voice was laced with seduction. His eyes heavy on you. Heavy on your body that was glistening with sweat. Your breath still a little heavy from the match.
"Congratulations sweetheart." He said again and he gave you a wink. Making you cringe, but you put on an act. You looked up at him through your lashes. A sweet, innocent smile on your face.
"Thank you. You didn't have to come out here." You paused for a moment. "You know... it means... nothing to me." Your face dropped as you said the word nothing. Losing the sweet smile and Knight losing the cocky grin.
"Wait. You, you really didn't expect me to care, did you?" You raised your eyebrows and tilted your head to the side as you looked up at him and his broken ego. "Do you want to know what I really think of you?" You leaned a little closer to him and you didn't wait for him to respond.
"You... you are a Stone Cold and The Rock wannabe." Your words were harsh, and they cut deep for him. The air between the two of you so thick it could be cut with a knife. "I've known you for a while now, and I have to say, I don't know if I really know you. I mean, you definitely don't know yourself. You don't know what originality is because your too busy trying to be someone else! Your so worried about being this megastar, you gotta steal from the best there is just to have a good bit." The more you talked, the madder he got. His blood was boiling. You hit a nerve and you hit it hard.
"You don't know what you're talking about." He growled and you chuckled. You laughed in his face. Which only fueled his anger.
"Oh, I don't know what I'm talking about? You can't even look at me right now and deny it. You and I both know that you are nothing more than a copycat." You pointed a finger at him, and he narrowed his eyes at you. "You go and take other people's gimmicks just so you can be liked. Not to mention how you use their moves."
"You better shut your mouth." He growled and took a step closer. Getting in your face. Already long since getting rid of the mic so only you could hear him.
"Peoples elbow. Stone Cold's stunner. Let me continue." You tilted your head up. Getting in his face as you explained into further detail how he is a wannabe. "The way you work the mic. That little head tilt back and the shouting? Sure does look like The Rock to me. Oh, and, what... what's that little catchphrase of yours? Yeah? Yeah! That... that sounds like... what? What? What?" You raised your voice as you called him out. Practically shouting as you said what.
"That's enough." He snarled and his breath was heavy now. He was fuming and that only made it more amusing for you.
"You know, under this whole persona of yours, I'm sure-" Before you could even finish your sentence, he snatched the microphone out of your hand and threw it across the ring. "I told you to shut your mouth." He snarled, towering over you. pointing a finger in your face. Getting closer to you, making you take a step back.
"What are you going to do about it?" You challenged him. Taking a step forward. Not backing down from him. That making him even more furious.
"Don't make me drag you out of this ring." His words made you smirk. "You wouldn't." He chuckled and that made you furrow your brows confused. Then, suddenly, he swept you off your feet. Throwing you over his shoulder like you were a rag doll. Climbing out of the ring with you draped over his shoulder; he walked up the ramp and went backstage. Carrying you through the locker rooms kicking and screaming. Finally putting you down after he entered his dressing room. Locking the door.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" You shouted at him, and he walked the short distance over to you. "No. no. no. no. What's wrong with you?!" He shouted in your face. The veins in his neck popping.
"You go and humiliate me in front of thousands of people, then ask what's wrong with me?!" He shouted and he kept stepping forward until you were backed up against the wall. "Oh, tough shit! You think I just did that out of the coldness of my heart? No. I was told to say that!" You shouted right back at him, and he rested his hand on the wall. His hand right by your head.
"You had no right." He spoke in a low tone as he put a finger in your face, and you scoffed. "I was doing my job. I'm sorry that you can't handle that." You matched his tone. Tilting your chin up as you spoke and watched as fumes practically steamed off of him, he was so furious. His breath heavy and hot against your skin.
"You always do what these managers tell you to do?"
"So I won't get fired. Yes."
"Are you going to do what I tell you to do?" He leaned closer to you until his body was pressed against yours. Your breath hitching and his question catching you off guard.
"Are you going to do as your told?" He asked. Narrowing his eyes at you. Noticing how his words got to you. But, you didn't let that moment last long. "No." You challenged and a mischievous smirk spread across his lips.
"You need to be taught a lesson." He grabbed you by the arms and turned you around so that your back was to him. With one hand, he pinned your arms above your head and with his other hand, he slowly moved it along your side. His hand stopping at your thigh. Then, you gasped as he slapped your ass hard. His hand then massaging your ass. Squeezing it. He got frustrated because of your wrestling gear in the way. So, with one quick motion, he pulled your pants down.
Tossing them across the room. His hands going back to their original place. Holding you down and his hand slowly rubbing your ass. His hands traveling up your side then back down. Smacking your ass again. He slapped his hand against your skin a few times, then he moved his hand. Untying your top. Slowly pulling it off of you. His hands kneeing at your breast for a few minutes before his hands moved down your stomach. Hovering over your pussy. He carefully ran his fingers through your lips. Slowly moving his finger up and down. Making you breathe a little heavier. He slowly dipped his finger into your lips. The tip of his finger going straight to your clit.
Applying light pressure as he moved his finger in circles on your sensitive clit. Making your eyes roll to the back of your head and soft moans leave your mouth. He loved every second of this. "Look at you..." He whispered in your ear, and he quickened his movements. Making you moan a little louder and your legs shake. Then, after a minute or two, he slowed it down to a torturous pace. "You want me to make you come, don't you?" He whispered in your ear and when you didn't respond, he quickened his movements again but just as quickly slowed it down.
"Say it." His circles on your clit were so slow, there might as well not be any movement. "I want you to let me come." You panted and he chuckled. "Good girl." He then brought the speed back up. A moan slipping from your lips as you gripped onto the side of his legs. Resting your head on his shoulder. He tilted his head towards you, and he kissed your neck. Biting at your skin. Building your climax up and right when you're about to come, your body shaking- he stops. Pulling his hand away and moving his mouth away from you. You groaned in frustration, but before you could do anything, he smacked your ass and picked you up.
Carrying you over to the desk. He put you down and turned you around. Laying you down on the table. He grabbed your legs. Putting your knees on the table as well so that your ass was up in the air. On display for him and at the perfect height for him. He ran his fingers over your pussy a few times. His thumb rubbing your entrance. He then started to spank you. Slapping his hand against your ass. Leaving your skin red and marked. He slowly pulled his pants down. Grabbing a condom and slipping it onto his long cock. Then he rubbed his cock through your lips before he pushes it in. Slamming his cock into you. Bottoming out. The both of you moaning.
He stayed still for a moment, giving both of you time to adjust. Your walls clenched around his cock. He slowly pulled out, then he harshly thrusted back into you. Slowly starting to pound into you. Slamming his cock into you. His breath getting heavier as he groaned. Gripping onto your ass as he pounded into you. Making your stomach twist in pleasure and your eyes squinched shut. You could feel your climax quickly building again and you moaned out when he grabbed you by your hair. Pulling you up so that your back was against his chest.
He cussed under his breath and continued pounding into you. His hand coming up and wrapping around your throat. Holding your neck. His other hand came down and he started to rub fast circles on your clit. Between that and the new angle he was fucking you from, it was all overwhelming. And he knew that. He knew that you could barely take it. He knew that you were close by the way your body was shaking and the way you were moaning. So, just to be mean, he slowed down. Slowing his fingers down to the pace he was fucking you with. Which, it was too slow for you. All that build up just for him to practically come to a stop. "I said I was going to teach you a lesson." He whispered in your ear and kept the slow pace.
"Have you learned your lesson?" He slowed his movements down even more. "Yes." You panted and you tried to grind against him, but he didn't let you. "Speak up, sweetheart." You groaned in frustration and when you did, he came to a complete stop. "Yes." You said a little louder and he smirked. "Good girl." He then started to move inside you again. Slowly starting to pound into you again. Slamming his cock into you. His skin slapping against yours. The sound of y'all's moans and clapping of skin filling the room.
With each harsh thrust, your climax quickly built back up and his to. His cock throbbing and twitching. He groaned loudly as he came, and you quickly did the same. Soaking his cock. He started to slow down. Harshly thrusting up into you one last time before he stilled, and he finished. Filling the condom up to the brim. He stayed inside of you as he tilted your head to the side. Gently kissing your lips. His tongue moving along your bottom lip as he kissed you deeply. Then, when he pulled away, he had a big, cocky grin.
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pandorasfavorite · 21 days
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Maneater
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The men were entranced by you, though when they see something they can’t have, it’s a given they will go chasing after it. Though, commonly, men can’t handle your personality, you're independent, demanding, and affirmative. That’s why they call you the “Maneater”.
A maneater is a woman who isn’t afraid to take leadership in any relationship, things will go your way or you’re not interested, no man could ever talk down to someone like you. You walk around like you own the place, it feels like you already own it anyway. Someone considers you rude, a bitch, selfish, mysterious, but what everyone agrees on is that you are like a magnet. Constantly pull people in as they try to figure you out and how to avoid falling into your trap.
“You did well out there, for a girl”, another follower said his horrible opinion.
“Thanks! You did horrible out there, you pretentious prick”, you called out to him with a straight face, not bothering to give him any more reaction. You had walked away without a care in the world, after all these men had nothing on you.
Your confidence didn’t lie, Damian Priest definitely noticed. To get you into the Judgement Day he had to find a way to work around your personality. He needed someone who could annoy you enough or break down your walls little by little.
And that led Dominik, Finn, and Damian to make an appearance during your match on Monday night raw. They each had a hard demeanor and were walking too slow for your liking, after all, they did just interrupt your match. You narrow your eyes at them, scoffing at the show they felt the need to put on. You scoffed and ran back to Becky Lynch, throwing her onto the ring with ease, ignoring the trio was easy. They each stood at a side of the ring, watching and examining, waiting for attention. You continued to ignore them and then you pinned Becky, your arm was raised in the air and you pulled no faces. You were 100% straight-faced, you knew the outcome of that match before it started.
Your expression twists into one of dislike when all 3 boys slide into the ring, the microphone being pushed into Dominik’s hand. The crowd was booing before he even had the chance to speak, and quite frankly you were losing interest just standing there. You rolled your eyes and brought your own microphone to your mouth, “Are we done here?”.
“No!” All 3 of them holler.
You shrugged and cupped your ear, you mouthed the words “Sorry I can’t hear you”, as you slipped under the ropes and out of the arena. The boys were more embarrassed than discouraged. While the 3 boys were racking their minds for a way to get you to join the group, Rhea cut in with her own idea. “Do you guys know her at all? She’s not just gonna fall to her knees…someone has to work their way in”, Rhea said and Dominik smirked thinking of dirty things. Rhea glared at the boys as they each smiled at each other, “Dom will have to do it” and quickly his smile dropped.
“What no! She hates me!”
“She hates everyone, you’ll be fine”
———————————————
He puffs out his cheeks and exhales deeply, Dominik spares everyone a nervous glance before walking up to you. Finn and Damian are hiding behind the wall, barely peeking their heads out to see what happens. Again you roll your eyes at them, and you can clearly see them slapping each other and hushing one another while Dominik walks up. Dominik walks up to you all nervous, he wipes his hands on his pants and is continuously glancing back at his friends for support. You stare at him with expectation, and he stands there in silence staring at you (admiring you). "Can I help you?", you quirk your eyebrow at him and put a hand on your hip, clearly impatient. Dominik has yet to say anything but his eyes are speaking for him. You watch the way he is studying you, eyeing you up and desiring you. You can't help but think that's how it should be.
You huff at his silence, slowly getting tired of waiting for him to stop drooling, "I don't have all day". He rushes out his sentence in an instant, "We want you to join the Judgement Day... will you?".
"No", you turn on your heels and move to walk away. Dominik's shoulders drop and he turns to look at his friends, Damian ushers for Dominik to follow after you. And so he does. He practically slides in front of you, his hands out willing you to stop walking, "We need you", caught your attention. Being needed feels so good. You bite your lip, thinking and processing, "Who needs me?". Dominik stands up straighter, once again glancing at Damian and Finn, "The Judgement Day".
Yeah, whatever, the Judgment Day needs you, who cares. Everyone wants you in their faction, it would be a luxury to have the maneater in a group. Hence why your expression is one of disinterest, now Dominik is running out of ways to grab your attention. "I don't like groups", you say in that familiar bland voice. Dominik can feel the frustration bubble inside of him, what does he have to say to get you to join?!?! "I'm leaving-"
"I need you!"
Dominik rushed out, anxious to tell you, to convince you. He stood up straighter and made direct eye contact with you, trying to make himself seem better-looking or hotter. This was so noticeable to you though, in your eyes, Dominik was flexing his muscles and trying to impress you. You aren't easy to impress, but it was kinda cute how much he wanted this. Still, you had no definite answer, after all, you wanted him to chase after you for a while.
You put your hand on his tattooed arm squeezing it and giving him a flirtatious smile, "That's really cute". And with that you finally manage to slip away from Dominik, walking past his friends who are now pretending to be in deep conversation.
With that, Dominik came back over to Damian and Finn, his cheeks abnormally flushed. Damian raised an eyebrow and put a hand on his friend's shoulder for a moment, "What happened man?".
"She called me cute", his eyes were wide.
Finn cackles and Damian sighs, "No man did she say yes or no?". "Neither dude but she talked to me longer than 3 minutes, that's got to be a record", Dominik gushed. Damian couldn't help but smile at his friend's expense, he took Dominik by the shoulder with Finn on the other side of him, walking back to the rooms.
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Dominik's POV
A day has passed and I can't get her out of my mind. I am no better than anyone else who has talked to her and then immediately had a stupid childish crush on her. If anything I should be the one that she gets with, that may have been the first time I've talked to her officially, but it wasn't the first time I noticed her. Her and that wild hair, crazy attitude, fiery personality. God the thought of her drives me fucking crazy.
Your Pov
Usually, I would forget situations such as the one with Dominik. But he was different somehow, maybe it was the way he "needed me". That was probably a lie for all I know, but God it felt nice hearing it come from his mouth. Dominik also had no problem chasing after me, asking me to rethink. But that was a short conversation, not something worth thinking about for hours on end.
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Dominik is jumping up and down, shaking his hands trying to rid himself of his nerves before his match. With two minutes to go, he walked up, waiting for his music to blast. What he wasn't expecting was for you to be standing there 15 minutes before your match also waiting. You were in your complete gear and Dominik would be a idiot not to take in the sight. To him, he's admiring the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. To you... he's being a creep without knowing. But considering how sweet and hot Dominik was with his hair wet and wide admiring eyes, maybe you can let him off the hook. Just barely though..." Hey! My eyes are up here Mysterio", you break him out of the trance. Dominik was definitely in character, or maybe you calling him by his last name sparked a confident flame in him. "Yea those are next", his eyes flickered from your body to your eyes.
No man had the nerve to flirt with you of all people after you caught them getting an eye full. Continuously Dominik Mysterio proves to be different. But you can't let any man get the last word, especially not him. You walk up to him eyes full of intensity, you push Dominik back by the chest, his beautiful eyes staring down at you. Dominik is just barely taller than you, yet you could push him around and he wouldn't say a word in protest. His back hits the wall and he swears at impact, you speak without hesitation "Don't get confident". His eyes are misty, his chest large and he looks the fittest he ever has in his all-black gear, and then his tongue swipes across his bottom lip, "Or what?". Oh, that's how he wanted to play. You could play that game.
You slide your hands behind his neck, bringing your face inevitably closer to his, your lips could touch. But you wouldn't let them, you knew you wouldn't. Once again his cheeks have gone ablaze and he thinks he losing feeling in his legs- and then all of a sudden his music blasts through the arena. A chorus of boos follow but Dominik didn't seem to care, he was transfixed on your glossy lips. You whip around dramatically as you always do with a sway of your hips. Going back to your spot and pointing for Dominik to go out. He shakes his head, running his hands down his face, anything to conceal the look of desire he couldn't control.
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becca-e-barnes · 6 months
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I've been writing my dissertation like that gif of the cat frantically slamming a keyboard (you know the one) but it's got me thinking about professor Bucky and how he might incentivise you to get your work done for his class 😏
"You're not getting an extension. Don't even think about e-mailing me for one." The hardest part of dating your lecturer isn't actually the sneaking around; it's that he's a hell of a lot tougher on you than the rest of the class.
"But Bucky I-" You begin but he cuts you off and you know by the look on his face that there's no point pressing it.
"No. You're more than capable and you've got plenty of time to get it done. You don't need an extension, you need to apply yourself."
God, he's annoying. You know you can do it, you never said you couldn't. You just don't want to. There's a massive difference.
He pulls his copy of the required reading out of his bag, setting it on the desk beside your laptop and it takes everything in you not to bury your head in your hands.
"There. I've helped you enough." He nods towards the textbook but when you don't move, he flicks through the pages with a sigh, leaving it open at the chapter you know you should start with.
You sit there for another few seconds in a foul mood, mentally preparing yourself to sit here for the next few hours.
"How about I help you? I get the impression you need an incentive." He knows you too well, there's nothing more motivating than a little treat. "You have 12,000 words to write. For every 1,000 you write this week, I'll give you an orgasm."
Maybe you should complain about his assignments more often.
"Deal." Hell, if you'd known this was coming, you'd have started ages ago.
"Good girl." He laughs, amused at the rate at which your fingers begin to dance over the keyboard.
Getting started isn't too hard. You type out a quick plan of your chapters, dropping in the sources you know you'll need before starting your introduction and with your focus on your work, you hardly notice Bucky sinking to his knees under the desk.
You feel his warm, open mouthed kisses trailing up your thighs under your skirt and his soft groans drag your attention away from the laptop.
"Don't stop working." He insists, licking your sex through your cotton underwear, letting you enjoy the delicious friction on your cunt. "You're almost at the first thousand and it reads well so far." You feel his hot breath against the now wet cotton while one of your hands falls to tug his hair.
"If you stop typing, I stop licking." He threatens, pulling your panties to the side, gliding his tongue against your skin and groaning at the taste of your arousal.
You have just over 200 words until you reach your first thousand and it should be so easy but it becomes even harder when he sinks two fingers into you and you're able to hear how wet you are already.
His lips engulf your clit, sucking gently while flicking his tongue in vertical strokes in time with his fingers curling inside you. "Such a smart girl. I'm so proud of you." He hums before giving you a few broad strokes with a flat tongue.
He knows what his praise does to you and with your thighs clamped around his head, you fly your way through a few hundred more words. He chuckles when you proudly announce you reached a thousand but you don't stop typing at the same frantic pace.
"Sweetheart, if you want to get all 12,000 done this evening, I'll sit here as long as it takes." He smiles against your skin before giving you everything he knows you need. His tongue flicks quickly over your clit and his fingertips rub against the soft, spongy spot inside you and in no time you're gushing against his face, gripping his hair and riding your high out on his waiting tongue.
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anlian-aishang · 5 months
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Vampire!Levi & Cunnilingus
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Tags: levi x reader, smut, cunnilingus, period sex, blood, reader is propped against the wall, modern AU, college party, alcohol mention, fem!reader Word count: 2200 A/N: Thank you @bluebellhairpin for putting on the incredible Friday Night Bash! Had too much fun with this event 🖤 A/N2: Wrote a similar fic here if you are interested 🖤
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You supposed it was only natural. 
At this age, motivation was a scarce resource. The burlier men donned flannel and jeans and called themselves lumberjacks. Any girl could become any cat with enough black eyeliner. 
Levi was the only vampire here, yet his costume seemed to take no more effort than anyone else’s. If anything, he was born a natural. Thin brows and slivered eyes. Jet black hair and moonlit skin. Fangs just barely curtained by red lips. Simultaneously, somehow the most convincing yet the most casually constructed. 
He noticed, you did too, the utter contrast that your roles conveyed. Levi was dressed head to toe in black, sparing only the white cravat tucked beneath his chin. You, on the other hand, had whipped all the white out from your closet and feigned yourself an angel. In his eyes, you weren’t feigning. House party vape could be reimagined as clouds, a heavenly background to your character. It made you shine through the swarm of sweaty brats. You were one of a handful who was neither spilling their drink nor coughing it up. In the middle of the room, a wallflower, staring down at her virgin spirit and clutching it in two hands. 
White tights hugged your legs. Blank sheer skirt hardly hid that contour. Long sleeves for the cold Halloween night, the layers beneath had compounded to caress your curves. You were covered from top to bottom. Still, Levi could read you like a book. Hard cover. Soft cover. Levi clenched his teeth and growled. 
You looked lonely as ever, tugged in contradictory directions of yearning: begging for someone to start the conversation for you, praying that no one would notice you, imagining meeting a guy here, thinking up excuses to ditch this party early. Your desires, Levi saw them, and he longed to fill all of them.
His hands began to twitch, irritated that his thoughts were getting too sentimental for his liking. Indeed, when his thirst neared such dangerous levels, he found composure harder to retain. Nails curled against the glass highball: is she really the one? 
The one he had traversed miles for. The one he had craved for the past several days. A scent and taste he needed so badly, Levi would suffer a college party for it. After all, that was why he was here. He clutched his head with his hand, silk glove smooth against his forehead. Bangs pushed to the sides, he held that grip and released a heavy sigh. At first, he thought he had done well to pinpoint it to one apartment building, even better to one apartment unit. Only once he ascended the staircase, heard the blaring music and saw the glaring lights, did he realize that the hardest part of this search was yet to come. Over a hundred people here. Half of them potential subjects. All he could do was stand idle and observe feverishly: who was the source?
Already, the bias was brewing for you, it was why his pupils were particularly quick to snap at the sudden drop of red that soiled your pristine outfit. Your inner thigh. Levi blinked harshly, but that trickle did not fade. Better yet, it tracked along the inner seam of your pantyhose: blotting, darkening. 
Toes curled against the soles of his leather shoes. Calves strained to dilute his pace as he began to gravitate towards you. From your perspective, strobe flashes of red made his approach play like a slideshow. Before you could discern who he was and what he was doing, the room would turn black again. Suddenly, he was only inches away, steady eyes met your widened ones.
“H’Hey,” Inside of his gloves, Levi pinched the inside of his palm. The attempt to ground himself did not defeat his stutter. “I thought -” a clear of his throat, “- thought I should let you know…” Levi leaned in, his lips to your ear.
His breath was cold on your skin. Beneath your blouse and in the wake of his chill, you felt your nipples peak against the fabric - even more so when he whispered, “You’re bleeding.”
On your gasp, you nearly choked. Levi found it adorable how you immediately, instinctively, brought your hand between your legs. Shameful was your expression. Shameless were your actions. Beneath your skirt, you palmed around, frantically feeling for proof of his claim. Three fingers to the slip of your panties were quickly soaked. With your gaze deadset in shock then panic, Levi allowed himself a lick of his lips. 
You turned over your shoulder to examine your backside, inadvertently revealing it to him as well. A teardrop of crimson just below your spine, having seeped through your underwear, tights, and skirt, Levi was hyper-aware of how wet you must have been in order to achieve those levels of penetration. The thought, the image, of your skin slickened in syrup made his pants turn tight.
His erection surged further when you beckoned him towards the stairway. “Maybe you could help me find a change of clothes?” 
An invitation.
"And help me out of these ones?"
Though watching you bleed through this outfit would be a fantasy for the millennium, he felt his levels dripping to empty. He needed it. Your blood in him. Now. 
But his needs were far from your mind. It was one of the only reasons your roommates had convinced you to allow them to host this get-together in the first place. You can’t sleep with guys if you don’t meet some guys. They had made it their mission to help you find someone, and it didn’t even have to be an eternal someone - though Levi Ackerman happened to be. Someone to show you a good time, to help you unwind a little. Of course, you would not settle for a trash bag, but a man who was willing to display such honesty and no disgust about the symptoms of your period - he had to be a good one, and he wasn’t hard on the eyes either. 
Your expectations had been low, perhaps a little too low. Least of all nights did you expect a booze-filled Halloween party to be the night that you brought a guy up to your room. Flinging open the door, you were met with violent whiplash: why the hell didn’t I clean?!
Chocolate bar wrappers on the floor. Midol on the nightstand. A box of overnight pads at the foot of the bed. Triple-thick tampons in a plastic bag that hung around the other side of your door handle. Worst of all, blood-stained underwear that had sorely missed the hamper and instead carpeted your floor.
“Oh my god, I’m - I’m so sorry!” You darted into the room and tried to fling the evidence out of sight. Obviously, Levi had just been deathly upfront about noticing your period. Yet, you were mortified, back turned to him and hurling apologies, “This - This is not very sexy, I know.”
Levi could only shake his head and clench his teeth. You had that all wrong. He would take this menstruation-riddled bedroom over a honeymoon suite any night. Silent footsteps brought his front to your back, his palm to your waist, “Just leave it,” Levi exhaled, his voice teetered on moaning, “and leave yourself to me.”
His arousal solid and warm against your blood-soaked backside, your enamor spiked: not only cool about this time of the month, but hot for it. You ground yourself against his member, satisfied with his length, you reached your hand to his neck and pulled him close. “Undress me, Levi.”
You were the only one who viewed this as a one-night stand. If anything, Levi hoped that you would live with him forever, that you would continue to flow, and that he could spend eternity swallowing you down. However, the haste in his movements implied that the two of you shared that one-night fervor. Nails scraped down your hips as he yanked your bloodied tights to your feet. Instead of taking them off, he used the excess length to make knots around your ankles, binding your legs into a loop. 
With inhuman strength and alarming speed, Levi had you in his arms and slammed against your bedroom wall before you could summon the breath to screech. Levi slipped himself within the cage of your legs. Backs of your knees to his shoulders. Heels dug into his nape. Your sex dwindled tantalizingly close to his mouth. 
Holy hell, you gasped, no man had ever had you like this before. By this point, you had learned that period sex was a rarity, receiving head during that time of the month - an impossibility. Instead, Levi dove straight in, unlike any of the rest.
And oh, were you spot-on about that. Levi Ackerman was no man. His skills were no act. The hair, the outfit, the fangs no occasion. This was his truest self: out of this world. He was grateful for the holiday, the one day of the year that his vest, slacks, and perfectly polished shoes would stand out. Levi admired the red lights of the party, making everyone’s irises match his giveaway shade. The greatest obstacle - the invitation, the consent - you had granted before he even had to ask. All tells he had fretted over, you made yourself perfectly blind to them. As your sex bled right before his eyes, he could only chuckle and admit, “so fucking pathetic.” 
Perhaps he was projecting. He had not even tasted you yet, had not even stripped you free, and already, he felt he was on the edge. His tip swelled against the cold metal belt buckle. Black pants hid the damp that precum had created. For a second, his mind flickered: which one of you was more wet? The answer came to him, though, by a glob of blood that dripped from your core and onto his white cravat.
Looking down, you were horrified. Mouth fell agape, an utter loss for words. Levi made up for your shortcomings as his sentiment flowed freely. 
“Oh? What’s this? Having a hard time containing yourself?” At his waist, his arousal made a mockingly timed rise. 
His teasing pricked your skin, each capillary blazed in embarrassment. You could not bear to make eye contact, instead, glued to his pristine white cloth that you had forever tainted. Years of experience, you knew those stains did not come out. 
Levi had a way.
Slowly, his tongue slid over his bottom lip and dragged along the silk threads. One strong, deliberate swipe had erased your DNA from the garment. In the throes of midnight, your eyes struggled to be sure, but Levi himself knew. At the first taste of your blood, he was sparked with revival.
“Mmm,” Levi hummed, “tastes good.” For now, he withheld: even better than I anticipated.
Though neither his hunger nor thirst were yet satiated. Not until you were sucked bone-dry, not until your pussy ran clear. Eating you out, he snuck occasional glances to affirm you were not at those milestones. In his frame of mind, rather, he had not yet brought you to them. 
Levi was the kind to savor the taste, but there was little indication of that on this cold autumn night. The motions of his tongue were swift. His slurping was delectably crude, coating his throat and coaxing out even more dirty talk. His canines grazed your most sensitive spots. You thought to ask him to take his fangs off, but in the end, realized you adored them. Good thing, they were irremovable.
Not one drop of you made it past that cravat. Most of your mess had been clotted by his skin. A red stripe ran down his face as he brought his whole front to the middle of your battle. Sweet metal. Saccharine iron. A salted cocktail. That was your drink - one he guzzled. When you asked for his fingers, he would religiously lick them clean.
Your muscles had grown weak, having lost count of how many times you had climaxed thus far. He had kept you in ignorant, mutually selfish bliss for god knows how long. It was only when you reached your arm towards him, combing through his hair and petting his head, that you realized how drained you were. Hardly able to speak, faint and incoherent, “You like that, huh? Like that, Levi?”
Through drenched bangs, he gazed up to meet your eye contact. So fucked-out, you paid no mind to the scarlet of his stare. “It’s like you can’t get enough.”
Cruelly timed, he felt your ridges start to clench around his face again. Nonchalant, he spoke into you as you began to cum again. “Makes two of us, then.”
Words seemed to make rhythm with your waves, and each one, you swore was better than the last. Tilting your head back against the wall, you arched yourself further into him, “F’Fuck, Levi!!” 
How did he - in just one night - manage to do you like this? 
Little did you know, it was not just one night, but an entire lifetime that he had been waiting, anticipating, preparing for this moment. You would remember this encounter as a night that you happened to cross paths with the man of your dreams. Levi saw it a very different way, no chance happening: the evening that he had scoured enough of this goddamned earth. A tale of lifeblood: the clean freak to your mess, monthly or otherwise.
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Kinktober Year 3 Masterlist
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pedrito-friskito · 2 years
Note
for the numbered smut prompt thing;
39 and 40! ("It's not my fault you keep turning me on" & "you look so good with my hands wrapped around your neck")
w either frank or matt maybe 👀 -🐹
okay nonnie….you…I….I MAKE NO APOLOGIES FOR THIS ONE.
you said frank OR matt and my feral fucking brain said NOPE BOTH and I love the prompts but “you look so good” doesn’t fit with our darling matt murdock exactly sooooooo here we go
absolute FILTH under the cut (threesome, dp, fingering, the whole big show — or most of it at least, i regret NOTHING)
((also - tagging all my matt AND frank babies under the cut, but heed the above and DNI if it’s not your thing - FAIR WARNING))
🔥friday night fever!🔥
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How is it possible for something to feel like far too much and not nearly enough, all at once?
You knew what you were getting into, agreeing to this. You’d had days to mull it over, both of them telling you more than once that there was absolutely no pressure, that the decision was completely up to you. The notion was far too appealing to pass up, and you’d be lying if you said the thought hadn’t crossed your mind once before, a lavish daydream to indulge in when the man himself wasn’t around to satisfy you.
It had shocked you, in truth, when the idea was first proposed. Matt has always had a bit of a possessive streak in him, so hearing that he was on board with it, that he was willing to share you, just for the night, it sent your pulse racing. Afterwards, after Frank had left and it was just the two of you alone in the apartment, he’d sidled closer to you on the couch, lips close to your ear and hand curling around your thigh.
“Think it over, sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing the soft spot beneath your ear, making your thighs clench together, desperate to relieve the pressure you could already feel building. “I can tell what’s it’s doing to you, how excited you are. It’s okay. I don’t mind sharing, letting him pleasure you, too. Just this once.” He smirked against your skin. “This is about you, and Castle…knows what he’s doing. I trust him.” A gentle nip at your pulse. “I trust you.”
And so you had, you thought it over. You thought long and hard about it, what it meant, the boundaries you wanted set, every single thing you would and wouldn’t agree to. Matt knew your limits, had probably discussed them with Frank before they even mentioned this to you, but still, you wanted to be clear. You didn’t want any lines crossed.
Like Matt said, just this once. 
Your only worry, is that once wouldn’t be enough. For any of you.
Frank Castle is the polar opposite of Matthew Murdock, in every sense of the word. Brash where Matt is methodical, broody where Matt is amiable, violent where Matt is…less violent. You knew the stories, the details of what Daredevil and the Punisher had gone through, the blood that had been spilled and the revenge that had been sought. You knew tidbits of Frank Castle’s past, enough to make your heart ache for the man, what he’d been through, what he’d seen. Things no person should be made to endure. And he’s friendly, surprisingly so, easy to talk to and easier to joke with, poking fun at Matt as the two of you ate dinner at that Italian place down on 42rd Street, bottles of wine emptying faster than usual, conversation going well into the night, until the waiter had to gently remind you that the kitchen was closing and the dining room would soon follow.
“Quite the lady you have here, Red,” Frank had said, grinning wide at you as you walked out of the restaurant, you tucked under Matt’s arm, the three of you hiding from the rain under the restaurant’s awning. “You’re a lucky man.”
“The luckiest,” Matt had agreed, pressing a kiss to your temple. “It was good to see you, Castle.”
“You too, Red,” Frank replied, reaching for your hand, lifting it to his mouth and kissing your knuckles. He jutted his chin towards Matt. “Take care of this one, will ya, doll? He’s a special guy.”
You watched him walk away, watched the back of Frank disappear into the rainy New York night, and Matt had just chuckled. “He’s good looking, isn’t he?”
“What?” you’d sputtered, the wine and embarrassment making your face heat, turning on your heel and starting in the direction of Matt’s apartment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Your heartbeat tells me all I need to know, sweetheart,” he said, catching up to you easily, threading his arm through yours. “It’s okay, honest. Foggy always said I had a knack for attracting pretty girls, maybe it works both ways.”
He hadn’t said anything more, though you’d rethought the conversation for weeks. Weeks of mulling over your interaction with Frank, the gentleness so clearly hidden behind a menacing exterior, the easy way in which he and Matt spoke, the obvious bond between them.
And then, a proposition.
The proposition.
You’re still worried, that once won’t be enough. You said as much, in the same breath that you’d agreed to their idea. Frank’s smile had widened, and Matt had adjusted himself in his seat, throat bobbing as he said, “Well, there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?”
There had been a brief conversation about scheduling another night, blocking off a Friday night where you could have dinner again, drink your fill and get comfortable, but something had stopped you. Looking at the two of them, opposites but not, feeling the magnetic pull that dragged you towards both of them, your heart forever belonging to Matt but your body begging, if only this once, to belong to Frank. Your hands gripped the couch cushion furiously, nails biting into the fabric as you stared between them, each sat in a chair, Frank sprawled wide with his arms out, Matt hunched forward, hands folded in front of him.
“What about tonight?”
Frank had looked at Matt, Matt’s brow had raised ever so slowly, and that was that.
You’re not quite sure who decided on the shower, or when the button was pressed that brought them both to life, but it’s overwhelming in the best kind of way. The water is hot, pounding down onto your bodies, steam swirling through the bathroom. 
One minute you were standing in the living room, toying with your hands, sure of your devious but unsure where to start, and the next you were in the bathroom, the tiles cold beneath your feet. Matt stood behind you, mouth pressed against your neck, dragging kisses along your skin while Frank stood in front of you, just watching, the muscle in his jaw ticking as Matt slowly undid the zipper on your dress.
Heat rose in your face as Matt pulled at the collar of your dress, nudging it down your front, unhooking your bra at the same time, pushing all the fabric away, towards your hips. Frank was stoic, silent, giving nothing away as he watched. You could feel Matt’s body behind you, the tell-tale hardness prodding at your backside. His hands roved your body as they always did, like no one was watching. There was something in Frank’s gaze, something curious, and you realized he was watching Matt’s hands, watching where he touched and how he did so, cataloguing your body and tracing your outline.
You’d hissed when Matt’s hand cupped your breast, thumb swiping over your nipple and squeezing lightly. At the same time, his hips rolled into your ass, cock straining against his zipper. “Matt.”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he crooned in your ear, “it’s not my fault you keep turning me on.” He nipped at your earlobe. “You always do.”
It was more of a blur as both men undressed, the bathroom floor soon more fabric than tile, and while Matt walked you backwards into the shower, the water turned hot and soaking you instantly, Frank moved slower. He prowled towards you, eyes raking over your body. He stepped under the spray with you and Matt, water dripping down his broad chest, running in rivulets down his torso and legs. You were rapt, not sure where to look, your heart skipping at Matt’s attention behind you, his hands still roaming your body, and Frank’s lust-blown stare, dark eyes pinning you in place like a predator stalking it’s prey. You let your eyes drop, the heat in your face almost unbearable.
And here you are.
He closes the distance between you, one hand reaching for yours, threading your fingers together, while the other notches under your chin, lifting your gaze to his face. “Can I kiss ya, princess?” he drawls, his eyes scanning your face, lingering on your lips. Your mouth parts softly, and Frank’s eyes move over your shoulder. “That okay with you, Red?”
“Only if she says yes,” Matt says, punctuating his answer with a sharp spank to your ass, face buried in your neck. “This is about her.”
“We’re on the same page, then,” Frank agrees, and his eyes slide back to you. “Whatta ya say, pretty girl?”
You nod once, your eyes growing heavy-lidded as Matt’s hand slides between your legs from behind, fingers glancing along your inner thighs, pushing your legs a little wider to give him better access to your pussy. Frank leans forward, hand still under your chin, and you gasp into his mouth as he kisses you, Matt’s mouth sucking at your shoulders, fingers sliding into you. The sound of the shower seems thunderous, your ears nearly ringing as Frank kisses you. 
It’s jarring, how different it is to kissing Matt. Harsher, in a way, which fits completely, more teeth and tongue, the fingers knocked beneath your chin turning very quickly into his hand around your throat, middle finger and thumb either side of your windpipe. Matt’s fingers brush against that devastating spot inside you, and coupled with Frank squeezing your neck lightly, your legs are shaking. You can feel yourself rushing towards that cliff, nearly dangling off of it, but you don’t want to, not just yet. This can’t be over this fast.
Frank pulls back, eyes on your face again, and the grin on his lips is feral, licking the taste of your mouth off his own. His hand doesn’t move from your throat, fingers twitching against your pulse. “Oh, you like this, don’t you?” he asks, squeezing again until you gasp, nodding sharply in his grasp. “God damn, you look so good with my hand wrapped around your neck.”
You reach behind you, turning your head to the side as Frank leans in again. His mouth drags along your jaw, and you push at Matt’s arm. He leans in to kiss your cheek as Frank’s attention moves to your neck, your collar. “What is it, sweetheart?”
“I need your cock, Matt,” you tell him, your voice nearly a whine. Frank’s fingers flex on your throat. “Please.”
“Okay, baby,” he replies, hands running down your sides, grabbing a handful of your ass as he takes his hard cock in hand, positioning himself between your legs from behind. Frank turns your head, putting your eyes on his face again, and you gasp as you feel the tip of Matt’s cock press against your entrance.
Frank’s just watching you, his gaze boring into yours, and you barely have time to react as he reaches for your other hand, pulling it down towards his cock. You let your eyes dip as your fingers wrap around him, sucking in a breath at the sight of his length. He’s got girth, not as long as Matt, but fuck, if that’s not the thickest cock you’ve ever seen. Refusing to shy away from a challenge, you pump him, the movement dragging your bodies closer together as Matt thrusts in all the way, sheathing himself inside you with a low groan.
“How’s she feel, Red?” Frank asks, his eyes still glued to your face. Your mouth drops open as Matt starts to move, hips slapping wetly against your ass, hands gripping your hips like his life depends on it. 
“So good, Castle,” Matt replies, his voice high and breathless. You can feel his head pressed against your spine, his hold on your waist tightening. “You have no fucking idea. So wet.” He thrusts hard, the movement jarring you forward, but Frank holds you in place. “God, you’re squeezing me so tight, baby.”
Every breath you take sounds like a moan, and Frank’s feral grin returns, a groan stuttering past his lips as you squeeze him. “Gotta say, it’s quite the view, watching you make her fall apart like this. You know what you’re doing, Red.” You bring your hand up, twisting your wrist and curving your palm over the tip of him. “Fuck, so does she.”
Matt’s head lifts from your back, and he pulls you back onto his cock, your knees nearly buckling as the tip of his cock finds that immaculate spot inside you, the pleasure nearly making your eyes roll back.
“Oh, she liked that, Red,” Frank says. “Do it again.”
Matt does, another wet slap echoing through the bathroom, and the sound that falls out of you is somewhere between a moan and a squeal, your legs going tense as white-hot pleasure shoots down your limbs. Frank crowds closer to you, still gripping your throat, and you’re stuck watching as he brings his free hand to his mouth, pushing two fingers past his lips.
“Eyes on me, princess,” he tells you, hand disappearing from view. “Keep stroking my cock like a good girl, yeah?” You do as he says, curving your palm over his sensitive tip again, lips quirking in a grin when he groans. “Yeah, you’re a good girl.” He moves impossibly closer, just enough room between your bodies for your hand around his cock, and his, moving between your legs, right where you’re split around Matt’s cock. He drags his fingers along your hot skin, and he must touch Matt too, because you hear his harsh gasp behind you, the next thrust he gives you impossibly harder.
“Make her cum, Castle,” Matt rasps out, leaning his forehead on your shoulder, his pace unrelenting. “Rub her clit until she screams.”
Frank grins. “Don’t have to tell me twice, Red.”
You let out a high-pitched gasp as Frank’s thick fingers find your clit, rubbing a harsh circle that has your toes curling against the tile. You try to keep up your strokes, your grip tight on Frank’s cock, but it’s almost impossible to concentrate, your mind hurtling elsewhere as your body tries to comprehend the sensations, the thick press of Matt into your pussy, the targeted pleasure of Frank’s fingers on your clit.
“Hey, I said, eyes on me,” Frank commands, and you hadn’t realized you let them flutter shut, your throat hiccuping in his grip as the pleasure climbs. You reach your free hand back, curling around Matt’s hip, squeezing until your nails dig in. You have to release Frank’s cock, but he doesn’t seem to mind, his own touch growing more and more insistent, the slide of his thick fingers curling down until he’s inside you too, knuckles brushing Matt’s cock while his thumb circles your clit. “C’mon, pretty girl, you gonna cum?” he asks, squeezing your windpipe just enough.
That’s what makes you topple over the edge, the sheer intensity of the feeling, the instant weightlessness that pours over you like a tidal wave. You’ve never felt anything like this before, and you try to keep your eyes on Frank’s, you really do, but it’s no use. The pleasure wracks your body, leaving you twitching and keening in their arms. Matt’s not far behind you, cumming with a shout that’s barely muffled against your shoulder. Frank seems unfazed, keeping his fingers right where they are, and as you return to your body, you don’t miss the way his eyes glance at Matt, still lust-blown and curious.
Matt pulls out first, leaning back against the shower wall, and Frank follows a moment later, but pushes his fingers deeper first, dragging the pads along that same spot Matt had hammered into. When he pulls them from you, his skin is coated with your cum and Matt’s, the milky fluid running between his knuckles.
You grab his wrist, opening your mouth as you push his fingers past your teeth, sucking them clean, flickering your tongue over his skin. Frank just grins. “Fuck. Tell me what you want, pretty girl. You gonna take us both next?” He releases your throat, reaching around and giving your ass a quick slap. “Gonna let me in this tight ass while Red fucks your pussy again? Huh? What do you want?”
You’re heaving breaths as he pulls his fingers from your mouth, and Matt is pressed against your back a moment later, arms twining around your waist, kissing your neck again. “Tell us what you want, sweetheart,” he whispers.
You blink hard, sinking into Matt’s touch, reaching for Frank’s wrist and moving his hand back between your legs.
“More.”
—————
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I will reblog w/ taglists - there’s too many of you!
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anonair · 1 year
Text
𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐌𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐌𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐌𝐞- 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐬 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞
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𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: harsh language & smut. 18+!!!
𝙁𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧.
𝙍𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙮: reignsxlover (ON WATTPAD)
𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙.
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Roman had been in the mafia since before you two were married. He had always been secretive with his work and very protective over you. So, it would lead to a lot of lonely nights without him. You’d always call, but lately, you’d get the voicemail. While there are many cons, there is always one thing you could count on to be great: sex. You couldn’t stay mad at him after he does you so good...
READ HERE
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southerngirl41 · 1 year
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Hello everyone! While this isn't my first story it's my first post here so please bare with me while I figure this out!
RATING: MATURE 18+
BETRAYED
This night was coming sooner or later. What I hadn't prepared for was it happening at the Royal Rumble. Tonight he would betray The Bloodline. He being my older brother Rami or Sami Zayn as the WWE Universe called him. When I say I wasn't prepared for this, it was because I liked to be kept in the dark about the outcome of their matches. I wanted to be surprised and shocked just like the fans. So, many years ago I made my brother promise not to ever tell me anything about the shows. "Let me be surprised like everyone else." I remember telling him when he was given a full time position on the roster. 
I paced around Gorilla as they waited for their music. I say their music, it was actually Roman Reigns' music. Rami had been in a storyline with The Bloodline for the past six months or more and loved every moment of it. I was happy for him; the world was finally getting to see the man that I knew. He was charismatic and funny and loved to make Joe and the twins break character. The fans lived for those moments.  
"Amira."
I turned, hearing a familiar voice call my name. I knew Joe's voice anywhere, it was deep and distinctive and always seemed to carry over anyone else's in the room. It was no secret that he and I didn't quite get along. There was an air of tension that hung heavy in any room we occupied. I don't know why but we just didn't mesh. He was cocky and I didn't like his attitude. He claimed I was stubborn and bratty. There were a few heated arguments between Rami and I when he told me the plans for his character to join ‘The Bloodline.’ I had my reservations about Joe in the beginning and I still had them all these months later.
"Yeah?" I asked, crossing my arms and meeting his dark gaze.
"You ready?"
Fuck no. I screamed in my head. "Always." was what I said out loud accompanied by my best fake smile. 'Roman' had a match with 'Kevin Owens', who had been real-life best friends with my brother for at least twenty years. I'd been around these guys for as long as my brother had been in the business. I traveled with him every week and for all intents and purposes I was his personal assistant. I'd pretty much grown up in the business with him.  He started wrestling at eighteen, I was sixteen and followed him around like a little duckling. He was my best friend. 
An arm draped across my shoulder, pulling me away from my thoughts; it was Josh, one of the twins. "You sure you're ready boo?" He asked sweetly. He had always been my favorite amongst their family. That brooding, angry, scowling guy you saw on TV was not the real life Josh. He loved to cut up and joke at every opportunity but tonight he had a very serious, somber look clouding his handsome face. Turning my head toward his, I smiled, "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"
"Because it's gonna be bad." He whispers in my ear causing my eyebrows to shoot up in surprise, "I don't wanna know." I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. They all knew not to tell me.
This match was huge, they'd been building up to it for weeks. Paul, the head of Creative, had asked me to make an appearance on television after the match. He didn't tell me anything other than, "Go with your gut."  Part of me was happy that he trusted me with an appearance on live television and the other part of me was curious as to why he'd give me such freedom on live television. I wasn't a stranger to the fans, quite the opposite actually, I'd made many appearances over the years; all of them backstage, but none quite as big as this one. I'd never been out to the ring in front of the crowd…
"I just don't know what I'm supposed to do."
Joe sighed, "If you'd let someone tell you what was going on, you'd know." 
Shaking my head, I rolled my eyes as he stared me down. “Asshole”, I mumbled under my breath. "It's probably best that she doesn't know." Paul Heyman chimed in, "They want her honest reaction. They're trying to make all this more authentic."
"How am I going to know when to come out?"
"You'll know." They all said in unison. 
Midway though the match the twins and I watched on the monitors in Gorilla as Roman brutalized Kevin, showing him no mercy as he slammed his head into the steel steps at ringside not once but twice.  I winced, burying my head into Josh's arm as he continued his assault. "I don't think I can watch this." I tell them as Joe pulled out two pairs of handcuffs, intent on cuffing Kevin to the ropes. It all seemed so personal for some reason. I wondered if this wasn't payback for the unplanned slap that Kevin gave Joe at Survivor Series that busted his eardrum? 
Joe was vindictive enough to do such a thing. 
"We're up- " Josh says, looking down at me,  "better make sure those shoes are tied tight, got a feeling you gonna be runnin’." With a wink and a smile in my direction they took off through the curtain toward the ring. 
Gnawing on my thumbnail I watched nervously as The Bloodline beat Kevin as he was handcuffed to the ropes. My heart was pounding against my chest as Joe asked my brother to get him a chair. This was the ultimate test Roman was talking about. He wanted to know if my brother was going to be true to his Bloodline and fall in line like his cousins did. I saw the hesitation on his face as slid out of the ring looking for a chair. "Don't do it." I pleaded to the monitor along with everyone in the arena. Eventually finding a chair under the ring he hands it off only for the beating to continue.  It was so incredibly painful to watch, knowing Kevin for as long as I had. It was hard for me to keep my heart and the business separated at times. 
Then it happened. 
Sami steps between the two men. Roman holds the chair out to Sami telling him to hit Kevin.  Refusing to hit Kevin, he turns the chair on Roman. Jimmy and Solo turned immediately on Sami and Jey feeling conflicted rolled out of the ring; stunning everyone.
All hell broke loose in that moment. In all the years I had been around this business I'd never heard a pop from the crowd like I did the moment Joe fell to his knees. I let out a long breath, this was the moment they were talking about. I knew I had to get in that ring. I smoothed out my long brown hair and stepped through the curtains. I took off running, adrenaline kicking in knowing that my brother was taking a beating from The Bloodline. Josh caught me halfway down the entrance, he was crying, really crying. Two cameramen surrounded us, I knew I had to play my part. ‘Go with your gut.’ The words echoed through my mind as Josh's words mixed with the crowd that was still erupting. 
“Stay outta there Amira!” he yelled, trying his best to hold me back. “Don't get mixed up in this, please!” he pleads as the camera guy stands inches from our faces. “Let me go Jey! I’ve gotta help my brother.” I scream, pulling his arms off of me. He finally lets me go, throwing his hands in the air in defeat. Just as I slid underneath the ropes the chair shots had begun. I threw myself across my brother who lay helpless on his back; his shirt had been ripped off at some point during their attack. 
His face full of rage, Roman bends down and yells, “Get the hell outta here! You have no business being out here. This is family business!" 
“Sami is my family, you asshole!”
“Solo, get her outta here, now!”
Sami lay motionless in the center of the ring as Solo grabbed me around the waist, pulling me off of him. “Let me go Solo!” I screamed, kicking the air as he pulled me away. My ears were ringing as the noise from the crowd reached an unbelievable fever pitch. I fought the tight grip he had around my waist as I watched Jimmy and Roman kick and punch my brother. “Leave him alone, get off of him!” I screamed as loud as I could. My body was on edge, my heart pounding. Never in my thirty six years had I experienced this amount of adrenaline. Touching my face, surprised to feel that my cheeks were wet; I was crying. I screamed again and again for them to stop, my emotions on edge. All of this felt so real. I'd seen my brother get his ass kicked thousands of times over the years but this was different. Maybe it was the roar of the crowd or seeing Jey's emotional reaction. This time it scared me. I didn't want his run with The Bloodline to end. They were just that good together.
“Gonna let you go, go hit Roman.” Solo says so that only I could hear. I pretend to pry Solo’s hands apart and take off across the ring, practically jumping onto Roman, taking him down. A wicked grin spreads across his face as I straddle his waist. He puts his arms behind his head, refusing to hit me. “Keep going baby girl, I'm enjoying it!’ he yells smugly. “I hate you! I hate you!” I repeat over and over and I pound on his chest, tears streaming down my face. He grabbed me by the waist and rolled over on top of me, his dark eyes boring a hole into the depths of my soul. “Lets bring it home.” he says quietly with a wink, meaning it was time to wrap this thing up. 
Hoping to his feet, he pulled me up, the cameraman moving in closer to us as he started to speak. Placing his arm around my shoulder,  “You see what your brother did to me? To my family? He betrayed me! I loved him, I gave him everything and you see how he repays me? He chose Kevin over me! Do you think he’d choose you? Do you? Answer me Amira!”
“Y- Yes!” I stuttered as his hand slipped to my waist, pulling me into his side. “He won't choose you. But I will. I’ll welcome you with open arms babygirl.” With a nod of his head, Solo and Jimmy sat on the second rope, lowering it for me to step out; Roman right behind me. Stunned and confused, I followed them out of the ring.
As we stood beside the ring, my brother still breathing heavily, the remnants of their red lei’s sprinkled around his body;  Kevin handcuffed to the ropes, Roman slipped his hand into mine. Bringing it to his lips he placed a soft kiss on my hand. “Welcome to the Bloodline baby.”
I had just betrayed my own brother.
We came through the curtain to a round of cheers and applause; Josh standing there waiting for us as well. High fives were exchanged among the crew and the guys for a job well done. Joe pulled me away from the crowd, slipping quietly down the hall and out of sight. “Where are we going?” I questioned as his grip on my hand tightened. “Quiet.” he growled as we walked deeper into the corridors of the arena. “In here.” he says, dragging me into a dark inlet under the seats. His lips were on mine the moment we were out of the hallway. “Joe-” I moaned into his mouth as his thick lips captured mine. “Mmm?” he replied, kissing my jaw before unbuttoning my jeans. Breathlessly, I asked, “What are we doing?” as his lips found mine once more.
He broke the kiss, “Don’t you feel it, this tension between us?”
My hands were in his wet hair as he pressed his body to mine, grinding himself against me. “I- yeah…we can’t do this.”
“Why?” 
Hesitantly I reached out to wrap my hands around his waist. His skin warm and supple as I ran my hands across his sweaty back, my nails digging into his skin as his hand slipped between my jeans and panties, I sucked in a sharp ragged breath as a long finger dipped inside me. “Mmm, so wet.” he groans. My head dropped back as I moaned loudly. 
"Do you want me to stop?" He questioned, face buried in my hair as his finger pumped in and out of me.
"I- I…"
"Say it." 
"Mmm."
"Say it Amira. Say you want me to stop."
I held onto his broad shoulders as I drew closer to climax. "Ahhh. No…Joe, please." I begged as I grabbed his neck, needing to feel his lips against mine. His tongue snaked its way in between my lips, dancing forcefully with mine as I moaned, grinding myself against his hand. 
Without warning he withdrew his hands and turned me around quickly, yanking my jeans and panties over my hips in one swift motion.  "Bend over." He commanded as he quickly unzipped his pants. My hands splayed across the cinderblock wall as I bent over best I could. My body jerked feeling the tip of his cock rub my wet, throbbing pussy. 
"Last chance." He moaned, sliding the head into my folds. 
"Fuck me." 
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butwhyduh · 2 months
Note
honestly jdk just tim drake x reader where one/or multiple of the batfam walks in?? i just find them entertaining, or they are continually being interrupted through the day!
Warning: eventual smut and Tim is done with everyone’s shit. If it’s not the end of the world, don’t call me- level done. And you can tell it’s fanfic because Tim is actually an adult.
Tim didn’t get into shows very often. He’s busy and he has a terrible habit of falling asleep after the first 10 minutes. He didn’t want to watch the show but he was tinkering with some of his tech while sitting on the couch and you put it on. And that’s how he got sucked in.
“And Daphne said yes to that? Drew is not good enough to lie to her friends over,” he said and you started telling him the backstory.
You binge watch the next few episodes to catch up to the new season. It was a fun and scandalous show, nothing like Tim’s usual picks. And he thought it was cute how animated you were when talking about the show.
“Trevor needs to get his shit together or not only is Naomi going to leave him, he’ll go to jail,” Tim said.
“Yeah but he owes the local crime boss money and he said he’d kill his family otherwise,” you countered.
“Sounds like Gotham,” Tim quipped. You lightly smacked his arm before laying your head on his shoulder and entangling your arm in his.
“That is not comforting,” you said. “Oo they’re going to tell us who took the diamonds!”
The bat phone started ringing almost off the coffee table. You groaned and let Tim go to sit up to answer that.
“The corner of 17 and Parkway? How many combatants?” He said in Bat speak. And that’s when you knew your date night was over. He hung up and turned to you looking apologetic.
“I have to go,” he said. You sighed but pulled him into a hug.
“Be safe. I’ll be here,” you said with practices familiarity. He kissed you before grabbing his stuff and leaving. He didn’t get back until hours later with some fresh bruises and a girlfriend asleep on the couch.
It was 2 days later that you tried to continue the show. Tim had told Bruce to call someone else first. The door was locked and his phone was on silence. You’d even given him some pretty good incentives if you were uninterrupted and alone after the show.
It was all of ten minutes into the continued episode with pho takeout on the way that the fire escape window opened. In flopped Nightwing covered in mud.
“No,” Tim groaned. You huffed before pausing the show. “Do you need help?”
“Only a bit,” Dick said as the understatement of the year. He let Tim look at him to find that he was leaking blood all over the carpet from a bullet wound in his thigh. “Only a graze. Do you have a bandaid?”
“Good lord,” you replied as Tim called Alfred. You quickly grabbed a towel to stop the bleeding.
It was a few hours later and a carpet cleaner before Nightwing and your carpet were patched up. By that time it was the middle of the night and you couldn’t concentrate on anything. Tim promised a date night another day.
This one was a whole week later. All of the Robins had been warned under pain of torture to not talk to Tim for that evening. Because Tim was to put it mildly, frustrated. You two hadn’t had alone time in over a week.
You started the show back up with all entrances locked and phones off. You were able to watch the next 15 minutes before you heard broken glass.
“Hey did you know your window was locked,” Superboy said standing in front of the window. Tim practically growled before pausing the show to shove Kon out the window.
“I don’t know what you need but the other members of Young Justice are available. Call them,” Tim said but it was already too late. The wind had blown into the room and it was starting to snow outside so he couldn’t exactly ignore the window. Once again date night was canceled.
Tim was so frustrated that he had dreams about you in his bed. It was almost a week later and now 3 episodes behind on the show that you had another date night. He was almost willing to skip the show entirely at this point just to have alone time.
Tim had practically threatened everyone he knew with death threats to leave you both alone.
“Someone is feeling the mode,” Bart joked.
“You mean, someone needs to get laid,” Kon added.
“At this point, yes! I don’t want to see, hear, or think of either of you tonight. Unless it��s the  apocalypse, then I don’t want to even know about it,” he growled. The two other heroes howled with laughter as he left.
You could tell Tim was distracted and preoccupied by the way his hand gripped and squeezed your thigh. He gave you frequent kisses between scenes. As the episode ended, Tim pounced.
“Tim!” You gasped as he pushed you to lay on the couch before the credits were even done. It turned to a moan as his hand slid between your thighs to rub you through your panties.
“It’s been way too long,” he groaned as he kissed down your throat. He was almost never this aggressive and it was dizzying. He pushed your panties to the side to finger you.
“Oh fuck,” you gasped as he hit deep inside you. His hips rubbed his hard cock against you. He pulled at your shirt with one hand.
“Take it off,” he groaned with impatience. Before you had even gotten the fabric over your head, he had attacked your chest. Pulling a nipple into his mouth and sucking hard while fingering you thoroughly had you whimpering.
You shoved down his pants to grasp him in a loose fist. Tim rutted into your hand while sloppily kissing across your chest.
“Please, want you,” you whined and he wasted no time sliding in. Your back arched with a gasp. His arm reached behind your back and Tim took his time with long deep strokes.
This pleasure cycle couldn’t last forever and you both finished far too soon. Tim kissed you softly and gently.
“We can continue this later. I think the food is here,” he said.
“Sounds good,” you said adjusting your clothes and sitting up. “I’ll be right back,” you added as you went to clean up.
Tim answered the door in his messied hair and haphazardly placed clothes. Instead of the food delivery guy, it was Jason standing with his food box. Tim frowned.
“What do you want?”
“Pizza anyone?”
“Leave,” tim growled, taking the box. Jason laughed.
“Interrupting something?” Tim almost slammed the door in his face. “Hey, I just need keys to the Robin motorbike,” Jason added. “Oh I didn’t know you watched that show. Can you believe that in last week’s episode, it was the mom all along. Wild hu?”
Tim sighed before throwing the keys at Jason. “Go away.” He slammed the door.
“Well that sucks,” you said across the room.
Tim locked the door and sat the pizza box on the table. “I’m gonna be honest, and that is that I really just want to finish what we started before pizza. I’m not picky where.”
You laughed before letting him grab you fireman style over his shoulder to drag you into the bedroom. There was no way you were answering the door after that.
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chewbokachoi · 2 months
Text
My Writing
-confetti and fanfare-
At the moment, it's all Mortal Kombat.
Song Challenges - As the link explains, I write to a song and that's that.
Completed Works:
Friday Nights - A weekly ritual between the two, Johnny finds tonight's session is bringing up something he's tried to not think about. AO3 Rating: E Chapters: 4/4 Notes: Johnny/Kenshi piece and the piece that dislodged me from my writer's block and I more or less haven't stopped since (aside from a few hurdles but ya get me)
Good Dog - Shang Tsung has gathered far more enemies than allies. Realizing that he needs somebody to keep an eye out for him, he decides to hire a bodyguard. By chance, Shang Tsung arrives just in time to hire Bi-Han, a down on his luck man-for-hire. What Shang Tsung didn't expect was for this man of ice to be immune to all his usual tricks and charm. He doesn't want to admit this draws him to his guard. And on the flip side, Bi-Han didn't think he'd ever break his no-attachments rule with the likes of such a fragile mad scientist. Inspired by the amazing art of @eo03o AO3 Rating: E Chapters: 5/5 Notes: I liked their dynamic too much and am too proud of all the random Easter eggs.
Sublimation - Five years since Bi-Han's betrayal and nothing has gotten easier. Earthrealm continues to need its defenders and everyone's starting to feel the strain. But Tomas is feeling another type of strain--he's been treated like a child more than the second in command of the Shirai Ryu as of late. When Liu Kang tasks Tomas and Hanzo to return to the Lin Kuei library, destroyed during the schism, they are ambushed by Bi-Han and Shang Tsung, who offer Tomas up to an Enenra with hopes to control it.
Things, of course, do not go according to plan. Tomas is saved by Hanzo, but Tomas is once again thrown into a life altering experience he never had a say in. Now he and his friends must learn to live with this new version of their friend. AO3 Rating: M Chapters: 5/5 Notes: Part of a series (that'll get renamed). Part 2 already in the works for it. Commentary
Works in Progress:
But a Patient Wolf - Sequel to Good Dog Shang Tsung gifts "Sai" a chance to exact revenge on Quan Chi, the ringmaster of the traveling circus he once belonged to. With that done, the two flee to Chicago. But their time in the city is cut short when Shang Tsung finally figures out where the strange and mysterious island in the East China Sea is. Bi-Han, the ever-loyal bodyguard, follows his beloved mad scientist to their new destination. There, the two discover a suspiciously preserved library full of secrets and wonders that will push the two and their relationship to the limit. AO3 Rating: M Chapters: 1/5(?) Notes: I fell in love with their dynamic. They're too hard to resist. This story will likely have a different tone than Part One/Good Dog itself, but I hope it's still enjoyable!
The Great Duo: Shang Tsung is woken up one morning to find an ex and six-year-old at his doorstep. She leaves Shang Tsung with a girl who is no doubt his daughter. Initially, he takes her in, knowing it to be wiser to have somebody as smart as him on his side. Soon enough, Shang Tsung finds he not only enjoys having the kid around, but he enjoys teaching her and training her to be just like him. AO3 Rating: T Chapters: 1/3(?) Notes: This one is very much a 'I'll update as the ideas come to me' kind of thing
To Be Haunted: Johnny and Kenshi's relationship has gotten more serious with marriage in sight. Johnny's showing his commitment by welcoming Takeda, while Kenshi still struggles to feel like a good enough parent to Cassie. What should be the next step for the growing family is hamstrung by a strange entity that has made their home its own. Their lives are quickly thrown off balance as Cassie and Takeda grow ill from the creature's presence. Johnny, Kenshi, and their friends scramble to solve the mystery of the entity before it's too late. AO3 Rating: M Chapters: 13/? Notes: I am trying to update it :(
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writingjourney · 9 months
Text
Friday Nights at the Cinema Club | Vampire!Primo x gn!Reader
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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
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“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
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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.
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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
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bambikisss · 1 month
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Bambikisss: March Teasers
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This is a collection of the stories that I plan on posting in the month of March. When the stories are posted, you can come back and click on the titles to be taken to the list (this is just another way of navigation hehe).
This list is open to changes!
FANFICS PLANNED FOR MARCH:
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MARCH 13TH : Freak - a - Leek (MINGI X READER X SAN)
Summary: coming soon
Song: Freak a Leek by Petey Pablo
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MARCH 15TH : Midnight (SONG KANG X READER)
Childhood best friend to College boyfriend
summary: coming soon
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MARCH 22ND : Those who tango (MINGHAO/THE8 X READER)
Inspiration: EVE (Kdrama)
There are two people who like tango: those who need it and those who need to be saved
MARRIED TANGO PARTNER MINGHAO X DANCER READER, so CHEATING WARNING
summary: coming soon
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MARCH 22ND : Buy you a drink (WOO DOHWAN X READER)
CEO! Woo Dohwan x Assistant Reader
summary: coming soon
Bambikisss | 2024 'Friday Night Book Club
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punishereditz · 2 months
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Teacher's Pet
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Pairing: La Knight x f!reader
Warnings: 18 plus only! Minors DNI! DO NOT COPY. One use of Y/N. Teacher's pet trope. Age gap. Daddy issues. Fighting. Mentions of violence. Little bit of angst. Smut. Smut with plot. Oral. (F receiving.)
AN: I'm gnawing at the iron bars of my enclosure.
Word count: 3.1k
Summary: La Knight is your trainer, and one day, the two of you take things too far.
~
You took a deep breath as you got up again. You were exhausted. Not just physically but mentally too. For the past four weeks, La Knight has been training you. Trying to get you ready for your debut on smackdown in two weeks. The closer it got to the date, the harder he was on you. The more he pushed you. The two of you working together to build more muscle for you. Focusing on the harsh and heavy moves that you struggled with.
"Come on." He said in frustration. Sighing and rubbing his hand on his chin. Standing in the corner, leaning against the turnbuckle as he watched you struggle. You shot him glare, then looked back to your opponent. You wrapped your arms around his waist, and you went for the suplex, but you couldn't do it. You thought you had it down expect for the part where you had to fall back. That's what you couldn't do. You let the guy go and you got down on one knee. Trying to catch your breath and thinking over the move. "What was that? What are you doing?" He was getting more frustrated. You've been at this for hours. Training all day. The both of you were over this. "I can't do it." You panted and you stood up. Resting your hands on your hips and looking at him. You were starting to get frustrated yourself.
"You have to get this down. Do it again." There was irritation in his tone, and he gestured his hand for you to go again. You rolled your eyes and turned back to the gym trainer. Getting ready to do it again. "And don't roll your eyes at me." He spoke. His tone a little harsher. Making you more annoyed. You took a deep breath, trying to focus. You went for the suplex, but you failed again. Your arms and legs getting weaker and weaker. Not allowing you to do this. "Damn it." He cussed under his breath, and he walked over to you and the other trainer. "Look." He grabbed the guy. Trying to show you what you needed to do. "You need to ground your feet. You're not grounding your feet. Look at how I'm standing." You looked at how he was standing, and his stare was heavy on you.
"And your grip. You need to tighten it. You're to lose." He told you and his eyes lingered on you for a second too long. "Watch." He spoke in a low and dominant tone. Then he suplex the guy. Throwing him back. He stood and he walked over to you. Towering over you. "Again." He simply said and you glanced over to the trainer, then you looked up at him. You were going to say something to him, but you decided against it, and you tried again. And you failed. When you once again couldn't do it, that was the breaking point for both you and him. "Look." He stood behind you. Pressing his body to yours. His arms wrapped around you. Putting you in the hold. Your breath hitching as he was suddenly so close to you. "You feel this? This is how it is supposed to be. This is how your stance and hold need to be. Once you have them in this, you simply lean back." He said and he held onto you for a second longer before he moved back.
"Leave." He told the trainer, and he did that. Now it was just the two of you in the gym because it was so late. "Come on. Try it on me." He moved his hand in a beckoning way. Motioning for you to come over to him. You glanced around the room before you looked at him. Looking at his arms in that tank top. You walked over to him. Standing behind him. You put your arms around him, and he immediately shook his head. "Tighten your hold." He grabbed your hands and made you hold your hands tighter. He then kicked your feet. "Spread your legs a little more. Bend your knees." You did so and he watched you closely. Looking at your body. Feeling your hold. He slowly nodded and he looked over his shoulder to you. "Better. It still needs a lot of work though."
When you heard him say that, you scoffed and shook your head as you let go of him. He furrowed his eyebrows and he turned and looked at you. "Is there a problem?" He took a step forward. Getting closer to you. "Yeah. Yeah, there is actually." You turned toward him so you could look up at him. The both of you had your hands on your hips. Standing tall and staring at each other. Trying to intimate the other. "I can't do the move and you know it. It's not my style. It's not how I wrestle. It doesn't work with my character. It's not what I'm built for." The irritation grew as you went on.
"You're right. You have the character, you can work a mic, you can put up a hell of a fight, you can't do the power moves... but I'm trying to change that. That's the whole damn reason I'm training you. To make it so you can do it in your sleep." He raised his voice a little bit and inched closer to you. The both of you were boiling.
"I can win matches with acrobatic attacks and fast combinations."
"You really think your little cartwheels and flips are gonna win you every match? I can tell you, it won't. You need the power moves. You need that strength."
The two of you kept getting closer and closer. Getting in each other's faces. The heat between the two of you starting to burn. He looked down at you, narrowing his eyes at you. He then grabbed you by your waist. Pulling you towards him until your small frame was pressed up against his big frame. Your hands going to his toned arms. His breath hitting your neck. "Let me tell you something...; this isn't gymnastics. You're not in college anymore. You're in professional wrestling and you need to start acting like it."
His grip was tight, and his words stung. He talked down to you as he mentioned your past of being a gymnast in college. He was slowly taking it to far and he knew it. But yet he said the words. He kept pushing you. "There are other ways things be done." You whispered and you tilted your head up so you could look at him better. You were getting more frustrated the longer this went on. But... you were also getting turned on. And that made you even more mad. The fact that that sharp stare and tight grip was getting to you. He was so close to you, and he was simmering with anger. Which only made him hotter.
And, the same goes for you. He could see the rage in your eyes. He could feel your curves. The sweat dripping down your body and your heavy breathing wasn't helping. He wanted to pin you down right now. He wanted to teach you lesson. He wanted to kiss every inch of your body and bury his face between your legs. But you were his student. He was training you. He knew it would be inappropriate. As badly as he just wanted to take you right here and now, he fought against it. He looked at you for long moment, then he nodded, and he stepped back. Holding his hands up in a defeated way.
"Fine. Be mediocre. Half ass it just like your Daddy did and never live up to anything." And that was it. That was when he took it too far. He just stepped over the line, and he immediately regretted his words the second he said them. He could see the hurt in your eyes.
"So, that's it. That's the game you're going to play. All that chitchat, that, that night we spent talking for hours, opening up to each other, you're going to use it against me." You paused for a moment. "I can't believe I was stupid enough to think you were being genuine. You, you know..., you really are a coward." You looked at him for a moment, then you got out of the ring. Grabbing your bag. You started to get ready to leave. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of reacting. But what you didn't know was that this was worse than you just reacting and lashing out. "Y/n wait." He got out of the ring, and he came over to your side.
"I think we've had a full day. I need some rest." You spoke and you didn't look at him. This worried him and he tilted his head. Trying to look into your eyes. He knew he messed up. "Let me take you home." He offered, but you shook your head. "I'll walk." You put your bag over your shoulder, and you walked away without another word. He watched as you left and once you walked out the door, he cussed and kicked the closest thing to him. He knew he made a mistake. He knew he pushed you too far today. He did what he thought was best. Trying to help you. He sees the potential you have. Your already an incredible wrestler and he knows you could be even better. He knows you can be the best female wrestler on the roster. With the character you came up with and your abilities, he has no doubt that you can be the greatest there is. That you will quickly rise to fame and the crowd love you. He can see that, so he pushes you. He can't help but think about that as he drives and once he gets home, he gets in shower. His mind continuing to go wild as the hot water runs down his body. With a frustrated sigh. He shut the water off and he wasn't out of the shower long when he heard a knock at his door.
Furrowing his eyebrows confused. He wrapped a towel around his waist, and he went to answer the door. When he did, he was surprised to see you. You were still in the clothes you had on earlier. You were also just as sweaty, and you were panting. Your breath heavy. Your chest rising and falling with each breath. Before he could say a word, before he could ask you why you were here, you leaned up and kissed him. Standing on your tip toes and your fingers lacing through his hair as you deeply kissed him. Your action completely caught him off guard. He was in shock. His body tense and his eyes wide, but then he started to relax. His body melting, his eyes closing. Wrapping his hands around your waist. Pulling you to him so that your bodies were pressed together. His lips moving with yours. Kissing you deeply. You finally pulled away and you looked at him. The both of you breathing heavy after the long passionate kiss.
The two of just looked into each other's eyes. Knowing that what you just did was something that the both of you has wanted and something that has building between the two of you for so long. Then, your eyes traveled down and you softly gasped. Seeing water dripping down his abs. His toned body glistening. You noticed the towel around his waist. His v line. Fuck, his v line. Your thoughts were interrupted though when you felt his lips on yours again. Kissing you deeply. His hands traveled down your body until they were at the back of your thighs. He lifted you up. Your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms going around his broad shoulders. He kicked the door with his foot, closing it. Doing all of this while kissing you. Carrying you to his bedroom. Once he entered the room, he put you down. Kissing your lips one last time before he pulled away. Quickly pulling your tank top off of you and throwing it. Then he peeled your sprots bra off of your sweaty body.
He let out a low moan as he saw your chest. His hands slowly moving up your waist until he held your beast. Gently massaging them. He picked you up again and he laid you down on his bed. His lips going to your neck. Kissing and biting at your skin. He slowly made his way further down. Kissing your collar bones. Then he started kissing your chest. Licking your nipple. Making a chill run down your spin and a soft moan leave your lips. He played with your breast as he gently sucked at them. Looking up at you. At your face that was scrunched in pleasure. At your body that was arching and your nails digging into the sheets of his bed. He let go of your breast with a pop from his mouth. Then he suddenly grabbed your legs and pulled you to the edge of the bed. Standing over you, looking down at you with lush filled eyes. He grabbed your pants and he started to pull them down. Pulling your underwear off with them. He rubbed his hands up and down your legs for a moment before he dropped down to his knees on the floor. "Spread your legs for me sweetheart." He ordered you and did as you were told. Spreading your legs for him.
"Good girl." His voice was soothing and you softly gasped. Looking down at him as he started to kiss your thighs. Letting his lips drag against your skin. His arms came up and he wrapped them around your thighs. Holding you in place. He licked up your lips once. Making your body shiver. He chuckled and without any more teasing, he dived into you. His tongue rubbing circles on your clit. Making your stomach twist and your eyes roll to the back of your head. But that overwhelming pleasure you were feeling got worse when he started to gently suck on your clit. Making your legs shake and your body tingle with pleasure. It was so overwhelming but in the best way possible. He was sucking your clit just right, making you feel amazing. Doing everything just right. Touching and licking in the most perfect way. His tongue starting to quicken as he rubbed fast circles with his tongue on your clit. Then, he slowed it down a little bit and moved down.
His tongue starting to lick your entrance. Doing fast up and down motions. A loud moan leaving your lips. Moaning his name and trying to grind your hips but his hold on you keeps you in place as he eats you out like you're his last meal. His mouth working and working until your panting and your body won't stop shaking. When he knows your close, he slows his movements down. Then he comes to stop. When he raises up, he licks his lips. Looking down at you with seductive eyes. You raised up. Kissing his stomach. You grabbed the towel on his waist, and you pulled it off of him. Tossing it to the ground. You looked up at him as you started to stroke his cock with your hand. Licking up his long cock with your tongue. Kissing the tip. Just as you were about to take him in your mouth, he tilted your head up. Stopping you. "I want to come inside you." His words were almost a whisper and before you could react, he stood you up. Giving you a kiss. Y'all's tongues clashing for a moment. Being able to taste yourself on his lips. He pulled away and he opened the drawer to the bedside table. Grabbing a condom.
He teared it open with his teeth. His lips meeting yours again for a deep passionate kiss as he pushed the condom down on his cock. Then he turned the two of you. Laying down on the bed and pulling you down on top of him. Putting you on his lap. With one hand on your hip, he used his other hand to push his cock into you. The both of you letting out a moan as he rested his hands on your hips and guided you down until he bottomed out in you. Completely filling you up. Your walls clenching around him. You started to slowly grind your hips against him. Moaning and letting your head fall back in pleasure. Keeping your movements slow but steady. Riding his cock. His and your breath getting heavier. Your stomach whirling with pleasure and his cock twitching.
His hands traveled up your body. Letting you ride him how you want. His hands going up to your chest. Toying with your breast for a moment before his hands traveled back down your body. His hands finding a home on your ass. Giving it a light slap before he gently gripped it. Looking down at your hips moving in a forward and backwards motion. His climax building and yours too. You looked down at him. The two of you looking into each other eyes. As you looked at him, you decided to change up your game. Lifting up your hips and starting to bounce on his cock. He let out a strained groan as he gripped your ass harder. Your action making him more flustered. Your walls clenching around him again. His cock throbbing inside of you. Seeing your breast bounce each time you dropped down on his cock. Your moans filling the room. It was starting to get to him. He was getting dangerously close to his climax.
And you were to. His actions from earlier starting to catch up with you. Your climax building again. Your walls clenching around him even more and you started to bounce on him even faster. "Come with me sweetheart." He spoke and after a few more moments, the both of you were coming. Him filling the condom full and you soaking his cock. Your cum running down him. The both of you were breathless now and you laid by his side. The both of you taking a moment to catch your breath. Sitting in silence. But it wasn't awkward. It was nice. And you sat in this moment for a while until he turned his head to look at you. A shine of mischief in his eyes.
"Again?" He said with a big cocky grin, and you smiled. Once he saw that smile, he hoisted you up in his arms and he went into the bathroom with you.
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