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kissingghouls · 2 days

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The Prince

Part Five - The Hungry (ao3 // one // two // three // four)

Vampire Terzo x F!Reader

Summary: With Primo's help you and Terzo try to find a solution to save your vampire. (21500 words I know. I'm sorry.)

Tags/Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, BLOOD, horror themes, vampire violence, vampire bites, blood drinking, major character injury, vomiting, magic, SMUT, unprotected sex, and more tags on ao3

apologies and thank yous at the end 💜 xo Ghouls.

Part Five – The Hungry

“Did you sleep well, piccolina?”

Primo’s deep voice carried from the far side of the kitchen barely audible over the rumble of thunder outside. It was somewhere between morning and afternoon, though the storm made it difficult to tell one from the other. Heavy rain pelted the stone walls of the cottage in a steady thrum in time with the howling winds. This type of scene used to be so comforting, but now watching water bead and trail down the windows just seemed to make you anxious. Sitting across the room and trying to make small talk with Primo Emeritus didn’t seem to help either. As kind and inviting as he was, he was still a complete stranger. An immortal stranger with superhuman strength you were supposed to stay far away from. Instead, he’d insisted on baking cookies for you.

Shaking your head, you jolted a little as the kettle began to scream from its spot of the stovetop. Sleep had been the furthest thing from your mind after Terzo’s spell. A full night’s rest would have been a dream, but there was no getting comfortable in this situation. How long could you be safe here in the middle of nowhere? How long would they wait this time?

“Primo, can I ask you something?” You wondered aloud, hoping the impending conversation would drown out the sound of the storm and your own thoughts.

He inclined his head, silently urging you to continue. A loose piece of his long, white-blond hair fell over the painted lines of his face as he moved; the rest was carefully tied back with a thin black ribbon. His focus remained on the pale green kettle in his hand as he transferred water into a dainty teapot at the edge of the counter. He moved with such precision, yet still maintained some impossibly delicate grace—the opposite of the way Terzo carried himself. There were other differences—far more than you could count—but where Terzo’s softness was an edge blunted by time, Primo’s seemed to be gently blurred into everything he did.

A flash of lightning filled the kitchen with bright light, the bank of windows on the eastern wall providing the perfect vantage point. You shuddered as thunder followed, too close and too loud for your own comfort. The storm blew a gentle breeze through the cracked windows and the ceiling fan above dragged it further in as it spun in lazy, lopsided circles. The kitchen smelled of florals and tea and rain, feeling like a Sunday afternoon you shouldn’t have access to. Everything was a little too dreamy, made fuzzy by a filter tinged with warm yellow-green like a flashback to someone else’s nostalgic past.

Someone else’s life.

“Why settle in this place?” you asked, vividly recalling the cracked asphalt and sun-bleached everything you’d passed on your way through town. “Why…here? The secluded cottage makes sense, but why live at the edge of some abandoned nowhere town?”

He turned to look at you for a beat before reaching for two teacups. “Well,” he started as he dropped a teabag into the pot. “It wasn’t always abandoned, piccolina.”

He set a cup in front of you before joining you at the table, a sigh leaving his lips as the wooden chair creaked beneath him. “This town…it used to full of a unique vibrance that drew me in. I suppose on some level I grew comfortable here, much like the other remaining residents. But mostly I stayed for the work. That’s what I told myself anyway. I have no doubt that Terzo would have you believe otherwise, but immortality can be incredibly mundane. When I found myself in this little town, I watched it grow from nothing just like I had done with a thousand other little towns in my lifetime. But this one—it was easier to fight that feeling of boredom here, to find a purpose. I chose to put my energy toward something, to have a common goal with the people here while I could. There’s a darling botanical garden on the edge of town, built something like seventy years ago, give or take. I helped fund the project.”

“Really? So, it had nothing to do with the cute girl that delivers your groceries?”

Black and white paint may have covered his entire face, but you could see Primo’s ears turn bright red. “That—she—hmph. She wasn’t even born yet. Neither were you for that matter.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s not the reason you stay.”

“The garden— “

“Sure, sure,” you teased. “Work, work, work.”

“Don’t start picking up bad habits from your beau, piccolina,” he warned. “Youth is wasted on the young indeed.”

“Not if you have an eternity to do something about it.”

He laughed quietly as he poured the most delicious smelling pink tea into each cup. “I forgot how much I enjoy such a human point of view. What of you and your eternal boytoy, hmm? What will you do when this is all over?”

You shrugged, pausing to consider his words. “Haven’t really thought that far. I think…I think I’d like to do all the things I never could before. No matter what happens I can’t go back to my old life—I wouldn’t want to go back, knowing what I know now. If I have to build a new life, it might as well be a better one than before. And if that sounds good to Terzo, then I’m happy to try building it together.”

“Hmm,” he replied with a thoughtful nod and faint smile playing on his lips.

“Belleza, I am happy to build you anything you want. But boytoy? Is that really what you’ve settled on, fratello?” Terzo grumbled as he appeared in the doorway, half-asleep with pillow marks on his face. He dropped into the seat next to you with a heavy sigh and rested his head on your shoulder. “Is that really all I am to you?”

“No. Sometimes you’re more of manbaby,” you replied and kissed the top of his head. “It’s ok though.”

“Ugh, I am so glad you two are getting along,” he teased sarcastically. “You are a bad influence on her, Primo.”

“Me? What did I do?” Primo mused as he took a sip of tea.

“You encourage her—”

“Ah.”

“—to be mean to me,” he whined. “What happened to that wide-eyed naïve girl from before, hmm?”

“I have no idea who you are talking about,” you responded flatly.

“Ah, yes. What happened to the fierce and terrifying woman who pretended not to be watching me sleep every night?”

“She met an unbelievably arrogant vampire.”

He sat up and shot you a big, toothy grin. “Oh, bellezza, was I your first?”

Primo groaned loudly and pushed away from the table. “Whatever you’re trying to do fratellino, do not do it in my kitchen.”

“Ah, calm down old man. I’m only teasing.”

“You were the one I liked enough to save. Even with your baking skills.”

Primo nearly spat out his tea. “Oh, Terzo, tell me you didn’t.”

“I was trying to do something nice for you, bellezza. But fine, fine. Let’s all pick on Terzo!” he grumbled as he stood. For a split-second the life left his eyes, the light within him dimming like a flickering lightbulb in a haunted basement. He was completely blank—jaw slack and body limp. Primo crossed the room before you could even think to react, rushing over to keep his brother’s body from collapsing to the floor. Terzo recovered just as quickly, coming back to himself as he stumbled slightly. He wrenched himself out of his brother’s hold and glared at him, teeth gritted.

“Fratellino—"

“Don’t,” he hissed. “I am fine, Primo.”

“Clearly you are not. How many more times has this happened?” Primo asked, looking back and forth between the two of you.

You crossed your arms over your chest and raised an eyebrow. It had been a few days since the incident in the bedroom and—as far as you knew—he had been completely fine ever since. If he’d started having spells again, this was the first you were hearing of it despite the promise he’d made. “Terzo?”

He shifted from one foot to the other, face washed with guilt as he concentrated on the floor and shrugged. “It… it’s happened a few more times now.”

“A few? What the hell, Terzo?”

“It was only for a couple seconds, bellezza! It wasn’t like the other times!”

“That’s not the point!”

“She is right, fratellino,” Primo agreed gravely. “You should have told me this was still happening.”

“Oh, do I need to report every detail of my life to you now? Would you like to know exactly what we did last night?”

Primo’s teacup flew from his hands and hit the sink, bursting into dozens of porcelain shards. He was so angry he was shaking; his white eye seemed to glow with his fury as his face darkened. You and Terzo jumped as he began to shout. “Satanas, Terzo you are still so stubborn!”

“Bellezza,” Terzo started quietly, moving between you and Primo. He placed a hand on your cheek and lowered his voice. “Would you please excuse us for a moment?”

You nodded silently, searching his eyes for any sign of worry as he urged you to go. You’d barely made it a few steps out of the room before the argument properly started. As you moved through the cottage their voices turned from hushed tones to an almost violent sounding shouting match. The escalation had them rapidly switching between languages to find the right words to fit their ire. None of it made much sense to you, so you let the bedroom door close behind you with a soft click.

No matter what you and Terzo had tried, the little bedroom still carried a faint smell of dust and disuse. The humidity had been so bad that leaving the windows open was hardly an option. At night when the heat broke the sounds of insects droning in the woods was so loud you could hardly think. By the time the storm rolled in, you’d given up completely on trying to air out the room.

You collapsed on the creaky old bed, balling the ancient quilt in your fists. It was still happening. Whatever they’d done to Terzo, whatever poison they’d created this time was still living within him. Things were already complicated enough, but if Terzo was still effected after this many days you knew it would only get worse. If he was hiding it from you, maybe they already had.

A tear slipped down your cheek. You’d been through so much together in such a short time, so many fucked up situations that most people would never have to think about. In some way it made sense if he didn’t trust you yet—you understood that, especially with the way the two of you had ended up together. What you couldn’t understand was why the thought of Terzo not trusting you hurt so much. Why it felt like hot knives in your chest, the searing painful burn of unease. Maybe you hadn’t done enough to show him he could trust you. Maybe he never would. You pressed a throw pillow over your mouth to stifle your cries, endlessly embarrassed by whatever this fucking feeling was.

A soft, barely audible knock on the door signaled the end of the Emeritus screaming match. Terzo said your name from the other side, speaking so gently you knew he had heard you crying.

“Bellezza? May I come in?”

You swiped at your face, brushing away whatever stray tears were left as you called out, “is that some kind of vampire joke?”

The door opened a crack, just enough that you could see his eyebrows pull together in confusion. “We don’t—that’s not a real thing.”

“I know. It’s ok, you can come in.”

He shuffled into the room and closed the door behind him. As he reached the foot of the bed, he dropped to his knees and laid his head in your lap.

“I’m terrible at this,” he admitted quietly.

“At what?”

“Apologies…relationships…honesty.” He sighed heavily. “Vulnerability.”

“None of those things are easy, Terzo.” You ran a hand through his hair as he nuzzled his face into your leg. “I’m not good at them either.”

“You deserve better than me—”

“Don’t say that.”

“I just mean…you deserve a better me than I’ve been lately. I should have told you.”

“Do you trust me?”

He looked up and locked eyes with you. “With my eternal life, bellezza. With everything I am.”

“No more secrets, ok? I want to help you, but I can’t if you keep hiding things from me, Terzo. It…it fucking hurts.”

“I am so sorry, bellezza. So, so sorry. I will tell you everything, anything you want to know.”

-x- Four Months Later -x-

Primo’s house smelled sweet—like sugar and fresh vanilla mixed with roses flowering in a gentle breeze. But underneath the pleasant scent was a hint of copper, a warm metallic tinge that permeated absolutely everything. Your entire life was covered in blood; it coated your borrowed clothes and seeped into your bedsheets, hanging in the air like a permanent red haze. You couldn’t get away from it if you tried. The taste settled on your tongue, bitter and harsh without the sweetness of Terzo’s kiss to wash it away.

Even the gardens felt wounded, the lifeless and bare shrubs now naked against the chilly autumn wind. The surrounding woods had turned as red as everything else, a dying fire against a cold, grey sky. It was hard to stay hopeful on days like this, hard to see beyond what looked like the end of the world.

Your world, anyway.

This was not how things were supposed to go. Stillness fell over the property, stretching past the woods to blot out the stars. You sat at the end of the path, knees in the dirt as you tried to decide your next move and the world just…carried on around you. Time and nature weren’t bound by the same crushing weight that followed you day-in and day-out. They just kept moving. Kept changing.

You dug your hands into the soil, grasping for something—anything—to distract you from the tears slipping down your cheeks. You were so tired of crying. Tired of thinking and feeling and being while just fucking waiting. Waiting for months with only uncertainty and pain to keep you company during the day. Waiting and watching as your lover struggled and grew weaker. You wanted to scream, wanted to scream so loud and for so long that even the old gods were forced to watch you cough up blood. It wouldn’t help but it would be something, anything that didn’t feel like this.

Something that didn’t feel like mourning.

“Do werewolves have big teeth?” you asked him, genuinely curious. Of all the things you’d come to learn about, you still had trouble wrapping your head around your sweet elderly neighbor transforming under the full moon.

Terzo gave you a half-smile as he rolled onto his side. “Not as big as mine, bellezza,” he replied suggestively, practically purring in your ear. His hand fell to your hip, pawing at the bare skin as he nipped at your neck.

“You are the absolute worst,” you groaned, but you didn’t mean it. You never did. These moments with him—these silly little conversations shared in the afterglow with bare chests and sweaty skin—you’d give anything to keep each other here forever.

“Ah, but not five minutes ago I was the best you’d ever had, no?”

“I never said that?”

“Excuse me—"

“It’s true, but I never said it. Wouldn’t it be kind of fucked up if you were bad in bed? Like how many years have you been doing this? A couple thousand?”

“Bellezza, I am not that old,” he grumbled.

“Well, that’s a shame. I’ve been into older men lately.”

“Better only be one man.”

“Aw, Terzo are you jealous?”

“What if I was, amore?” There was hurt in his tone, a seriousness that bit into you with venomous fangs.

“Terzo—”

“I’m sorry, amore mio. I know this isn’t easy for either of us, but—”

You cut him off by covering his mouth with your hands. “You are the only man for me, Terzo Emeritus. Do I need to show you again?”

A warm hand gripped your shoulder, pulling you back to the dying garden. Primo didn’t even flinch as you flung yourself at him, tears and dirt staining the silk of his fancy robe. He’d never mention it; Primo never once asked you to stop feeling, never told you to pull yourself together or chastised you for being an embarrassment to the organization. Primo Emeritus—a man you were taught your entire life to fear above all others—only ever offered you a shoulder to cry on.

And if that wasn’t enough, he’d simply offer the other.

He held you tight, quietly humming some centuries-old forgotten lullaby as your tears ran their course. He wouldn’t speak until you were ready. He never pushed or insisted that this would pass. He just waited to hear what you had to say. It took you a long time to get used to that level of empathy, for his simple acts of compassion to not feel like ulterior motives. But eventually you realized he couldn’t fix you any more than you could stop him from being a vampire. He only wanted to help you.

“It’s not fair,” you managed between sobs. “It’s not fair.”

“No, piccolina, it isn’t fair,’ he agreed, smoothing a hand over your hair. “It’s too much for either of you. But I swore to you I would help, sì?”

You nodded numbly.

He knelt in front of you, grinding more stains into the material of his robe as he placed a hand under your chin. “I would not lie to you, piccolina. I will save Terzo. No matter the cost.”

“What do you mean the cost?” you shot back, voice trembling.

He tutted softly and patted your hand before helping you to your feet. “Nothing you need worry about, my dear.”

“Primo,” you leveled. “What are you—”

“Hush now, piccolina. Why don’t we wake the sleeping beauty? We can discuss things together later, eh?”

You nodded once, knowing the vampire would hardly take no for answer. But something still ate at you, gnawing away at whatever sense of calm you had managed until you were nothing more than an exposed nerve. No amount of Primo’s wisdom or comfort could help you with this one.

“Could I—can I have a minute alone with him first?”

“Of course,” he replied with a kind smile. “Would you care for some coffee?”

“Yeah.” Before he could get too far you reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it gently. “Thank you, Primo.”

It was too small of a phrase for all those feelings, but someday you would find a proper way to tell him how much this all meant to you. For now, you hid your sniffles behind your hands and waited for the older man to disappear back inside before gathering the courage to face Terzo alone.

Over the last few months, the little room at the back of the cottage had slowly become something like a home. Your home. A cozy space you and Terzo had carved out of Primo’s infinite kindness and filled with odd, yet beautiful things from Terzo’s past. A collection of his vintage clothing and accessories had been stashed away in a closet, pieces from another time left here to idly wait for him to return. Neither Terzo nor Primo had shared why he sought sanctuary here those years ago, but rediscovering his old treasures made him so happy you didn’t need to ask. You trusted him to tell you when he wanted to.

If he ever wanted to.

Your feet dragged over the rug, the soft fibers adding some kind of familiar constant in this new life of maybes and what ifs. With a deep breath, the scent of clove and cologne filled your lungs, a warm combination you’d grown so fond of. Some days you went as far as spritzing the cologne on your own wrist to feel closer to him while he was stuck like this.

As much as this place was home, it was also a mausoleum. A place your lover was laid to rest, spending most of his days in a state somewhere between life and death.

Terzo lay on the bed, his eyes closed and his skin dull and grey. His lips had turned a horrid shade of blue made that much worse the longer he “slept.” It never really looked like he was sleeping—his sleeping face was so much more expressive than this empty vessel version of Terzo. Primo once said it had something to do with circulation, trying to explain the line where science met magic to form their physiology. You listened, but it never made much sense to you. You didn’t need to know. All you needed was for your immortal undead boyfriend to be not dead.

No matter how hard it was, your days weren’t always spent in some lonely pit of despair. When Terzo was awake he was still the same old Terzo—effortlessly funny and charming in a way you had never expected. He seemed intent on making your life together as normal as it could be, still trying desperately to woo you with grand romantic gestures straight out of those movies he loved. Some nights you’d stay up well past an acceptable hour, just listening to him share stories from his questionable past, tales of “years ago” that could have meant 3 or 300 years. There were other nights the two of you poured through a book about the history and architecture of Meliora House, marveling at photos of the grandiose mansion in its heyday. He would have you close your eyes and pick a random page before telling about each room in incredibly vibrant detail. While you never stopped being impressed by your boyfriend’s ability to recall so many things over so many years, your heart broke for him that such a big piece of his past had been destroyed forever. How many other things had he lost to time in 900 years?

You made it your mission to create as many memories as you could in that little bedroom with him.

Sighing heavily, you climbed into bed and pressed as close to Terzo as you could. You gently brushed a few wayward hairs from his face, hating how cold his skin felt under your touch when he was stuck like this.

“Sorry I was gone so long,” you whispered, laying your head on his chest. You would’ve given anything to hear him take a breath, for him to wrap an arm around you and hold you tight and kiss you so hard your lips bruised. Sometimes you wondered if you just wished hard enough or found the right god to ask…

“I know you said you can’t hear me when you’re like this, but there’s something I really, really want to talk to you about,” you whispered. “And I’m afraid I won’t be able to when you’re awake. If you’re awake…then it’s real and you’ll hear it and you’ll know. But if I don’t say it, if I don’t tell you…what if you never get to hear me say it? What if you never know? If you never get to hear it because I was too scared to say it…well, that’s no good either. So, what do I do?” y ou asked with a laugh. “I mean, I know what you would tell me to do, but it’s just…I don’t know. I guess it really isn’t that easy, huh?”

You reached up and kissed his cheek as you considered your options. You’d traced every line and crease of the man’s face, memorized every mark and scar so thoroughly they might as well live on your own skin and it still wasn’t enough. You had watched him for so long now—before you’d ever met him—and you could still spend hours just studying someone so beautiful it made your heart hurt.

He deserved to know you looked at him the same way he looked at you.

“I love you, Terzo Emeritus,” you confessed quietly. “And I’m going to tell you to your stupid, handsome face. I will tell you every day, whether you can hear me or not because it won’t change how I feel.”

You swiped away a tear and cuddled closer to Terzo, holding him for what felt like hours. It wasn’t enough; it was never enough. As Primo knocked on the bedroom door, you buried your face in his chest to hide your emotions from the other vampire as much as you could. He’d seen you express everything from rage to grief and back already of course, but if you could spare him one more pep talk you would certainly try. As he shuffled in, the smell of strong coffee began to overwhelm the subtle hint of soap and sweat that lingered on your lover’s skin. No matter how hard you wished you could stay and get lost in him you knew it was no use.

Primo’s slippers scuffed against the hardwood, cups rattling on the same tarnished tray he carried in every evening. Ambling through the room, he set the tray aside and gave you a half-smile before producing a glass vial from his pocket. You sat up and offered your left arm, the right already bruised to hell from previous draws. You hated this part, hated that this had become so routine. You couldn’t get away from the smell of blood, but you’d grown numb to the sight of your own.

The next part was always easiest. A bandage for your arm and a regiment of supplements and vitamins to keep you healthy. Things that kept the blood strong, Primo had told you when it became clear this was headed toward an everyday occurrence. You swallowed the pills down and accepted the cup of expensive coffee the older gentleman had made for you.

The two of you had bonded so much in these shared albeit terrible moments. You doubted he would be so quick to let you into his life without the forced proximity, but Primo never seemed to be bothered by having you around. It didn’t take long for you to understand that he was a balancing act, a man on a highwire with bound hands and nerves of steel. But those feats of strength could not hide the worried, emotional side of a man several hundred years your senior. There was something in the way he had leaned into this caregiver role, something that suggested there was more to his story than what he was comfortable sharing with you. But there were times that he would share, absently recounting stories from his own past. He once told you how Terzo had become frighteningly ill as a child, somehow remembering that very same fear of his brother at death’s door though several centuries had passed. He swore to you in a moment of raw honesty that just as he had done everything in his power to save Terzo as a boy, he would not stop until he saved him again.

And he promised that Terzo never had to know how much you cried.

“Did you two have a nice talk?” he finally asked, turning away. He hunched over the tray and jabbed a spoon into the thick, noxious mixture of tea and herbs whatever else he used to bring Terzo back to life.

You shrugged, not willing to make any more confessions for the day. Instead, you ran a hand through your hair and gave a noncommittal sigh.

“You should rest, piccolina,” he warned with a sigh of his own. “What would he say?”

“He’d probably call you an old man,” you replied, wiping at fresh tears with the back of your hand. “Or he’d put on his grouchy voice and mumble the equivalent in Italian to get under your skin. What’s that thing he always says? Testa di Cazzo?”

Primo chuckled. “Yes, I suppose he would call me a dickhead. Lovingly, of course.”

You managed a small smile before the tears threatened to fall again. “I really miss him, Primo.”

“I know you do, cara. I miss him, too. Though it is nice that someone finally found a way to shut him up for a minute.”

You snorted out a laugh. “Primo!”

“Just trying to lighten the mood, piccolina.” He knelt in front of you and made sure he had your full attention before he spoke. “I will cure him,” he assured you. “I promised you, sì? And I am nothing if not a man of my word. I know finding a solution has taken more time than any of us would like, but—Bah! Let’s wake him, eh?”

You nodded and looked down at your hands. You’d bitten your nails to the quick and ripped your cuticles to shreds over the past few weeks, your body trying so hard to fight off the anxiety that threatened to swallow you. There was dirt deeply embedded under your nails from digging into the ground out of desperation. Pieces of earth still stuck on your skin like tiny reminders of your every fear. “Please don’t tell him—”

“I would never betray your confidence, piccolina. Are you ready?”

You drew a deep breath, centering yourself before giving him a firm nod. Moving to the other side of the bed, you propped up Terzo’s body as much as you could, fighting against the dead weight and stiff muscles. You slid behind him, wrapping your arms around his chest to hold him in place while Primo readied the last ingredient for that awful elixir.

The smell was terrible, an overpowering punch of rust and dirt and the potion stuck to the inside of Primo’s teacups like roofing tar. The final ingredient had to be added seconds before consumption, like the half-life of shots of fine espresso but not nearly as appetizing. Primo nodded once to make sure your hold was strong before removing the stopper from the vial.

Terzo’s eyes shot open as the smell of iron flooded the room. Wild, hungry sounds erupted from Terzo’s mouth, feral growls that only grew louder as Primo moved closer and poured your blood into the mixture. The older vampire took his brother by the jaw, forcing his mouth open enough to pour the tea down his throat.

What used to take seconds now took a full five minutes. Every day you waited longer and longer for the vampire’s rigid body to relax and fill with warmth again. When it finally did, he melted into you with a happy sigh. Smears of blood and flecks of herbs clung to the corners of his lips as they stretched into a smile.

“Amore,” he whispered dreamily. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

Primo pushed the cup into Terzo’s hand before ruffling his hair. “Drink the whole thing, Terzo.”

“I will,” he whined. He made a face as he took another drink and struggled to keep the liquid down. “Augh, happy?”

The older man said nothing as he turned and left the room.

Terzo quickly chugged the rest of the mixture before he turned and nuzzled into your chest. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

And there it was, the last thing you wanted to hear ever again. You groaned and pushed him away, climbing to your feet. Tired of having the same conversation, you slipped into the bathroom to hide the fresh tears that filled your eyes. Primo offered you an out after the fits gradually became worse. He told you that you were free to leave, that if you wanted you could go on and start living a new life. He said you didn’t owe Terzo anything, you got him this far and that was more than enough.

You’d never been more offended in your entire life.

Part of you understood it was out of kindness, that Primo didn’t want you to sit and watch Terzo “die” over and over and over. As nice as it would have been to avoid, you couldn’t help but think how panicked and hurt Terzo would be if he one day woke up without you. The thought broke your heart into a million little pieces, just like it broke you heart that there were still days like this. Days when he’d wake up ready to push you away. His misguided, half-hearted attempt to spare you from this never ever worked. Sometimes you could even joke with him about it, but today…today, with dirt from the dying garden still stuck under your fingernails you wanted nothing more than to be with him.

“Bellezza,” he whispered softly as he appeared behind you, almost panicked. He wrapped his arms so tightly around your middle there was nowhere else to go as his lips hovered near your ear. “I’m sorry, my love, amore mio. So sorry.”

You nodded and learned against him as the walls of that tiny bathroom began to close in on you. “Terzo—”

“Forgive me, amore?” he asked, pressing a kiss into your cheek. “Please forgive me.”

You turned to face him, staring deep into his odd, beautiful eyes. It was too hard to hold onto all that sadness when he looked at you that way, when he begged you. Your request was a whisper, a desperate plea in the silence of the room for him to just kiss you. He crowded you against the wall like he had done so many times over the course of your relationship and captured you in the most devastating kiss just as you’d asked. It was easy to get lost in him like this, to forget the awful trial he was being forced through and each painful day it meant for you. To forget all of it and let him be Terzo and only Terzo. You craved the way his touch quieted your mind, a gentle reminder that he was still here—that he would still be here.

It doesn’t take long for the spark to catch—it never took long with the two of you—and before you knew it, he was on his knees in worship of you. And maybe he did worship you, but you didn’t ask. You didn’t say much other than “please” and “more” as his fingers traced over every inch of your skin, committing you to memory on that bathroom floor.

It was slow and soft and you think Terzo Emeritus might be the only person who could ever fuck you against a wall and still call it “making love.” But you know that’s what he’d say because that’s what it is for both of you. You couldn’t stop yourself as he dragged his sharpened teeth across your collarbone and looked at you through heavy-lidded eyes, so blissed out and alive. It escaped you like so many of the tears you had tried so hard to hide from him and it hung over your heads as Terzo stared back at you, unblinking.

“What did you say, bellezza?” he asked, eyes wide and hips still.

You brought your hands to his face, holding him there. “I said I love you, Terzo,” you repeated, though you could hardly believe you’d said it yourself. “I love you.”

“M-me?”

“Yeah, you.”

“Oh, bellezza.” His mouth crashed against yours, clumsy and hungry as he tried to kiss you a thousand times all at once. “Love you,” he managed to say between breaths, directing most of his concentration toward carefully laying you on the floor. “I love you,” he repeated as he repositioned himself over you and slowly slid his cock back into your heat. “I love you…and you love me.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you warned.

“Too late for that, amore mio. You’re there forever now.” He grinned down at you and pointed at his chest. “And here too.”

“Ugh,” you groaned, rolling your eyes. “You’re such a fucking sap.”

“Sì, but you love me.” He made a point of circling his hips to watch you writhe and keen under him, smiling the entire time.

“Terzo, please.”

“Anything for you my love,” he whispered into your ear before changing his angle and beginning to fuck you in earnest. As he drove each thrust home, you could see stars in your vision. That white-hot passion that had always burned between you was a flare, a lifeline you could follow back to safety, to someone who loved you. To someone you loved.

He held you close as you came, his fingers digging into your hips as your own clawed at his back. He followed soon after with his face buried into your neck, his breath almost instantly cooling your heated skin. He stayed between your legs, lazily mouthing at your collarbone as you both came down from the high, completely addicted to each other.

“I’m so sorry, bellezza. Please, please forgive me,” he begged once more, finally resting his head on your chest. His hair fanned out, sticking in odd patterns to the sweat on your skin as he lay claim to you once more.

“I already have,” you admitted softly, carding a hand through his messy hair. “Shower?”

He nodded. “In a minute.”

You granted him as much peace as you could on the patterned tiles of the bathroom, silently lying with him and holding him close until he was ready to start the day—though it had to be close to midnight by then. Things seemed to move slower in Primo’s house, as though time itself had its claws in the two of you. Even tiny gestures like Terzo’s fascination with washing your hair could never be rushed no matter how much shampoo he managed to get in your eyes.

You were the same way, of course. Taking care to steady your hand before tracing the angles on his face in that black paint. It was no small task, especially not after he explained the meaning behind it. Every time he would tease you about the serious expression you wore while trying to even out the lines on his nose, taking this delicate, intimate part of his life and making it into some silly game. And you let him, finding yourself unable to stop doing anything that made him smile. Even if that meant you were now in charge of buttoning his shirts for him half the time.

Part of you missed those ridiculous crop tops.

-x-

Terzo settled his hip against the counter, watching closely as you moved through the next part of your routine. Preparing his midnight “breakfast” fell on you as Primo very quickly forbid him from using any of the appliances, some unspoken memory of a culinary disaster shared between them with a knowing look. Carefully, you poured the contents of a blood bag into the mug that previously held your coffee. Try as you might, you could never get Terzo to explain why he liked sharing your cup, he simply asked that you did. It was one of his more reasonable requests.

With the cup in the microwave, the two of you watched the faded design slowly spin in the ancient wood-paneled machine. What once read “Everything’s better in” some town was barely legible after at least a decade’s worth of runs through the dishwasher. The cottage was full of things like that—old and yellowing, well loved, but still functional. You cracked a smile, thinking about how similar your 900 year old vampire boyfriend and a microwave from the 1980’s could be.

“What’s so funny, hmm?” he mused and pulled you into his arms.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing, huh?” He squeezed your sides, tickling you until you let out a high pitched squeal.

“Stop,” you managed through a giggle. “You wouldn’t like the joke anyway.”

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but the ungodly howl of the microwave timer cut off anything he was about to say. He reached for the cup and took a long pull, savoring the rich taste of A Positive with his eyes closed. A pleased hum rumbled in his throat as he tried to lick away the leftover traces, but a deep red line formed above his upper lip.

You smiled and let your eyes trail over every little line and soft ridge buried under the paint. Such fine details were only visible up close when he was painted, but you liked the way they added a softness to the harsh angles. You reached over and swiped your thumb across his lip to wipe away the blood mustache.

“You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”

Terzo stared back at you wide-eyed. After a beat he nodded and lowered his gaze, staring into his substitute meal with a hint of shame.

“I know, bellezza,” he offered quietly. “I’m sorry. I just—sometimes I can’t understand why you would stay with me.”

“Yeah, well. If you have to ask, you’re dumber than you look.”

“How dumb do I look?” he shot back, deeply concerned.

“Oh, bello.” You pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “You don’t look dumb. At all.”

He beamed at you. “Bello?”

“Sì, bello. Bellisimo, even.”

“I love you, bellezza, but your pronunciation is terrible.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you groaned. “Testa di Cazzo.”

“Such a dirty mouth,” he tsked.

“Said the vampire with a blood mustache.”

“Straws are bad for the turtles, bellezza,” he informed you, his mouth set in a deep frown. “I saw it on the news.”

“Ha! I’d believe you could fly before I believe you watched the news.”

He sighed. “Ok, fine. It’s something I heard Omega say once.”

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. He was so warm after he ate that you couldn’t help but relax against him. “Do you think Omega and Alpha are enjoying their extended vacation?”

“I doubt they’ve ever been happier. They’ve asked for a swimming pool for Christmas for the last, oh, thirty years?”

“Do you even celebrate Christmas?”

“No! Which makes it that much more irritating when they ask—"

“Hate to interrupt,” Primo chimed in as he appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Feel free not to then,” Terzo shot back with a wave of his hand. “We’re busy.”

“Apologies fratellino but it cannot be helped. There is something we need to discuss.”

“No,” he replied with a frown. “No ‘discussions’, no tests, no nothing. Not today, Primo. Please?”

It was Primo’s turn to frown, deep creases forming between his eyes and around his mouth. He looked older somehow, more wrinkled and tired than he had a few hours ago. His body appeared almost frail, like a distorted reflection of the way Terzo had become brighter and livelier.

“Primo, are you ok?” you asked gently.

“Always, piccolina,” he replied dismissively. “Now, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Could you two join me in the lab?”

Terzo sighed heavily and knocked back the rest of his breakfast in one gulp. “Do we have a choice?”

“No,” Primo responded simply.

Together you quietly made your way through the back of the house and down the set of stone steps that marked the boundary of the original cottage. A large glass conservatory stretched across the back of the property; an addition made sometime later where Primo spent most of his time these days. The air in the structure was sticky and humid, heavy with the heat of the day still trapped between the thick panes.

You settled on the small sofa hidden amongst the massive leaves, the pollen from the fresh blooms making your nose itch as you looked around Primo’s makeshift laboratory. A worktable that should have been used for flower arrangements and propagation was covered in countless glass flasks filled with odd concoctions and a colorful assortment of potions. Some bubbled under the heat of an open flame, while others slowly dripped into a new container like moonshine being distilled in some prohibition hideout. Each mixture had been crafted by hand while Primo consulted some dusty old tome, working tirelessly to keep his brother alive. You weren’t sure if it was basic chemistry or some magical alchemy the old vampire had his hands in, neither would really surprise you.

“What is it you want now?” Terzo asked, clearly annoyed by Primo’s insistence. “More blood?”

“No, fratellino. You should sit down.”

He looked nervous, hands trembling slightly as he sat and sank into the sofa. It wasn’t an expression you were used to seeing on the carefree vampire’s face, even when things had been at their worst. Something in Primo’s tone scared him, which only made you frightened in turn. You slipped your hand into his, fingers intertwining in a silent reminder that you were there with him. That you loved him.

The exposed skin of his hands glowed with warmth—with life. You were glad to see him feeling better. Looking better. But Primo’s solemn expression cast a dark cloud over everything in the room. Whatever he had found, whatever he needed to say didn’t look good.

“Fratellino, how do you feel?”

“Better than you look,” he replied in a suspicious tone. “Why do you ask?”

Primo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Terzo…this isn’t easy—”

“You can’t fix it,” he whispered.

“No, Terzo that’s not—” he rushed. He paused with a sigh, searching for the right words. “What’s happening to you—the poison is…complex. It took a great deal of time to break it down and discover all the components—to understand why our temporary solution treats the effects, but hasn’t made any improvements toward ridding your body of this thing—"

“You’re blaming my body for this?”

“Of course not. Will you let me finish?” He snapped harshly.

“Fine,” Terzo huffed and crossed his arms over his chest as he pushed further into the sofa.

“Mi dispiace, mostriciattolo,” Primo replied quietly. “My temper is harder to control right now.”

You felt him tense beside you as he cautiously looked up at his brother.

“You…you haven’t called me that in at least 100 years,” he noted in a whisper.

“Fratellino, do you remember what I told you when you were young?”

Terzo nodded once and wiped away a single tear with the back of his hand. Another memory shared wordlessly between two almost ancient men. “What does that have to do with this?”

“Our enemies underestimate us,” Primo replied grimly. “They think I won’t do what needs to be done. That I—have never faced such a harrowing challenge in all my lifetimes. Surely that is the only way to survive this long, sì? Fear in the form of self-preservation. That I would choose my life over yours.”

“What are you saying, Primo?”

Primo shrugged. “The thing that binds us to each other, the thing we need to survive—they underestimate its power too. I would die to save you, Terzo. I would do it all over again without question. And that makes our family different. It is how we are bound that gives us power.” He paused to look at you. “How we can be bound to another. Our blood possesses properties humans have never dreamed of. The trouble is it will take a great deal of our blood to fix yours.”

“Like how much?” you asked nervously.

Primo didn’t answer, instead he lifted a hand to silence you as his eyes darted around the room. The faintest noise came from outside, barely more than a rustling in the grass just outside the conservatory’s walls. Both men were immediately on edge, their fangs bared in warning as something—someone—moved around the building.

“Stay here,” Primo commanded firmly before making his way toward the door.

Terzo moved so quickly it felt like missing frames in a sequence, your brain struggling to process his actions. He pressed a knife into your hand, swiped from somewhere on Primo’s table. You stared at the thing, blinking slowly until the realization hit you. Danger. Someone had finally come for your vampire.

Silently, you eased behind Terzo and prepared to strike at whatever—whoever—might present itself. You held your breath, straining to hear anything while Primo moved through the side door, his long, white hair disappearing into the darkness.

A feeling crept down your spine—forgotten yet so familiar—winding your nerves tighter and tighter like a loaded spring trap. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, dialing your senses to eleven as you scouted the room. Your pulse raced uncomfortably as the chemical tried to take over your body and mind, every cell screaming for you to fight. To run. You’d spent most of your life training yourself not to be afraid, but that was easier said when the only thing to lose was your own life. But now, with Terzo—with the man you loved—standing before you, that sense was heightened.

There was a desire to throw yourself in front of the vampire—to protect him. No matter what it might cost you.

A shadow formed in the doorway, a large and imposing figure looming in the dark. You readied yourself as it stepped forward, prepared to fight off whoever had come for you. Light hit the solid form and the familiar image of harsh black and white paint in a shape you didn’t recognize became clearer. The man leaned forward, squinting as he scanned the room.

Terzo let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he called out, “Secondo?”

You felt your heart stop as Secondo Emeritus focused solely on you. With each determined step he ignored Terzo’s shouting and shoved him hard as he passed. He crashed into the sofa, the frame completely shattering from the impact and the sharp snap of solid wood bursting into pieces became the soundtrack to your false sense of security coming to an abrupt end.

Secondo had a hand around your throat before you could move—before you could think. He squeezed hard, cutting off your air as he dragged you across the room. Tears welled in your eyes as you helplessly kicked and tried to free yourself. But it was useless. He was strong, too strong. It took no effort for him to haul you up and pin you to the wall.

He stared you down, teeth gritted and eyes filled with malice. “Tell me why I shouldn’t just snap your neck right now, little hunter,” he ground out, fangs flashing with each pointed word.

Fear and pain surged through you, swirling its way around the adrenaline already poisoning your blood. Your lungs burned, screaming for you to take a breath as his fingers flexed and threatened to crush your windpipe. Years of training flashed in your head, every weakness and warning you’d ever heard. What good was any of it now that you were actually faced with an Emeritus vampire?

Maybe, maybe you deserved to die at the hands of a vampire, but you weren’t ready to find out.

You reached out and slashed at him with the knife. The blade easily sliced through the fancy material of his suit and into the soft flesh of his forearm. Again and again you cut into him, but he still wouldn’t let go. With a growl, Secondo wrenched the knife from your hand and stabbed it into the wall a hair’s width from your head. The placement was no accident. It was a calculated move to let you know that Secondo was going to kill you slowly and without mercy.

In one last desperate attempt you jammed your fingers into the wounds you carved, hoping it would break his hold. A warm rush of blood oozed around your fingers, but the vampire didn’t even flinch.

A choking sound escaped your mouth as you fought for each breath, tears streaming down your face. “Ter—"

There was a blur of movement followed by a sickening snap and you hit the floor hard. You grabbed your neck, sucking down desperate breaths as soon as you realized you were free. But how?

Secondo clumsily stumbled backward in surprise; his arm now bent at grotesque angle. Bone and sinew poked through his shredded sleeve as blood dripped onto the conservatory’s stone floor. With a great howl of pain, he pushed a protruding broken bone back into its rightful place and rounded on Terzo.

Terzo crouched in front of you, spitting and snarling like a wild animal. His teeth made a horrifying sound as he threateningly snapped his jaws at his brother. “If you ever put your hands on her again,” he growled in warning, his voice low and terrifying. “You will beg for death.”

Secondo offered him a sick smile as he stepped forward. “I would love to see you try, little brother.”

Terzo rose to his full height, squaring off with the taller man. He was almost an entire foot shorter and his slight frame made Secondo look even more muscular in comparison, but size and scale hardly mattered when it came to the strength of vampires. As old as they were, they were both powerful and possibly deadly to each other.

Secondo’s smile didn’t falter as he took another step. “Do you really think you can stop me before I get to her?”

“Would you like to find out?”

“Boys!”

Primo’s voice rang out so loud it rattled the large windows in their frames. The noise reverberated through the domed structure, bouncing around as Terzo and Secondo completely stopped in their tracks. The vampires were now frozen in their battle stances, refusing to take their eyes off one another but neither dared to move.

“I won’t tolerate you being at each other’s throats, so you might as well get over it now,” he instructed before turning to Secondo and pointing a bony finger at him. “If you touch piccolina again, you won’t be answering to Terzo.”

Secondo narrowed his eyes but otherwise stayed quiet as the warning hung between them.

You scrambled to your feet, keeping your back to the wall as you watched for the next threat. A surge of panic ripped through you as a woman in a designer outfit appeared behind Primo. She gently brushed past him with a small nod and a hand placed carefully on his arm, an ornate ring on her finger catching the light. The gems sparkled like stars in the way only real jewels could before they were hidden under the velvet sleeve of her jacket. She moved with such elegance, even as she rushed to Secondo’s side and delicately held his arm to examine his wounds. He tried to shake her off, earning himself a stern look from the smaller woman that seemed to fix him in place. He cupped her face with his non-bloodied hand, quickly mumbling an apology and something else that brought relief to her face. They exchanged a look—the kind could only exist between two people who were deeply connected or deeply in love—before he pressed his forehead to hers. Secondo’s entire being, this massive, monstrous threat, seemed to completely melt away under her touch.

Peeking out from under her collar was the faint line of a scar. You quickly realized who she must be. Reginetta, as Terzo called her, Secondo’s little queen.

What had happened to them was no secret among the hunters. Time after time you heard about how some rogue group had infiltrated his club, ransomed his assistant, and set fire to the building. How they had nearly succeeded in taking him out in the process. It was a fairy tale full of corpses and poisons, one Terzo didn’t like to discuss at all, but in your time together you had heard the other side of the story. How the hunters had tried to turn love into a weakness and forced Terzo and Secondo to watch as they stabbed his girlfriend. You knew all about how utterly helpless Terzo had felt, how it haunted and changed him from a man you suspected didn’t have a care in the world to one who carried the entire weight of it alone by the time you met.

Somewhere within the ruins of Meliora House, Terzo had also kept a couple of Lucy’s teeth.

You weren’t a part of what they’d done, but you were hardly different. Terzo was in this whole mess because of you—because you also foolishly decided to try to take out the most powerful vampire family in history. And for what? The was no glory, no noble cause. There was just some bullshit sense of victory and justice fed to you for years. You never questioned it, not even once. Not until Terzo directed his attention toward you.

There was nothing about you that was worthy of his love and yet, he gave it freely. He loved you—a pitiful, undeserving mess of a girl with blood on her hands and next to nothing to offer him.

You tried to swallow it down, to make yourself as small as possible and disappear. A wounded cry left your lips as you thought about all the damage you’d done. All that pain and heartache inflicted for centuries by hunters just like you.

He turned as you whimpered, moving faster than your eyes could follow. Holding you tight to his chest, he began to whisper a thousand apologies into your hair before you could even think to protest. You didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve him, but he was right there with you. Fighting the urge to sob, you wrapped your arms around his neck. Everything the two of you had been through, every errant feeling or emotion you’d pushed down bubbled to the surface and threatened to drown you. You were afraid. You were worried. You were annoyed and happy and loved. You were so, so loved. And you were the safest you’d ever felt—the only time you’d felt safe in your miserable little life—here in his arms. That thought—that knowledge burned brighter than any of the nasty things you could tell yourself about your former life.

Terzo loved you. He’d said it a million times and now you finally understood what it meant. And you’d fight to the death to hold onto it.

“You’ve got real shitty people skills, Twos.”

You lifted your head to search for the voice. Another couple appeared, gracefully making their way into the conservatory. Gold accents adorned their coordinating outfits, glinting in the soft light as they moved. The delicate fringe of their epaulets swayed as Count and Countess Copia gave their surroundings a once-over. Their painted faces hid their expressions, but their military dress suggested they were here for something serious. Terzo however, wasn’t nearly as stoic. As Copia took a step forward, Terzo let out low, warning growl.

“Oh, calm down, fratello,” Copia called out with a dismissive wave. “No one’s going to hurt you or the girl.”

“Honestly,” the Countess started and turned to Reginetta. “How on earth do you put up with him?”

It was Secondo’s turn to growl. “She’s a hunter,” he grinded out.

“Yeah,” the Countess laughed. “A teeny-tiny little hunter in a room full of Emeritus vampires. What exactly did you think she was going to do?”

“She can speak for herself,” you spat as you tried to untangle yourself from Terzo’s arms.

The Countess let out a deranged giggle. “Not if I snatch out your tongue—”

“You’re not going anywhere near her. None of you are going anywhere near her,” Terzo sneered.

“Oh well,” she hummed and turned her attention to Terzo. “Terzo! It’s so lovely to see you dressed like it’s this century.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Well, Sorella, I lost most of my things in a fire and had to run for my life.” He gestured toward her clothes. “What is your excuse for this?”

She flashed her fangs and hissed.

“Amore don’t tease a dying man,” Copia urged, and steering her away by the shoulders. He casually dropped onto the broken sofa, barely noticing the splintered wood at his feet. “Do you have any sort of burial ensemble in mind, fratello?”

“No, because I’m not dying,” Terzo corrected. His fingernails dug painfully into your skin as he buried a much angrier reaction.

“Are you sure? You look terrible,” Secondo teased, ignoring the pinch he received from Reginetta.

“If you’re not dying then why did Primo call us?” Copia asked. “Primo, why did you call us?”

“I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t,” Primo muttered with a groan. “Frankly, it’s embarrassing that none of you can be in the same room for more than two minutes before you start acting like children. I called because Terzo needs help, your help—”

“And not because you’re trying to show off in front of the little hunter, hmm?” Secondo challenged coolly.

“Mind your tone, fratellino,” Primo warned, accompanied by a low growl as he stepped toward his brother.

“Oh, here we go,” Copia grumbled with a roll of his eyes and leaned forward to grab a sharp, broken piece of wood. He tossed the makeshift stake at Primo and Secondo’s feet, issuing a challenge of his own. “You ever see a real vampire bloodbath, little hunter?”

“Enough!” Terzo screamed. His entire body shook with anger as he looked around the room, staring each of his brothers down. “You said we’d be safe here,” he spat at Primo. “You promised me.”

“You are safe here—”

“That stronzo grabbing bellezza by the throat is your definition of safe?” He let out an uneasy laugh as he turned to Copia. “Make your jokes, Copia. By all means, please have another laugh at my expense. But let me ask you what would you have done, hmm? What would you have done if Secondo had stormed into your fucking castle and grabbed the Countess like that? If he had threatened to take her life instead of killing a room full of people so the two of you could live happily ever after, huh?”

“Well, I—” Copia started, but Terzo angrily waved him off.

“I don’t want your fucking help,” he stated tersely. “We don’t need any help from any of you if this is how you’re going to treat us. If this is how you and Secondo plan to repay me for fighting your fucking battles I don’t need you here.”

“Terzo, hang on—” Secondo tried.

“No!” Terzo snapped. “If none of you have any interest in helping, just go back to wherever the hell you came from. Leave us in peace. Let me die in peace.”

“I’m sorry,” Secondo offered softly. The room fell completely silent as he took a few careful steps forward and placed a hand on Terzo’s shoulder. “Mi dispiace. I’m sorry, Terzo. I didn’t mean to—"

“I don’t need your apology,” Terzo grinded out and shook him off. “You owe it to her.”

You shook your head, finally finding your voice. “He was only trying to protect you, Terzo.”

He whipped around with an incredulous look. “He tried to—”

“I know,” you replied quickly, cutting him off. “But I don’t blame him for that. I don’t expect him or anyone in your family to trust me. Hell, I wouldn’t trust me. The things you’ve all been through…It doesn’t matter how much you trust me; I’ll still have to earn it from everyone else. You just need to know the only thing I care about is helping you and if that’s why they’re here—if that’s what Primo needs to fix you…” you trailed off and shook your head. “I couldn’t care less about what happens to me.”

“I care about what happens to you, cara mia,” he whispered.

You offered him a faint smile before pressing a kiss into his cheek. “I know you do.”

“Well, if that’s settled. Is anyone hungry?” Primo asked loudly.

-x-

The cottage had never felt so full of life. A kitchen full of Emeritus vampires, both new and old, were all finding their rhythm as part of the task at hand. Primo and Secondo were singing at the top of their lungs, beautifully harmonizing some old Italian love song while effortlessly crafting a meal completely from scratch. Copia had shed his military jacket in favor of a novelty “kiss the chef” apron while he hovered over a simmering pot. Every few moments he would look up to make heart-eyes at his Countess while she and Reginetta stood nearby, hard at work attacking a cake recipe.

It unfolded like a scene from one of those silly films Terzo loved, a dynamic portrayal of a family that only ever seemed to be found in the most idealistic fiction. Your family, what little there was, had never once committed such an act of togetherness. Even Terzo—who was barred from helping in any meaningful way—flitted around the kitchen refilling glasses of wine and slipping into conversations like the perfect host.

He watched you from across the crowded kitchen, wearing a look of warmth and light and pure love that felt almost tangible. Without missing a beat, he seized the opportunity to take your hand and pulled you into the eye of the storm, making sure you were also a part of the greater Emeritus chaos instead of on its fringes. Primo shot you an encouraging smile as the ladies turned to ask your opinion on attempting something called “Italian buttercream.”

Maybe it was better that your family wasn’t like this, that you had never prepared a single dish that wasn’t frozen or had any idea there was more to frosting than the stuff that came in a plastic tub. Until now, you only had a vague idea of what you were “missing out” on, pieces of that “perfect family” that never seemed real to begin with. You doubted you would have been able to appreciate it for what it was prior to this past summer anyway. But now, hearing the sounds swell around you in that small kitchen meant more to you than anything ever had—including that limited edition sweater Terzo was still hellbent on replacing.

The sense of calm extended over a dinner served around 4 a.m., but it was anything but quiet. Laughter was shared around the table just as much as the food. Copia and Primo scrambled to find their most embarrassing memories of Terzo through the ages like a mother showing off baby pictures to a prom date. Secondo remained distant, though he didn’t ignore you completely. Once Reginetta had warmed up to you, he even began to use more than one word to reply.

The extent of Terzo’s situation was revealed over a dessert eaten with tiny forks. After one too many glasses of wine seeped into everyone’s bloodstream, Primo laid out what he’d discovered to an audience of vampires stunned into silence. Terzo buried his face in his hands while Secondo angrily shot up from the table and began pacing the length of the dining room.

Paying his brothers no mind, Primo outlined the rest of his plan. He’d found a solution, albeit a dangerous one. A mix of vampire blood, a rare plant, and a little bit of magic was all he needed, a list of ingredients you couldn’t quite comprehend. You tried your best to follow along and understand exactly what was needed to save your love, but the plan was so heavily flawed you couldn’t focus on anything but how risky the whole thing was. You weren’t as strong as the others, nor were you immortal, but you knew how to strategize and how to fight. You had an intimate knowledge of how the hunters’ network operated and everything Primo had laid out looked like walking into an obvious trap.

“So, this plant…you’re saying one of the only places to find it just so happens to be your little town’s botanical garden?” you asked. “I’m guessing this is the very same garden that you personally funded?”

“It is the same, yes.”

“I don’t like this, Primo.”

“I don’t understand,” the Countess interjected. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s too easy,” you and Secondo answered, almost in unison.

“Well yeah. But we could just kill them,” she replied with a huff. “Problem solved.”

“No, problem not solved,” Secondo growled back. “Are you even listening?”

“I agree we should kill them, dear Countess, but I must insist that we do not go charging into this. We will need every single body with a pulse that we can find, or we might not make it back from this. They will most certainly be waiting for us and they’ve had months to plan for our arrival. Hell, they’re probably watching us right now.”

“Ok but I do get to kill them, right? Like, after everything? Vampire snacks?”

“Who is going to stop you, amore?” Copia cooed, petting her face with a gloved hand.

“Bellezza,” Terzo started quietly. “Are you going to be ok with this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, isn’t it possible these hunters might be people you know?”

The other discussions in the room fell away as the vampires waited for your reply. There was a definite possibility that people you once knew wanted you dead, but they were part of another life completely. Even if you hadn’t fallen for Terzo, they tried to kill you. You didn’t know if it was direct or just collateral damage, but the point remained the same. The hunters placed no value on your life or his, or anyone else in the room for that matter. They didn’t care what happened to any of you as long as they got the job done.

You took Terzo’s hand, squeezing it lightly. “If they are people I knew, they’re part of my past. They’re not people I want to know anymore. Honestly, if came down to it, I’d burn the world down to save you.”

“That’s not part of the plan, correct?” Copia asked nervously. “Don’t get any ideas, amore.”

“Must every plan involve all of you walking into an obvious trap?” Reginetta asked voice shaking as she pushed herself up from her chair. She turned and made a quick exit from the room, letting the front door slam as she escaped.

“Tesorino, wait,” Secondo called out, chasing after her.

“She has a point, you know,” Terzo added sharply, rising from his own seat. “It’s not like this sort of thing worked out well for us last time.”

“Terzo, this is different,” Primo offered.

“Oh, you’re right. This is worse. Much worse. This time we don’t have Mary, Alpha, or Omega here to help—”

“I’ve summoned Earth and Air—”

“Fantastic. Why not call everyone so you can host a proper family reunion at my fucking wake.”

Primo slammed his fists on the table. “I’m not going to let you die, Terzo!”

He sighed. “If you want to yell at god old man, be my guest. But my time is limited and I’d rather be doing anything else, so I am going to bed. Bellezza, will join me?”

You nodded once, too lost in your own thoughts to even think about sleeping. “Yeah, just um, give me a minute?”

He frowned, worry lines setting deep in his forehead. He wasn’t very good at being alone these days, especially when your time together was growing shorter by the day. That night in your apartment flashed in your mind, his soft confession about quiet being too much for him to handle. Everything you’d done since you met was to keep him safe, whether you realized or not. But were you really doing enough? Why did it sound like he was giving up?

You placed a kiss on his cheek on your way out of the room. The garden called to you once again, its empty husk now an old friend as you winded your way down the path. In the distance, the horizon was painted a streak of brilliant pink, announcing the arrival of another new day. A tear slid down your cheek as you tried desperately to steel yourself, flexing your hands into fists to keep from screaming.

Primo had figured out a way to help him, but you couldn’t help but think of what might be lost in the process. There wasn’t much you could do about it if this was what Primo wanted—it had never been clearer that he was in charge and whatever he wanted was the plan. But the possibility of something going wrong was so obvious even the others had spoken up, though it didn’t change anything. If the hunters were as prepared as you suspected, you would be outnumbered by an enemy armed with stakes, fire, and poisons that could literally stop the vampires in their tracks.

Was it all supposed to be some hopeless task? A trial designed for none of you to survive? You weren’t going to let that happen, couldn’t let it happen. You’d fallen hopelessly head-over-heels in love for the first time in your life and no one was going to take that away from you. All the silly plots to Terzo’s favorite movies finally started to make sense. You were so terrifyingly in love with Terzo Emeritus that you would do whatever it takes to keep him. Forever.

“It’s beautiful out here, huh?” A gentle voice asked behind you. As you spun around, Reginetta put her hands up to show she was no threat. “I’m sorry,” she started. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Sometimes I forget how easily we can sulk around in the dark.”

“Oh, it’s fine. Um, where’s—”

“Secondo?” she finished for you. “Secondo is taking a very long walk in the woods.”

“Ah. Is everything ok?”

She smiled faintly. “I won’t try to make excuses for his behavior. It wouldn’t be fair to either of you and frankly, he’s a centuries old grown ass man—He just…I hope you can believe me when I say that he loves his brothers even if he has a very odd way of showing it.”

You nodded once. “I understand. It’s…complicated.”

She laughed, her voice high and light like she was the mirror opposite of the man she was trying to defend. “Complicated is certainly one way to put it. I don’t know how much Terzo has told you and it’s not necessarily my place to share either, but there were long stretches of time where they were all living secluded lives. They cut themselves off from the world and from each other, but when everything…happened,” she paused as she fought back tears. “Terzo and Secondo blamed themselves for things that were so beyond their control. I blamed myself for—well, that’s another story. The point is, I’ve never seen Secondo as scared as he was when he heard about the fire at Meliora House. Not even when I was bleeding out in front of him, because that—that he could fix. But if Terzo had been in that house…if Terzo was—”

The tears she’d held back began to pour down her cheeks as she flung herself at you. She wrapped you in the tightest hug you’d ever felt as she mumbled into your hair. “You saved him. You might not have any idea what that means for this family, but I can tell you it means the world to me. And I know you mean the world to him.”

“It’s funny, you know? I love him. I’ve never loved anyone. I love him so much it hurts sometimes and I…I never really thought that was possible for someone like me. It sounds stupid but I think he saved me more than I saved him.”

“The Emeritus brothers are funny like that. I don’t think I ever even let myself dream of someone like Secondo.”

You cracked a smile. “Like a vampire?”

She laughed again. “I will admit that was a surprise. Did you know the Countess was a nun? It’s probably safe to say none of us could have predicted the path we would end up on. But the vampire thing…that’s only a part of who he is—part of who they are.”

“And you.”

“Yeah,” she replied with a nod. “And me.”

“Can I ask…” you drifted off, wondering how invasive you question might be.

“What is it like?” she finished and waited for you to nod in return. “It’s…different. I imagine it’s different for everyone, but once you get used to the new teeth it’s a little easier. And having someone who loves you walk you through it is infinitely easier than I imagine doing it alone would be. But as different as it is, you’re still you. Maybe a little,” she stopped to wave a hand, “amplified, but at the core you’re still everything you were. I sleep easier now, my dreams are a bit brighter. It’s not what I would call a carefree life, especially right now, but I don’t regret making that choice. Not for one fucking second.”

“Tesorino?”

You both turned to find Secondo leaning against the gate at the entrance to the garden, wearing a look of worry under his paints. Reginetta’s face lit up as bright as a thousand stars as she held out her hand to him.

“Hello, my love. Are you feeling better?”

“I am, thank you,” he replied and joined her, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. He shot a quick glance your way before taking a deep breath. “Sorellina, I—my behavior—”

“Oh.” You waved your hands. “No, no don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”

“No, sorellina, it is not okay. Please, please don’t tell him I said so, but Terzo was right—that was no way to welcome someone to our family. It was spite and cruelty that was directed at the wrong person entirely. I’m afraid right now I only have words to offer as an apology, but I hope that will be enough, at least until this whole thing is over.”

“It’s—uh—thank you, Secondo.”

“There. Was that so hard?” Reginetta teased, poking at his side. He flashed his fangs.

“You know, for what it’s worth you were actually pretty terrifying,” you offered.

He almost smiled. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Just please don’t make me stab you again, ok?”

“I think you mean let you stab me—”

“Ok, we get it,” Reginetta cut in. “You’re a big, strong scary vampire and no one can stop you, my love. But it is getting late or early—either way we should all go get some rest.” She moved quickly, wrapping you in another tight hug. “I am so glad we finally got the chance to meet. Goodnight, sorellina. Sleep well, ok?”

-x-

Terzo was sprawled out on the bed, lazily flipping through channels on the TV with his mouth set in a hard line and his shirt missing. The rest of the family could be heard shuffling around overhead, their muffled voices asking Primo for incidental things like blankets or the WiFi password. In only a few hours the cottage had turned from a secret hideout to a well-populated ancestral home, transforming into a place where the Emeritus brothers could feel and act like a “normal” family. You smiled to yourself, realizing you’d landed in the middle of some bizarre vampire version of those stupid movies Terzo loved.

He looked annoyed and tired, but with his shirt off and his sweats low around his hips he also looked exactly as he did when you first met. You weren’t sure if it was the sudden arrival of his entire family or something else making him so grumpy, but even in a cranky mood he was still the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. Thinking about it now, you never really stood a chance.

“There you are,” he huffed and turned, stretching his body like a cat in the sun. A tiny grin betrayed whatever feigned irritation had been on his face moments before as he patted the space next to him. “Come to bed, bellezza.”

How could you ever turn him down? You shed your clothes and crawled into the bed, pressing as close to him as you could get. He was still so warm and soft, not yet showing any signs of the poison’s horrible effects. You cupped his face, urging him to focus on you. “I love you, Terzo,” you whispered. “I love you so much.”

“I don’t think I will ever get tired of hearing that,” he admitted softly and brushed a hair away from your face. “I love you too, cara mia.”

“You promise?”

His brow furrowed. “Bellezza? Is something wrong?”

You shook your head. “No, nothing’s wrong. I just—I think—I have something to ask you. And I don’t think you’re going to like it, but I need you to hear me out.”

“I don’t like where this is going—”

“This isn’t something that’s going to be easy for either of us, but if this is what it takes…if walking directly into the lion’s den is our only option to save you, we have to do everything we can.”

“Bellezza, you don’t need to worry—"

“Terzo, I want you to turn me.”

Shocked, he stared back at you unblinking. “No. Absolutely not. No.”

“Terzo—”

He sat up and made a few nervous passes through his hair with his hands. “Bellezza, no. It will kill you. Do you understand that? You will die, to death.”

You sighed as you sat up to meet his eyes. “I know.”

“Then why would you—”

“Because if we do this…no matter what happens I won’t stay dead. It’s…the simple truth is that I love you,” you admitted. “And I will do anything it takes to protect you, even this. Especially this.”

He brought a hand to your face and traced his thumb over your cheek. “It should be me protecting you.”

“Do you think really I can’t take care of myself?” you asked teasingly. “We promised we would save each other and I intend to keep that promise. Forever.” You leaned into his touch, letting your eyes close as he continued to stroke your cheek. “I’m going to make them pay for what they did to you.”

“Has anyone ever told you how sexy you are when you’re angry?”

“Uh, yeah. You.”

“Come here, amore mio,” he asked softly. Carefully you climbed over him, legs straddling either side of his hips as you settled in his lap. “They were very foolish to make an enemy of you, but what you’re asking for…it can’t be undone. It is forever in a way that I’m not sure you understand—”

Your face fell. “Is that what you really think? That I’m not capable of grasping the concept of an eternity with you? That this is just some sudden whim and I haven’t considered the consequences? I have had nothing but time to think about these things since we got here. And half of that time I have spent without you, waiting every day for you to wake up and being terrified that you won’t. I have considered forever and it’s fucking scary, but I am so much more afraid of losing you.”

“Bellezza, I’m not going anywhere. Now that I have found you, I will never leave you.”

“Then why is it so crazy for me to feel the same way?”

“It’s not. It’s just—what if you wake up one day and you want a normal life, eh? That’s not something I could ever give you.”

You leveled your eyes with his. “I’ve never had a normal life. You and me? We aren’t normal people. We never have been and we never will be. I don’t want normal, Terzo. Why would I want normal when I have what we have? I want this. I want you. I want to help my very, very handsome vampire boyfriend survive. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Ti amo tanto, amore mio.”

Your eyebrows pulled together. “You love what?”

“I love you, bellezza. So much,” he cooed and reached up to cup your face. “You are the love of my nine lifetimes and I will do anything for you.”

“Even this?”

He nodded slowly. “Even this. Forever is a long time, cara mia— “

“And it still won’t be long enough, bello.”

He smiled brightly, his sharp fangs on display. “No, but then I will have forever to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For saving me.”

You smiled. “Well, somebody has to.”

“They don’t, but I am very grateful that you did.”

“Well, I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner and that I haven’t really said it enough, but I want to be able to tell you everyday. For the rest of your eternal life.”

“It would be our eternal life, bellezza.”

“It will be our eternal life.”

“Have you been hiding a romantic side all this time, hmm?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you leaned in close and pressed the softest kiss to his lips. “No, I must have picked it up from you.”

“Ah, I see. Well, in that case I’ve been an excellent teacher.”

“How do you stay so humble?”

“It’s a gift, my love,” he replied with a grin.

You rolled your eyes. “So, how does this work?”

Terzo’s brow furrowed as he bit the inside of his cheek. “I’m not entirely sure, bellezza. I know the basics—I drink from you, you drink from me, you die, you come back—but beyond that I’m not sure I could explain the mechanics of it all. Believe me, I wish I could give you more answers. Perhaps Primo could explain it in more scientific terms. But if this is truly what you want—”

“It is.”

He pressed his forehead to yours. “Whenever you’re ready, bellezza.”

“I’m ready. I love you, Terzo Emeritus. And I’ll love you forever.”

He leaned in, catching your lips in a sweet, tender kiss that said more than he could at the moment. He held you close, hands desperately clinging to you like it was the first time or the last time he would ever get to touch you like this. In some ways it was, but only as something fleeting, something temporary. The end of something that could give way to something so much more.

If the two of you would be forever, you’d have to start somewhere.

You barely felt his fangs cut into your neck. He had always taken such care in moments like this, always treated you like the most precious thing he had ever handled. To him, you were—and he made sure you knew every day since that first time you’d saved him. You could tell from the way he hummed against the wound on your throat his worship of you had no end. And maybe he had loved you from the very moment he saw you. Maybe you had loved him right back.

It flashed as your heart slowed, every moment the two of you had spent together replayed in your mind. Screaming at each other in the rain. The night in the garden. The kitchen. His stupid princess bed. Your entire life had led you to those moments—some bizarre, unexpected turn in your destiny had landed you here and now with the man you’d die for. A tear slipped down your cheek as your pulse grew faint, leaving you feeling dangerously calm.

Terzo pulled away and brought his wrist to his mouth, pausing as he looked at you. “Bellezza?” He asked, his voice thick with concern. “Amore—”

“It’s ok. I’m ok,” you assured him. “I just never thought I would be this happy.”

“Bellezza, you must drink from me now. Ok?”

You nodded, wincing at the sound of him biting into his wrist. He brought his arm to your mouth, encouraging you to drink as much as you wanted. As his blood flowed past your lips, you were surprised by how different it was. Terzo’s blood didn’t taste like sour metal on your tongue. He tasted like the way he loved you—warm and sweet and as endless as the edge of the universe with a heavy dash of something you couldn’t quite name. It was like drinking down something ancient and ethereal, yet just as familiar as every song or poem, book, or film you’d ever loved. As intangible as starlight and thick as honey, he tasted of beauty and joy and life.

You drank as much as you could, not wanting to waste a single drop of this gift he’d given you. It coursed through you, warm in your stomach like Kentucky bourbon and just as dizzying. You slumped against him, unable to hold yourself up any longer as his blood began to merge with your own.

“I’m here, bellezza,” Terzo whispered softly, smoothing a hand over your back. “I will always be here.”

A million questions formed and swirled around in your head, unable to travel the distance across the synapses. As they dissolved and fizzled out, your breathing slowed. Terzo kept talking, offering gentle declarations of love, but his voice began to drift until it was too far away to pick out a single syllable and you slipped into a dreamless sleep—

—and woke to the sound of shouting. The smell of blood surrounded you, dried and matted across your skin and in your hair. You weren’t sure how long you were out—long enough for all that blood to dry at least. How long did it take to die and come back as a vampire? Pain wracked your body as your heart began to beat again. Slowly at first, a heavy thump, thump, thump that pushed dead blood through your veins. Each muscle spasmed as you struggled to move for the first time in your new life.

Life? Afterlife? Or were you undead?

Fuck, it didn’t matter. You pushed yourself up, vision fuzzy as you forced your eyes open. Blurry figures with black and white hair stood at the foot of the bed, arms waving wildly as they screamed at each other. Terzo and Primo began to come into focus, but they were too caught up in their argument to notice you were awake. Pulling yourself into a seated position, you settled against the headboard and watched them repeatedly jab at each other.

“I’m not the one who’s lost his mind!” Primo yelled, his voice so loud you could feel it in your bones.

“Hah! If anyone in this house is senile it’s you, old man,” Terzo shouted back just as loud.

“Satanas help me. You idiots keep turning every woman you meet—”

“Not every woman. Just the ones we love, stronzo. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

“You little—” Primo ground out some unintelligible Italian insults, repeatedly striking the back of his brother’s head as a means of punctuation.

“No, your mother stronzo—” Terzo snapped back and covered his head with his arms. “Stop fucking hitting me!”

“Nine hundred years and you still haven’t learned your actions have consequences—get back here!”

“Could you two please shut the fuck up?” You growled, pressing your fingers into your temples. Both men stopped and stared at you, stunned into silence. Relief left your lips in a sigh, the quiet filling your ears as you let your head fall back against the headboard. You unclenched your jaw, opening your mouth wide as you reached up to feel your sharp new teeth.

“B-bellezza? You’re awake?” Terzo stumbled toward the bed, quickly climbing up next to you. He took your face in his hands, inspecting it for signs of anything.

“Looks that way, huh?”

“How—how do you feel?” Primo asked.

You felt different. What was the word Reginetta had used? Amplified. Everything louder, brighter, stronger. More. Instead of elaborating, you replied, “kind of like I want to kill you both.”

Your lover laughed nervously. “Hypothetically, right?”

“Yes, Terzo. I didn’t wake up murderous.”

“Because you were lucky,” Primo warned. “Of all the stupid things—” He cut himself off and threw his hands in the air, laughing angrily. “Mostriciattolo, you are lucky she woke up at all idiota. Ah, Mostriciattolo e Draculina. Perfetto.”

“Primo, what are you saying?”

“Nothing at all, little one.” He gave Terzo a pointed look and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

“What was that about? Why were you two fighting like that?”

He shrugged and slumped onto the bed. “Same as always—I can’t do anything right, don’t think before I act, etc., etc. It’s all very boring, bellezza.”

“He’s upset about me?”

He shook his head. “No, no, nothing like that. He’s upset about the situation. Said it was ‘beyond irresponsible’ even for me, but he isn’t upset about the outcome. He’ll probably tell you as much later. Enough about my grumpy brother, how are you feeling?”

“Kinda tired. Hungry.”

He let out a happy sigh. “Oh, amore mio. Let’s find you someone to eat.”

-x-

Reheated blood tasted nothing like Terzo’s. Thick and bitter, the lukewarm liquid stuck to the inside of some old commemorative thermos instead of pouring easily into your mouth. You turned the container up and to get liquid to drain faster, a dissatisfied grunt leaving you as your attempts failed. The others tried not to make it obvious, but each of them had cast glances of pity your way. The Countess had been particularly horrified that this was Primo’s solution to your first feed, arguing with him for five full minutes before he’d ordered everyone out of the house.

Between the less than palatable snack and the endless sway of the vehicle as it lurched over long-deserted backroads, it was hard to concentrate on Primo’s rant. As distracted as you were, it was obvious that the oldest Emeritus was no longer acting like himself. The compassionate man you’d known for months was gone, replaced by someone loud and angry. His face was harsh in the dim light, his white eye eerily reflecting the streetlamps as he spun around to bark at his family.

“Have I made myself clear?” he asked and frowned hard at the muted replies from his family.

“We get it, Primo. You’re in charge,” Terzo added sarcastically.

His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward and pointed a bony finger at his brother. “Not another word from you.”

Copia spoke up as Terzo shrank into his seat. “The plan hasn’t really changed that much Primo. Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?”

Primo growled, flashing his fangs as he sneered at Copia. “Is that what you think?”

The Countess sighed loudly and waved her hands between the men. “Are we gonna measure dicks all day or are we going to save Little Lord Terzo? Cuz I’m pretty sure I have the biggest cock around here and there’s no way our precious baby Draculina here isn’t fucking starving. And even if she’s not, I am. Your macho bullshit is far from appetizing, so can we wrap it up?”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t know why you have your panties in a bunch when you know damn well every single one of us will follow you straight into hell, Primo. So let’s go.”

“She has a point,” Secondo offered. “We can talk about it for ages, but we might as well just get this thing done and get the kid someone real to eat.”

“Ooh.” The Countess’ eyes sparkled.

“No one eats anyone until the ritual is complete. Do you understand?” Primo shouted as the van crawled to a stop. He waited for everyone to nod. “Bene. Let’s go.”

One by one the vampires filed out of the van, joined by the two hulking figures of Primo’s ghouls. They’d arrived sometime before you woke, wearing similar metal masks to the ones you recalled Omega and Alpha wearing once upon a time. Earth and Air were much larger than the ghouls you’d met back in the summer, only appearing vaguely human-shaped. Their forms were almost too perfect, the details a bit too sharp to sit well. Part of it was the heightened vampire sense, but Terzo had briefly explained they simply didn’t care enough to make themselves look more human.

You filed that in your worry about it later folder somewhere between “what have you been doing for 900 years?” and “explain werewolves,” before letting it go.

“Once we get inside, stick to the plan,” Primo ordered.

“It’s not like we have any other options here Primo. Are you going to be like this the entire time?” Secondo asked.

The two older brothers began to argue in harsh whispers while Copia and Countess brushed past and strolled through the front door. Soft lights on the interior made the tall trees visible through the glass that encased the building, giving it a warm orange glow like sunset in the summer. It was a beautiful setting, full of ten times the greenery of Primo’s ridiculously lush conservatory. As you followed the group inside, you realized the botanical garden had a familiar touch. Primo hadn’t just thrown money at something 50 years ago—he created and curated a living work of art.

Terzo gently squeezed your hand. “Are you ok, bellezza?”

You nodded. “Does Primo still run this place or something?”

“It’s that obvious, huh? I tried to tell him they should update things, but he gets all fussy when it comes to this place.”

You hummed in response, gazing up at the lofty glass ceilings. Someday, you’d ask to come back and see this place during the day, but for now you had to stick to the mission.

“We should try to avoid an ambush if we can,” Primo began detailing his plan. “There are three paths to the exhibit we need. Copia, Countess, you two will come with me. Secondo, you and Reginetta take the central path. Terzo, you and Draculina will take the left path.”

“Is it wise to split up like this?” Reginetta whispered to Secondo who simply shrugged before whispering something back.

“Remember, if you encounter any hunters try to leave them alive. Terzo and I will need every drop of blood we can get,” Primo warned. “We’ll meet in the exhibit in fifteen minutes. Be careful.”

He turned and quickly walked away, leaving Copia and the Countess to chase after him with mild annoyance on their faces. Secondo nodded once toward Terzo before he and Reginetta made their way down the central path of the garden. With your stomach turning into tighter and tighter knots, you and Terzo moved through the left path.

Overhead, a system of fans and misters churned out unnatural mechanical noises, but the building was eerily quiet otherwise. Even with heightened senses you couldn’t hear any extra breathing or footsteps, no tell-tale signs anyone else was in the room with you. The occasional brush of a leaf against Terzo’s ridiculously puffy sleeve was the only sound that stuck out. It didn’t make any sense. The whole plot was designed to lure the Emeritus family here and there’s no way the hunters would’ve left the building empty.

Not even for a second.

The first shot whipped past you, barely missing your face before striking a tree. Before you could think much of it, you found yourself at the other end of the room, moving faster than you ever had. A small, metal cartridge had wedged deeply into the cracked bark, its pointed end breaking off as you worked it free. Inside, a clear liquid sloshed back and forth in a tiny vial.

“Terzo—” You’d barely turned to call out to him when the second shot embedded in your chest. Fire flared in your veins as the paralytic poison began to flood your system. Primo had anticipated this, handing out antidotes and vaccines before anyone left the cottage, but just because it couldn’t poison you didn’t mean it didn’t fucking hurt. You dropped on the spot as the vampire had instructed. Let them think it works, his voice repeated. Let them come to you.

It was easier to see now why Reginetta had been so angry about the stupid plan.

An unfamiliar face appeared over you with a cruel grin. “Aw, did that hurt? Funny how this stuff isn’t as effective on humans, but I hear it burns pretty bad.”

You gritted your teeth, keeping your mouth shut as long as you could. You have surprise on your side now, Draculina. They’ll never expect a turned hunter. Use that in your favor. You scanned the room as the man continued to taunt you, searching for any sign of Terzo.

“Where are the others, huh? I know you’re not stupid enough to come here alone.” He bent down, placing his boot on your chest as he wrenched the cartridge free. Pain radiated from the wound, pulsing in time with the beat of your heart. He tsked, shaking his head. “That won’t be enough.”

“Wha—”

He pressed a blade to your skin and whistled through his teeth, motioning to someone unseen. A dozen hunters silently emerged from the tree line and gathered to watch this man torture you. As Terzo feared, there were some you recognized, but not even one stepped forward to stop the attack. You held out as long as you could, biting down on your tongue to keep from crying out, not wanting to give them a single sliver of power over you. Blood began to pool on the floor beneath you and a tiny, wounded whimper escaped your lips before all that pain was replaced by something else.

The hunter hissed, pulling away to examine the fresh cut he’d accidentally made to his own hand. It took every ounce of strength you had left to stay still. Hunger ripped through you like nothing you’d ever felt before. A painful, consuming white-hot spark that could only be sated by one thing. You dug your nails into your palm, hoping to distract yourself but it was no use. You heard every drop as it moved from his hand and rolled down the knife before landing on the floor. It was so loud, a small insignificant sound made into a tidal wave.

You didn’t hear the others begin to shout as they drew their weapons.

Terzo stood at the edge of the path, his white eye glowing with rage as he stared down your attackers.

“Wha—I thought you shot him!”

“I did!”

“Why won’t you just stay dead?” the first hunter screamed.

“You threatened my family,” Terzo seethed, each step threatening. “You burned my brother’s business, killed his wife—"

“Hey, that wasn’t even us—”

“You set fire to my favorite house,” he growled through gritted teeth. “Reduced my home—my sanctuary—to ash and rubble while forcing us to flee in the middle of the night. You chased us, hunted us down in the city and sent assassins after us. And then you poisoned me and forced one of your own to make an impossible decision. I should tear you all limb from fucking limb for your arrogance. There is no honor among you, not a single shred of dignity spared for one of your own. You don’t even regret what you’ve done to her, what you all forced on her.”

He cracked a sinister smile. “And now? Now she’s an Emeritus vampire and I’m going to feed all of you to her, piece by fucking piece.”

Your fangs pierced the first hunter’s neck before he could make a sound. The others began to scream and scatter, but Terzo was too fast. In the blink of an eye, the room filled with the sound of bones cracking and pained cries. A dozen bloody bodies lay at your feet, a sacrifice left at your altar by the man you loved.

The hunter hit the ground in a lifeless heap, his blood dripping from your chin as you smiled and reached for another.

“Bellezza?”

You tore through three more hunters before Terzo was able to restrain you.

“I love your enthusiasm, amore,” he purred as you struggled against his hold. “But Primo’s instructions were very clear. We need them alive.”

You turned your head, lips and teeth colliding hard with his just like that first messy kiss in his bedroom. Power rushed through you, fueled by adrenaline and something new—some impulse you didn’t want to control. Hunger. Power. Lust. Want. Need. It clouded your brain, vision going red as you clawed at Terzo’s clothes and ripped through the fabric of his shirt. You pulled away whatever pieces you could, desperate to feel his skin.

You needed him now, more than you ever thought possible. The two of you tumbled to the floor, knees and elbows landing hard while never letting your lips part. He pivoted his hips and turned to pin you beneath him with a smile.

“Careful, bellezza,” he purred.

“Oh god, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you rushed, conscious thoughts returning in a flood embarrassment and shame. “I—I don’t know what happened.”

“It’s ok, amore mio. It’s ok,” he assured you while petting your hair. “It’s not your fault. I am rather irresistible and you might be, eh, more impulsive during your transition.”

“Impulsive,” you repeated with a laugh. “Fucking is an impulse now?”

His eyebrows knit together. “For you?”

“Don’t answer that.”

“I promise, bellezza, when this is all over—” He trailed off. He froze for a moment, muscles tense as his eyes went blank. His body went slack, collapsing on top of you in a heap of dead weight.

“Terzo?” You nudged him, slightly panicked until you felt him breathe.

He sat up, shaking his head as he came back to himself. “I’m ok, bellezza. But I think we should get to Primo quickly.”

You nodded and draped Terzo’s arm over your shoulder, lifting him as carefully as you could. You pushed through the exhibit door and into the next room, following the path with your head on a swivel. Getting shot with poison darts had felt about as good as you’d expected, and you were in no hurry to let it happen a second time.

As you moved through the building the path leading to the exhibit Primo had pointed out was suspiciously clear. You hoped maybe that was a good sign rather than a bad one, but it wouldn’t surprise if it was some elaborate setup either. The hunters had months or, depending on the size of the operation, possibly years to plan for this. Any part of of the building could be a trap.

You opened the last door to find Primo in the center of the room, hovering over what looked like an altar. Dozens of black candles surrounded him, their flames adding an eerie flicker to his eyes.

“Where the hell have you been?” he hissed as you approached and flew from his spot. He reached out, gripping your jaw as he eyed the blood staining your face. “What did you do?”

Terzo gave him a weak push, urging him away from you. “We were attacked, you ass. Leave her alone.”

“And you?”

“I’m not doing so well. Obviously.” He stumbled toward the odd arrangement in the middle of the room. Strange symbols lined the floor, etched in chalk and what looked like blood. “What the hell have you been doing in here?”

“Preparing, you ass,” Primo snapped back. “Where are the others?”

“How should I know? I thought Copia was with you. What happened to your grand plan—”

“A plan to save you—”

“Yes, and I will be eternally grateful once you stop acting like—”

“Don’t you dare,” Primo warned sharply.

Terzo sighed and rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to Primo’s project. He took a few unsteady steps, mumbling something in disbelief before dropping to his knees. You rushed to his side, but he shrugged off your attempts to help him stand. Instead, he leaned against you and stared forward, eyes fixed on the strange plant with its single white flower at the center of the altar. He began to shake, shoulders heaving as he gasped for breath.

You shouted his name, frantically trying to get him to answer you or at least say anything. His eyes were still full of life as you forced him to look away, but there was a profound sadness behind them you’d yet to see even on Terzo’s worst days. The vampire was crying. It hit you hard, a punch to the gut you didn’t expect as he collapsed against you, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Terzo? What—”

Primo knelt beside the two of you and smoothed a hand over his brother’s hair. “It will be ok, mostriciattolo. Have I ever broken a promise to you?”

He shook his head and cried harder, unable to form the words to answer as he held onto you.

“Primo, what the hell is happening?” you screamed.

He gave you a faint smile and jutted his chin toward the plant. “It’s…it’s a rare species, effectively extinct. Beautiful. Poisonous. It’s loosely related to datura—”

“Primo, I’m not a fucking botanist—”

“It grew around our home,” he interrupted, his voice flat as he stared at nothing. “When Terzo was a child, the grounds were covered in it. By the time we—it was all gone by the time he became a man. Seemingly lost forever.”

There was another untold story in the look they shared, one that spanned centuries and somehow now included you. You held Terzo, hoping to ease his pain or at least offer some form of comfort as he slowly pulled himself back together. With a hard sniff he pulled away from you, tears tracing lines through his paint.

“Mi dispiace, bellezza. I have not seen this flower in a very long time. I was not expecting to see it again—”

There was a rush of footsteps followed by a slamming door. Behind you, the other vampires began to shout as they dragged any and every object they could find toward a makeshift barricade. The door bowed under the force of something outside, a rhythmic thud against solid metal.

“I am going to tear out your eyes so you can watch me pull your head through your ass you little prick,” the Countess seethed, hurling her threats through the door. She leaned against the wall; her right hand pressed over what appeared to be a stab wound. Copia shrugged off his jacket and knelt beside her to hold it against her side.

“By all means, take your time, Primo,” Secondo barked sarcastically and braced himself against the door. “We’re not under attack or anything!”

“Stay close,” Primo muttered as he helped Terzo stand.

“Where would I even go?” Terzo sassed back, his body growing weaker with each step.

“Not you, stronzo.”

“Hardly the time for name calling—”

“Shut up!” he snapped and turned toward the altar. He began to toss various herbs and tinctures into a to-go cup he’d clearly swiped from the botanical garden’s gift shop. There was a familiar smell of ash and rust as the mixture took on the properties of Terzo’s usual antidote. A thick green-black sludge formed as Primo painstakingly stirred and cast a look over his shoulder.

“Is everyone ready?”

“Do we have a choice?” Copia shouted back, grunting as he twisted broken pieces of the door’s metal frame against itself.

“No matter what happens you must keep drinking. You understand fratellino? Do not stop for anything,” Primo warned in a low voice. With a careful hand he plucked the sole flower from the plant and crushed it between his fingers. He began to whisper something in Latin, a chant you couldn’t quite make out and wouldn’t understand even if you could. The flower began to crumble, turning to a pale dust that slowly fell between his fingers and into the cup. He cast one last look at Terzo and smiled. “To your health.”

He downed the contents and dropped to his knees, shoving his arm in Terzo’s face. “Drink.”

“Are you insane?” Terzo hissed.

Primo used the opportunity to jam his wrist against Terzo’s fangs and hold it there. “Drink.”

Whatever argument he wanted to make died in his throat as Primo’s blood spilled into his mouth. He tried to fight him, desperately clawing at his brother’s clothes, but his weakened state was no match for the older vampire. You watched in horror as your lover struggled, his eyes pleading for help. One by one the other vampires began to realize the seriousness of the situation, turning to look as Terzo slammed his feet against the floor in protest.

Whatever you’d been told, whatever parts of the plan you had all tried to understand escaped the room as glass began to shatter. The hunters were no longer trying to get through the blocked door, instead they spilled in from all sides, seeking any entrance to the solarium. The family formed a circle around Primo’s altar, protecting Primo and Terzo from the rapidly approaching violence, but there were more hunters than you could count. As predicted, they had prepared for this on a scale you didn’t think was possible.

“Primo—” You stopped short and gasped as your eyes landed on him. His face was gaunt, skin sagging away from his bones in a way that made him appear almost hollow. He was aging rapidly, withering away as each drop of life passed from his body to Terzo’s. “Oh, fuck.”

The room filled with the sound of hunters readying their weapons, each taking aim at the vampire of their choice.

Terzo finally managed to break his brother’s hold and pushed him away before doubling over. Every muscle in his body flexed and tensed as he tried to crawl away, pushing as hard as he could. With one great heave, a torrent of dark bile spilled from his lips onto the floor as his body rejected the poison. The hunters froze, many with a look of disgust on their faces as the puddle below Terzo grew.

Movement caught the corner of your eye, a blur of white so fast the humans never saw it coming. Shots rang out as the first few dropped, but Primo was too quick. Moving like an unstoppable ferocious predator, he cleared the room of anyone in his path. Secondo and Copia followed his lead, taking out as many hunters as they could while you rushed to Terzo’s side.

He was shaking, soaked in sweat and sick, but he was alive.

“Bello?”

He grinned and reached out to caress your face. “I’m here, bellezza,” he purred as you leaned into his touch. “I’m here. I will always be here.”

“How do you feel?”

His smile grew even wider, almost sinister. “I am starving.”

You smiled back. “Me too.”

Carnage was the only way you could begin to describe what was happening around you. A massacre—no—a battlefield stretched from one end of the room to the other drenched in viscera and severed limbs. Terzo and the others tore through the room, forced to finish a fight that had started centuries ago. The smell of blood and death was clinging to everything, sharpened senses now unable to ignore even the smallest drop. It overwhelmed you, drawing you into the fray as you bit into the first faceless hunter you could reach.

A few feet away, the Countess gave you a thumbs-up with the severed arm of one of her victims.

-x-

The cottage was unnaturally quiet. As quickly as they arrived, the other vampires had disbanded and headed their separate ways, leaving a cluttered and messy house in their wake. You weren’t sure what was going to happen next. You weren’t sure anyone did.

Primo had nearly died trying to save Terzo. That much was clear from the last time anyone had seen him, but his brothers were quick to assure you that Primo could and would take care of himself. For now, you had to let that be enough, but it felt wrong to leave your friend’s home in such a state.

Especially after everything he had done for you.

You went through each room, picking up whatever you could and putting things back together the way Primo normally kept them. There wasn’t much time, but you sensed Terzo understood this was something you needed. He simply kissed your cheek and left to pack up whatever belongings the two of you had accumulated in that little room.

The kitchen wasn’t a complete disaster, but the least you could do was rinse the handful of old coffee mugs resting in the sink. You washed them carefully though the years and dishwasher cycles had been less than kind to any images they once held. You always assumed you would have time to find out what it was about tourist traps that fascinated Primo, but now you weren’t sure how long you’d have to wait.

It wasn’t until you’d put the last mug away that you noticed the letters. Three envelopes had been left on the table, each the same red as Primo’s scuffed slippers. Each addressed carefully in an elaborate script. Terzo. Draculina. Diavolina.

“Hey Terzo?” You called out, a nervous shake to your voice.

He appeared in a blink, bags in hand as he quickly scanned the room for threats.

“Everything’s ok. It’s just…Primo…he left letters.”

“Ah,” Terzo grunted and dropped the suitcases in favor of clutching his chest. “Thank Satanas. I am too full to eat anyone else today. What does the letter say?”

You shrugged and handed him the one with his name before tearing into your own. There wasn’t much, a simple short note expressing a few wishes written in the most impressive penmanship you’d ever seen. “He says not to look for him—”

“Typical.”

“And that he wants to leave the cottage to his friend.”

Terzo made a face. “He has a friend?”

“You missed so much while you were half-dead, huh?” you teased before reading through the letter one more time. “Hey, what’s Villa Majesty?”

“Eh,” he started and sighed heavily, avoiding your eyes. “I don’t think you will like my answer.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It’s a castle…my castle.”

“Your…what? Like a castle, castle?”

“Sì, it is the smaller one.” He offered with a cheeky grin. “But I think you’ll like it there.”

You groaned. “How many houses do you have?”

He shrugged. “You have plenty of time to find out.”

-x-

“Ah, ah, bellezza,” Terzo purred and brushed your hair away from your neck. He placed a kiss on the newly exposed skin before whispering into your ear. “Slowly, my love.”

You resisted the urge to shrug him off and followed his instructions, drawing long, slow pulls from the vampire hunter’s neck. No one ever tasted as good as Terzo, but he was determined to teach you how to make the most of every kill. Though he couldn’t bake to save his life, so far he had been right about fear and desire tasting better than anger.

You suspected he just got off on watching you feed—not that you minded. Your relationship had started covered in blood after all.

The mattress creaked as Terzo pressed even closer, lips returning to your neck. It had only been a month since you arrived at Villa Majesty—a month-long whirlwind honeymoon phase filled with moments like this and various other “vampire lessons” that were thinly veiled excuses for him to get his hands (or lips) on you. But it was easy to let him try to charm you all over again even if he had already won your heart.

“Like this?” you asked, leaning into him as the hunter’s pulse began to stutter. It was pure luck that you’d found this one, or maybe just stupidity on their part. The village below was small and picturesque enough to attract a few tourists, but it was easy enough to spot someone behaving the way you used to. Feeding on humans can with its own set of morality issues, but when it came to anyone who would take down you or your new family without a second thought the decision was much easier.

Terzo hummed against your skin, his hands reaching around you to free the hunter from your grip. You let out a small yelp as he seized you and pulled your further onto the ridiculous bed, your snack and lessons now forgotten. Much like Meliora House, Villa Majesty was also decorated like a fucking wedding cake, but your lover made up for his eccentric taste in furniture by fucking you senseless on any and every surface he could and making post-coital promises about any remodeling the entire place if you wanted.

Honestly, there were worse things than being wrapped in lavender frills and ruffles while being spoiled by an immortal billionaire.

You pawed at his shirt, grabbing fistfuls of the near-transparent fabric between your fingers as you readied yourself to rip it from his body.

“Nooo,” he whined. “Not this one, per favore. I look too good in this.”

“But you look better out of it.”

“Bah! Impossible, bellezza,” he huffed and rose up on his knees to pose. “Look at me!”

“Oh, I am,” you assured him. You pushed yourself up and let your eyes trail over his form slowly, appreciating every inch. It was growing more faint over time, but you reached up and pressed your fingers to the scar on his chest with a small sigh. “Remind me why we even bother to get dressed again?”

It was his turn to sigh. “Omega and Alpha’s rules.”

“Ah, yes the demonic bodyguards who were tired of seeing your cock.”

His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward and took your wrists in his hands. In one quick motion he pinned you to the bed and hovered over you. “No one has ever tired of my cock, bellezza.”

“Hmm, it is quite nice. Is that why you showed it to me the second I walked into your house?”

“If it works, it works.”

“Terzo?”

“Amore?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said with a grin and bent down to kiss you. “Ugh, ok, ok, you can tear it off me—just this once.”

He released your hands and sat back to allow you better access. He was right he did look good like this, but his cock was tenting in his pants and straining against the fabric and that was a look you preferred to any other. You ran your hands over his chest and began the delicate task of carefully slipping each of the buttons free. He groaned at the pace of your work, breath hitching any time you touched the slightest bit of skin. Teasing Terzo had become a favorite pastime of yours over the last few weeks, watching him barely maintain his composure as you found the balance between your heightened senses and his own. He could easily overpower you if he wanted and some days it was more fun to encourage that, but with your appetite sated all you could think about was having him take you slowly.

“Terzo?” You asked as you pushed open his shirt to press a kiss against his stomach. “Make love to me?”

“Every single day for eternity, amore,” he promised with a sly smile. He shook the gauzy shirt from his shoulders and cast it aside, no longer caring about its price tag or the way he looked in it. He eased you onto your back and pushed your knees apart, leveling his face with your sex and the stupidly expensive, but admittedly sexy panties he’d procured for your new wardrobe.

He hooked his thumbs in the waistband and slowly slid them down your legs before stuffing them in the pocket of his tightening pants. He wasted no time burying his face in your cunt and letting his tongue dance a dizzying rhythm across your sensitive nerves. With a firm grip on his hair, you encouraged and praised him letting the man you loved completely take you apart. He held you down with one hand and used the other to tease and slide his fingers into your entrance, working to coax an orgasm out of you.

As you teetered on the edge of intense pleasure, he bit into the inside of your thigh and moaned loudly. At the same time you let go, your body tensing around his fingers as he drank from you. If it wasn’t for how painfully hard he must have been, you thought he could stay there for the rest of his life. Instead, he pushed your knees to your chest and kicked his pants across the room. He pressed into you slowly, eyes closed as he bit his own lip bloody.

“Bellezza, do you see what you do to me?”

You raised your head and watched your bodies connect, sighing with relief as he filled you. “Fuck,” you whispered, hands already grasping at the sheets. “Do you see what you do to me?”

When he was fully seated inside you, he stilled his hips and bent down to press a kiss to your forehead, letting you keen beneath him. Your revenge came as you nipped his throat and let out a particularly lascivious moan as his blood dripped onto your tongue.

“No fair, bella. Do you want me to make love to you or do you want me to fuck you?”

“Both,” you replied with a grin and raised your hips. “They can be the same thing. Especially when you taste this good.”

“Temptress,” he purred and began a torturous rhythm with his hips.

“Vampire,” you shot back, meeting each thrust.

He growled and bit into your neck, drinking from you as his pace picked up. The vibration of his low moans melted into your own, rattling through your chest as you neared your release. He was so loud, alternating between fucking and drinking and moaning while the bed shifted beneath you. You loved him like this, loved to see him so desperately in love with you that he almost couldn’t stand it. You told him so as he pounded into you with a ferocity that drew sounds from your throat Omega would probably leave a note about later.

Terzo’s fingers found their way back to your center as he pulled off your neck and leaned up to watch you come undone. And you did, your bliss hitting you hard in intense waves that washed over you. No one had ever fucked you like he could; no one had ever loved you as he did. No one else ever would.

He cried out, stilling his hips as he reached his own end and spilled inside you. He gasped for air, burying his face in your neck as he came down. The two of you lay like that for a while, twisted up and consumed by your love for each other.

A soft knock broke the silence of the bedroom. Terzo offered you a lazy smile and rolled off the bed, taking the sheet with him. He tucked it around his waist before opening the door a crack to reveal a slightly nervous Omega.

“Uh…sorry to disturb you…but you told me— “

Terzo threw open the door. “Is it here?”

Omega yelped and covered his eyes with his hand. He shoved a small package toward Terzo with the other hand before running down the hallway while shouting, “boundaries people!”

Terzo just shrugged and closed the door. You rolled onto your stomach to watch him rip into the cardboard box, curious to see what was so important it disturbed such a soft moment. The vampire smiled brightly as he walked toward you.

“You have no idea how hard this was to find, bellezza.”

You furrowed your brow. “What is it?”

He winked and handed you the box. Packed neatly and carefully inside was the same vintage hockey sweater you’d once owned, your favorite team’s colors still pristine and bright. Another smaller velvet box sat in the middle of their emblem. You blinked up at him, but he just shrugged and gestured for you to open that one as well.

The next time your eyes met he was on one knee, still wrapped in the sheet.

“Is this why you didn’t want me to rip your shirt?”

“I was trying to create a moment, bellezza.”

You slid off the bed and walked over to him, gently caressing his face. “I think you proposing naked is still a moment, bello. Better than your silly movies.”

He smiled softly. “Will you marry me, amore mio?”

“Yes,” you replied with a nod, tears filling your eyes. “Of course I will, you idiot.”

Thank you to everyone who waited patiently and cheered me on while I tried to complete this story. Your comments kept me going through some really tough times and I can't thank you enough.

I'd like to thank @ramblingoak for holding my hand for the past YEAR and being just the best fucking friend through everything. Suck Club would not exist without you. Thank you. 💜

here's more stuff from me // my ko-fi info

#my writing #my fics #suck club forever #mdni #papa emeritus iii x female reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #terzo x reader #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfiction #ghost band fanfic #vampire terzo #vampire terzo x reader #terzo fanfic #terzo fanfiction #vampire terzo fanfic #papa emeritus iii fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #fem reader

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roguishcat · 2 days

Text

Honeycomb

Summary: Astarion had a brilliant, fool-proof plan. And nothing, especially not a piece of honeycomb, would get in the way.

A/N: My brain is running on almost no fuel. There probably are mistakes and misspelled words. Kindly tell me if you notice anything. ❤️I would like to make this into something longer in the future, maybe finally try my hand at writing something steamy. Would anyone be interested in reading something like that? Let me know.

Tags: sexy Halsin, annoyed Astarion, some suggestive themes.

Pairing: Astarion x female Tav

Oneshot, 1.2k words

Set in the beggining of Act II.

She was doing it again. Staring at that- that huge oaf of a druid as if he was the most fascinating thing ever.

Astarion scowled. The problem wasn’t even that she was attracted to Halsin. Because one would have to be blind or a complete liar to say that the druid was nothing to look at. What annoyed him that the druid could command all Tav’s attention after she had a taste of what Astarion had to offer. Having spent a mind-blowingly amazing night with an earth-shatteringly gorgeous vampire, Tav should not be eye-fucking others around the campsite!

And yet she was. Granted, she was not the only one who could not look away. Even Shadowheart seemed to be enjoying the show, murmuring something to Karlach which had the tiefling nodding and licking her lips.

And how did it start you may ask? Well, it started with a piece of honeycomb.

Tav, being the sweet, caring, lovable fool that she was, worried that Halsin did not feel welcome when he first joined them. They were fast approaching Shadowlands, meaning that they would soon leave behind the lush greenery of the forest in favour of the grim dangerous landscapes of the cursed lands near Moonrise. Although the thought was unsettling for everyone, Tav was worried about how a druid, whose comfort for some reason that Astarion could not possibly fathom mattered to her, would fare being stuck among all the death and destruction.

And what about Astarion, hm? Did she think about him? Oh, no! Because apparently he was not at the top of the list of her priorities. And that was… irksome. And Astarion showed that he was annoyed in the healthiest, most obvious way possible. That is, ignoring Tav and brooding. Which for some reason was not getting quite the reaction that he was hoping for.

But yes, the honeycomb. He did digress.

Tav found a large piece in the afternoon and proudly presented it to Halsin with a radiant smile, who accepted the treat with thanks, his fingers brushing Tav’s as he took it out of her hands. And therein lay the problem.

Halsin’s fingers.

Because apparently no one told him that one was not meant to eat with his hands, especially in such a scandalous way!

Halsin’s hands were sticky with honey, fingers glistening in the light of the fire as he sucked each digit clean like a man starved. Tav was transfixed, blush dusting her cheeks, spoon suspended in midair because she forgot that she was, in fact, eating in favour of the pay-per-view show that she had the front seat to.

Astarion gritted his teeth. Surely the druid could not be that oblivious? Surely he was doing this on purpose? Well, whatever his game was, Astarion could not allow this to continue. Because no matter how dishonorable his intentions for Tav were, he was definitely not done with her. And he would not be done with her at least until she and the merry band that called her leader marched into the city, slaughtered Cazador and defeated all foes that got in the way of their de-tadpoling. Then, and only then, he would think about dismissing Tav. If he so chose.

With that in mind, Astarion grabbed a bucket full of water and marched across the campsite, making his way for Halsin. It was time to put a stop to this.

“There. You might find it easier to clean up this way, hm?” he mocked, thrusting the bucket into Halsin’s hands.

“Thank you, Astarion. How thoughtful of you,” Halsin nodded, confused and not quite understanding what got the vampire so annoyed.

“Anytime,” Astarion huffed, pivoting on his heel, and making his way towards Tav, who finally noticed that the stew dripped off her spoon and onto her lap.

“Tsk, such a messy pup,” he scolded playfully, “why don’t we get you out these dirty clothes and into something more comfortable?” he leaned closer to her ear, letting his breath ghost over the shell.

His breathy invitation was quite lost on her, however, as at this moment Halsin chose to pour the water onto his head.

It was Tav’s squeak and wide eyes that made Astarion snap his head in the druid’s direction, ruby eyes narrowing as he released a growl at the sight that had Tav’s undivided attention.

Rivulets of water running down pectorals, getting caught in the grooves in the skin between the rolling muscles, and then down, down, down-

“Why does that druid never seem to have a shirt on?” Astarion hissed, finally having enough of this, and grabbing Tav’s hand to pull her away and towards his tent.

He could distinctly hear Karlach’s raucous laughter as the tiefling caught on to what got Astarion’s panties in a bunch, followed by amused sounds coming from the other companions. Astarion could not quite bring himself to care because he knew what his priorities were. And right now, it was high time to remind a certain someone what her priorities should be. Namely him and his needs.

Tav almost tripped as he shoved the flap of his tent aside, pulled her in and made sure the cloth slid back into place behind her. He, unlike certain someone, did not need an audience.

“Astarion? What happened? Is everything okay?”

Oh, that poor, oblivious, sweet idiot. If it were anyone else, he would be quite sure that she did all that on purpose, just to get a rise out of him. But not so. The look she was giving him now was genuine. All the more reason to keep this powerful, yet oblivious creature under his thumb.

“Nothing, darling, I am quite well. Just hungry, that’s all,” he purred, advancing on her step by tantalizing step, eyes locked on his prize.

“Oh! Of course! Sorry, today has been a lot, I forgot to offer,” she pulled the fabric of her collar aside to bare her beautiful neck to him, the imprints from the bite left after his previous feeding still visible.

Astarion licked his lips and pressed his mouth to her skin, delighting in the shallow gasp that she gave at the contact.

“As alluring as your neck is, my sweet,” he swept his tongue up the column of her neck and lay a tender kiss on the bitemarks, “I hope that there is more, much more on offer tonight.”

As he sank his fangs into Tav and felt her blood flow onto his tongue, Astarion soon found himself grinding against the swell of her ass, the hand that was not holding her in place sneaking to caress her breast. Which was when Astarion had to remind himself that he was doing this just to keep Tav on his side. It was simply a matter of convenience. Nothing more, nothing less. And this was certainly not something that he had to keep reminding himself of more and more as they progressed on their journey.

And yes, perhaps bedding Tav has been quite fun. She was a vision, with her cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kisses parted as she moaned his name sweetly into the night. But that was just a perk. Why shouldn’t he enjoy himself a little, given the opportunity?

Yes, his plan was flawless. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #astarion tav fanfiction #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #astarion fanfiction #fanfic #baldur's gate fanfiction #fanfiction #roguish cat

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serxinns · 1 day

Note

Enemies to Yandere w/ Bakugo (ft Class 1a)

Katsuki Bakugo finally met his match. It’s Y/n Gojo! He got so mad about losing to them, he fell in loooove💕💕💕

He better pray his crazy classmates don’t find out!

At the start of UA bakugo hated your guts and the way he thought of you as a stupid little nuisance a piece of dirt, just any insulting thing he could think of,

When you 1st made it to UA he always had an off feeling about you sure he disliked all the extras but it was you that mostly bothered him the most and what he hated was that you knew he loved winning and you take advantage of that

Whenever you and he would spar you wouldn't give it your all and he ended up winning most of the time he hated it, how dare a lowlife blue-eyed freak who wears a mask over your eyes most of the damn time pity the future number one hero? And the worst part I everyone is always completing how "amazing" and "talented" you are when you were just going easy his blood felt like an erupting volcano

And his classmates hovering all over you trying to get your attention and fighting over you makes him even more pissed, Like how Denkinwould make comments about how hot you are and Mina wondering what your favorite type fashion is and if you like do dance sero memorizing about your pretty blue eyes mumbling sweet things in Spanish and daydreaming and even his own best friend Kirishima is all over you as well always inviting you to their group asking to spare with him and kiri and just talking about how manly you are he couldn't take it anymore that he was unaware that he destroyed his drink with his palms full of a tiny explosions

But for some reason, he couldn't get you out of your head even without his classmates always talking about you whenever he's alone im his room studying or doing homework he would always think about that stupid twisted smile of yours and your adorable annoying giggles it made him warm but frustrated that broke yet another pencil, another time when he was exercising lifting weighting or using his punching bag he remembers the time you pinned him down during training and everyone cheered but for some reason why was he focusing on how soft your hand was?

At 1st these types of events were "rare" but the more your presence was with him the more common it got it was torture to him he couldn't get you out of his head no matter how much he tried avoiding you didn't work just made him more desperate and eager to see you your touch your voice your everything

Your classmates also noticed his strange behavior recently safe to say they weren't happy with it Izuku would glare at Bakugo whenever you let him spar with you Kota would grumble under his breath when Bakugo would interrupt his animal lesson with you your classmates were so jealous and angry about how Akatsuki would have to audacity degrade you for anything you do your quirk, your fighting style, anything but yet you still laughed at with him you still teased him which made him more mad and another reason to be infatuated with you

Your classmates would try and guilt trip you gaslight you to make you avoid him and never talk to them again but whenever they did you told them that you were interested in his firey personality and reassured them that he wasn't hurting you nor he was a pain to you which made them get even more pissed not aware that bakugo was listening which a slight blush and a proud smirk on his face "so they like the firey type huh?"

Meanwhile your classmates expect Bakusquad who was mostly teasing him now were jealous about how much you tease and taut him at times while bakugo either say something back, point up his middle finger or just taut you as well the two of you were like friends lovers and rivals at the same time and they hated every single moment

Bakugo would get threatened by every student against him and Bakusquad would always tease him that he likes you but he didn't deny it or say it but just ignored them instead Jen was focusing on what your weaknesses were to make you a coward in fear and catch you off guard so he can make you be with him~ but his pesky classmates were in the way protecting you.. you may have those obsessed freaks with ya but he swore he was gonna make you submit to him while your classmates swore they were gonna protect you from bBakugo no matter what~

#yandere bnha #yandere ua #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere class 1a #yandere mha #yandere bakugo katsuki #gojo reader

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tonycries · 3 days

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bro i read the leaks I WOULD HAVE PREFERRED KENJAKU TBH. that would have been sexy and antagonistic. yuta in gojo's body is just,,, yuta does NOT match gojo's vibes sdhfjkglsfdhg

thematically however it absolutely FITS for yuta to be back in the fight. no way yuta was dead. think about it! he didn't get a imaginary-final-moments scene like nanami, jogo, nobara (hhhh), or gojo.

i also SUPER appreciate that there was gojo characterization. yuta says that gojo was forced to be a monster all by himself, gojo tells yuta that he has to do this/to leave him alone, etc.

the "gojo had to be a monster" thing deserved so much more development. gege probably realized how much harder people would swoon if we got to see gojo being lonely, isolated, having people scared of him (not unlike yuta).

like damn gojo why did you train these students if you didn't want to fight alongside them? you literally said "no one will ever have to be alone"? it could have been a really moving story arc but it feels like we're only seeing pieces of it.

gege will show us yuji befriending junpei, nanami saving baker lady, nobara and her old friend, megumi and the delinquents, but not one (1) second of gojo forming connections with ordinary people, living his life.

and if gojo DOESN'T have a life outside sorcery then we deserved a scene of gojo coming home to an empty sterile apartment, not even turning the lights on, just brushing teeth, throwing off some clothes and falling into bed while he stares at the ceiling and dissociates -

ksjfhghlsdgf SORRY i'm rambling but listen. gojo is alive in our hearts where gege cannot reach him!!

TRUEEE when you put it like that it really does make sense for Yuta to take over, because Gege definitely hadn't used his full potential.

I think it just felt kinda like crammed into one chapter with all the flashbacks and everything. Though I DO appreciate how we get to see Gojo be more of a teacher.

Somehow some stupid little part of me STILL thinks Gojo will be back though?? Chat am I delusional???

I should know better than to trust a man, especially Gege but idk it just doesn't feel COMPLETE. Like fym Gojo was THAT sure he'd win??

Here's some lil predictions:

Both Yuta and Gojo end up dead, Yuji awakens some power and we see him get more MC treatment and defeat Sukuna.

Gojo and Yuta's powers get transferred to Yuji?? Somehow?? Maybe???

Yuta and Yuji fight together but ehhhh.

Oooo how cool would it be if Yuta actually defeats Sukuna but then gets corrupted or goes crazy and then Yuji has to defeat HIM.

I dunno either way I'm just sad that Gojo is a weapon both in life and in death. Let my baby REST.

#jjk spoilers #tonytalks

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lunarifie · 2 months

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*Pops off the top of my head and takes out my brain to start talking to it*

Open up your sketchbook, and DOODLE.

You need to start posting bad art, you need to start vomiting half-assed sketch ideas, you need to start letting your brain run wild, you need to fill a page, you need to let go of perfectionist mentalities, you need to practice, the only way you CAN practice is if you let yourself post bad art.

DO IT BAD DO IT MESSY DO IT IF YOUR BORED DO IT IF YOUR SAD JUST DRAW!!!!!

#is this anything #rambles #rant post #art frustration #in some way i feel as if i have to complete a full piece #add color and all that shit #LIKE NOOO #OPEN UP YOUR SKETCH BOOK #DRAW SCRIBBLES #POST THAT SHIT

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opens-up-4-nobody · 1 year

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...

#ay ay ay. my head feels like its stuffed completely full of cotton. bulging at the seems #its just that wrung out ive been crying too much feel. i just had to do a bunch of application stuff yesterday night #and there were way too many tears so i work up out of focus with salt in my eyelashes. so i wasnt that productive despite the fact i really #need to b rn. and i met with my boss for our weekly meeting and its just so many things i have to do #like theres this procedure for some new equipment we have and im testing it out but like she wants to see it in action and im like treading #close to dangerously unstable so the chances i burst into tears in public is quite high which is why i hide in my apartment and only go to #the lab when no ones there. but no im prob gonna have to go in Thursday and have to go drive like and hr away next week so we can hopefully #have all the equipment we need for another project thats gonna kill me. plus we got contacted by a group we were gonna work with last year #who wanna work with us again. which is objectively good like itll look real good on a cv to b involved and like even non science ppl would #prob find it cool. but i csnt feel any of that bc i dont kno how im gonna be able to go back and forth contacting the other lab group i #have to work with in order to do everything. which its like itll b fine #ive done it before. 2 of the 3 things i have done before so itll be fine. it just doesn't feel like it #it feels like im dissolving into pieces and everythings spinning too fast. theres a film between myself and everything else so i cant touch #anything and it cant touch me.#and its weird bc i know that burning myself out is what got me here but i still cant detatch myself from the soul crushing guilt of not #making every second productive. its disorienting bc my brain will b like: u should just stay here over break and get stuff done #and like no. thats objectively the worst thing i could possibly do. i just feel like a wet glob of paper towels. ive already committed #myself to only 13 days being gone. only have to trudge through like 21 days 1st. how? no idea #like im sure itll b fine but somethings gotta give before my brain implodes beyond repair. if were not there already #ay everytime my boss says something nice abt me to someone it just feels like a knife in the gut. like shes not lying but i just feel like #ive fallen so far that shes talking abt a past verson of me and it makes me sad. like idk how obvious it is but im sure i have terrible #vibes irl lol like the sort of pained twisted up little smiles u make when u dont wanna lie but u dont wanna b honest ay #itll b fine. i can feel the floorboards giving way so somethings close to giving just have to see where and in what form the metaphor #actulizes. hopefully it does so quickly bc im bored and tired of living like this. and i dont really wanna go home and explode into tears #like a child and have my parents deal with me. which they would bc theyre great. i just dont wanna worry them sigh...#unrelated #i should sleep bc i gotta get up and burn my brain out being a scribe tomorrow morning. at least i get to hang out with someone cool

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technicolorxsn · 1 month

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love how there are pretentious video essays that just repeat the book and meander and ramble about house of leaves. it's what zampanó would have wanted. it is not, however, what I want

#anyway i finished the main portion of the book #all i have left is the poems and a few other small things i think? ive read pelafinas letters #im thinking of getting the full book of her letters #but also they severely messed with my head so we'll see #i will say. i do get why ppl say the book is pretentious and frustrating #there was a lot of stuff where i couldnt tell if it was supposed to be satire or if it was genuinely just that dense and pretentious #and a lot of the codes were rly obtuse imo?#like... idk. some of them were super obvious like the sos stuff or pelafina outright saying what to do #but others like. man how am i supposed to know johnny waxing poetic about pussy was coded #i mean that one is also pointed out though much later but i know i missed a lot just like it that werent pointed out #and ive heard theres a lot of shit where the message you get is just danielewski????? which gonna be real. kinda dumb.#but i did also really enjoy the book #there was a lot of stuff in it that was just so compelling or poignant or whatever other word #the minotaur stuff is good (ofc id say that though i love me some minotaur themes)#also a lot of the scenes with johnny just...... christ #idk how ppl say to skip them hes so fascinating #yeah i could do with him talking about his possibly hallucinated sex life a bit less but also his story is just plain interesting #i still think about the part where the girl he was talking to runs over a dog they had picked up........ it was fucking chilling #and his hallucinations of dying are so descriptive in just the right way to get under my skin #the uncertainty with him and his family..... did pelafina try to kill him? did his father just send her away for being a bit too overbearing #over an accident? was there something else? what was the deal with his foster family? with lude? gdansk man and kyrie?#how did it get published? who are the editors? why did the band know of the book before it should have been published?#why does his journal section end with a story from a man he admits to making up completely? the doctor from seattle doesnt exist #the chronological end is more hopeful with him saying things will be okay but then he puts a previous entry after that?#i think the burning of the book parallels the story nicely #johnny said his piece; he nurtured the book as much as he could; but it was hurting him and he had to give up on it #idk!#this book does make me feel a lil dumb ngl

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joelsgreys · 29 days

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flutter

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

“Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner.

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair.

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?”

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten.

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home.

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains.

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

#tw pregnancy #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x pregnant reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller drabble #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #fic: snapshots

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milsirils · 9 days

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I hope I’m not making mindless sleep deprived connections when I say this, but I just noticed that Milsiril tends to wear bigger and longer clothing around her children. Which gave me the thought oh she probably wears them to hide her scars from her children..but I also suck at forming words so y’all are just gonna have to trust me on this one.

What really caught my attention was these two arts of her wearing two really baggy looking pieces of clothing. In both of these situations she’s with her young children.

Please bear with meee here cuz I know in most of her panels she's in the canary uniform, so we only get to see her in her non work clothes once. In this one extra, her scars visible and she is wearing a short dress, but what I want to highlight is that she is with only elves here.

Here is more of her wearing clothing that covers some of her arms! I like to note that in all instances she’s with Kabru..

(Even in the first panel she is wearing those arm bracelets that cover up most of her skin in a way. She doesn't always wear them but they're an interesting addition imo.)

BUT This is what sells me a little is this scene from this chapter. Where Milsiril is playing the soft and protective Mother role, feeding Kabru cake, almost kinda baby talking him. She’s using her shawl (?) to cover her arms. Til Kabru brings up the dungeon and wanting to be “strong like her” is when her shawl slowly begins to fall off her shoulders each panel and reveals some nasty scars.

Taking at look at the "Strong like you." panel (middle image, first panel in the middle row) it particularly peeks my interest because I’m so sure Kui did that on purpose. Not to mention when the tone shifts completely and we see Milsiril looking rather scary. This time her scars are on full display.

So going off of the last few panels, I’m going to personally assume she tries to cover them around her children so they don't have any feelings of uneasiness or fear around her. In the instance with Kabru, it’s almost like she's trying to install some fear in him whether that’s to drive him away from the dungeon or just show him what exploring in the dungeon is really like. Whatever is the real reason to all of this is beyond me.

I hope this makes sense and y’all can pick up what i’m tryna put down. I’m so tired feel free to reblog with your own interpretations or additions pls. or if i missed anything thanks.

#milsiril #kabru #dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #mini analysis kinda #mb if that isnt a shawl i never know when it comes to clothes #JUST SO TIRED

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zorobff · 8 months

Text

how to disappear. (opla!zoro x fem!reader)

synopsis: joining luffy’s crew made you believe that you’d finally escaped your former pirate crew and nightmare of a captain for good. that is, until a certain butler starts looking a little too familiar. good thing zoro’s keeping a close eye on you.

warnings: opla spoilers (ep 3), some direct dialogue from opla, mentions of verbal/physical abuse, kuro is just a weirdo tbh, reader is called a bitch, protective zoro, for the sake of the story sham and buchie joined the black cat pirates after reader left

word count: 4.7k

“this guy is full of shit.”

you knock your shoulder into zoro’s wider one. “be nice. and so what if he is?”

zoro gives you a pointed glare. “then we should turn around and look for someone who can actually help us find a ship.”

“all business, as per usual,” you reply, with a purposefully dramatic sigh. “why can’t you have a little fun?”

“what about this is supposed to be fun?” zoro spits out the word like it’s poisonous. “this is the blandest village i’ve ever seen.”

you scoff. “now you’re the one that’s full of shit. nothing’s ever bland with us and you know it.”

the us in question was your newly formed pirate crew… if you and luffy could even be considered that. having left the ship you’d been on a few years ago, you were in search of a new crew. luffy was persistent and charming — when you’d crossed paths in shells town, it took little to no time for him to convince you to join his hunt for the one piece. zoro and nami, on the other hand, had yet to follow in your footsteps.

“well, considering that we’ve only been traveling together for a day and a half and i’ve already escaped a marine base, defeated a marine captain, and fought a clown with devil fruit powers… i’d actually have to agree.”

you can’t help but giggle at his sarcastic delivery. “be grateful, zoro. not many pirate crews are this fun to be on, trust me. oh wait, that’s right, you still haven’t officially joined—”

“tell me about your old pirate crew,” interjects zoro, your comment having piqued his interest.

you notice that the playful atmosphere dissipates. “god, where do i even start?”

zoro answers that for you. “why did you leave?”

“starting with the hard hitting questions, huh?” you joke, mostly to stall. you clear your throat before you answer. “well, it was different. nothing like what luffy has going on. he actually cares about his crew… and even those who aren’t technically on it.”

at that, a smile tugs at the corner of zoro’s lips. even you crack a small grin. although as you continue speaking, it fades.

“on my old crew, we were dispensable. anytime something went wrong, our own captain would threaten to kill us. it was… scary, to be completely honest. there were so many times when i thought i’d die with that filthy crew. and i never wanted that. so as soon as we docked at shells town, i left.”

zoro’s jaw clenches as imagines the things you’d seen and been subjected to. “this old captain of yours sounds like a real—”

“he was a nightmare,” you tell him. “he didn’t care that i was the only woman on board, he treated me just as horribly, if not worse.”

zoro stops so suddenly that it takes you a second to realize he’s not walking alongside you.

“what do you mean by that.” the way zoro phrases the inquiry doesn’t even make it sound like a question. more like a demand. his narrowed eyes are fixed solely on you. holding his gaze feels… intense.

you can’t help but glance away as you answer him. “he was just a bit of a creep.”

before zoro has the chance to try and extract more information out of you, a familiar voice calls both your names. you’re not really sure when you and zoro had fallen behind but from where you currently stand, the rest of your group looks miniature. or perhaps it’s just the massive size of the mansion behind them that makes luffy, nami, and usopp look pocket-sized in comparison.

“why’d you stop walking?!” your captain shouts, hands pressed on each side of his mouth to amplify his voice. “get over here, we’re about to go in through the top secret entrance!”

you vaguely make out usopp gesturing for luffy to keep his voice down. you’re sure that would warrant another comment from zoro about his reliability but he’s too busy staring at you with that expectant look in his eyes.

“we better catch up,” you tell him, heading in the direction of the deluxe home.

he allows you to dodge the subject and sighs, walking in long strides to catch up to you.

“i’ve never seen a house this big before,” luffy admits, admiring the mansion along with the wellkept greenery surrounding it.

“awesome, right?” usopp gloats, walking around like he owned the place. “kaya’s given me an open invitation to drop by anytime i want.”

“wow.” you’re not sure if luffy was just going along with usopp’s act or if he really believed him. knowing the devil fruit user, it was more than likely the latter. “all this for just one person?”

“well, she lives here with her butler and a few other staff,” usopp replies, leaning against the stone well that sat in the middle of the lawn.

“money really shows you who people truly are,” nami mutters, eyes scanning the property. “most people only care about themselves and what’s theirs.”

zoro is quick to throw the insult back at her. “sounds like someone i know.”

you roll your eyes at his comment, though you make no effort to disagree with him. nami was a little on the materialistic side.

“and a small staff makes for easy pickings,” she continues, proving your point.

“we just got here and you’re already planning on robbing the place blind?” you ask though you already know the answer.

“at least a little blurry,” she smirks, following behind luffy and usopp who walk toward the entrance.

you and zoro share a look. one that says disappointed but not surprised.

going under a shrub shaped as an arch, you’re met with a beautiful pond. you admire the pink lilies that float at the top and the bushes that were intricately trimmed into the shape of various animals. even if the people that lived here were filthy rich, at least they had good decorative taste.

“so if you have an invitation, why are we going around the back way?” luffy ponders.

usopp’s answer is nonchalant. “oh, i never use the front entrance. like i said, this is the vip entrance reserved for special guests.”

zoro scoffs. “this guy’s definitely–”

“don’t start,” you groan, cutting him off.

abruptly, usopp freezes and spins around, attempting to usher your crew back. “you know what, there’s actually a more exclusive entrance this way–”

the sharp swoosh of a knife cutting through the air and burying itself in the ground between usopp’s feet cuts him off. from the direction the kitchen utensil was thrown stands a heavyset gentleman with his face wrinkled in anger. his demanding voice booms through the garden, “the hell are you doing here, usopp?”

the dark-skinned boy fumbles over his word. “buchi, buddy, uh, kaya’s expecting me.”

“another one of your lies,” the man – seemingly named buchi – seethes, grabbing him by the collar. “you ain’t welcome here and you know it.”

“i know nothing of the sort,” usopp retorts, keeping his cool even when he was practically being lifted off the ground by his shirt. “i’m here to give kaya an extra special gift.”

before buchi can get another word out, a feminine voice calls out for your companion. coming down the steps is a frail looking girl in a pink dress. on her arm is a man dressed in a crisp suit, presumably the butler usopp had mentioned earlier. though, from where you stand you can’t see either of their faces too clearly.

“what a wonderful surprise,” she exclaims, breathlessly.

“kaya!” usopp exclaims, returning her enthusiasm. buchi has no choice but to let him go, begrudgingly. usopp makes sure to shoot him a smug look before walking towards the young girl. “happy birthday.”

the butler clears his throat, not afraid to intrude on their special moment. “usopp, we’ve discussed this before. you mustn’t show up unannounced.”

“nonsense, klahadore.” kaya smiles warmly. “have you come to tell me another story? i do love hearing about your adventures.”

“i’ll do you one better,” usopp smirks with such confidence that even you’re left wondering what kind of surprise he has up his sleeve. “i brought some of my crew!” he gestures back towards the four of you, proudly.

your excitement vanishes. “oh. the surprise is… us.”

“well, that’s boring,” luffy agrees, just as disappointed as you are.

kaya, on the other hand, is none the wiser. “it’s so nice to meet you. you must all stay for dinner.”

klahadore lowers his voice. “miss kaya, it is a bit last minute. i’m afraid the kitchen hasn’t prepared for any extra guests.”

“please,” begs kaya, softly. “it’s my birthday. can’t be too much trouble can it?”

giving in, klahadore purses his lips. “anything for you, miss kaya.”

luffy claps his hands together. “alright! when do we eat?”

“you don’t. not dressed like that, at least.” the butler directs himself to a staff member with teal colored hair. “sham, kindly show usopp and his friends to the guest suites. you will bathe and change before dinner.”

she follows his orders and leads the way. luffy, usopp, nami, and zoro trail behind her and you go to do the same. however, all it takes is a quick glance to stop you dead in your tracks. usually, you weren’t one to stare but klahadore’s face. that stare. so dark and depraved.

“yes, miss?” he asks, holding your gaze. “can i help you?”

“n-no, i…” your throat goes dry as you attempt to recover smoothly. “i just wanted to, um, thank you for being so hospitable.”

his lips curve upwards into a sinister grin. “the pleasure’s all mine.” as if to confirm your worst fear, klahadore uses his palm to readjust his glasses. his beady eyes gauge your reaction closely.

the familiar gesture sends chills down your spine. appearance-wise, he had changed drastically but his aura was still just as menacing as you remember it. he was still the corrupt pirate captain you used to serve under. you feel like a weak and helpless subordinate all over again.

“klahadore!” giggles kaya. “you’re smiling! that’s certainly a rarity.”

he hums. “i’ve simply come to the realization that having guests once in a while can truly be a delight.”

his sickeningly sweet tone makes your stomach turn. just the fact that you were standing in front of him – captain kuro – again after all these years was nauseating in itself. last you’d heard he had died at the hands of captain morgan. how was this even possible? then again, he wasn’t dubbed kuro of a hundred plans for no reason. he always had a trick or two up his sleeve. you assumed this was no different.

“hey, you comin’?”

you turn around to see zoro waiting for you. he meets your gaze for a moment. the softness of his eyes is a stark contrast to kuro’s. it’s a breath of fresh air. he then shifts his attention to your former captain and you swear his eyes darken.

“yeah, sorry,” you mumble, trying not to look shaken as you walk up the steps.

zoro follows behind you, this time closer than before.

“why would anybody even need this many clothes?”

“it’s not about need with these people, luffy. it’s about want,” nami spits, thumbing through the various fabrics on the wall.

“at least she’s rich and nice,” luffy replies, innocently.

nami rolls her eyes. “yeah, letting us stay for dinner must be her idea of charity work.”

“what are we even supposed to wear?” luffy continues, uninterested in nami’s criticism of the rich.

“anything you want. when are you ever going to get the opportunity to wear things this nice?”

you step out from behind the changing board where you’d swapped out your old tee and cargo skirt for an elegant satin dress. it was a stunning shade of olive green and frilly lace decorated the edges. not to mention, it hugged your curves in all the right ways.

nami’s eyes widen. “see, she’s got the right idea. you look amazing.”

you smile, bashfully. “honestly, i feel amazing.”

“you look the same to me,” your captain shrugs.

nami shoots him a death glare but you intervene before she can scold him.

“way to keep me humble, luffy.”

“no problem!”

at that exact moment, a freshly showered zoro arrives donning a silk robe. he eyes the multitude of garments that cover every inch of the room, not particularly impressed.

“there you are. don’t you think she looks nice?” nami asks him, gesturing towards you. she doesn’t notice how you shrink under zoro’s gaze. neither does he, as his eyes take their time raking over you, from top to bottom.

he hums. “suits you.” with that, he sets off towards a chair in the corner of the room.

“seriously?” sighs nami, exasperated. “are you two physically unable to give compliments or something?”

“hey, doesn’t that butler seem familiar to you guys?” zoro asks, promptly ignoring nami’s complaint.

his question causes your breath to hitch. you’d pushed the kuro problem to the back of your mind while you were in search of a suitable dinner outfit. you figured that as long as your crew was by your side, he wouldn’t dare try anything. and even if he did… well, you’d seen what had happened to axe-hand morgan and buggy.

“yeah, i think he was at the last dinner party i attended,” nami replies sarcastically, taking a handful of dresses behind the changing board.

as he takes a seat, zoro grumbles, “i swear i’ve seen him before.”

“where?” you can’t help but ask, fiddling with the lace on the neckline of your dress.

“so far, i’ve got two suspicions. a wanted poster or funky bar on mirrorball island. you ever been?”

you know zoro’s teasing you, judging by the grin on his face. after all, funky bar was known to get insanely rowdy; never would he imagine finding someone as gentle as you there. but what he didn’t know is that it happened to be one of kuro’s favorite bars. per his request, you and the rest of the black cat pirates frequented it often, so he was more than likely right about having seen kuro there. he’d probably even seen you in passing, once or twice. thankfully, he doesn’t seem to have any recollection of that.

the thought of zoro knowing about your past forms a knot in the pit of your stomach. would he think less of you for having joined such a ruthless crew at one point in your life? what if it put a strain on the friendship you’d worked so hard to form?

“i’ve, uh, heard of it,” you decide to reply, pushing down your worries for the time being.

he tilts his head slightly, thinking out loud. “then again, i have seen a lot of wanted posters and bars in my time as a pirate hunter.”

you feel a grin creep onto your face. “probably more bars than posters, huh?”

zoro mirrors your smile. “shut up.”

by the time dinner rolls around, the entire crew is doing what they do best.

luffy is stuffing his face, nami is attempting to swindle one of the staff, zoro is hanging by the drinks, and you’re hanging by zoro.

“hey zoro, you gotta try this!” luffy calls through a mouthful of food.

“i’ve got all i need right here,” he mutters, taking a swig out of his champagne flute.

“you know, i don’t think i’ve ever seen you choke down something that isn’t alcohol,” you comment, watching the way he downs the glass in one go.

dryly, he replies, “that’s because i haven’t.”

“very on brand.”

“ladies and gentlemen,” calls out that voice from the top of the stairs. “may i present… miss kaya.”

arm in arm, kuro and kaya walk down the steps, all eyes on the birthday girl and her stunning gown. well, except you. your eyes never leave the so-called butler by her side. your jaw clenches when he has the audacity to meet your gaze and hold it. shameless bastard.

once they reach the bottom, merry leads kaya to the guests while kuro takes his post at the bottom of the stairs… right next to the drink table. before you can think about steering yourself and zoro away, kuro speaks.

“forgive me if i am speaking out of line, madam, but i must inform you. you look positively radiant,” he purrs, soaking in your appearance. he looks ready to pounce.

you can’t stop your eyes from rolling. good to know he’s the same pervert he used to be.

looking between you both and sensing your discomfort, zoro steps in. “and you look familiar.”

kuro’s head stiffly turns to face him, eyes peeling away from you. “highly doubtful, sir.”

“funky bar? mirror ball island?”

“funky bar?” kuro repeats, disgusted. “well, i can assure you i’ve never patronized that type of establishment.”

while it was amusing to see your highly esteemed former captain lie through his teeth, the tension between him and zoro was unbearable.

“well then.” zoro continues with his little interrogation. “ever been on a wanted poster?”

you cringe at his bluntness. sometimes it seemed like he had less of a filter than luffy.

kuro puts on a scandalized face at the question. “sir! such an accusation is highly offensive.” tugging on his collar, he goes to remove himself from zoro’s probing. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i’m going to help prepare the dinner table.”

he leaves, en route to the dining room. zoro’s eyes follow his figure until he disappears, squinting as he racks his brain for any further recollection of this suspicious butler.

you sigh. if zoro was going to continue being so relentless, you were sure the night would end in bloodshed and uncovered secrets.

“keep this coming,” zoro demands, handing the empty wine bottle to sham. she takes it with a glare.

“would it kill you to say please?” you ask, slicing the slab of fish on your plate into smaller pieces.

“the service here is shitty. why should i have to be polite?”

you scowl. “remind me to never have dinner with you again.”

zoro turns to you with that cocky grin of his. “what if i asked nicely?”

his quip makes your heart flutter but you manage to keep your composure. “you can try your luck.”

before he can respond, usopp speaks up. “luffy, isn’t there something that you wanted to talk to kaya about?”

luffy gesticulates enthusiastically with his fork. “oh, yes! usopp told me that you own the whole shipyard.”

“well, actually, my parents founded the shipyard and merry’s been running the business since they… passed. but all that’s about to change. tonight, at midnight, i will become the sole owner.” she smiles somberly.

“well, that’s great,” luffy says, raising his drink at her. “because we want to buy a ship from you.”

“ah, i see. usopp mentioned that you’re sailors.”

“nope, not sailors. we’re pirates!”

you’re certain at least three people at the table choke on their food, yourself included.

“this ought to be good,” zoro mumbles behind his glass.

you’re too busy coughing into your napkin to chastise him for finding this entertaining.

“pirates?” kaya repeats, unsure of how to react.

“yup! we haven’t sailed together for very long but we’ve already defeated an evil clown, raided a marine base, and taken down a captain with an axe! for a hand!” luffy holds up a fist, presumably to impersonate axe-hand morgan.

“sounds a lot like your adventures, usopp,” kaya says, turning to the brunette.

all he can do is laugh dryly. “yeah, that’s… that’s crazy.”

“and we’re just getting started!” luffy continues, climbing up onto the table.

“someone put me out of my misery,” you mumble, looking down at your plate to ignore the secondhand embarrassment.

a tap on your shoulder answers your plea.

turning around, you find yourself face to face with kuro once again. “madam, a word please?”

“might i ask what for?” zoro cuts in before you can so much as think of a response.

kuro offers him the most forced grin you’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing. “i’m afraid that is between the lady and i.”

the swordsman turns to you, scanning your face for any ounce of discomfort. “you okay with that?”

you inhale, figuring it was finally time for you to confront the darkest part of your past. it was silly to assume you would be able to ignore him throughout your entire stay here. besides, you were sure zoro, just like the rest of your crew, would be on standby if kuro got brave enough to try anything. “sure. just… keep an eye out.”

zoro understands completely. truthfully, you didn’t even need to ask – he always looked after you. “got it.”

you push yourself out of your seat and smooth out your dress. you allow kuro to lead you to the doorway – he was smart enough to know that was the farthest you’d let him take you.

“what do you want, klahadore?” you seethe, folding your arms.

he arches a brow. “why must you call me that? it’s ridiculous.”

you tilt your head with faux innocence. “oh? is that not your name? must have misheard.”

he gives you an irritated look, dark eyes drilling into you.

“i remember that look,” you mutter, your memory serving you well. “it’s the same one you’d give me before you’d threaten to slice me to bits with your claws.”

kuro has the audacity to chuckle dryly. “but i never did, did i? although there were certainly times times where i should’ve.”

“what you should be is dead,” you hiss bitterly. “when i heard the news, i knew it was too good to be true.”

“you wound me, kitten,” he drawls, reaching up to fix his glasses.

the condescending nickname makes your skin crawl. it carried so many awful memories of your time spent with the black cat pirates. it reminded you of just how weak kuro viewed you — nothing but a helpless, pitiful kitten in his eyes. typical of the man that abused his authority and treated you with not a single ounce of respect.

he continues, putting on a sweet tone. “after all these years, stuck waiting hand and foot on that spoiled brat, there’s nothing i’d love more than to hear my favorite crew mate say my real name.”

you snap at him. “i’m no crew mate of yours.”

he sighs, dramatically. “sadly, you’re correct. after all, you did slip off the ship the moment we docked in shells town. locating you on an island crawling with marines proved to be nearly impossible. we had no choice but to leave without you.”

“that’s exactly why i chose to escape there.”

“and to this day i can’t for the life of me figure out why you would ever do that. why would you want to leave us? leave me?”

you actually laugh right in his face. “is it really that hard to figure out? you were evil. you threatened and harassed me on a daily basis.”

“so your solution was to join that ragtag crew?” he glances at the table. “it’s pathetic, even for you.”

you lean into his face, lowering your voice down. “i’m happier than i ever was on your shitty crew. every day i wake up grateful that i managed to escape you.”

you see that vein on his forehead bulge before he’s gripping you by the chin. “listen here, you little bitch–”

the shiny silver of a sword slides between you and kuro, coming to rest against his neck. his adam’s apple bobs as he gulps anxiously, releasing you. thanks to zoro’s sword, it seemed as if he finally remembered where he was. you were no longer on his ship, he was no longer allowed to treat you like the dirt he walked on. not without someone noticing, that is.

“why don’t you step away?” zoro offers simply.

that much was a kindness. usually those who found themselves on the end of zoro’s blade(s) weren’t lucky enough to receive a warning. however, the swordsman didn’t wish to cause a scene. at least not when you were right there and everyone was watching with shock from the dinner table.

kuro obliges, stumbling back. he meets kaya’s horrified eyes, feeling ashamed that he allowed his act to slip. surely this would cause some setbacks in his plan. with no excuse for his uncharacteristic behavior, the raven haired man scurries away and up the stairs.

zoro turns and locks eyes with luffy, giving him one singular nod. luffy returns it, jumping out of his seat and going after the butler. quiet murmuring breaks out at the dinner table, everyone surely confused.

sheathing his sword, zoro directs his attention to you once more. “are you alright?” a calloused hand comes up to grip your chin, much like kuro had. however, this time, the touch is gentle. loving, almost. you welcome it.

“yeah, i’m… fine.” your heart is beating out of your chest and it has everything to do with your close proximity to zoro.

he tilts your face around, inspecting every inch of it. once he finishes, he pulls back. his demeanor goes serious once more. “we need to have a talk.”

you nod. “i know. i’ve been keeping some things from you guys and–”

“just tell me what’s been going on,” he demands. “and don’t overcomplicate it. you can be straightforward with me.”

his sincerity makes you start over, this time far more candidly. “klahadore used to be a pirate. i was part of his crew. he was my… captain.”

the shame in your voice pulls at zoro’s heartstrings. didn’t you know there was no reason to feel guilty with him? “is that it?”

you open your mouth to speak but come up empty. all you can do is furrow your eyebrows at his unexpectedly dismissive reaction.

“i knew it,” zoro continues, annoyed. “i knew i’d seen him on a wanted poster before. just didn’t have any proof.”

“wait, so you don’t– you really don’t care?” you ask, still avoiding eye contact. “me being a former black cat pirate doesn’t bother you?”

he shrugs. “you said it yourself. ‘former.’ all that matters is that you got the hell out of there. and away from that creep. would he always put his hands on you like that?”

you blink a couple times, sighing. “his temper was really bad so–”

that seemed to be enough for zoro. “i’ll kill the bastard,” he hisses. “wanted to slice him to bits the moment i saw him grab you.”

though it’s a violent threat, you can’t help but smile. the idea of zoro being so protective that he’d kill a man just for touching you made you blush. pirate love language, you suppose.

“well, i wouldn’t have stopped you,” you tell him, more than ready to see your former captain go.

zoro clicks his tongue. “nah. could’ve stained your new dress with his blood. i never would have been able to forgive myself.”

“so you do have a soft spot,” you tease.

“only for pretty things.”

“do you mean me or the dress?”

now it’s zoro’s turn to become bashful. though, his lack of response is an answer in itself. you can’t help but giggle.

a loud bang from upstairs interrupts your moment with the green-haired man. you assume luffy had gotten his hands on kuro… or vice versa. zoro must be thinking the same thing judging by the way he instinctively rests a hand on the handle of his blade.

“you should go up there,” you tell him. “i’ll stay with kaya.”

he gives you a nod, though he doesn’t make any effort to leave. he stands there like he wants to say something… or do something. before you can think about it too much, you pull him in by the collar and crash your lips onto his. they’re slightly chapped and taste like the wine that’d come from the cellar – it’s pleasant. his large palms come to rest on your lower back; his hold feels tight and secure.

when you finally allow yourself to pull away, you’re biting back a smile. “kick his ass for me.”

“will i get more of that if i do?” asks zoro, wetting his lips. they now taste like the cherry lip gloss you’d borrowed from kaya. he takes a step forward, attempting to close the gap between you two once more.

you shrug, pushing him away by the chest. “go help luffy and we’ll see.”

you both know that means yes.

#zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #opla zoro x reader #opla x reader #one piece x reader #zoro fluff

7K notes · View notes

obscure-imagines · 8 months

Text

wet dreams - Zoro

🍃staring. Zoro Roronoa x afab!Reader

⚔️ preview. The swordsman feels like a teenager again. His body has never reacted like this to anyone, not even close. It's been years since he had wet dreams, and now they're coming in, hot, heavy, and nearly nightly.

tw/cw. unprotected sex, wet dreams, hand job, blow job, dirty talk, praise, exhibitionism (sex outside in the Crowsnest), cum play/swallowing, fingering, mutual masturbation, multiple reader orgasms, big dick zoro, fingering, overstim, mutual orgasm, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel.

🔫 rating. 18+ explicit I SMUT I wc. 3.7k

⚔️ aus. One Piece Live Action, pwp, acquaintances to lovers, etc…

🍀 mlist + an. I showed Sanji and Mihawk some love so I figured I might as well adore my big three and make it a full set with Zoro.

Zoro is exhausted. His body feels heavy as he lumbers around the ship, his footfalls a little too loud on the wooden deck. His eyes are practically shutting on their own, but he resists the need to nap.

He's been having problems lately... when he sleeps.

While he's able to keep himself mostly in check around you during his waking hours, his mind - and body - have been betraying him in dreamland.

He's woken up five nights this week with the soft sounds of your moans etched into his memory and his pants ruined with the sticky truth about his feelings for you.

Naps had once been a time of rest, but Zoro has been anything but restful since Luffy convinced you to join the crew two weeks ago.

Zoro hates feeling like he's not in control. He hates the way you seem so real in his mind's eye, only for him to wake up and watch you acting completely indifferently toward him- as if he didn't just watch you go down on his cock in explicit detail- as if he didn't just try to fuck you so hard you couldn't even walk-

Being around you is something like torture. His tongue gets tied, his heart races, and he's unable to hold a conversation with you about anything unrelated to piracy... and even then, he stumbles over his words and gets frustrated with himself.

You're just too beautiful.

The swordsman feels like a teenager again. His body has never reacted like this to anyone, not even close. It's been years since he had wet dreams, and now they're coming in, hot, heavy, and nearly nightly.

He does his best to be the last to go to bed, out of fear that someone will walk in while he's sleeping and hear his problem, hell, he wouldn't be shocked if they could even see it.

It's not even midday and Zoro feels like death. It doesn't help that it's hot out. The wind feels practically nonexistent. Everything is stale, sweaty, and full of tension. Even Sanji, who usually dresses in formalwear, has stripped himself of his button-up, opting for an undershirt instead.

Then there's you. Your shorts don't leave much to the imagination, and Zoro has to tear his gaze off of you every time you get within his line of sight. His cock is practically throbbing in his pants anytime you're nearby- anytime your soft scent lingers in the air when you walk past.

"You look like shit."

Zoro sighs at Sanji's words, refusing to look at the chef who's come to lean on the rail next to him, staring out at the sea.

"I mean it. And I'm not trying to be a dick, but seriously moss head, you look like you need some rest," Sanji presses on. "When was the last time you had one of your famous Roronoa naps?"

"I wasn't aware they were famous," Zoro sighs, this conversation is making him even more tired.

"We all know you get a little scratchy without your beauty sleep," Sanji smirks. "Go on, get some rest. It's a shit day, and it will be even more shit if you're in a bad mood. I'll wake you up for dinner."

Usually, Zoro wouldn't do anything Sanji suggests, he wouldn't even entertain it- but the idea of a nap is having a visceral effect on him. He's reminded of the exhaustion that's overtaken him, and the harsh sun is only making things worse.

Zoro lets out a deep breath. "I guess I could use a little shut-eye."

You let out a loud whimper as Zoro drags his tongue across your neck, holding you close on the deck of the ship. Above, the stars are twinkling, but to the swordsman, all that matters is you. He can hardly see anything else, his mind completely blank except for the feeling of your hand stroking his cock.

"I need more," you tell him, applying just the right amount of pressure.

He's tried dissuading you from sucking his cock, but you're absolutely insatiable for him. Stroking isn't enough, and the promise of filling you up all nice and snug doesn't satisfy you either- no, you want him in your mouth, and you're very verbal about it.

Who is Zoro to deny you?

With a sigh, he agrees, and you sink to your knees immediately.

God, you look beautiful like this.

Your thumb strokes the head of his cock, rubbing through precum as you bring your mouth closer.

You're always a bit of a tease, licking at him gently, pumping his shaft. Zoro can't help but release a small groan, eyes fixed on you, waiting.

When you finally take him into your mouth, Zoro moans, his head lolling back as he enjoys the feeling.

"That's it, angel," he tells you, reaching down to grab at your head, helping you find a rhythm. "Just like that."

You take him so deep, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat much too easily. The feeling of you choking around him has Zoro's abdomen clenching, and a familiar sensation is growing in his balls-

It's as if you can read his mind, your hand snaking up to massage his most sensitive area while you continue practically gagging yourself on his cock.

The sound is absolutely obscene, and Zoro's never heard anything so pretty.

"If you keep sucking like that, I'm going to cum," he warns you, wanting to hold out to finish in your perfect, needy little cunt-

The way you suck on him even harder makes Zoro think you want him to cum. You want him to release down your throat, want to swallow him up like the good girl you are.

Again, who is Zoro to deny you?

"Fuck, angel," he groans, orgasm rising even faster. "You're always so good for me."

You whimper loudly around his cock, stroking your tongue along the vein that runs the underside of his length while squeezing his balls, and that's all it takes for him to cum.

He lets out a grunt as he shoots his load down your awaiting throat, his brows knitted together in concentration and something close to overstimulation. He whispers your name, over and over like a mantra while you suck him dry, eager for every single drop he can give- you're his greedy little angel, and he loves you with every fiber of his being.

You pull off of him when he's done, staring up at him with eyes that reflect the stars above. Then, you stick out your tongue, proving to him that you'd swallowed all he had to give.

Zoro can't help but reach for you, lifting you back onto your feet so he can grab your face and press his lips against yours eagerly.

He treasures the moments you're in his arms, and there's something so satisfying about the salty taste on your tongue-

"Dinner!"

Zoro sits up so fast he nearly falls out of his hammock. His heart is thundering in his chest, and when his eyes quickly dart to the door, he sees that Sanji hadn't bothered to enter, only called out a word of warning.

Swallowing thickly, Zoro looks down at his pants. He can feel his cum, hot and sticky against his skin, his half-chubbed length angrily confined by pants.

Zoro's not sure who's more upset about being woken up from his dream, himself, or his cock.

Luffy has already gone through half the food by the time Zoro saunters into the dining area. The swordsman's eyes are downcast while he takes a seat next to the captain, and you're kind of glad for that- you want to watch him, but you doubt you'd be able to make eye contact with him right now.

Your skin tingles with the forbidden knowledge that you now have. Your mind keeps replaying the scene you'd walked in on not half an hour ago; Zoro, asleep, his brows knitted together, your name on his lips.

You hadn't stayed long upon finding him in that state, your skin too hot with the realization of what you'd just witnessed, and now, that fevered sensation returns.

You've always had a bit of a crush on Zoro, but you'd never in your wildest dreams imagined that it could be returned. Out of everyone on the ship, Zoro interacts with you the least. He practically avoids you, and you've just spent two weeks thinking he doesn't even like you-

No, this changes everything.

The man with green hair lifts his gaze, and your eyes meet momentarily, only for you to look away, skin flaring again. Your heart is practically beating out of your ribcage, and you can feel your panties sticking uncomfortably to your core.

You'll have to do something about this. You're not sure what- but... you definitely can't go much longer with this kind of unresolved tension. One dinner with a dripping pussy is enough.

You decide you'll have to confront Zoro, and something tells you that you'll thank God for doing so.

Once everyone is asleep, you slowly tiptoe out of the sleeping quarters. Zoro has been staying up late, keeping watch in the Crowsnest, and you feel like that's a perfect place to talk with him. There's no way he can escape... unless he jumps into the ocean and risks his life- but you don't think it will come to that... or at least, you hope it doesn't.

Carefully climbing the ladder, you think of all the things you can say to him. You're not sure where to even begin, and as you make it to the top, poking your head through the manhole to stare at Zoro's broad shoulders, all the words you'd planned slip your mind.

He hasn't noticed you yet, and it takes closing the ladder cover for him to finally hear you, whipping around with his hand reaching for one of his blades.

Zoro freezes. You both do.

Then his hand drops to his side. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought..." you bite at your lip, "I thought you might want some company."

He gives you a quick once over, then turns to look out at the sea again. "I'm good."

"Why do you act like you hate me so much?" you sigh, ignoring his dismissal and moving to join him.

"I don't act like I hate you."

"You hardly talk to me."

"I'm not a big talker."

You let out another exasperated sigh. There's some truth in what he's just said. "Then I'll talk."

"Go ahead."

Staring out at the sea, you're once again at a loss for what to say. After a few moments of silence, you decide to just... put it all on the table. "I walked in while you were napping earlier."

Zoro goes rigid next to you.

"What were you dreaming about?"

He's quiet, then he turns to look at you. "Sword fighting."

"I didn't think you'd actually lie to me," you frown.

"Who says I'm lying?"

"I just- I don't think sword fighting would lead to you moaning my name over and over."

Zoro looks out at the sea again. "You must think I'm some kind of pervert."

"Trust me, I don't," you assure him. "I'm kind of curious about what we were doing in your dream."

He sneaks a glance at you, and there's a hint of a smile that curls onto his pretty lips. "Yeah?"

You nod. "Maybe... maybe I've been having 'sword fighting' dreams too. We could... compare notes, or something."

Zoro lets out a laugh, shaking his head. The chuckle dies down into a groan. "Fuck." He grips the railing tighter, taking a deep breath. "You really wanna know what we were doing in my dream?"

"Yes, please."

The swordsman turns to face you, crossing his arms over his chest. "You were down on your knees, sucking the fucking soul out of my cock."

If your panties hadn't been ruined at dinner, they're definitely ruined now. "I was?"

"Uh huh. You were begging for it. Begging for every last drop."

Your mouth practically waters at the idea. "And did you give it to me?"

"Of course I did," he says softly, scanning your face. "How could I not?"

"Should we..." Your skin heats at the words about to come out of your mouth, "Can we make that dream real?"

Zoro sucks in a shaky breath. "I think I have a better idea."

"A better idea than me sucking your cock?" You're shocked.

"You're always so good to me in my dreams, maybe I want to be good to you."

Your pussy throbs at the insinuation of what he's saying. Most men would jump at the chance to have your mouth around them, but it looks like tonight, the swordsman wants to be the one pleasuring you-

He's just like the Zoro from your wet dreams, and you have a suspicion that when it gets down to it, he'll be even better.

You can't help yourself any longer, you practically launch your body at him, throwing your arms around his strong shoulders while his hands catch you. Your lips meet as if it's the most natural thing in the world, a soft groan escaping him when you swipe your tongue across his mouth, already eager for entrance.

The kiss deepens, and his hands grip you tighter, pulling you flush to his chest. It feels absolutely insane to be actually doing this in your waking hours- nothing your mind could conjure up compares to the real Zoro-

You can feel his cock already pressing against your hip and it makes you whine loudly, shoving your hand between your bodies to cup him through his pants. He's as big as you imagined he would be, and your pussy flutters with interest.

"Zoro-" you whimper, already needing more.

You've been waiting too long for this, for him-

He groans. "Say that again."

One of his hands joins yours between your bodies, but his slips under the waistband of your shorts, deft fingers rubbing you through your panties.

"Fuck, angel, you're already soaked-"

"Zoro!" you moan, louder this time.

"Tell me you want my fingers."

"God, I need them," you gasp when he leans in, pressing kisses and tracing his tongue along your throat. "I need you inside of me- any of you, I just- I need you!"

"Good girl," he says smoothly, pushing your panties to the side.

His fingers make contact with your dripping cunt, and he teases your pussy lips, just dipping inside enough to coat his skin before he circles your clit.

You cry out, squeezing his cock harder-

"Enough of that," Zoro practically slaps your hand away from him. "Tonight is about you. Let it be about you."

"Fuck, you're too nice to me-"

"Trust me, you deserve it." His fingers sink into your pussy and you moan loudly, leaning forward to begin peppering his own throat in kisses. You thread your fingers through his hair, keeping him close as he begins pumping his digits in and out of your wet core.

You can already hear yourself- the sick squelching of your pussy as he works you open. His palm rubs against your clit, creating a delightful pressure that has your legs shaking and your toes curling.

"You sound so pretty."

Who knew he'd be such a sweet talker.

In the exhibitionistic privacy of the Crowsnest, with the crew sleeping soundly below, Zoro is showing you his true colors, and you couldn't be happier.

No one has touched you like this in too long- but then again, has anyone ever actually touched you like this?

You can't believe how close you already are to cumming. Your skin tingles and you moan louder against his neck, moving your mouth up to suckle on his earlobe.

Zoro groans, and the sound goes straight to your aching core.

"Close already?"

All you can manage is a nod, your eyes closing as you focus on the pleasure of his fingers pumping into your wet hole. "Please-"

"You can cum for me," he tells you. "I wanna hear it."

You can hardly even stand on your own. If it weren't for his strong form, steady under your grip, you're sure you'd be falling. His free palm is on the small of your back, keeping you snug to his front while his fingers work you closer and closer-

"Zoro," you whimper again, feeling tears in your eyes from how tight the coil in your stomach has grown.

"Be a good girl and let go for me. Come on, I know you can do it."

You let out a strangled half sob as your high slams into you. Your entire body tingles with electric energy as your core clamps onto his fingers, which continue inside of you, working you through your orgasm. You shake against him, digging your nails into his shoulders while you whimper and moan, lips pressed to his throat.

"That's it," he praises you, a steady guide through one of the most intense orgasms of your life.

You nearly black out, only for his fingers to slow inside of you, drawing you back into your body. Zoro removes his hand from your pants, and you listen to him suck his digits clean, letting out a small groan at your taste.

"Can I lay you down?" he asks next, tone gentle.

You nod, unable to speak. Zoro softly helps you onto the wooden floor of the small Crowsnest, staring at you with dark eyes that seem to sparkle in the moonlight.

He slowly undresses you, watching as you lift your hips to help him remove your shorts. Your shirt and bra are next, and he's careful to set them nearby before removing his own clothing.

"You still want to do this?" he asks.

"There's nothing I want more."

Once he's naked, Zoro gets between your thighs, holding himself over you while you wrap your legs around his hips. You grab at his shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss.

His hard cock is too enticing for you not to touch, and soon, you're gripping it while your tongues battle. His moans are music to your ears, and you swipe your thumb over the head of his length to smear his skin with precum.

"You know-" he swallows thickly. "After today, after watching you cum on my fingers, I might not last that long."

"That's okay, I won't last long either." Your pussy is already aching for him again, and from the way his cock twitches in your hand, you know he's as into this as you are. "Just fuck me Zoro, please."

He kisses you deeply, allowing you to guide him to your wet hole.

He's big, but you're soaked, and slipping into you is much too easy. He sinks all the way in, his hips flush to yours when he bottoms out. You moan into each other's mouths, and you grab his face, wanting to keep his lips on yours as he begins to thrust into you.

"Fuck, Zoro, it's so good-" you whimper, pussy clenching tightly around him to earn another sound of appreciation.

"Angel, you're fucking perfect," he agrees, pace already quickening.

The sound of skin on skin fills the night air. You open your eyes, looking up at the moon and stars. It feels natural to be with him like this, under the watchful eye of the heavens-

Your nails dig into his shoulders when his hand adjusts your thigh on his hip. He drives deeper into your wet hole, and each thrust has your head spinning.

You can feel him everywhere, and it's the first time you've ever really felt full, complete.

"Zoro," you whisper, gaining his attention as you draw his lips back to your own.

You get lost in him. His cock is filling you perfectly, and his lips feel like they were made to be on your own.

That familiar tightening in your lower abdomen builds much too fast, and each thrust has Zoro grunting and moaning even louder-

"Fuck, angel, I'm close-"

"Me too," you assure him, pressing your forehead to his own and staring into his eyes. "You'll cum with me, right?"

He can only nod as you slip your hand between your bodies, fingers rubbing your sensitive clit-

Your core tightens even more around his thick length and Zoro lets out a deep moan-

"Shit," he mutters, "where should I cum?"

"Inside," you insist. "Cum inside, I'm on birth control, please, I want it, I need it-"

Zoro's hand balls into a fist on the wooden plank by your head, and he groans. "Can't wait-"

"Me neither," you whisper, eyes closing as the feeling ravages your body, "Cumming-"

Zoro buries his face against your throat as you both reach your highs. You can feel him painting your inner walls, making you even more full than you already are with his cock- it's the most delightful feeling.

Your toes curl as he fucks you through it all, his pace even harder than before, if not a bit erratic. The sounds he's making will be something you never forget, and you cling to him like a lifeline, tracing his muscular shoulders and gasping-

It's as if your orgasm lasts ages, and when Zoro's motions finally begin to slow, it's hard to even catch your breath.

He begins to press kisses along your throat again, working his way to your ear, and then your mouth.

You can't help but grin into each soft press of his lips against your own.

"You look happy," he muses.

"That's because I am. Are you happy?"

"Very."

Your smile widens. "So we're done not talking and pretending to be indifferent to each other, right?"

"Completely done."

"Good, because I don't think I could go back to that."

"Me neither," he admits.

"I like you a lot."

Zoro presses another soft kiss to your lips, his pretty eyes twinkling with emotion in a way you've never seen from the swordsman. "I like you too."

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! If you liked this, check out my fics for Sanji and Mihawk :)

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here

#zoro roronoa #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa smut #roronoa zoro smut #opla smut #zoro opla #opla zoro #opla #one piece #one piece smut #one piece live action #zoro x reader

3K notes · View notes

atrirose · 3 months

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͏͏𝒗𝒊. ͏MORE THEN JUST FRIENDS ! enha ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏— ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏해찬 ͏ ͏& ͏ ͏𝐢

bsf(?)enha x f!reader. warning. none, kissing in jake’ + fluff wc.0.9k 🐰 seiu?!: after a century i’m writing hcs again yayy

— HEESEUNG LEE

let’s you bite him, very weird behavior but he has grown used to it, at first he was all confused as to why you feel the need to bite him like a chew toy but it’s okay your best friend(?) get you now, his biceps nom nom, but due to all this he has bite marks all over him which he is least bothered about but he does get asked if he is dating someone a lot which is confusing because why would people just assume he is dating out of the blue “yn you know i have been asked three times today whether im seeing someone and it’s all because of the bite marks you leave, people would think we are dating”

“do you want that to be a reality” he looks at you with wide eyes “are you hearing yourself” — “i am heeseung”

— JAY PARK

wears your hair tie which very bf coded and i wonder why he hasn’t asked you out yet? like which bestie goes around wearing a girls hair tie when he obviously is in the market? wearing it just makes you thing he is taken “do you love my hair tie that much you can’t even return it to me? YOU CANT RETURN MY OWN HAIR TIE TO ME” shoves a piece of cake in your mouth to shut you up “is it bothering that much, i will buy you more” which is weird because why not just return the one he has on his wrist, at this point he just wants be a wife.

“keeps me away from girls you know” oh so now he is just using you as an escape mechanism “keeps me a step closer to you” your ears turned red “so you wanna date me?” you ask

“that’s very multifaceted question” you hit his shoulders “big meanie” he giggled knowing damn well he is down right bad for you

— JAKE SIM

don’t at him but he has kissed you, like a full blown kiss not just a peck, for training purposes right? yes for training purposes so you both don’t seem like complete losers with no experience when you start dating someone, you can at least put each others name on the resume “do you wanna kiss?”

“no” jake looked at you with puppy eyes “why not” just because this is not WHAT NORMAL FRIENDS DO MR.HOT AND GENIUS BESTIES “your breath smells bad” eyes out like that sad hamster on tiktok with violin bg playing “UGH WHATEVER” you kiss him as he smiles between the kisses, knowing you can’t resist him (damn hot mf) “love ya see you after the match”

— SUNGHOON PARK

takes you on dates, and i get that it’s normal but it’s not normal when he is taking you out alone with him every other week to ‘treat you’, because normal friends totally don’t eat at a fancy restaurant together or go on a late night drive without romantic feelings like girl who are you kidding? “don’t you ever think all this dates we go to without our other friends who you reject because you only want to be with me is the reason why people think we are dating”

“yes” he said cuddling you on his bed “and like this is not normal too you cuddling me, WAIT WHAT YES?” he kissed you forehead “yes but we aren’t just friends either you know” butterflies

— SUNOO KIM

cuddles all the time, whether it is out, in school or hanging out at each others houses, you both are all up each others, which has been pointed out so many times but sunoo really doesn’t care, he would rather feel your soft cheeks next to his than hear people about how this can be a whole scandal and lower the chances of you both getting any partners because people think you both are dating “sunoo can i get some water please i’m dehydrated” you try to wiggle out of the sofa you both were cuddling “nooo i will be cold”

“no you won’t be ugh get off me big baby” you try to push him as he gets up “so now you hate me” obviously he is faking it but you feel bad “im not i’m sorry sunoo what do you want me to do”

“date me”

— JUNGWON YANG

unusually long eye contact, and not the staring contest kinda way, but a loving and soft way, like he is expressing how much he loves you by staring at you, even when you are not looking at him he is always admiring you, asked at multiple occasions why he was staring at you and he just replies with ‘can’t i look at my best friend’ like sure so normal for a bestie to look at his bestie with love doe eyes. so the way he looks at you with undivided attention you might think he is listening to everything you are saying but no you got him wrong.

he humming at you talking about some dog you found cute on tiktok but he isn’t actually really listening and registering anything you are saying, he too busy admiring your plump lips that he would give anything to kiss right now “and then a blue cat said heya bro” he still looking at you “hmm that’s cool”

“YANG JUNGWON YOU ARE NOT LISTENING TO ME” you said shaking him “i guess not, it’s hard to control myself from kissing you and still listen to you, i can’t multitask like that”

— RIKI NISHIMURA

has your face as his alternate face lock id, also lets you use his phone, you want his phone real quick okay have it, you want to see through his photos okay have it, you want to use his insta okay use it, the only thing you are off limits is the boys gc because shady business goes down there, people really think you are dating your bestie and how he is the most honest and trustworthy bf ever? like no he has thousands of feet pics in his camera roll and you haven’t heard any explanation from him yet? how is he honest.

“you are going through my dms?” riki asks as you play around with his phone “yeah and if that bothers you don’t worry im texting this pretty girl who slide in your dms, soon you would have a cute girlfriend all because of my rizz” he snatched his phone from your hands “what the hell i thought i blocked her? yn why are texting her-”

“why? did you get offended? i’m sorry i shouldn’t have, no matter how close we are” he face palms like an old man done with everything “i’m not offended because you texted her, i’m offended at the fact that i have such a dumb friend who can’t see i want her more then just friends” there star struck aren’t you

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 2 months

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V ║Raw Edge

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part IV: Notch | Behind the Seams: Part V | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E, a proper E!

Summary: One lazy afternoon, Joel tests your patience.

Warnings: Sexual tension, some language, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, flirting, fingering, explicit grinding, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!domestic!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 2k

Notes: It's been a long and winding road y'all, but I'm finally back with an update on the main series. It is a short one, more of an interlude, but it will get us where we need to go for the next chapter. Thank you for your patience, I don't take you guys' understanding and love for granted for even a second. Releasing this during the Seams sleepover, more drabbles coming your way for the remaining month of March!

Raw edge - the raw, raveling, and unfinished, cut edge of the fabric.

It’s fitting that Joel is a patient man. He’s built for it, after all.

Those broad shoulders, the sturdy thighs, his sure hands - he’s steadfast as the mountains that loom over Jackson.

As the sun shifts over the ridges and valleys of the sierra through the seasons, bringing shadows into light, so does Jackson on Joel, and you learn that he’s many kinds of patient.

On lookout duty, even in the depths of winter, he becomes one with the stillness of the night, patiently watching over the safety of the town in the loneliest hours.

When townsfolk stop him on the high street for neighbourly chit chat, he obliges with polite patience, never rushing, but careful not to encourage conversation that is longer than necessary.

With Ellie, when she prattles on with a long-winded story from school, he listens with amused patience, letting her run her half-full mouth over dinner with half-hearted admonishment.

And with you - he is agonisingly patient with you, and yet, never in a way that leaves any doubt of his want for you.

You cannot be more grateful.

And in turn, you’re patient with him. As the green of summer softens with the tail end of the season, you pick up bits and pieces. You hear whispers of names. Tess. Bill. You glimpse ghosts of his past. Sarah. Frank.

You don’t expect him to, but you have the audacity to hope, that one day, if he finds it in him to let you in, you have shoulders to spare.

When the heat fades and the brisk autumnal chill starts to linger in the morning mist, you start to find that you like it when he’s not patient.

Not necessarily for the lack of patience thereof, but the fact that it’s worn thin by something else.

The way heat bleeds into his eyes when Lucy holds you up after your shift ends, fingers twitching, as if the caveman in him wants to grab you and drag you home, where you have planned on dinner - and more.

When you’re two bodies tangled in your sheets, breath short as he kisses his way down your neck and nips the underside of your breasts, bra cups pushed up only halfway because you’re still too shy to take it off completely. You feel him shudder, nails digging into your skin, nostrils flaring like he’s holding back from ripping the scant fabric off of you.

And late one evening, when you ask him for it, in heated whispers and your lower lip caught in your teeth, he oh so patiently works his fingers inside your wet heat -

One, then two;

Slow, then fast;

Tender, then frantic -

Until he feels you clench tight around the crook of his fingers for the first time, watch you arch clean off the bed, he bares his teeth and lets out a primal growl at the cry of his name on your swollen lips.

You find the thrill in getting under Joel Miller’s skin.

As the fall deepens, and trees start to shed in golden surrender, you’re caught off guard when he turns the table on you.

You don’t see it coming, your desperation, that lazy afternoon. It’s just another Saturday when Ellie is on her shift at the Outfitter with Lucy, and Joel is spending those free hours with you.

You’re not sure what got him into the mood, but the man is relentlessly teasing that afternoon, almost bratty in the way he toys with you. His hands go everywhere while you’re cooking, squeezing the swell of your ass then going north to cup your breasts, and stopping off everywhere in between.

Tips of your ears burning, you smack the back of his hands - so big and mapped with veins - just so you can get drain the pasta. Joel chuckles and kisses the corner of your mouth. ‘I like it when you’re bossy, sweetheart.’

He insists on eating on the sofa, with you between his legs, and you can feel him already hard and straining through his jeans. Neither of you really make a real go at the rapidly cooling marinara, and the plates are quickly pushed to the side as them meal degenerates into a full-blown make out session.

Not yet ready to let him strip you bare or for him to disrobe him completely, clothes hang half unbuttoned and unzipped on you both. The part of your brain that still has enough blood to reason likes it though - the demure flashes of skin under creased fabric, blindly touching and feeling where you can’t see.

Your jeans are pushed halfway down your thighs, bra pushed down under your breasts, the elastic straps digging into your shoulders. His shirt is open down to the second last button, bare chest rubbing against your nipples, the contact making you whine. His belt hangs open and his jeans are unzipped, but before you can reach down, his fingers slide inside your panties, twisted and sticky, teasing your wet folds.

‘Joel,’ you whimper as he pushes two thick fingers inside you to the knuckle, your pussy slickly opening around him.

‘Does that feel good, sweetheart?’ he asks, mouthing at your collarbone.

‘More,’ you gasp.

‘I got two in you already -’

Your voice cracks in a sob, your nails digging into his back. ‘Joel, I want more. Please.’

He glances at the clock ticking away on the wall and hesitates. The rational part of him knows that he has to leave in less than twenty minutes to pick up Ellie. But feeling you leak onto his fingers, pushing your hips against him to get his fingers even deeper, his cock twitches painfully hard in his pants.

He breathes through his nose to steady himself. ‘Sweetheart, we don’t have time -‘

‘Joel!’ you whine, almost petulantly.

He stares down at you, eyes wide at your desperation. He’s never seen you like this before, and fuck, he wants to give it to you. Wants to give you what you want, what he wants. What he’s wanted for long fucking months, woken up hard and throbbing dreaming about. But he steels himself - no, not when he’s on the clock, he won’t rush it. He will give you what you deserve, and not an ounce less.

So he kisses you, long and deep, and bargains with you. ‘Listen, sweetheart, we can’t right now - but if you want to, we can try something new.’

‘Ok,’ you reply without hesitation.

A sharp breath catches in your throat when he eases his fingers out of you, and he brings them up to his mouth to lick them clean, his brow furrowing at your taste, thick on his tongue. Then you watch, transfixed, as he pushes his unzipped jeans down with his boxers, kicking them off his ankles - and his hard cock springs free of its confines.

It’s taken you many months to drum up the bravery to map his body with your touch, and you’ve mostly done so in the safety of darkness, your shyness holding you back. To see all of him, jutting hard and thick in the stark afternoon light, you don’t even hear yourself whimper at the sight.

Joel holds your gaze as he slowly wraps his fingers around the swollen length and strokes himself, lips parted, watching you watch him. ‘You trust me, sweetheart?’

‘Yes.’

‘Gonna make you feel good, ok?’

His words make you squirm beneath him. ‘Ok.’

Grabbing the base of his cock, Joel shifts, looming over you and pushing your thighs apart so they’re bent at the knees to accommodate him. Then with a delicate finger, he traces under the seat of your panties and pulls them to one side, baring your spread pussy to his eyes.

Your jaw goes slack the same time Joel bites out a filthy fuck. You know this is the first time he’s laying eyes on you there - you’ve been demure about that, preferring to be nose-to-nose with him while he buries his fingers inside you. But now, watching his eyes go black, nostrils flaring, an inexplicable high goes to your head, and you feel yourself clench around nothing.

His eyes fly to yours, and your lips part. Did he see that?

Before you can find out, Joel moves, and you hold your breath when he bows his head right where your legs are splayed open. Distracted by the beautiful chisel of his nose from this angle, you would’ve jumped right off the couch if not for his hands holding you in place when he dribbles spit onto your clit.

You cry out wordlessly, not understanding the visceral reaction of your body to the unexpectedly lewd act.

‘You’re plenty wet for me sweetheart, but this will feel even better,’ he says, spitting again, lower this time, and you tremble at the unfamiliar sensation of the wetness trailing down your folds.

Tracing a thumb over you, Joel makes a low noise of satisfaction in his chest when it glides over your lips, frictionless. Taking a hold of the base of his cock, he positions the underside of his length in the seam of your folds - and thrusts.

‘Joel!’ you whimper as the full length of him glides over the lips of your spit-wet pussy, from entrance to clit. He braces himself over you, and you hang onto his impossibly broad shoulders as he carefully rolls his hips, again and again. Rubbing along you just so, making sure you feel all of him despite not being inside you - that will have to wait.

You can feel your panties getting wetter, sticking to your skin, and Joel jolts a gasp from you when he roughly tugs the fabric hard to the side, baring more of you to his drunken gaze, witnessing the mess he’s making of you.

‘Listen t’ you,’ he slurs through gritted teeth, the lewd, wet slide of skin filling his ears. ‘Gonna sound even sweeter when I make you mine, sweetheart.’

With a whine, you arch off the couch, as if chasing the possessiveness in his words. Joel finds a rhythm that has the swollen head of his cock grinding against your clit with every thrust, and above you, he smears open-mouthed kisses over the secret spots he’s patiently unearthed by trial and error, until you’re shaking all over. It’s just what you needed, what you wanted - the elusive more that you didn’t know how to articulate. More than his fingers, but not yet ready to take everything that he can give you.

‘You’re close,’ Joel says, a quiet confidence to his verdict that coaxes a whine out of you. Holding a thumb over his cock, it presses even harder against your clit. His hips quicken in pace, and you know he’s chasing his own release as much as yours.

‘It’s ok sweetheart, you can let go, let me feel you cum for me, let me feel that pretty pussy -’

And then you’re gone. Any illusion of control over your body is just that, an illusion, when the bubble bursts. White hot pleasure burns through your bloodstream, tendrils of heat blooming and swelling from deep inside you, spilling out your fingertips twisted tightly into his graying curls.

Over the rush of blood in your ears, you hear Joel stutter fuck, fuck, fuck! before warm cum gushes over you, pooling in your belly button, spilling down your pussy and streaking your thighs.

Limbs heavy and eyelids drooping, it’s hard to care when the cum stains your panties or the couch below. Not when Joel wraps his arms around you, lips brushing the nape of your neck softly as he brackets you from behind.

Clinging onto the last vestiges of consciousness, you murmur, ‘You have to pick up Ellie soon.’

He grunts. ‘The little punk can wait.’

You smile, struggling to feel apologetic that the teenager might be waiting a while as Joel’s breathing slows, whistling softly by your ear.

In the quiet aftermath, his words echo in your head.

When I make you mine.

Little does he know, he doesn’t have to - you’re already his.

Notes: Time has really flown by since the last main series update. I've gone through so many ups and downs since, and I really need to thank you guys for giving me the time to figure things out in terms of my writing and how this story will go!

As I mentioned in Behind the Seams: Part V, I have 2 more full length chapters planned for the main series. I don't know if there will be any more after that, but at the very least, I hope that I will be adding to the Seams universe through drabbles and oneshots. I wouldn't write off the possibility of more chapters to add to the main series if I find the inspiration.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter ❤️

#fuckyeahseams #seams v #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine

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seiwas · 2 months

Text

if art can be touched, will you let me hold you? | nanami kento

wc: 7.2k

summary: you press love into each piece of art you create, and nanami wonders if you’ve ever been loved that way.

contains: f!reader, non-curse!au, ceramic artist!reader, pov switching, slowburn, reader wears a skirt, food mentions, bad breakup (mentioned), mentions of art critiques, almost explicit sex, it’s love without words.

a/n: a concept and fic i didn’t expect would be so dear to me; there are some very small personal touches in this but the main inspiration for this is ‘we’ve been loving in silence’, but some bgm are ‘can’t take my eyes off you’, and ‘make you feel my love’.

ao3 (needs account)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: showing ‘i love you’ in all the ways you aren’t used to

CLAY. Take your material of choice; turn it over, get a feel of it. Is it a suitable medium for your art?

You first meet Nanami in the halls of an echoing applause.

The host’s spiel is muffled through the walls, but you know the program flow like the back of your hand—you’ve rehearsed your entrance every single day since being invited to announce your upcoming exhibit. In just a few minutes, your name will be called.

Yellow cue cards slip through your fingers, scattering to the floor as a result of the haste from your last minute touch-up just moments before.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, checking the time.

As you crouch low, a pair of brown Derby shoes land in front of you—long and thick fingers reaching for your cue cards on the floor. The time on his wrist matches yours, each second highlighted in the stark contrast of a dark face and silver exterior.

You’re quick to receive his help, taking the cards into your hands as you lightly graze his fingertips. When you look up, you’re met with sharp lines—an angular jaw, eyebrows set straight; a pointed nose and his cheeks carving out hollow shadows.

A geometric study on blank canvas.

It’s embarrassing, the way you fluster and bow, thanking him with a stutter as you’re brought back to the urgency of the matter by the sound of your name being called out.

The rush to the conference hall has you breathing heavily, the nerves hitting you full force as you step up the stage, nearly tripping at the last step. Hues of blue, yellow, purple, and green lights glare at you, and when the host hands you the microphone, you chuckle nervously, clearing your throat before addressing everyone in the room to thank them for coming this afternoon.

Your exhibit is called ‘What is the Face of an (Un)Touched Soul?’—a collection of ceramic sculptures molded to the realism of a human face, with the soul imagined as varying patterns and colors that fit each featured individual.

It’s been half a year since you started, with three out of six sculptures completed already. Two are in-progress, and you have yet to find a subject for one more; there are six more months for you to complete everything.

The audience sounds their applause, sophisticated claps and nods a familiar tune in the many years of your sculpting career. Critics in the room jot down their thoughts, reporters holding up microphones and recording devices to cover your announcement.

You smile wide, the rehearsed kind.

And at the end of your presentation, stepping down the stage, you spot him again.

You think to approach him in that moment, to thank him properly instead of the fumbling mess you’d choked out in the hallway—but you’re pulled towards a crowd of reporters and critics, recording devices pushed just below your chin as you watch him disappear into a sea of faces not nearly as interesting as his.

You meet Nanami again in the bustling morning rush at the bakery near your studio.

The past few weeks have been head-down and tedious, late nights working on painting some of the last few pieces for your exhibit. One of them is of your niece, 5-years-old in mint and white innocence; your brushstrokes are featherlight, softly accentuated by sponge dabs—a slate barely filled in, with room for more colors to appear with time.

Another is of your neighbor, an old man whose eyes have seen war beyond your comprehension—a retired soldier, a veteran of the military force. He plants primroses by his windowsill, the pastel yellow a stark contrast to the life he’s lived in red; neither of the colors cancel each other out, neither of them blend. You drag harsh strokes against his jawbone while smoothly gliding watercolor across his eyelids.

The people in your sculptures have sparked an untapped curiosity within you—for stories, for lives, for souls and what those might look like.

You bump into Nanami on his way out, the sandwich in his hand falling to the ground as you frantically attempt to pick it up.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” you turn over the sandwich, checking for any holes or openings in its packaging, “Let me–”

It only registers that it’s him when you notice the same brown Derby shoes, the same watch with that dark face and silver exterior, the same geometric perfection on his face when you look up and finally come eye-to-eye with that same fixed stare.

You clear your throat. Well, this is embarrassing.

“Let me buy you another sandwich.”

He doesn’t exactly look angry, expression set in straight lines, but you can’t tell for sure—there isn’t much you can go by.

“There’s no need,” he dusts off the wrapper, “it’s still sealed.”

“Please, I insist,” you pat down your skirt, linen rough on your fingertips, “As a thank you too, for last time.”

He arches a brow, and for a moment you worry that you’ve remembered him wrong—honey blonde hair and features you’ve been intrigued by since.

“You insist.” he repeats, clarifying more than questioning.

You nod.

He sighs, checking his watch before pocketing his sandwich and turning back to open the bakery doors.

The silence in line to the counter is awkward. Nanami remains impassive, hand tucked inside his pocket—you can’t read a single thing about him.

“I was meaning to thank you after the exhibit announcement,” you start, turning slightly to face him before looking ahead again.

He hums.

“But I couldn’t find you, so…”

He hums again.

The lack of response makes you nervous and quite honestly a bit irritated. Here you are, trying to be nice, and all you’re met with are dry—

“It’s no problem, but that’s thoughtful of you, thank you.” he finally says, “I didn’t expect you to remember.”

A pause.

“I’m sure you meet a lot of faces in your line of work.” he further clarifies, in case his earlier remark had offended you.

You snort, “I wish.”

The line moves forward.

“Ceramic faces, maybe. People not so much.”

When you glance at Nanami, the look he returns is still characteristically inscrutable, but you think the corners of his eyes soften just a bit—to feel for you maybe, you hope, you think.

The line moves quickly after that, and next thing you know it, you’re by the cashier, pointing at one sandwich for you and another for him. You buy him a cup of coffee too, just as an extra kind gesture (—for his time; you’re sure he has places to be and people to see), but he stops you.

“Coffee’s on me.” he pulls out his card.

“Oh,” you look up, surprised, “you don’t have to do that—”

“It’s only fair,” he nods as the cashier punches in the order, “now we’re even.”

You attempt to rebut, but find no room for argument in the unbending weight of his gaze.

An interesting man.

You watch him stand by the claiming booth, hand in the pocket of his khaki suit. Nothing about him feels cohesive, yet he makes it work. Artistically, from a sculpting standpoint, the sharp lines on his face would be an interesting challenge—but beautiful, nonetheless. A study of near-perfection, you think.

And it would seem obvious, that from the rigid cut of his jaw and the sharp edges of his cheekbones that he’d act just as pointed.

Except, he doesn’t—a stark contrast to how much of a gentleman he seems to be.

His blue shirt stands out when you’d assume he prefers subtlety, and it’s ridiculous, but that yellow cow print tie feels simultaneously out of place but so fitting.

He walks toward you with your coffee, sandwich resting on his forearm.

“Thank you, Mr.—” you smile sheepishly, “Sorry, I don’t think I got your name.”

“Nanami Kento.” the corners of his lips lift slightly.

“Mr. Nanami,” you repeat, introducing yourself right after.

“Thank you as well.” he adds on as you both walk towards the doors.

Something tells you this is a missed opportunity. Something tells you there’s more to learn about this interesting man and what lies beneath his straight-faced sincerity.

The chatter from the bakery is replaced by the city’s breaths—cars passing, dogs barking, footsteps on pavement rushing to get to their next destination. And you and Nanami stand by the entrance, neither knowing how to say bye.

“Do you come to this–”

“My studio is just by the corner, so–”

You quickly look at each other. Nanami bows his head slightly, hand gesturing for you to go first.

“Sorry, um,” you tuck your sandwich in the crook of your elbow, “yes, I come here pretty often. My studio is just around the corner, so I drop by for quick meals when I can. You?”

“It’s on the way to work most days.”

You nod, humming.

Another awkward pause.

“I hope you–”

“I should get–”

You look at each other again, a bit more amused this time. The slight wrinkling of his eyes is impossible to hide.

He gestures for you to go first again, but you shake your head, offering him instead.

“I hope the pieces for your exhibit are going well.”

“Thank you,” you smile, bowing your head slightly.

That ‘something’ in your brain speaks to you again.

“Actually,” you begin, “sorry if this is weird, please feel free to decline, but,” you shift your weight, “I have one last piece to do and I was wondering if I could ask you.”

Nanami looks taken aback for a moment, eyes wider than normal as he processes what you’d just said.

“Ask me… for an opinion?” he clarifies.

You mentally facepalm yourself—you really should have made yourself clearer.

“Sorry, no, I meant,” you take a deep breath, fingers fiddling with your skirt, “if you’d like to be the subject for it.”

The expression on his face is as indecipherable as ever.

MOLD. Be familiar with your art, learn more of its intricacies. What will you shape it to be?

In the most unexpected play of events, Nanami says yes, but not without his hesitations.

You explain your process: the selection of a subject, an interview to get to know them better, then a few meetings at the studio to create the mold of facial features before coating it in plaster.

Never in his entire law career did Nanami ever think he would be into art, much more be chosen to be the subject for it. But he figures, if anyone were to get him to do things so wholly out of character like this, it would be you.

After all, he’s been a fan of your works for a while—from your third exhibit up to your seventh one now.

People love paintings and the strokes on canvas, admiring textures and blends of colors bleeding into one another; Nanami loves sculptures, a mixture of materials and techniques forming an object with more than one viewing plane.

“Have you always loved sculpting?” he asks, sitting still on the wooden stool in your studio.

A few meetings have gone by by now, and he’s told you a few things about himself for this to be a comfortable enough way to spend his Friday night: he’s a lawyer in a firm he’s co-founded with a good friend, evenings being the only free time in his schedule; he lives alone in a two-bedroom apartment and his neighbor’s cat often lands on his balcony every morning; he likes coffee and tea, paperback books and music from the 30’s and 60’s.

He chose to be a lawyer to correct the shitty system that’s vowed to help but has instead made it difficult for anyone genuinely trying to be good.

“I started with paper craft first,” you mold out the slope of his nose, looking back and forth between him and the mass of clay on your desk, “you know that 3D looking paper art that kinda pops out of the page?”

He hums instead, careful of any slight movement that may disrupt the pose you’re trying to replicate.

“And this?”

Your metal scraper drags on the sides of the sculpture’s nose, sharpening it as it narrows to the bridge.

“I picked it up in college, was an outlet to keep me company during that time.”

The PR answer.

Nanami knows most of your general story; pamphlets and exhibits always give a run-down of the artists’ individual histories. You’d started sculpting as soon as you entered college, a need for company while in a completely unfamiliar place with no more home to return to. It was all or nothing, and as the sculptures grew in number, so did your popularity—you are by no means a fresh name to the scene 10 years later.

“Why do you love it?” he looks you in the eye.

You pause, holding his gaze for a few seconds before looking away, focusing on the chunk of wet clay between your fingertips as it turns more pliable.

“It’s gotten me through a lot.” you sigh, attaching the piece of clay to form his lips, “Touching clay feels therapeutic sometimes, and you can tell from how it looks if it’s been molded with love.”

The stillness in your studio is extra quiet, filled only with the faint sounds of your fingertips sticking onto clay; he doesn’t quite know what to say.

“Sorry, that was cheesy.” you scrunch your nose and pout.

He chuckles, a low laugh, “Not at all.”

You lock eyes, the curve of your lips upturned. He feels his eyes soften around its edges.

It makes sense, and he thinks he can understand; there must be a reason why he loves books with creased spines, why he prefers weathered pages—why the scratches on his vinyl records don’t bother him as much as it should.

You both like your coffee without milk, just with a bit of sugar for yours.

Nanami’s taken up baking, specifically breadmaking, in his spare time—he brings you sourdough the next Friday you meet.

Your studio is an organized mess, scraps of clay decorating the otherwise bare and white space. To the left of the room is a large cork board filled with pinned sketches and some color swatches—a visual representation of the creative chaos in your mind.

A whiteboard to its right holds your schedule, and everywhere across the room are your art pieces—on shelves, in glass cases. He assumes most of them are the versions that didn’t make it, considering that the ones that have are either auctioned off or left as collector’s pieces in exhibits and art museums.

“That’s the first one I ever made.” you sneak up behind him, biting off the sandwich you hastily put together.

The sculpture is smaller than the busts you’ve made for your current exhibit, but it still occupies a third of your shelf. It’s unlike any of the works you’ve ever done, but he supposes it makes sense, given how much your style has probably evolved over time.

The piece is a lot simpler in comparison to the edgy twists most of your works now contain, but the little girl fast asleep in the sculpture begs questions he’s not sure how to ask you—if he even should.

He continues to stare, clearing his throat; you eye him knowingly and snort.

“Just ask, I know you want to.”

The texture of the carved blanket catches his eyes, the ripples and creases made to conform to the girl’s curled up figure. There’s a sadness underlying her comfort, a search for security while being wrapped in a bundle of safety.

“Who is it?” he asks.

You pause before you answer; he’s worried he’s crossed a line.

“Me.” you admit, a near-whisper.

He hums, back still faced towards you. It explains, then, why he’s always felt an underlying sadness beneath the creases of your smiles.

When he turns his face to the side, an attempt to catch your eyes, you look away, diverting.

“Which one introduced you to me?” you gesture towards the rest of your pieces.

As it’s come to be, Nanami’s learned that you’re good at that too—creating curves of deflections, pockets where you can hide when you feel something’s gotten too close.

He plays along, turning around to view the expanse of your studio; it’s amazing, how the art pieces that stack shelf upon shelf all boil down to your hard work. You briefly mentioned that you haven’t taken a break from creating because you still don’t believe you deserve it.

“It’s not here,” he puts his hands in his pockets, “the one with the hand clutching a heart.”

‘Unhand’—his favorite piece of yours; he’d seen it in one of the museums he had to visit for one of his clients. Hyperrealistic branches of veins and arteries running across an anatomical heart, every curve and indent a carefully placed texture to bring your piece to life. It comes clenched in a hand, the veins streaming across each finger while blending into those of the heart’s—at first glance, it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other starts.

It’s a different view from each angle—that’s why he likes it so much, along with the graphic nature of it. The pain feels vivid, real.

“Ah,” you run your fingers across your work table, fiddling with the small pieces of clay before taking a seat again, “that one.”

Nanami follows but he doesn’t say anything, resuming his place in front of you in the usual way he’s done the past few weeks.

“I didn’t think I was the type to be moved by art.” he confesses, sitting still as you continue the final work on the clay wisps of his hair.

You encourage him to go on, nodding along.

And he does, watching the way your steady hand forms features that look uncannily like him, if not better; strands of your hair always fall from behind your ears and he’s almost tempted to tuck it back to where it came from.

He tells you of the pain he feels from that piece, how it presents itself in different ways depending on the area you focus on—the constricted blood vessels, the buildup of pressure from a vein blocked by a thumb, the strain of muscles at the back of the hand.

A small smile makes its way onto your face, slightly sad but somehow relieved, “Didn’t expect you to be such a poet.”

“Must be from being around you so often,” he responds.

And if it’s a trick of the light, a part of him sinks at that possibility—he thinks your smile stretches wider, suppressed only by the shyness trying to hide it; no pain whatsoever.

Unexpectedly, you share with him the story. Not the filtered version, but the one just as raw and vivid as the sculpture made from it—a failed relationship that had you clinging onto sculpting as your lifeline. You spare him some of the gruesome details but hint at it enough that he can fill in the gaps on his own.

You tell him that you’re a people pleaser, you’ve learned—it’s the only way you can view that relationship with grace, that at least you understand yourself better because of it. That even when the grip on your heart wrung tight enough for each beat to hurt, you still clung on with all your worth.

(Now you know you shouldn’t have.)

People have come to you with stories of their own, sharing how much your art means to them. Critics write articles, both good and bad, detailing the technicalities of your work. The applause follows you everywhere you go, yet it has never touched you—has never gotten too close.

If your art has touched others, has listened and spoken their truth in your handiwork, who does that for you?

During one of the last few Friday meetings, you offer to teach him how to mold clay.

He looks at you curiously, watching the way your fingertips pinch and squeeze, how they glide to smoothen the material and press down to create indents on the surface.

“Do you want to try?” you ask, gaze still set on his sculpture in front of you. There’s a teasing edge to your tone, one that’s developed over the months of getting to know you more.

“Would that be troublesome?”

You laugh at his rigidness.

“Of course not.” you push your piece aside, standing up to gather clay from the mound of it to your right. You lay down a wooden platform for him–his own little workspace–and slam a chunk of clay atop it, “I think you might be good at it actually, since you like making bread.”

The movements are familiar but not entirely the same. He rolls up his sleeves, blue cotton pinching at the creases of his elbows; you hand him an apron to protect the rest of his clothing. There’s not much kneading involved, not much palm action too, but he learns to move his fingertips with a force he can only compare to creating little dimples into focaccia dough.

You teach him how to make a bread basket—something practical but beginner-friendly; something he can use and keep as a reminder of you.

The trickiest part of it is mimicking the rattan weavings, and you notice him struggling with it when his strips of clay begin to break.

A screech fills the room as you push back your chair, standing up to go behind him as he attempts to salvage his work.

“Here, let me–” you reach over his shoulders, flattening some of the cracks from above him.

You’ve never been this close before, the thin strands of hair dusting your arms tickling the sides of his ears. These past few months, he’s watched your hands press and pull and form, turning each detail of his face into art. It’s only now, right next to his larger and rougher ones that he’s noticing just how small and delicate yours are.

It’s dainty work, weaving and braiding. He attempts to do it again, but the clay only falls apart when he pulls too hard.

You stifle a giggle, the vibrations tickling his back, “We might take a while here.”

“I don’t mind.” he mumbles.

“You sure you don’t have anywhere else you’d rather be?” you lean forward, pressing closer until he feels your warmth against the back of his head, “I feel bad, I’ve been taking up most of your Friday nights already.”

It shouldn’t mean anything; he shouldn’t feel anything—you seem to be unfazed; art is meant to be taught by doing.

But then your hands go over his, guiding them to lift each strand of clay gently before interweaving them with one another, and he thinks—

—this must be what it feels to be touched by art.

So, no.

There’s no other place he’d rather be.

DRY. Give it time, let it settle. Watch your art come into form. Is this a good foundation?

“Will you be free next weekend?”

His question surprises you as you stand in line at the bakery. You tend to catch each other at just the right times almost everyday, saving a spot for whoever’s running a little late.

Today, it’s you, rushing in slightly frazzled with your hair sticking out which way; you’d just finished up molding the sculpture late last night, letting it rest out to dry. Nanami’s head is turned towards you, hands in his pockets as he directs the same pointed gaze you’ve become all too accustomed to.

You must have forgotten to mention it.

“Oh,” you turn to him, “there’s no need, our sessions are over.”

His silence makes you nervous, just like it did the first (second) time you met.

Did you upset him? Did he already cancel plans to free up time for your studio?

The entire trip to the cashier is quiet, but you find that he’s ordered ahead for you—your sandwich order and a cup of your usual coffee. He pays for it too, despite your refusal (and confusion).

It’s when he hands over your drink by the corner of the room that he finally speaks.

“Not for a session.”

You tilt your head curiously.

The coffee feels warm on your hand, and you think you see the same warmth at the tips of his ears, dusting it light pink. He coughs, fingers clenching around his tie before loosening it.

“For a date.”

You begin to take up his weekends now, too.

Since that day at the bakery, when you’d nearly dropped your coffee before stuttering out your availability, you’ve already gone on seven dates (to you, at least; Nanami would officially count three).

He insists on still visiting you every Friday, bringing you dinner as a reminder that you should eat on time and not the moment you’re keeling over from a rumbling stomach and a pounding headache. You count these as dates too—because what else do you call spending time with someone you like while having night-long conversations over good food?

(Nanami creates a distinction though, prefers his dates to be more planned out and intended. On the three official dates you’ve gone on, he’s brought you to three different locations—a weekend market, a picnic by a lake after you’d mentioned something about it, and a vintage record shop on the outskirts of the city, a place he frequents often).

The near-perfection you once thought of the man, a geometric study on canvas—he’s still every bit of it, still every bit as interesting as what he seemed, just in a completely different way.

For a man typically so nonchalant, he is extremely particular about his tastes, borderline picky with trusted company.

Nanami enjoys coffee (as expected), but the fermented filter kind, dripped down a V60 pour over to extract different notes of sweetness and acidity. You’d think he enjoys a straight black, face stoic enough to handle its bitter bite; but no, his jaw clenches when he dislikes the taste, his tongue sounding the faintest click against the roof of his mouth before he downs the entire thing in one gulp.

He also happens to be extremely gentle, in a way you don’t expect from a man of his stature and build. Veins run through the back of his large hands, branching to webs around the thickness of his fingers; they may not be delicate enough to weave clay, but he carves out different patterns on the sourdough he presents to you every Friday.

The first time he held your hand, it wasn’t exactly planned—an instinctive move to reach out his palm as you climbed the steps of the spiral staircase in the record store out of town. You’d barely felt it then, just the featherlight hold of his thumb pressed against your knuckles as you gripped the fabric of your skirt.

(To your surprise, he kept it up all the way through, slipping his fingers through the gaps between yours as he showed you around vintage vinyls and the sound of love in muffled 60’s tunes.)

You imagine him to be like clay, a softness hardened over the years that have shaped him; smooth but solid to the touch, breaking into powdered shards once you manage to work your way through.

It’s unexpected, but you like that.

And you like him—quite a lot, really.

This date–the tenth, or fourth, whichever–is a lot fancier than all the others, a more formal dinner with a few glasses of delicious wine whose name you by god, don’t remember. You’d been too focused on something else—the handsome way he’d slicked back strands of his honeyed hair.

Black suits him, contrasting the paleness of his skin and complementing the sharpness of his features.

Black, the color of his suit, pressed neatly to fit him perfectly. He looks clean, broad shoulders with straight slacks falling to exactly where they’re supposed to be.

Black, which is the only thing you see, pressed up against him. You’re so close by your doorway, that half-minute of deciding whether to stay or walk away; he has one foot behind him and one firmly planted right next to yours.

You share a breath, fingers lightly intertwined with his.

There had been signs the entire night that it would lead to something like this—he’d played with your fingers a lot more, kept much closer to you than he ever has before.

Every sound around you is amplified—each inhale and exhale, the gulp he makes; your heart beats on rampage.

When you look up, your noses are almost touching, and his eyes are shut, the crease between his eyebrows deepening.

It’s a look you’ve only seen once before, when he’s stuck contemplating.

“Kento,” you whisper.

His eyes blink open slightly, the color of your coffee. He leans forward, forehead resting against yours as he takes a deep breath, “I–”

Then you kiss him.

It’s mostly a peck really, and wholly out of character for you, but it’s that same something that compelled you to ask him to model for your sculpture months ago that’s pushed you to do this right now.

You’re worried for that first split-second because he doesn’t move, shows no sign at all of reciprocating. It’s a moment before you consider parting that he finally softens, relaxing his lips as he glides them over yours. His fingers slot themselves by your ear, palm pressed against your jaw as he deepens it; you almost stumble back, his other hand catching your weight as it leans on your door.

It’s a good thing you did this then, because you learn that he likes you too—very much, actually.

Things are good a month until your exhibit.

Things are good until they aren’t.

You end up reading a premature critique on your exhibit, calling it ‘overrated’ and ‘boring’, detailing the trajectory of your decline as an artist, citing your works as having become increasingly more lackluster over the years.

The critic calls your theme ‘lazy’ and ‘unoriginal’, predicting your pieces to be nothing extraordinary or different from your older sculptures.

All this time, your publicist and manager have made it a point to protect you from things like this, requesting that you avoid searching up your name on social media or search engines. You’re usually fed with praises and the occasional constructive criticism, but never anything as spiteful as this.

It’s every possible thing that could be said to invalidate your hard work.

And you break because of it—along with Nanami’s sculpture.

It tips over accidentally, the funk in your mood making you especially clumsy.

The damage is terrible, half of his face is gone, his neck down still intact but chipped off. It’s impossible to repair without redoing the entire thing—which, you don’t have the time for, either.

You groan, banging your head against the table.

Frustration leaks out in your tears, every inch of self-doubt surfacing.

Nanami finds you in your studio that way.

He’d texted you the entire day, tried calling you a few times to no success. It’s a Thursday, but without your usual ‘just got home’ text, he’d gotten worried and rushed over as soon as his meeting ended.

If he’s being honest, you’ve been off this entire week—stressed and distant, overworked from revisiting all your finished sculptures for the exhibit in case of anything to change or tweak.

Then this.

And it’s too much—it’s all too much.

Nanami calls your name from your entryway and you look up with tears streaming down your face. He’s never seen you like this, you could never want him to.

He hurries over, brows immediately furrowed as he digs into his pocket for a handkerchief. The cow print would make you giggle on any other day, but now, he uses it to wipe your tears away.

“What happened?” his gaze shifts to your right, his sculpture half-ruined.

Silence.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks hesitantly.

You shake your head, swiping at your nose, “It won’t look the same, Ken.”

“Do you want to redo it? I can clear up my schedule every–”

“There’s no time.”

Nanami takes your hands to rub his thumbs over your knuckles, soothing.

“Then we’ll do what we can.”

The sincerity in his voice hurts you, the reassurance in his eyes even moreso. You’ve never had anyone look at you this way.

“There’s no point.” your shoulders slump, lips trembling as another wave of tears pool on your lash line. “People are calling the exhibit a flop.”

“Who?”

You huff out, exhausted, “I don’t know, critics, media. Whoever.”

He furrows his brows, firm, “They don’t understand what you’re doing.”

You chuckle sarcastically, “They’re art critics, Ken, of course they–”

“If it means something to you, what does it matter to anyone else?”

That makes you look up.

Nanami stares at you with the same unwavering gaze, no longer indecipherable to you. There’s a softness in the squint of his eyes that you now know means concern, with every pointed feature only meant to drive his words home.

You’ve been second guessing everything down to the core of your abilities, because of what? A few words? This must be what you get for having a penchant to people please, for hinging on everything everyone has to say.

“If you love what you create, then continue to make it.” he squeezes your hands, as if pressing the words into your bones gently.

You remold and repair, and you build up your sculpture to something different but not worse than before.

You remold and repair to build up yourself.

The half that broke off isn’t as symmetrical as you’d like it to be—and it definitely doesn’t do justice to the man it’s sculpted of, but you think you like the softness you added to it, how his eyes look kinder. He means something else to you now, after all, compared to when you first started sculpting him.

And you think, you know just what kind of design speaks of his soul.

PAINT. Add the final touches, perfect your piece. Bring it to life with colors and details, whether it be for one pair of eyes or many. Do you now see?

Nanami teaches you how to make bread on a Sunday morning.

Flour coats every surface of his counter, dustings of it transferred to the deep blue of his apron. You’re wearing a white one, borrowed from your studio. Elbow-to-elbow you knead, and he only has to teach you once for you to get the hang of it, really.

He smirks, “You’re a natural.”

“Must do stuff like this a lot in another life or something,” you stifle a giggle, playing along.

It’s a beautiful day out, golden sunlight hitting your cheek—Nanami stares, sneaks peeks between every knead. The same strands of hair tucked behind your ear fall to frame your face, and he hooks his pinky around it to tuck it right back (because he can now, without having to hesitate).

You turn to him, daylight in your eyes when you grin your thanks.

His kitchen has an open space, deep wood and black metal detailings as its central theme (the white bread bread basket you made together stands out on the counter, but he’s done that on purpose). There’s a pretty extensive collection of alcohol in his liquor cabinet, along with his very particular coffee set-up right next to his record player slotted in the corner.

On Sunday mornings, Nanami likes to keep his music playing; today, it’s the classic 60’s–’Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’–serving as your background beat, with the soft meows from the cat on his balcony as added accompaniment to the melody.

He watches you sway, his feet tapping along, then you jolt, giggling in surprise when there’s a hiccup in the song (it’s from the scratches on his record, but he can’t bother replacing it with a new one). After that breakdown in your studio, you’ve seemed to loosen up immensely.

“Ken,” you call him, “how much pressure do you usually put into kneading?”

There’s no way to explain it, really, but to make you feel it yourself.

“Let me–” he lets go of his dough, dusting his hands with more flour before coming up behind you.

Nanami is a big man, tall and lean, all chest and shoulders—when he hunches over you, you look so small, delicately tucked into him. Heat rushes to his cheeks, if you turn around you’d see pink; the music is drowned out by his heartbeat.

He leans forward, palms clasping over the back of your hands, fingers slotting themselves between the gaps of yours.

“Like this,” he pushes down, his chest pressed against your back. To get a better look at the dough, he tilts his head to the side, nearly slotting it by your shoulder, “Can you feel it?”

You hum, your swaying gone. He’s trying hard to focus on the bread, but when you turn your head to face him, the tip of your nose touching his cheek, he stops.

The moment is tense, drowned into silence despite the music playing in the background. He can hear your every breath.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Nanami knows it’s for many things—for agreeing to the sculpture, for spending time on it; for this Sunday morning, for being there when you needed someone the most. But that’s not the whole point of this, he thinks. It’s how you sound, voice heartfelt and filled with something else—a kind of affection he’s all too familiar with himself.

This must be what you mean when you say you can tell if clay has been molded with love.

In the quiet, Nanami’s hands move loudly.

He holds you gently, just like he always has, but it’s a permission every time—like he’s asking if he can touch you, love you in ways you aren't used to.

Your apron falls to the floor, followed by your skirt, the fabric pooling by your feet. The faded gray t-shirt you wear during studio days is tugged over your head, dropped next to him. He takes his time with you, turning you over, feeling you, knowing you—thick fingers squeezing the sides of your arms lightly as his lips press against your neck.

A gasp escapes you.

Then you move, nimble hands undoing the buttons of his shirt, pushing it open as you feel across the planes of taut muscle on his stomach and chest.

He groans, soft and low, your fingers brushing against his skin, ticklish.

You take a step back and he moves along with you, letting you settle into yourself as you inch backwards, the back of your knees knocking against the edge of your bed. He holds your gaze as you move towards your headrest, your shy smile doing nothing to lessen the butterflies in his chest—you did mention that it’s been a while.

He kneels on your bed, the mattress dipping to accommodate his weight—his slacks have been discarded to the side as he crawls over you.

Beneath him, you look like the very subject art could only wish to replicate.

So, he makes sure to remember all of it—to look close and memorize every detail of you as he dips down, arm planted to the side of your head as his other hand cradles your face, tilting your jaw up for a kiss.

He catches your lower lip between his, running his tongue over it before sucking lightly. You moan, smooth and honey-sweet, bringing him closer with your fingers clasped behind his neck. The room is quiet save for your lips smacking against each other’s, warm and soft as the heat builds between you.

Slowly and tenderly, with the same care you tend to clay, Nanami discovers all your dips and curves; he kneads the flesh of your hips, gripping your thighs as he kisses his way down the slopes of your body.

You squirm in his hold, tugging at his hair when the sensation feels too much, too good.

(But when he reaches between your legs, arms locking your thighs over his shoulders, you realize, nothing could have ever prepared you for this, for him—he treats you as if you are every bit of the art you make, and looks at you like it too.)

Then, Nanami kisses you on the forehead when he’s inside you, lips pressing on the part of your skin that creases when your brow furrows.

A tear drips down your face.

“Should I–” he looks you in the eye, worried.

“No,” you breathe out, a watery smile as you nudge your nose against his chin, “keep going.”

So, he does; he loves you without the applause, with the feel of his hands, leaving no place untouched.

He moves his body against yours.

It’s only after, when he tucks himself into your neck, arms wrapped around you and skin sticking onto skin that you tell him your tears aren’t anything bad.

For the first time in a while, you feel full—perfectly content.

He thinks you should be the final piece to your exhibit.

It’s a grand event, the conference hall decked in some of your previous works; blankets of white cloth drape over the stage—the unveiling of all your sculptures. You’re standing to the side, looking pretty in a long white skirt while Nanami blends among the crowd, far back enough to remain hidden from reporters but close enough to catch your eyes should you look his way.

You present each one, introducing the titles with brief descriptions of the people they’re sculpted from. The reasons for your designs are left primarily up to interpretation, but you’ve explained it all to Nanami—he’s listened to every single one.

Then you present his sculpture, finding him through the crowd. The corner of your lips curl up slightly, the stage lights reflecting on your eyes.

He smiles at you the same.

‘The Undoing’ is what you call it—half-perfect and half-salvaged.

It’s far from your original vision for the piece, but you think you like this more, splitting down the part that’d originally broken off into two different colors. His entire color scheme consists of yellows, greens, and browns—the perfected side of his face appears in clean strokes of coffee, with light yellows highlighting his pointed features. The angles are clean and sharp, his gaze straight and dead-on.

Running down the cracks of the broken half is a sky blue line, an almost glowing effect added to the salvaged side. In a way, it’s an emergence, of the part of him you never thought existed—green wisps like leaves, a life springing from within. You add flecks of gold to mimic light bouncing off his irises the same way sand becomes a glittering sea of sunbeams.

To you, Nanami is warm but cold to the touch, and he’s undone you just as much, has chipped away at the parts of you that have built themselves over years of habits reinforced and untouched.

It is as much you as it is him.

That’s what happens when you love someone, he supposes—an intermingling of souls.

Kraft paper crinkles in his grip as he adjusts the bouquet of flowers behind him, deep red carnations and orange tulips decorated with white astilbe flowers—for when you get down, and he can have a moment with you privately.

Now, he looks at you fondly, shifting his feet from where he’s standing. You search for his face, eyes darting to where you know you’ll find him; he meets your gaze, and you smile brighter, that one look ringing louder than the standing roars of an echoing applause.

a/n: each segment represents the steps to making a sculpture that i tried to parallel with the development of their relationship. V60 pour over is a kind of set-up for drip/filter coffee.

thank you notes: for @mididoodles, this is my very late birthday gift for you midi, but i hope you like it! (this also so happens to be your request for my in's and out's event) 🥺 + @soumies @scarabrat for reading through the first third of this and believing in the vision for this when i was so unsure of it, i love you both 🥺 + @stellamancer for helping me figure out what goes in the 'contains' 😭 + @augustinewrites to scratch the nanami itch 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #kento x reader #nanami x yn #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #nanami kento x yn #nanami kento x you #shotorus.writes #shotorus.events #in's and out's event

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