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solxamber · 9 months ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: Love Triangles and Royal Rumbles - Leona Kingscholar x Reader

When you get isekai'd as the male lead in the novel where your favorite character, Leona Kingscholar is the second male lead, all that's left to do is rewrite the romance!

Series Masterlist

You're just an average person, doing normal human things like eating, sleeping, and, of course, staring at your poster of Leona Kingscholar for three hours straight. Totally healthy behavior. People have hobbies, right? Some knit, some jog, and you…? You defend your fictional lion husband from slander on the internet. You’re practically a digital knight in shining armor.

The story that has consumed your very soul? Oh, just your typical Cliché Villainess Academy Novel: Revenge Edition™. The plot is so by-the-book, it’s basically a war crime against creativity. Female lead? She’s been in love with the male lead since he gave some boring welcome speech that apparently hit her so hard, her brain rewired itself into a romantic mess.

The villainess? Obviously in love with the male lead too, but her one and only goal in life is making the heroine’s existence a never-ending trainwreck of public embarrassment. And the male lead? Sweet summer child. He just wants to get his degree and avoid eye contact with all of these lunatics.

Enter: Leona Kingscholar, the second male lead. The man, the myth, the walking sarcasm machine. He’s there purely to fuel jealousy in everyone else’s love story, but for you? He’s everything. The brooding, lazy, hot second male lead who rolls his eyes at every plot point like he’s just as done with this novel as you are. He has better things to do, like nap, but here he is, dragged into this mess by proximity.

If it were up to you, he and the male lead would run off together, leave the heroine and villainess to start their own hobby club about emotional devastation, and the two guys would live happily ever after in matching beach chairs somewhere.

But no. Instead, you’re stuck reading about her fawning over him while Leona is just… there. Existing. The only thing keeping your interest alive.

And now? Now, your loyalty to Leona Kingscholar is about to pay off. The fan event of the century is just days away. It’s going to be glorious. A whole day dedicated to Leona—merch, fan contests, life-sized cardboard cutouts (which, let’s be honest, you’re ready to risk it all for). You've cleared your schedule, mentally prepared yourself for the inevitable squealing, and created a battle plan for acquiring the best merch before everyone else.

But fate? Fate’s cruel.

You’re casually defending Leona’s honor online as usual, battling some no-name troll who dares to claim that the male lead is "better written." (HA! You laugh in their wrong face.) But then—what’s this? A an likes your tweet about Leona! And not just any author. THE ONE YOU LOVE. The serotonin shoots through you like an adrenaline shot straight to the brain.

Your heart’s racing. You’re vibrating at a frequency only dogs can hear. You leap out of your chair like some majestic gazelle—or at least that’s what you tell yourself as you promptly trip over the plushie army that guards your floor.

Before you know it, you’re tumbling, body flailing like a noodle, bouncing down the stairs in what feels like slow motion. The world spins. Your merch shelves mock you from the distance. You land at the bottom in a heap, your soul floating just above your body.

"Is this… how it ends?" you wheeze, gasping for breath, more in shock than pain. As your vision starts to fade, all you can think is: I never made it to the Leona event….

And with that, you die. Crushed under the weight of fandom.

You wake up, and your first thought isn’t the usual, “Oh, I’ve been isekai’d into a new world, how fascinating, I’ll have time to adjust in a moment of peace and reflection.” No. You wake up and it hits you like a brick: Oh no. Female lead.

But then, a beam of hope breaks through the clouds of despair and shines down on you like a heavenly spotlight: Wait. Leona Kingscholar is here.

Before you can even revel in the thought of being in the same universe as your broody lion crush, reality smacks you upside the head. Loud voices are pulling you back to the scene unfolding right in front of your very eyes.

You blink. Hold on. This is not a bedroom, and this is definitely not a private moment to gather your thoughts like in every other isekai novel. Oh no, you’ve been thrown directly into the group project scene.

You know, the one where the villainess is sharpening her claws on the heroine while Leona watches from the sidelines like he’s two seconds away from a permanent nap? Yeah, you’re smack in the middle of it.

The villainess, looking as pissed off as usual, is glaring daggers at the trembling heroine, who is staring at you with those wide, teary eyes like you’re supposed to swoop in and save her from this verbal smackdown.

And that’s when it hits you: you’re the male lead. The original goody-two-shoes, justice-loving male lead who always stepped in to defend the heroine. The one who got suckered into every cliché moment, complete with sparkles and heroic speeches about morality and blah blah blah.

Not you, though.

You take one look at the heroine. She’s giving you this look like you’re her knight in shining armor, expecting you to throw yourself in front of her and deliver some dramatic monologue about kindness and decency. And you? You're mentally checking out of this scene faster than the speed of light.

Nah. You’re not about that life.

Your gaze drifts to Leona, sitting on the far side of the room, slouched over like he’s wondering why he’s being subjected to this emotional soap opera when he could be napping. His face screams "done," and honestly? Same. He meets your gaze, eyes half-lidded and bored, probably hoping you’ll do the usual male lead routine and put an end to this nonsense.

But oh no, today’s different.

You casually stroll over to where Leona is sitting, ignoring the drama unfolding behind you. With the swagger of someone who knows exactly what they’re about to do is going to blow some minds, you hold out your hand to him. "So, uh… you want to ditch this disaster and go take a nap? Or maybe raid the kitchens? I’m thinking we play hooky and pretend this never happened."

Leona’s eyes flicker with surprise for half a second. The male lead? The goody-two-shoes-moral-compass of the entire plot? The guy who literally lived to stop drama in its tracks? Is offering to blow off this whole mess? He raises an eyebrow, smirking like the cat who caught the canary.

"Didn’t think you had it in you," Leona drawls, but you can tell he’s already down for this. "Alright. Let’s go. If anyone asks, I’m gonna say you dragged me out."

"Deal," you say, trying not to look too smug. And with that, you turn on your heel, and with Leona at your side, you head for the door, leaving behind a shell-shocked villainess and a teary-eyed heroine who’s probably still processing the fact that her supposed knight in shining armor just dipped.

As you and Leona stroll out, you hear the villainess mutter, “What… just happened?” and you can’t help but grin. You may have just turned the plot upside down, but at least you’re doing it in style.

"Hey, Leona," you say, nudging him, "think we can find some of those fancy desserts in the kitchen? I’m starving."

Leona snorts, shoving his hands into his pockets. "If you’re buying, sure."

And just like that, the male lead and the second male lead walk off into the sunset—or rather, the campus courtyard—hand in hand with a new mission: Avoiding all future plot nonsense at all costs.

You’re not sure how you got here, staring at the over-the-top ball decorations like you’ve stepped into a bargain bin fairytale, but hey, life has taken a weird turn lately. You, of all people, are living out the plot of a novel so cliché it makes your head hurt.

But you guess that’s what happens when you get isekai’d into a second-rate villainess story. The only thing missing is a glass slipper and some woodland creatures to sing with.

And of course, surprise! The ball isn’t just some casual evening of sipping punch and avoiding the villainess’s death stares. No, if you don’t nail the ball, you don’t graduate. Because nothing says "academic achievement" like knowing how to waltz while dressed like a background character from Bridgerton.

So here you are, in ball lessons, where everyone is nervously pairing off while you’re trying not to roll your eyes into another dimension. The heroine, with her usual doe-eyed sparkle, gets paired with you first. And let’s be real: she’s either terrible at dancing, or she’s using this as an excuse to get you to hold her close.

But you? Oh no. You’ve read enough of this garbage to know where that’s going, and you have zero interest in playing out the “close embrace, sparks flying, almost-kiss” trope. Absolutely not.

As soon as the music starts, you decide it’s time to act. You let your feet stumble—deliberately, of course—and flail around like you’ve never seen a ballroom floor in your life. The heroine, bless her clueless heart, giggles like she thinks you’re just being cute, but you’re not about to humor this. When the instructor’s eyes lock onto you, you seize the opportunity.

"Oh no!" you say dramatically, throwing a hand over your forehead like you’re in some kind of soap opera. "I’m so bad at this. Could someone please teach me how to dance?"

You pause, glance around the room, and then lock eyes with Leona Kingscholar.

"Leona!" you shout, loud enough that the whole room freezes. "You’re the second prince! You must’ve had etiquette lessons, right? Teach me how to dance!"

The room collectively loses its mind. The heroine looks like you’ve just slapped her with a glove and challenged her to a duel. The villainess is staring at you like you’ve lost your marbles. And Leona? Leona’s expression is somewhere between utter confusion and why me.

Leona leans back, crossing his arms, visibly annoyed. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters, but there’s no denying the faint twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth when he sees the heroine and villainess get shoved into an awkward dancing pair together.

Despite his clear irritation, Leona steps forward, because let’s face it, he’s the kind of guy who’ll humor you if it means avoiding worse drama. You slide into position with him, and honestly? You’re in heaven. You can barely focus on your feet, too busy trying to hide your grin while you imagine all the drama this is causing behind you.

Meanwhile, the heroine and the villainess are floundering around, tripping over each other like they’ve got two left feet each. The villainess is grinding her teeth, and the heroine keeps stepping on her toes. It’s a glorious disaster.

Leona, despite his annoyance, is surprisingly good at this. He’s leading with the kind of effortless grace that makes you wonder how someone so lazy can still be so competent at everything. You’re definitely not staring at his sharp features while he dances, not at all.

"You do realize this is a waste of time, right?" Leona grumbles under his breath, his eyes flicking to the chaos unfolding behind you. "Why me, herbivore? You could’ve asked anyone else."

You just shrug, trying not to sound too smug. "What can I say? I have excellent taste in dance partners."

Leona’s brow twitches like he’s torn between smirking and rolling his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night." But the smirk wins out, especially when the villainess and heroine fumble yet again, nearly toppling over each other.

You glance up at him, beaming. Leona Kingscholar might be annoyed, but he’s not stopping anytime soon. And you? You’re just here for the ride, watching the heroine and villainess self-destruct from the safety of Leona’s arms.

Ball lessons? Piece of cake.

You’ve been doing everything humanly possible to avoid the female lead like she’s a carrier of the medieval plague. You thought you’d be safe here, hiding behind your “I’m too busy and mysterious for romance” persona, but no—somehow—the more you avoid her, the more she’s convinced that you’re the dark, brooding, irresistible male lead she’s always dreamed of.

You know, the type who avoids emotional connections but secretly harbors a heart of gold. But the truth is, you’re just a guy trying to get through the day so you can swoon over Leona Kingscholar in peace.

It’s not like you’ve been subtle about it either. You’ve been dropping hints left and right, hoping the universe would give you a break and let the female lead fall in love with literally anyone else. But no. Somehow, everyone is ignoring your very obvious affection for Leona.

It’s like you’re stuck in a tragic comedy where the female lead falls harder for you the more you try to disappear, and Leona just… well, he’s just living his best life, completely unaware of your internal screaming.

Take the latest tea party, for example. You were just trying to enjoy some pastries, maybe steal a glance at Leona from across the table, when the heroine decides to make her move. She picks up a delicate slice of cake and holds it out to you, eyes sparkling with that innocent-yet-hopeful look that says, “This is our moment.”

You? You’re not having any of that. Nope. No way. You’re not about to be part of this rom-com narrative. So, without missing a beat, you casually take the cake from her and, in one smooth motion, turn and offer it to Leona, who’s lounging lazily next to you, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Leona raises an eyebrow at you, clearly baffled by why you’re holding out cake like he’s some sort of royal who expects to be hand-fed. “What are you doing?” he mutters, looking suspiciously between you and the cake.

“Just thought you’d like some,” you say with a straight face, ignoring the heroine’s stunned expression. She’s sitting there, fork still poised in the air, blinking rapidly like you’ve just committed the greatest betrayal of the century.

Leona huffs, looking mildly irritated but mostly confused. After a pause, he shrugs and leans forward, taking a bite of the cake without even bothering to lift his own hand. “Whatever,” he mutters between chews. “Tastes fine.”

You nod, satisfied. Meanwhile, the heroine looks like she’s on the verge of tears, and the villainess is smirking in the background like she’s about to take out popcorn and enjoy the drama.

Later that day, you find a nice, quiet spot under a tree to relax. You’ve managed to avoid any major incidents so far, and for once, you’re not being dragged into some dramatic showdown. You lie back, close your eyes, and just let yourself chill. But, of course, the universe doesn’t want you to have peace.

Enter Leona.

Without a word, he flops down next to you, takes one look at your position, and decides—out of all the places he could sit—that your lap is the best pillow option available. You feel his head plop down on your lap like this is the most normal thing in the world. You stare down at him, completely dumbfounded, while he just closes his eyes and lets out a long, satisfied sigh.

“Leona?” you start, voice half bewildered, half amused. “You good?”

“Shut up,” he mutters without opening his eyes. “You’re more comfortable than the grass.”

You blink at him, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Meanwhile, the villainess strolls by, spots the two of you under the tree, and comes to an immediate halt. Her face contorts into a mix of disbelief and confusion, like she’s just witnessed something unholy. You can almost hear her mental scream of, what the hell is going on here?!

She doesn’t say anything, though. Just stands there, hands clenched, before turning on her heel and storming off. You don’t even care. You’re too busy reveling in the fact that Leona chose your lap as his personal resting place. If that isn’t a win, you don’t know what is.

And then, of course, there’s the infamous hallway incident. The heroine—who, by this point, you’re pretty sure has developed some kind of radar for finding you—comes running toward you. She trips over something (the air? her own foot? you don’t know) and launches herself straight into your arms in what is clearly an attempt to trigger some rom-com, slow-motion embrace.

But you? You’re not here for this.

With the reflexes of a seasoned avoider, you sidestep her dramatic fall, and she goes face-first into the floor. There’s a stunned silence as she lies there, unmoving, probably processing how she ended up eating dirt.

You glance over at Leona, who’s watching the whole thing with a lazy smirk, clearly enjoying the trainwreck. You give him a slight nod of approval, and he just rolls his eyes, a small grin still tugging at his lips.

The villainess, standing a few feet away, is laughing her head off. She’s doubled over, clutching her stomach, while the heroine’s dignity is scattered all over the floor. But you? You’re just staring at Leona, completely ignoring the chaos around you.

Somehow, despite all the madness, you can’t help but think: this is fine.

The day of the big spelldrive match arrives, and the heroine has never looked more confident in her life. She’s decked out in her team’s colors, standing tall at the edge of the field, waiting for you to join her in your usual spot. You know, like a loyal dog. A loyal, obedient dog who always does what she expects.

But not today.

Today, you roll up to the game decked out head to toe in full Savanaclaw merch. We're talking a custom jersey with Leona’s name on the back, a headband, face paint, and—just to really emphasize the point—a Savanaclaw banner tied around your neck like you’ve decided to cosplay as Captain Lion Fang.

You take your seat in the Savanaclaw section and immediately start hyping up the crowd like you’re getting paid for it. The heroine spots you from across the field and stares like she’s watching a crime scene unfold in real-time. Meanwhile, Leona’s already spotted you, and the smug smirk on his face tells you he’s LOVING the attention.

The game kicks off, and with each goal Leona scores, you’re going feral.

You’re screaming your lungs out, waving your banner around like you’re auditioning for some weird mascot gig. People are looking at you like you’ve lost your mind, but you don’t care. This is YOUR moment.

Leona, on the field, is living for it. Every time he glances your way, he adds a little extra flair to his plays, just to make you scream louder. He scores, and you’re on your feet, jumping up and down like you’ve won the lottery.

At this point, the heroine is practically catatonic. Her world is crumbling before her eyes. You can practically see her brain struggling to process what she’s witnessing: you, her loyal supporter, decked out in Savanaclaw gear and cheering for her rival.

“I... I don’t understand…” she whispers, her voice trembling like she’s been betrayed by the universe itself. “Why aren’t you cheering for us?”

You turn to her with all the nonchalance of someone who’s just ordered fries at a drive-thru. “Uh… Leona’s hot?”

It’s like you slapped her across the face with a wet fish. She stands there, frozen, her eyes wide, like she’s witnessing the fall of an empire. "B-But... you're supposed to support me!"

Before you can reply with another devastating truth bomb, Leona casually strolls over after winning the game, looking like he just walked out of a perfume ad. His hair’s tousled, a thin sheen of sweat making him look even more annoyingly handsome. He stops in front of you, smirking like he’s been planning this moment his entire life.

"Didn’t know you were my biggest fan," he drawls, voice low and lazy. “Gotta say, I’m impressed with your enthusiasm. Screamin’ my name like that… kinda hard to ignore.”

You open your mouth, ready to fire back with something witty, but what comes out is more of a high-pitched squeak, followed by, “Hahaha, Y-Yeah… you’re welcome?”

And then, the words that break you: “How ‘bout we celebrate with a nap?”

Your brain freezes. A nap? You? With Leona? Your heart is doing cartwheels while the rest of your organs are busy melting into a puddle. Your mouth is moving, but all that comes out is an unintelligible “Uhhuhmm.”

Leona chuckles, clearly enjoying how flustered you are. He reaches out, grabbing your wrist, and starts dragging you off with him—right in front of everyone. He doesn’t even care that the entire field is watching. He’s already made up his mind.

The heroine, meanwhile, is standing there in stunned silence, her brain fully blue-screening as she watches you and Leona disappear. She’s still processing the Leona’s comment when the villainess, who has been observing this whole disaster unfold, finally chimes in from the sidelines with a shrug.

“Well, as long as it’s not the heroine,” she says, flicking her hair back with an air of satisfaction. “This is fine.”

And off you go, being dragged to a nap date you’re definitely not mentally prepared for, your face burning hotter than the sun. Leona glances back at you, that smug smirk still plastered on his face. "You’re lookin’ a little red there. You sure you’re up for this?"

You sputter, tripping over your own words. "I-I’m fine! Totally fine! Nap? Cool! Casual napping! No big deal!”

Leona just chuckles again, clearly entertained by how much you're floundering. “If you say so. Just don’t pass out before we get there.”

Yeah. Don’t pass out. Easier said than done when the man of your dreams is casually dragging you off to nap like it's no big deal while your brain screams at you in ten different languages.

This is fine. Totally fine. You’re fine.

Maybe.

You were sitting with Jack and Ruggie at the cafeteria, chatting about nothing in particular—well, Jack was chatting. Ruggie was there purely because you promised to pay for his lunch. Still, you’d like to think that maybe, just maybe, he stuck around because he actually enjoyed your company. Maybe.

“So, any tips on how to deal with midterms?” Jack asked, ears twitching as he looked at you with that wide-eyed eagerness that only first-years ever had. He was honestly like a giant puppy, trying so hard to be good.

You leaned back in your chair, doing your best impression of a wise and worldly senior, which mostly involved pretending you weren’t sweating about your own midterms. “My advice? Caffeine. And if you have the chance to sleep, take it. Oh, and don’t forget to eat. I learned that one the hard way.”

Jack nodded seriously, committing it all to memory like you were passing down sacred knowledge. Meanwhile, Ruggie was on his third helping of food, barely acknowledging the conversation.

"Hey, if you're handing out wisdom, how ‘bout you tell me how to get free food more often?” Ruggie said between bites, shooting you a cheeky grin.

“Isn’t that already your specialty?” you shot back, eyeing the mountain of food in front of him.

He just laughed. “Can’t argue with that, but having backup plans never hurt.”

Before you could respond, you felt a shadow fall over the table. You looked up, half expecting it to be the heroine or some random classmate, but nope. It was Leona. Leona, who you were 99% sure had skipped class because he always skips class. And he looked… annoyed?

Oh no.

He ignored Jack and Ruggie completely, his sharp gaze zeroing in on you like you’d committed some grave crime. “Oi, herbivore,” he drawled, hands in his pockets like this wasn’t weird at all. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” you asked, blinking up at him. Leona never approached people unless he wanted something.

“To the tree,” he said flatly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“The tree?” Jack echoed, ears perking up in confusion.

Ruggie, on the other hand, was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Oho~ Someone’s in demand.”

Leona shot Ruggie a look that could’ve curdled milk. “Shut it, Ruggie.”

Your brain was still trying to process the situation. You were sitting here, minding your own business, giving sage advice about caffeine and survival, and now Leona was dragging you off to his tree like it was completely normal?

He didn’t wait for an answer. He just grabbed your wrist, yanking you up from your seat as if this was some kind of kidnap situation, and started walking toward the courtyard.

“Uh—Leona? What’s going on?” you asked, doing your best to keep up without tripping over your own feet.

Leona didn’t even look back. “You’re talkin’ too much. Need some peace and quiet.”

You blinked, thoroughly confused but not necessarily mad about being dragged off. It’s just… “Why am I involved in your nap plans?”

“’Cause I said so.”

Wow, cryptic. You were about to ask again when you reached the tree. The infamous Leona nap spot. He plopped down against the trunk and, before you could protest, pulled you down next to him. Without another word, he stretched out and—because apparently boundaries didn’t exist—rested his head on your lap.

This was… This was happening.

You glanced around, half expecting to see a camera crew pop out and tell you this was some elaborate prank, but nope. Leona was lounging on you like it was the most natural thing in the world, eyes already closed, arms crossed behind his head.

“Uh, Leona?”

“Shut up. M’ tryin’ to sleep.”

You stared down at him, your brain short-circuiting. This was the third time this week he’d done this. Just… kidnapped you for a nap. What was his deal? Was your lap particularly comfortable? Did you radiate some kind of sleepy aura? What was going on here?

Meanwhile, from the distance, you spotted her. The villainess. Watching. For the third time in as many days. And you could see it. You could see the moment she put the pieces together. Her eyes widened in slow realization, her lips twitching into a smirk. She knew. She finally knew.

When Leona finally woke up—after what felt like hours of you sitting there, too dazed to move—you were free. For now. He stretched lazily and gave you a casual “Thanks,” as if this wasn’t the most bizarre situation you’d ever been in, and you quickly scrambled away, making your way back to the dorms with your head spinning.

And that’s when the villainess cornered you.

Oh no.

There she was, leaning against the doorframe with a knowing look, her sharp gaze trained on you like a predator sizing up its prey. You swallowed nervously. She was about to confront you about the heroine, wasn’t she? This was it. This was the moment. Was she going to declare some rivalry? Challenge you to a duel? Confess to you? Make this whole thing painfully awkward?

She smiled, and it was not the evil grin you were expecting. “I’m on your side.”

You blinked. “…What?”

She pushed off the wall, stepping closer, her eyes gleaming with a new kind of intensity. “Leona. I know you’re after him.”

Your heart stopped. This was it. She was going to call you out and—wait, what did she just say?

“I’ll help you confess to Leona,” she said, matter-of-factly. “On one condition.”

You were staring at her like she’d just sprouted wings and started speaking in tongues. “You… will?”

She nodded. “Yes. If you help me become more influential than that heroine, I’ll help you get Leona to notice you more.”

You blinked again, processing her words. She wanted your help to outshine the heroine, and in exchange, she’d be your wingwoman? Wingwoman?!

You grinned, holding out your hand for a dramatic shake. “Hell yeah.”

She clasped your hand, her smile mirroring yours. "Consider it a deal."

And just like that, you walked away from the most unexpected alliance of your life, fully equipped with a villainess-turned-wingwoman and a new plan to win over Leona.

Honestly? Life was getting weirder by the day.

“Okay, so just to confirm,” Ruggie’s eyes glinted with mischief as he leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head. “You want us to sit through this poetry reading,” he said, drawing out the word like it was some cursed phrase, “and cheer for the villainess. And in return, I get all the food left over?”

“Yup,” you nodded, trying to keep a straight face.

“And Jack’s here because…?”

“I asked him nicely.”

Jack shrugged, tail flicking behind him. “I’m just here to help.”

Ruggie snorted, glancing at you with a grin. “This better be some damn good poetry then. And the food better be worth it.”

“Oh, trust me,” you said, patting Ruggie on the back. “It will be.”

Little did you know, this was going to be a disaster of epic proportions.

The poetry reading started as expected—with the heroine striding up to the front of the room, practically glowing under the dim spotlight. She cleared her throat, clasped her hands dramatically, and began.

“It was a night… much like tonight…”

Your first instinct was to cringe, but you held it in, glancing sideways at Jack and Ruggie. Jack was doing his best to stay stoic, but you could see his ears twitching in discomfort. Ruggie had his hand over his mouth, clearly biting back laughter.

The poem continued, painfully dragging on about stars and roses and something about “destiny’s kiss.” By the time she reached the end, there was a collective sigh of relief from the audience. You weren’t even sure what you had just listened to, but you knew it wasn’t good.

Jack… Jack was crying. You stared at him, horrified. “Are you okay?”

“It’s… it’s so bad,” he sniffed, wiping his eyes. “I didn’t know poetry could be this bad.”

Ruggie had his face buried in his hands, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “This is better than I thought,” he wheezed.

You shot him a look, but even you had to admit, this was pure comedy gold. Poor Jack had no idea what hit him.

The villainess, bless her heart, was watching all of this unfold with a look of shock and confusion, but when it was finally her turn to read, she stepped up like a queen. Her voice was smooth, the words flowing like silk, and you couldn’t help but be genuinely impressed. She absolutely killed it.

The plan was working perfectly. You and your crew started clapping, cheering like you were at a rock concert. Jack, who was still recovering from the emotional trauma of the heroine’s poem, clapped too, albeit more quietly.

But just as you were about to get even louder, you felt a hand on your shoulder. “Oi, sit down,” Leona grumbled, pulling you back into your seat.

“What—?”

He didn’t offer any explanation, just kept you firmly seated next to him, his face set in a bored expression. You blinked in confusion but decided not to argue. It wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy sitting next to Leona… it was just weird.

And by the grin the villainess was sporting, it seems like everything went exactly according to plan. Both for her and you.

After the poetry reading wrapped up, you gathered the leftovers like you promised. Ruggie was already hovering around, practically drooling over the spread.

“Here, take it all,” you said, handing the basket over. “Deal’s a deal.”

Ruggie beamed, clutching the food to his chest like a treasure hoard. “Pleasure doing business with ya!”

Jack was much more polite, bowing his head slightly. “Thanks for the notes. They’ll be a big help.”

“Anytime,” you replied with a smile, watching the two of them head off. Ruggie was already halfway through a sandwich, talking a mile a minute, while Jack followed along, still looking like he might need therapy after the heroine’s performance.

That left you alone… with Leona, who had been standing off to the side, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“What?” you asked, half-expecting him to complain about something. He always had something to complain about.

“You mind explaining what the hell that was?”

“Uh… what do you mean?”

Leona’s tail flicked in irritation, his eyes narrowing. “I’m talking about you, whispering and giggling with that villainess all the time. What, you after her now that you ditched the heroine?”

You blinked at him, utterly baffled. “What? No, of course not. Why would I be after her?”

Leona’s jaw clenched. “You tell me. All I’ve seen is you hangin’ around with her, whispering, plottin’... I’ve seen how you look at her.”

It took a moment for your brain to catch up, but then it hit you like a ton of bricks.

Oh my god. He was jealous.

A slow grin spread across your face as the realization sunk in. Leona, Leona Kingscholar, was jealous. And over you.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “You’re jealous~.”

Leona froze, his eyes widening for a split second before narrowing dangerously. “What?”

“You’re jealous,” you repeated, giddiness bubbling up inside you. You could barely contain your excitement. “You’re jealous of me hanging out with the villainess!”

Leona’s lips pulled into a thin line. “You’re imagining things.”

“Oh no, no, no,” you grinned even wider, poking him in the chest. “You’re totally jealous!”

Leona growled, looking thoroughly annoyed now, but before he could snap back, you quickly explained. “Look, I made a deal with her. I help her become more influential than the heroine, and she helps me… confess to you.”

Leona blinked, taken aback, his tail flicking behind him as if processing the information. Then, in true Leona fashion, his expression shifted from irritation to smugness in record time.

“Oh?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Yeah, so you don’t have to worry about me chasing after anyone else.”

Leona stepped closer, his voice dropping low, that usual lazy drawl making your heart do a little flip. “Good. But just so you know, cheek kisses aren’t real kisses.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Leona leaned in and kissed you—properly kissed you. Your eyes went wide for a second before you melted into it, feeling the heat of his lips against yours. He pulled back after what felt like forever, a smirk on his face as he watched you try to catch your breath.

“There. That’s a real kiss,” he murmured, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

You stared at him, dazed, and then a sudden realization hit you.

You left your entire life behind, all for this moment.

And you were so, so glad that stupid plushie was on the floor, because this? This was totally worth it.

The heroine’s voice was as sweet as it was grating, like sugar poured directly into your ears. She fluttered her eyelashes at you, her smile stretched painfully wide. “So, I was thinking,” she began, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “You would make the perfect knight for my family! Don’t you think so?”

You blinked, trying to figure out a way to escape. “Uh… I’m kind of busy with, you know, my own life?”

“Oh, but imagine!” she gushed, not hearing a word you said. “We’d be so close all the time—like, so close. You could protect me, and maybe… we could have a picnic under the stars? Very romantic, right?”

Your soul was trying to leave your body. You were pretty sure Jack’s ears twitched somewhere nearby, sensing your pain telepathically. And then, like a gift from the heavens, the villainess—your beloved accomplice in all things anti-heroine—made her appearance.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, stepping between you and the heroine with the grace of someone who had seen this movie before and knew exactly how to cut to the good parts. “But I need them for an urgent matter. A very important, not-at-all-romantic-but-very-necessary mission.”

You shot her a look of pure gratitude, but before she could fully rescue you from the heroine’s death trap of unwanted flirting, a shadow loomed over the scene. A very familiar shadow.

Leona.

Without saying a word, he strode up behind you and casually wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest with an ease that had your heart skipping a beat. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his sharp green eyes fixed on the heroine.

“Oh no, carry on,” he said lazily, but his tone was anything but. “I’m just here to see what my mate is up to.”

The heroine blinked in shock, her hands hovering mid-air as if she had no idea what to do with this development. “Y-Your mate?”

“Yeah,” Leona said, tightening his grip around you, his smirk downright feral. “So whatever little fantasy you’re cooking up about romantic picnics or whatever—cut it out. This one’s mine.”

You felt Leona’s lips brush against your temple before he leaned in and, in full view of the now-utterly-horrified heroine, kissed the side of your neck. Slowly. Possessively.

You could almost hear the villainess muffling a laugh behind her hand.

The heroine’s face turned several shades of red as she stammered. “B-But I—”

“You,” Leona said, his tone dripping with amusement, “can fuck right off.”

The heroine gasped, her hand flying to her chest like she’d been physically struck. “You can’t just say that to me!”

Leona raised a brow, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “I’m literally the second prince. I can say whatever the hell I want.”

The heroine opened her mouth to argue, but then realized that, no, actually, she couldn’t argue with the literal second prince staking his claim. She sputtered for a moment before storming off, no doubt to sob dramatically about her dashed romantic hopes.

Once she was out of sight, the villainess finally let out a snort of laughter. “That was beautiful.”

Leona ignored her, his grip still firm around you as he leaned down to whisper, “Next time, you won’t need her to help you out. Just say my name, and I’ll be there to deal with the pests.”

You stared at him, a little dazed from the whole whirlwind of possessiveness, public displays of affection, and telling someone to ‘fuck right off.’ “You really went for it, huh?”

Leona smirked, leaning in for another kiss. “Damn right I did. And don’t you forget it.”

Somewhere behind you, the villainess was still giggling. You were pretty sure this was going to be gossip for weeks.

But honestly? Totally worth it.

Graduation day—the moment where everyone’s future plans would be declared, and all the chess pieces would fall into place. Or, in your case, the moment where you’d cause absolute chaos.

The grand hall was filled with eager anticipation. Everyone was dressed in their formal graduation robes, students buzzing with excitement over their new titles and responsibilities.

Leona, as expected, lounged at the back like a lion who had better things to do, half-asleep. Villainess stood tall and composed, already plotting her return to her family's estate. Heroine was in full glowing mode, ready to take her place as the beloved of the Grand Duchy.

And you? You stood at the podium, trying not to laugh. You knew what you were about to say would flip this graduation upside down.

One by one, people made their announcements.

When it was finally your turn, all eyes turned to you. The entire hall seemed to hold its breath, knowing the original male lead—you—was supposed to be the retainer of the heroine. It was all set, all according to plan, right?

Wrong.

You cleared your throat, glanced briefly at Leona who smirked lazily, and then made the declaration that would throw this script straight out the window. “I’ve decided to serve as Prince Leona’s right-hand man, personal secretary, and...well, whatever he needs.”

The silence that followed was glorious. Pure, dumbfounded silence.

King Falena, sitting in the front row, visibly blinked. Once. Twice. He tilted his head slightly, confusion written all over his usually composed face. “What?” he muttered, looking like someone just told him a desert hyena had enrolled in ballet school.

Leona, however, didn’t even open his eyes. He just smirked, crossing his arms smugly. “Told ya he’d choose me,” he murmured, almost too casually for someone who’d just stolen the original male lead’s entire plotline.

Falena’s gaze flicked between you and Leona, still processing. Then, slowly, realization dawned. He saw that look on Leona’s face—the one that said “mine, and I dare anyone to challenge it.” King Falena’s confusion morphed into surprise and then, with the subtlety of a royal diplomat, resignation. “Oh…” he whispered, finally understanding. “He’s down bad.”

Leona cracked an eye open just to catch his brother’s expression and grinned wider, like a cat who knew exactly what kind of bird it had in its claws.

Your parents, bless them, were in the crowd with expressions of supportive confusion. Your mother was squinting as if trying to work out if this was some sort of royal prank. Your father leaned in toward her, whispering loudly enough for the entire row to hear, “It’s a royal job, right? That’s prestigious?”

“Yeah, but… Leona?” your mom whispered back.

At this point, the heroine stood up, ready to throw a wrench into the works. “Wait! You’re supposed to be my—"

Before she could finish, the villainess, in all her dramatic glory, made her move. With the grace of a queen and the audacity of a mastermind, she stepped right up to the heroine, flipped her luxurious hair, and said, “Actually, I was going to ask you out.”

You blinked. Wait, what?

The entire room gasped. You could almost hear heads snapping toward the villainess like a collective whip crack.

Heroine’s mouth opened and closed like she was a fish drowning in air. “I—what?”

“Dinner. Candlelight. Maybe a picnic. You and me, a date. Sound good?” The villainess winked with such charm that even the professors in the back were wide-eyed.

Heroine blinked rapidly, as if trying to reboot her brain. “Uh… sure?” she squeaked, still reeling from the fact that her entire romantic arc had just gotten hijacked.

You stared at the villainess in pure confusion. “What just happened?” you whispered, looking at her for an explanation.

The villainess simply turned to you with a mischievous grin, giving you a sly thumbs-up like this had been part of her master plan all along.

You were still processing the fact that you were witnessing the greatest plot twist of all time. You returned a half-hearted, bewildered thumbs-up, unsure if this was a win or not.

Meanwhile, the professors up front were clearly on their last thread of patience. The head of the academy rubbed his temples, sighing deeply as if this whole day had aged him a decade. “That’s it,” he said, voice strained with exhaustion. “Everyone’s graduated. Just...leave. Please.”

And with that, the ceremony abruptly ended. You couldn’t help but laugh at the professor’s exasperation as the crowd started to disperse, still buzzing with gossip.

Leona slid up next to you, his hand casually resting on your waist as you walked out of the hall together. “So, my right-hand man, huh?”

You shrugged. “Figured I might as well make it official.”

Leona smirked, leaning down to murmur in your ear, “Just don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And then he kissed you. In front of everyone.

King Falena, witnessing this public display of territorial claims, just shook his head with a resigned sigh. “Well, as long as it’s official…” he muttered, casting an approving glance toward you. “Congratulations, I guess.”

Your parents were still in shock, but when they saw that it was a royal seal of approval, they immediately switched gears. “A royal job!” your mom whispered excitedly. “That’s so prestigious!”

With that, Leona tugged you away from the chaos, his arm never leaving your waist as you walked toward the exit. You glanced back one last time to see the heroine still staring blankly at the villainess, who had now looped her arm around her like it was the most normal thing in the world.

The head of the academy, now red in the face, shouted after you as you reached the door, “I SAID EVERYONE GO, FOR THE LOVE OF THE GREAT SEVEN!”

You walked out into the sunlight, trying not to laugh, while Leona leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured smugly, “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

It was a day like any other, except you were meeting the villainess in her newly acquired estate. She had officially taken over as the head of her family, and the new title suited her all too well. The whole place screamed, I am in charge, with a side of don’t even think about challenging me unless you want to cry in public. You admired the aesthetic.

The villainess greeted you with her usual regal flair, sweeping into the room like she’d been born to dominate it—which, to be fair, she had. She offered you tea, which you politely declined, sensing that this wasn’t just a casual catch-up.

"So, what's new with you, Lady Villainess?” you asked, leaning back, fully expecting some grand declaration about her political conquests or business victories.

She smiled—a dangerous, knowing smile that made you immediately suspicious. "Well, I wanted to tell you something rather... unexpected."

You raised an eyebrow. Unexpected? Coming from her? That had to be good.

"I'm dating the heroine," she said casually, sipping her tea as if she hadn't just dropped the biggest plot twist since the whole 'villainess takes over' arc.

You nearly choked on absolutely nothing, mouth hanging open in sheer disbelief. "Wait. What?"

She smiled serenely, her expression the perfect picture of innocence—which made it all the more ridiculous. “Yes, darling. The heroine and I are officially a couple.”

You blinked. “The same heroine who couldn’t tell a poisoned apple from a regular one if her life depended on it?”

“The very same.”

“The one who gets lost in her own estate if she turns too many corners?”

“Yes, that one.”

You couldn't help it. The sheer absurdity of the situation hit you, and you burst out laughing. "Oh, that is rich. How in the world did that happen?”

The villainess leaned back, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. “Oh, it was simple, really. I realized I was always drawn to her... naiveté. And once I stopped trying to sabotage her every move, well, things just fell into place.”

You were still laughing, shaking your head in disbelief. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you two, but this is the best thing I’ve heard in weeks.”

The villainess gave you a mock glare. “Don’t act so surprised. I’ve always had impeccable taste.”

“Oh, impeccable taste, huh?” you teased. “I just didn’t expect it to lead you straight to a walking ball of sunshine.”

“Well, someone needs to keep her from wandering into traffic.”

Still snickering, you stood up. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re a saint for dealing with her.”

“I know,” she sighed dramatically, “but love makes us do ridiculous things.”

"Tell me about it," you muttered, still amused. You waved goodbye and promised to catch up later, your mind reeling from this new, absolutely hilarious development.

When you got back to the palace, you found Leona lounging in his usual spot, sprawled out on a couch like a lion that had just taken over the whole savannah. He barely glanced up as you walked in, already sensing the amused energy radiating off you.

“You’re grinning like an idiot,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “What happened?”

You plopped down next to him, barely containing your laughter. “You won’t believe this. The villainess is dating the heroine now.”

Leona’s eyes flicked open, and for a split second, he looked like he didn’t believe you. Then, slowly, a smirk spread across his face as he processed the information. “You’re messing with me.”

“Nope. Dead serious. They’re a couple now. In love.” You leaned in, grinning. “The villainess—ice queen herself—is head over heels for Miss Pure Sunshine.”

Leona actually chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, I’ll be damned. Never saw that one coming.”

“I know, right? It’s the most chaotic thing ever, and I am living for it.”

Leona’s smirk turned into a full-on grin, which was rare enough to be considered a national treasure. He shifted, sitting up slightly. “You think we’ll get an invite to the wedding?”

You snorted. “Oh, you bet. I’m going to be front row just to see how she manages to keep the heroine from accidentally setting her own dress on fire.”

Leona’s laugh rumbled low in his chest, and he reached out, grabbing your wrist. “Come here,” he ordered, tugging you toward him.

“What? No, I’ve got work to do,” you protested weakly, but your protests didn’t mean much when he effortlessly pulled you into his lap.

“Work can wait. This is more important,” he grumbled, wrapping his arms around you in a possessive hug that made it very clear you weren’t going anywhere.

You sighed, leaning into him. “You just want to cuddle, don’t you?”

“I want you to stop running around and actually relax for once,” he retorted, resting his chin on top of your head. “Besides, it’s not like the kingdom’s gonna fall apart if we take a break.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “I should get a promotion. I’m basically doing all the work around here.”

Leona chuckled again, his grip tightening just slightly. “Yeah, well, don’t let Falena hear that. He might actually make you his advisor, and then I’ll never get any alone time with you.”

You snorted. “Oh please, you’d just kidnap me from work if that happened.”

“Damn right,” he muttered, his voice low and satisfied. “You’re mine, remember?”

You felt your heart do that annoying flutter thing as Leona’s possessive tone settled over you. Even when he was being a lazy lion, he made you feel like the most important thing in his life. It was comforting—and kind of hilarious, considering how little he cared about everything else.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, and for once, you actually allowed yourself to relax, leaning into Leona’s warmth. His arms tightened around you again, and you could feel the soft rise and fall of his chest as he started to drift off into a nap, his grip never loosening.

As you closed your eyes, you couldn’t help but think that, despite all the absurdities in your life—from slipping on a plushie to your best friend falling in love with her former rival—you wouldn’t trade any of it. Not for the world.

And as Leona’s breath slowed into the steady rhythm of sleep, you allowed yourself a small, contented smile.

Life was chaotic. But it was also perfect.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

Idia won the previous poll! Now for the next,

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #leona x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x you #leona kingscholar #leona #trash novel chronicles #isekai #m!reader

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lazysoulwriter · 15 days ago

Text

safe here. - pedro pascal. ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: fluff overload, cuddly Pedro, big arms, big hands, small girlfriend energy, fans noticing how he melts into her hugs, gentle physical intimacy, relationship goals vibes

---

Pedro gives the best hugs.

Like, award-winning. God-tier. Can-he-suffocate-me-with-love level.

It’s the arms, really. Thick and strong, always wrapping around you with this all-consuming kind of warmth. One second you’re upright, the next you’re fully cocooned in him—your cheek to his chest, your entire body dwarfed under the size of him.

And those hands? His palm practically covers the entire top half of your back when he presses you close. It’s ridiculous. Unfair. Euphoric.

He always holds you like he’s afraid to let go. Like he’s making sure you know: This is home.

Even when people are around, cameras flashing, interviews waiting—he’ll take a second, wrap his arms around your waist from behind and rest his chin on your shoulder.

“I needed this,” he’ll murmur into your neck. “You okay?”

And the thing is, he never lets go first.

Even when you start pulling back, he holds on just a beat longer. Like you get to decide when the hug ends, not him.

It drives the internet insane.

After one red carpet, a clip goes viral:

You’re hugging him before stepping back for photos. Pedro’s arms are fully around you, your face pressed to his chest. His hand spreads massive against your back, and people start timing it—

“she pulls away first and he doesn’t even move 😭” “you can see his thumb rubbing her back just once before she steps away omfg” “this is PEAK boyfriend behavior” “his hand is literally half her back. i would never recover.”

And the zoom-ins? Unhinged.

Fans start calling them “Pedro Hugs™” and begging for a hug POV video. Some say they’d pay rent just to be held like that once. One person starts a countdown of how long it takes him to let go in public hugs.

Pedro finds it all hilarious. And maybe a little blushy.

“They’re obsessed with your arms,” you tease one night, scrolling.

He raises a brow, smug. “Jealous?”

You snort. “Only because I have to share you with the internet.”

He kisses the top of your head. “Nah. These arms?” He wraps them around you again, snug. “Exclusively yours.”

And he holds you until you say when.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

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wlwoceaneyes · 1 month ago

Note

Reader accidentally drinks from Emily‘s coffee mug. Later Emily notices a lipstick mark on it. Her reaction makes reader blush.

Lipstick Service

pairing: emily prentiss x fem!bau!reader word count: 1065 k

The table in front of you is covered in files and photos, with an opened box of donuts and half-empty coffee mugs scattered among them. You’ve been digging through every clue for hours, but so far without success. Your team is now placing hope on the suspect’s internet activity, which has spiked noticeably in the past few days. Penelope has barricaded herself in her office for over an hour and only accepts visitors if food or drink is involved.

“Should we go through the crime scene photos again?” Luke asks, and you almost tear at your hair in frustration.

“We’ve already done that five times,” you reply resignedly and bite into your chocolate donut, some colorful sprinkles falling onto the table while you do so. You can feel your chiefs’s eyes on you, and you try not to look up, not to fall into her well-placed trap. If it happens again, she’ll see right through you and your actions. You’ve been struggling for months with your small but intense crush on Emily Prentiss. Since you joined the BAU a year ago, it’s only gotten worse each day, and even the tiniest interaction with her makes you blush in an instant. During conversations, you often lose your train of thought and can barely hold her gaze, those dark, all-consuming eyes making it hard to concentrate.

Your behavior hasn’t gone unnoticed by your colleagues, who love to tease you about it. A comment here, a jab there. But none of them would actually throw you under the bus or expose you to an awkward situation, even if they do like to test your reactions regarding Emily. They sometimes try to reassure you that Emily hasn’t noticed your crush, but deep down, you know that’s not true. She’s not Unit Chief for nothing, plus she is one of the FBI’s top profilers for a reason.

“Maybe we missed something,” Tara murmurs beside you, holding up one of the photos. “What if it’s something completely ordinary? Like that fast food wrapper in the Lloyd case in Detroit a year ago?”

You watch JJ furrow her brows, pick up another photo, hold it close to her face, and shake her head. “What exactly were you thinking of?” she asks, and Tara shrugs.

“Well, definitely not chocolate sprinkles,” she replies, giving you a pointed look as more sprinkles fall onto the table and photos when you take another bite of your donut. You hear Emily chuckle in amusement, and feel the warmth rise in your cheeks. So much for flying under the radar.

“Sorry,” you mumble, place the rest of your donut on a napkin, and brush the crumbs off the table.

Just when you think you’re out of the spotlight, JJ clears her throat and gives you a mischievous grin. “You’ve got something there,” she says, and you look up, confused.

“Huh?” is all you manage, still unsure of your voice.

“There,” she points to her chin to show you, and you quickly wipe at the spot with your hand, apparently missing it.

“You’re only making it worse,” Luke chuckles, pointing to the left corner of your mouth.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you whisper embarrassed, and catch a glimpse of Emily hiding a grin behind her glass.

In the bathroom, you glance into the mirror and realize your colleagues got you again. “Very funny,” you mutter and wash your sticky hands. You still dampen a paper towel to clean your mouth and prep for your new lipstick in the color Cassian. You hold the lipstick up to the neon light, admire its depth, and soon after, your lips are painted with it. Your eyes stand out even more now, and the shade perfectly matches the natural flush of your cheeks, a flush that tends to deepen depending on the situation. Thanks to Emily. Satisfied, you tuck the lipstick into your jacket pocket, put on a confident expression and return to your colleagues with a tight-lipped smile that makes them laugh.

“You had your fun,” you say, settling back beside Tara, who tries to hide her grin. Emily tucks her silver hair behind her ear and moistens her lips, making you hold your breath.

“Let’s get back to work,” she instructs, and you gratefully pull another file toward you, thankful for the distraction. While your colleagues groan, you throw yourself into the task, eager to show your boss how serious you are about your job. You still feel the need to prove yourself, even though you’ve become a valued part of the team and have provided key insights in many cases.

“I’ve got us some fresh coffee,” Rossi chimes in, holding up a pot as he closes the conference room door behind him.

“Finally, someone’s thinking,” Tara grumbles, raising her mug. You don’t look up, knowing Rossi always refills your mug first. You’re studying the photos from the third crime scene, reaching for your freshly poured coffee and take a sip.

You freeze. It’s black. Unsweetened.

You grimace in confusion, glance at the mug in your hand, and realize your mistake. It’s Prentiss’s mug. The big, white FBI letters stare back at you mockingly.

Embarrassed, you sneak a glance at Emily, who’s watching you intently. Her eyes sparkle with amusement, and when you slowly push the mug back to the center of the table, her gaze follows every movement. None of your colleagues notice the exchange, too absorbed in their files and now energized by the caffeine.

You press your lips together, offer your boss a sheepish smile, and reach for your own untouched coffee. As you take a sip of your sweet drink, Emily grabs hers and to your horror, you spot a huge lipstick mark on the rim. Your lipstick. The one you’d applied just minutes ago.

Your lips form a silent O. You want to stop her, offer her your mug instead, but Emily slowly turns her mug in her hands until the lipstick mark is facing her. You hold your breath as she winks at you and places her lips directly on the spot where yours had just been. Emily closes her eyes in delight after swallowing her first sip, then rubs her lips together, spreading your dark lipstick onto her own. She gives you a knowing look, before turning back to her laptop.

Your pulse quickens, maybe this isn’t just a one-sided crush after all.

Part two

#emily prentiss #criminal minds #emily prentiss x reader #young agent #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss imagine #unit chief prentiss #emily prentiss fic #chief #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss x female reader

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stuckyparty · 5 months ago

Text

A little reminder in these Neil Gaiman times:

Abusers groom allies as much as they groom victims. When they get accused, they need to have a list of people who will say they could never. They go out of their way to help you. They're funny and charming. They want you on the witness stand in their future trial.

If you got groomed as an ally and not as a victim, you would have no way of knowing who they are behind closed doors and you're not a bad person because you believed them.

The only thing you can do now is decide what to do with the information you have. That's the only part that is your responsibility alone, and you can choose to Sunk Cost Fallacy this shit or you can choose to be better. That is the one choice the abuser has left in your hands, make it wisely.

Sunk Cost Fallacy also applies to how invested you are in an artist's work. How much it defined you. How much it helped you through the hard times. How you imprinted onto these characters and let them share the burden of living with you for a while or a lifetime.

As a veteran of the 2007 Harry Potter internet forums, I am here to tell you that you did that. Neil didn't do that. The lessons you learned, the ways of being you adopted, the comfort you found, you did that. Neil Gaiman wasn't in your library nook or bedroom or study hall or apartment walking you through it. You consumed An Art and applied it to your own life because you are a sympathetic human being who wants to find community with other human beings.

The lessons you learned are yours. They aren't tainted by his behavior because he wasn't in your room telling you how to feel. You were feeling on your own. Take those lessons forward into something new and better.

None of this is an excuse to keep consuming his intellectual property and I will judge you hardcore for doing so, signed, the girl with a HP tattoo who hasn't read HP or fanfic in over a decade.

You don't get to keep it because it was important to you. It was important to you because of who you are, not because of who he is, and you can bestow your precious sympathy and attention somewhere else going forward. I believe in you.

Godspeed, little angels and demons.

#neil gaiman #neil gaimen allegations #fandom discourse #fandom culture

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getouyuri · 12 days ago

Text

bite the hand that feeds

✞ pairing — vampire!geto x gn!reader

summary — “i want you to eat well. i want you to be full.” or, suguru has denied himself human blood his entire fledgling life. sitting back and watching him self-destruct just won’t do.

✞ content & warnings — SFW but MDNI, gender neutral reader, hurt and comfort, angst, fluff, suggestive themes and content, modern au, vampire au, pet names, bartender!geto, geto is in his 30’s, starvation, blood drinking, bloodlust, mildly possessive behavior, the intricacies of vampire morality and guilt and ethics, religious undertones and imagery, masochist!reader, aftercare, doting geto

author's note — decided to revamp (lmao) an old fic that i published for a different fanbase… hashtag recycle hashtag reuse. i even made a 2nd spotify account to share this playlist for it if you wanna listen while reading 😭 this fic was already very dear to me but now it’s even more so w/ this geto version, so I hope you all enjoy this as much as I do!! 🫶🏽 masterlist

writing © getouyuri. fanart © kayluvshie. dividers © bbyg4rlhelps. wc: 9.1k.

“Baby,” You call again, lips downturned.

Suguru merely hums but doesn’t otherwise show a sign of life, the vampire swaying in place in the kitchen and eyes glazed over like freshly fired ceramic. You have to rise from your perch on the armrest of the divan in order to make his dazed gaze settle somewhere in your direction, but he isn’t really seeing you— his dimmed irises threaten to slide right through your very much corporeal body.

That only serves to make your frown more pronounced.

Since the second Suguru silently slipped through the door with his decorated keychain, fresh from a grueling shift at the bar, you immediately knew that something was wrong. Your instincts told you that it had nothing to do with him smelling of a sticky alcohol that he didn’t consume, the scent nearly masking the remnants of his jasminey cologne.

Suguru looked oddly disheveled and worn down, a far cry from the usual quiet confidence and composure that fills out the frame of the vampire, and was slow to respond as he absentmindedly picked through the pantry.

He was trying to find something to satiate the cravings that were surely making his blood sing, but the hunger was scrambling him beyond repair. You had to jolt forward when Suguru didn’t react fast enough to catch the dried mangos that his shaking hands had knocked to the side.

All of your earlier attempts at questions about his day were answered by incomprehensible murmurs. You hovered uselessly behind him until you finally turned, retreating to the living room with further concerns mounting on top of the already growing pile. Suguru had remained, planting himself in the kitchen amidst the sprawling ivy and potted ferns.

Your concern only fuels your persistence, though, and after you had given Suguru a few more minutes of time— in which he ended up doing nothing but stare at the appliances on the countertop— you think to try again.

“Baby,” You repeat, softening your voice into a coo. You practically creep over, socked feet making a scuffing noise as you drag them across the carpet, then the tile of the kitchen. You keep your hands slightly raised in a placating matter as if approaching a cornered animal— an unpredictable predator.

You think that you may as well be with the way Suguru stares at you with blood-red eyes, slowly swiping his tongue over his lips. It makes you shiver.

You’ve done your fair share of research, having taken to hitting the books (which really means the internet… and admittedly, a few vampire romance novels), boldly showing up at his mother’s door with questions, and simply observing him in the four corners of your shared home.

To someone like Suguru, considered undead from the moment he was reborn into this world by a stray vampire that got their claws in him when he was younger, blood— especially human blood— was essential. A necessity, like water was to humans, to the soil and the plants and the birds.

You’ve noticed something, though. Suguru drives fear into himself— the fear of what that knowledge, the taste of human blood, would do to him. If it would consume him, desire and hunger rotting him from the inside out as Suguru kept it from morphing into what he thinks will be an uncontrollable bloodlust. He denies himself his biggest necessity, the one that lined his very being.

You heard it from the lips of his mother himself, whose tiredly-etched face had been tipped down to her special blend of tea as you conversed during an impromptu brunch.

Mei’s a beautiful woman. You can see where your boyfriend got his almost wraithly elegance in those lavender-hued eyes that exude a calm that drugs you, her black hair that swings over her shoulder in a long braid. That signature Geto smile that she gives you as she pours you your own cup.

But she’s weathered in a way that Suguru isn’t and will never be, forever trapped in a body that cannot age. He’ll never have the crow’s feet that crinkle her eyes just so. The silvery streaks crowning her head. The plumpness of her hips and her neck that her slowing metabolism brings about. The slow decay of self.

“Thank you,” you say, taking a sip of tea. Not wanting to waste her time, you dive right into the nitty gritty. “I’m hoping you can give me some insight on the whole… Suguru thing. He survives off of animal blood just fine, but I know it’s not enough to sustain him for good. Like, at all. I’ve taken a shot at the more obvious reasons as to why he’s adamant about abstaining from human blood in conversations with him, but…”

Mei waits patiently. Your shoulders wilt. “He just doesn’t see that I’m worried about his health. I feel like a bad partner for not being able to help him or get through to him.”

The older woman sets her teacup down with a quiet clink, her expression softening with understanding. She exhales a gentle sigh as she reaches across the table to squeeze the top of your clenched fist.

"You’re not a bad partner, dear. Far from it. And Suguru loves you with his whole heart," Mei reassures, her voice fond but tinged with something heavier—something like grief. “That boy… Suguru’s always been stubborn when it comes to his ideals. He clings to them like they’re his lifeline."

A flicker of bittersweetness and a shadow of something else crosses her features before she continues, "Even as a little boy, he was like that— always putting others before himself, always worrying about being a burden or punishing himself for things beyond his control.”

You purse your lips and trace the rim of your cup. Her eyes follow your fingertips. “Tell me about it,” you quip quietly, earning a twinkling of laughter from her.

But then she sighs, long and weary. It feels like her exhaustion passes to you, for you suddenly feel bone-tired. Helplessly so. “I do think you could get through to him, though. You’re different from me. You’re not his mother. You’re someone that’s chosen him over and over again, connected by a love that you’ve forged together rather than by blood ties. He’ll always see my offers as ones born from maternal obligation.”

“Just because I’m not family doesn’t mean he’ll fold,” you bemoan even though you see her point. You’re just frustrated and a little lost— and trying to figure out how to ask her about how this all started without being overly blunt.

You don’t even know if Mei would be comfortable with sharing such a private piece of information, let alone how Suguru himself would feel if you asked him. When he mentioned his turning to you during a casual conversation, he breezed over it as if discussing the weather. All he said was that he was turned when he was young, and that he’d live with this new change. Would have to live with it.

That made it sound incredibly depressing. Which it was.

She doesn’t even need to say anything. The purposely pregnant pause that follows and the look she gives you is a glaring scarlet letter— you can practically hear her scoffed ‘you’re very obviously part of our family’ that she’s too polite to let spill.

Still, she comments on it regardless. Mei picks her words like they’re little cherries. “You’re family in every way that counts. But you know that.” Another slow sip of her tea, the silver bangles on her wrist jingling softly.

“When Suguru was turned... he was so young. My baby was barely nine— just a child forced to grapple with instincts he barely understood, desperate and terrified. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, not even the man who turned him. Suguru clearly doesn’t trust what he might awaken in himself if he indulges in human blood. He holds onto the fear that he’ll lose control and hurt the people he loves.”

Mei raises her eyebrows, silently encouraging you to take notes. You sit up a little straighter, heart picking up, leaning towards her like a flower greeting the spring sun.

"Normally I’d say that it’s best not to push and instead let him come to you. Clearly, though, he’s willing to wait us all out until the end of time. Considering that… I’d wager your best bet is this— strike when the iron is hot. When you offer your aid, make sure he knows you’re offering because you want to and that it’s your choice. Never because you pity him. Show him that it’s safe to accept something that you want to give to him and that he can trust in everything being alright.”

You had silently taken this in, thanked Mei upon leaving a few hours after you shared brunch with her, and trotted on home with bags of Mei’s tea to make for Suguru.

There’s been a few incidents where you offered up your forearms whenever Suguru’s stashes started to run dry. Your willingness to satiate his appetite made the vampire instantly round on you with a blend of fear and concern that rivaled the intensity of a thousand desert suns.

Animal blood, he promised, was enough and would have to be enough to tide him over. He would not let you come to harm for something he considered unnecessary. You still think it peculiar.

Suguru acted as though instinct was as taboo as the cardinal sins. Suguru acted as though feeding from you was like leading not one but two lambs to their untimely slaughter.

You haven't tried to serve Suguru your blood on a silver platter since, instead choosing to wait for the right moment. Now, with your conversation with his mother still fresh on your mind and Suguru blinking slowly, exhaustion heavy on his eyelids as he cranes his neck to look at you, you think this may be it.

“You can’t keep holding your hunger at bay like this. It’s unhealthy, Suguru.”

One hand goes to the cold stone of the counter and the other tentatively lands on the slope of his shoulder. You rub at his shoulder consolingly. Suguru’s tongue peeks out once more, the same color as the soft gummy pink of a wolf’s mouth seconds before it strikes, and you watch a tremble race through him.

“I’m fine, and I’m well, and I will continue to be so,” Suguru defends himself at last after a drawn out silence that made your skin prickle with the beginnings of fear of already fucking this up. He’s almost struggling to fashion the words together, slurring just barely. His eyes glide down to your hand and burn through you as if spotting the veins beneath your skin, but he doesn’t shrug you off.

You’re immediately thrown— when Suguru gets into a starved state like this, his nature crying out for human blood only to be barely kept at bay by the tanginess of an animal’s, he retreats into himself and shies away from everyone, even Mei and Satoru and Shoko, even you.

Now, though, he just seems… resigned. None of the usual testiness and attempts at self-isolation when Suguru yearns for salvation rears its head. The concern heavy in your stomach like a stone slices further into your insides the longer he lets you stay close.

“That isn’t what I meant, and you know that,” you point out, as you’ve done time and time again whenever the topic of Suguru’s hunger crops up and he tries to dodge it with the grace of someone that’s dodged way too many misdirected swings from drunks at the bar he works at while trying to break up fights. “You need more than just the blood of animals.”

His shapely eyebrows slant with the beginnings of an uncharacteristic scowl. There’s that hangriness, you think humorlessly. “It does its job,” Suguru shoots back, a warning laced into his tone. With barely a glance at you, he turns away, his dismissal coming out short. “Save your breath. I’m about to eat.”

Your hand naturally falls from him when your boyfriend crouches to flick open the cupboards beneath the counter. Your fingers curl midair, wanting to bend down and reach out to him, but your arm drops to your side.

Suguru pulls out the wedge at the top of his small ice-box and frowns when he’s greeted with crinkled, blood-sprinkled packets. You watch Suguru yank out the fullest (a very generous word, considering it only holds a puddle) and rises back up, his shoulder brushing against you like a cat greeting another.

“Will that be enough?” You press.

You know it isn’t; far from it, in fact. Suguru knows that too.

He opens it anyways with a firm nod, the tightness between his brows smoothing out at the first scent of blood. Your body betrays him, and your heart, already thumping a few beats too fast, races faster. Suguru glances at you, at the pulse that thrums heavy beneath your jaw, and wraps his lips around the opening.

Oh, Christ.

Suguru drinks. Feeds. He pushes the blood up to the rim of the packet with massaging thumbs, wringing and coaxing every drop towards his mouth. You’re reminded of the near-empty bottle of toothpaste you share that you’ve pointlessly been stringing out even though it should’ve been tossed a week ago.

His throat visibly catches when he trickles it onto his tongue. Within seconds, he gulps it all down, left practically panting with how fast he knocks it back. Your attention never leaves his lips.

“See?” He tosses the mangled packet into the trash and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Blood smears just below his bottom lip and he swipes his tongue over it, then licks at the remnants on his teeth.

You feel strangely faint, like you’ve been wrung just as dry. You think it inexplicable– the feeling that drums through you every time you witness Suguru ingest blood– but you know its meaning. Even humans have their vices, as odd as they may be.

“I’ve had my fill,” Suguru reassures you the longer you continue to stare unblinkingly like you’ve just bluescreened, but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than he is you. You catch the flash of his canines as he speaks and you swallow instinctively.

The vampire must realize his face says as much, so he clears his throat and crouches again to toss the packet, forcing the wedge back into the box. Suguru stands and decisively kicks the cabinet shut. The soft bang rattles you into action.

“Somehow,” you begin, voice blessedly calm, “I don’t believe that to be the case.”

“Doll—“

“It’s never enough, is it?” Surprisingly, Suguru doesn’t retort. Instead, he purses his lips. He looks a tiny bit better with what he had ingested, but he still looks worn. His unblemished skin runs unnaturally dry. “That packet held barely enough blood in it to be considered an appetizer, let alone a full meal. You’re surviving, baby. Not living. You know that.”

Suguru’s continued silence speaks volume. He’s exhausted. He’s hungry, but not irreversibly so. A solution sits warm on the horizon, and you, willing to do anything if it means your beloved will be healthy and happy and satisfied and full, hold the sun out to Suguru in the palm of your hands.

“Your reserves are completely depleted. In your current state, weak as you are, you know that there’s no way you can go out and hunt either.” A huff escapes you, laden with concern. “And, just as well, you know that I’m more than willing to quench your thirst with my own blood.”

“Why are you so eager to offer yourself up, knowing that I’ll only hurt you?” Suguru suddenly snaps. Some of his lucidity returns to him as his annoyance and desperation mounts. Ozone seems to come out of nowhere like a distant fog rolling in over the hills, crackling, blanketing the air over you until it’s so thick that you nearly choke on it.

He tosses his hands in the air in an uncharacteristic burst of frustration, the sharp movement a far cry from the elegant grace he carries himself with. A gently placed hand on your hip to slowly coax you to melt into the security of his side, a slow-moving pace when at your side as if he has all the time in the world to revel in it with you.

Careful. Controlled.

That’s not what that was, though.

Before you can comment on it or stare wide-eyed at him for a second longer, Suguru’s lowering his arms. Smoothing a hand through his glossy dark tresses, he lowers his gaze to collect himself.

“I’ve survived without it for years just fine.” Suguru’s voice wavers, just barely. He sounds desperate. “There’s no need to add further blood to my hands. Not yours.”

“Lemme repeat something you’ve said to me before then. In pain, there is love, and in love, there is pain,” you answer simply. You shift, intending to draw him close, but his hand instantly catches around your wrist when you go to reach out for him. “And that blood? You’re not ripping it from me. I’d be giving it to you willingly. It’d be my choice.”

You stare at each other, your irises meeting purple ones as Suguru keeps you at bay. There’s thinly veiled terror in his eyes, terror at what he himself could do should you get closer. Your pulse staccatos beneath Suguru’s thumb.

“Let me say this—“

“You’ve been doing nothing but saying this and that. Is speaking your favorite pastime?” Suguru cuts in snarkily.

“Suguru. C’mon now.”

He purses his lips as his deflection is knocked aside. The nail of his pointer scrapes against the skin of your arm. “Sorry. Yeah. Go on.”

“Let me say this,” you repeat, smiling for only a moment before it fades. Your thoughts of months past coalesce on your tongue, turning everything that tumbles out raw. “I worry about you. I worry about you just as much as you worry about me. It’s not out of pity; it’s all love.” You steadily curl your hand around Suguru’s wrist until you’re interlinked. Watching his face carefully, you lift your tangled grip until your lips skate across his knuckles.

“If I have to experience even a little bit of pain to see you healthy, then so be it. I trust you. I trust the control you have over yourself, and I know that you’re not gonna drain me dry and leave me for dead.”

Against all rationale, you think you wouldn’t mind it. If Suguru wanted your bones, organs, your bleeding heart cradled in the palms of his hands and wanted to keep taking more and more, you would give it all to him.

No hesitation. No request for anything in return. Just unwavering devotion.

“You’ve managed what, like, more than twenty years without human blood? But can you withstand another ten without it? Twenty?” You hold the back of Suguru’s hand to your mouth as if whispering it against his skin will make your concern sink in, nestle itself into the marrow of his bones. “The last thing I wanna see is the one I love deteriorate in front of me. You think I want that?”

You swear Suguru’s bottom lip quivers. You know that resonates a little too much. You didn’t really want to strike at the whole ‘hey, I’m painfully mortal and you’re immortal so you’re bound to leave me behind’ topic, but you don’t have many other options. “Angel…”

“Suguru, just listen to me,” you stress, interrupting. “You’re not some beast or sinner for being hungry, and you shouldn’t punish yourself as if you’re either one,” you murmur, voice gone sweet even as Suguru grips your wrist tight. His palm burns against your skin, icy-hot and firm. Shackling you in place, tying you down to the plate of a teetering scale. You wonder if you’re damning you both. “Don’t let your morals hinder your instincts. I want to help you, so take what you want from me. I can handle it.”

Suguru’s mouth parts, as if catching the scent of your truthfulness and letting it sit on his tongue. He ruminates for only a minute, then slowly, his grip slackens until his hold becomes a gentle tether. You take the opportunity to rock towards him, a boat to a dock, and he steps in closer to hold you by the forearms as if you were the one close to crumpling from thirst.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” Suguru warns. His nostrils flare.

When you give him a look, repeating everything you had voiced with only your eyes, Suguru meets you stride for stride, struggling to stay stony-faced. His eyes keep flicking to your neck, the smooth expanse of your skin peeking out from beneath the rolled-up sleeves of your cream sweater that he bought for you, as if watching the blood course through you.

“Seriously, doll. I don’t…” he licks his lips. “Neither of us know how I will react the second your blood falls on my tongue, nor do I think I want to find out. I don’t enjoy the thought of hurting you.”

A sweet sentiment— entirely unnecessary, though.

You glance over Suguru again. You take in the glassines of his eyes that threatens to drown them both in his yawning desire, the almost sickly quality to his skin, and gods above— you think for the thousandth time that you’d do anything to relieve even a fraction of the wrongness and hunger that Suguru must feel.

“Set aside your burdens for me to take on and lemme worry about the consequences. All you gotta do is focus on what you need, and I’ll handle the rest.”

You briefly close your eyes and the words burn sharper than fire-water as they crawl up your throat— “Although I don’t want to see you destroy yourself, I’ll respect your wishes and drop the subject entirely if you deny me. Again. This has and will always be in your hands, Suguru. You’re the only one who can decide this for yourself. I’m just giving you… another option, one that’ll always be on the table.”

Suguru simply dips his head after a moment’s deliberation, voice solemn. “I appreciate your words.”

I appreciate your words— the choice to come to his own decision. He speaks with the weight of someone who has rarely been dealt the cards that he has wanted; being attacked, ‘killed,’ reborn again as something he never wished to be, every time that the old management of the bar he works at pulled his leash taut and ground him underfoot whenever he strayed too close to their spoils before he fought tooth and claw to rework it from the foundations and up.

Not for the first time, you want to dig up the strings of fate and rip and shred them thread by thread until you can weave it all into something kinder for Suguru.

The silence that stretches thin between you starts to feel like a dismissal. Resigning yourself to the nth refusal, you begin to tactfully back off. Suguru reaches for you before he can put more distance between you two.

“Sorry. That wasn’t a no— I was just trying to collect my thoughts.” Suguru lets go of you. The lingering ozone in the air finally snuffs out, and you feel like you can breathe proper lungfuls again. “You’re right. I know you are, angel.” Suguru’s lips part so sweetly around the pet name creased with care and use; a folded-up letter from a lover.

“Really?” You utter blankly, the ball of your foot still off the ground from your aborted step backwards.

Suguru levels you with a disbelieving gaze. “What did you think your little speech would do? Roll off of my back?”

“Can you blame me for thinking so?” You retort, thinking of your previous attempts, the small hints you’ve scattered at Suguru’s feet only for them to get swept away. You settle your full weight back onto the floorboards.

“I’ve been… dismissive about it before,” Suguru admits; that’s the best you’ll get out of him for sure. “To be honest, I’ve found myself considering drinking from you for the last month or two, but I still had my doubts and reservations,” he near-mumbles, then. He crosses his arms and scrunches his nose. “But I needed that extra push.”

The vampire keeps one arm pressed to his chest and rubs at his temple. “I’ve been apprehensive about this since the day my life was flipped on itself. You know that.”

“I do.”

“And you’re truly just… not worried?”

“Not particularly, no.”

He searches your expression. “I just want to make sure that you’re certain and not doing this because you think you owe it to me.” Suguru speaks carefully.

You blow out a sigh through your nose. “My silly Suguru. I’ve always been sure, especially when it comes down to your health being at stake. I never say things that I don’t mean.”

Suguru surprisingly— or unsurprisingly, really, given his track-record of picking off of Satoru’s stupid puns— cracks a small smile at that. “At stake, huh?”

“Don’t.” You catch on immediately with a groan. You wipe a hand down your face to hide the uptick of your lips. Some degree of relief at Suguru’s quip fills you despite your amused exasperation.

Emboldened and hopeful, you press yourself against Suguru. His shoulder is solid against your own. “So,” you prod, light and airy, “if your answer isn’t a no, then what is it?”

Suguru hums under his breath, presses his weight back against you. Purple irises crawl skywards. “I guess it’s a yes.” He points at you before you can utter a loud woop, but your budding smile speaks volumes. “If this goes wrong, this will never happen again. Literally never.”

“Say,” you drawl, mind already wandering off five steps ahead even as a vicious relief unspools from your chest and spreads through your body at his yes, “hypothetically, if all goes well, would you continue to feed from me? Like, habitually?”

“Provided you don’t taste gross, yes.”

“What the— hey!” You cry, openly giggling at the shade. “You’re so meaaaan, Suguru. Don’t knock it until you try it. I’m sure I taste a billion times better than animal blood.” Squinting, you rub your chin. “… what does it even taste like, anyways?”

Suguru visibly shudders a little. “Depends on what kind,” he says, voice thick as if growing nauseous. Or being haunted by something particularly disturbing. “It’s usually really… chalky. Muddy and kinda sour, too. Imagine swallowing a whole cloth that was used to wipe up vomit.”

The flavor that immediately tries to replicate itself on your tongue makes your face screw up in disgust. “Okay, ew.” You tug at his arm, glancing towards the nearest divan. “Let’s sit down for this.”

Suguru follows along with an amused huff. Your linked arms lightly swing between your bodies. “I’m beginning to suspect that you have a little more stake in this than one of a concerned lover.”

“Drop that word, will you?” You snort.

Suguru flashes you a real, genuine grin at the noise. It’s toothy, revealing a fleeting glimpse of unnaturally sharp canines. “Well?”

Thoughts of Suguru’s fangs have chased you to work, to lunch breaks, to your doorstep, your dreams. Going from peacefully sleeping through the night for a majority of your life to waking up in a cold sweat with an imprint of Suguru against the inside of your eyelids, poised over your prone body with fangs kissing your throat, proved to be a very jarring wake-up call.

Would it hurt? You asked yourself over a glass of water that you poured himself in the middle of the night after one such dream with shaking hands. Would you enjoy it? The heat that settled decisively in your gut as you leaned against the counter and stared at the moon spoke for itself. You’ve always been intrigued, both in an intellectual, genuinely inquisitive way— and in a how would those fangs of his feel on my jugular? way.

Despite your traitorous mind, you’ve always put Suguru and his values first. Your feelings and interest in the matter have always been only an aside.

You have no shame in voicing any of this, but, well. You’re sure Suguru knows somehow, anyways. You clear your throat. “Consider me curious.”

“Ah, curiosity,” Suguru drags his voice out honey-slow, clearly amused. When you sigh dramatically, long-suffering, he raises his eyebrows and herds you closer to the divan until your legs graze its edge. Your heart thrills. “A person’s weapon, vice, and downfall. Would I be right to assume that there’s more cards on the table than just that?”

Those purple eyes sweep over you. You childishly avert your own and don't grace him with an answer.

“I want you on your back, angel,” Suguru orders in the next beat, his tone switching tracks so rapidly that it leaves you reeling. A delicious thrill licks up your spine. “And still.”

Embarrassingly, your body already began to run hot the second Suguru’s fangs flashed through your head again, so you’re quietly grateful that you need to shed your sweater to make room for Suguru. You wiggle it off, not missing the appreciation that curls Suguru’s lips, and sling it over the back of the furniture.

Satisfied, Suguru lays a gentle hand on your chest and towers over you. You follow his guidance and obediently sink back until you’re practically splayed out, a butterfly pinned to a corkboard, completely at his mercy.

Memories of Suguru tracking you down the street by scent alone to give you your wallet that you left behind at the bar that he works at swims through your head. That was your first meeting. Every whisper of cloth, every subtle brush of shoes against the ground had your heart pounding until you jumped with a shriek when he abruptly grabbed your wrist from behind, giving you an apologetic smile when you whipped around.

You know what it is to be hunted, intimately so.

But nothing compares to being caught.

Not when Suguru collars you so sweetly, measuring out your demise in spoonfuls of sugar; a hand with sharp fingernails ghosting along the newly exposed skin of your shoulders, his purple eyes trickling down your body like a stream, the gentle but grounding weight of him settling onto your lap like he belongs there, trapping you beneath him.

Oh, you think, feeling terribly like prey. Oh.

Suguru slips his arms beneath your own and his hands land on your lower back to feel your warmth that he latches onto. He cradles you close like a boa, all tightly wound power, curling around you and enveloping you in nothing but Suguru.

He’s fucking freezing against you. Unnaturally so— yet, you suppose, it’s natural for him considering his vampiric constitution. His body runs even colder with the beginnings of starvation. You’re sure that if you carved out a space between his ribs, squirreling yourself away into the alcove next to Suguru’s heart that his ribs protect, even his insides would run frigid enough to eternally preserve you both.

You both exhale when Suguru ducks down to peck your nose, raven locks spilling down his shoulders and around you like a veil of safety that promises his attention is on nothing but you. Then he tucks his face into your neck, lips brushing over your pulse point.

Your heartbeat flutters wildly beneath your skin like a caged animal and you know that Suguru can feel it thrumming eagerly at his mouth. He says nothing of it, but you hear his breath come quicker.

“Just… shove me off if I somehow can’t stop myself,” Suguru murmurs into you. You nod a little, mostly to placate him, and tilt your head back in invitation.

“I trust that it won’t come to that. You should have more faith in yourself,” you sigh back. You gently squeezes his waist, then run your touch down the leg caging in your own. “Now stop stalling with your needless worrying. Everything will be fine.”

“I’m not stalling.” Suguru sounds a smidge petulant at being read like an open book, but there’s an undercurrent of amusement to his tone. “Can I not take a minute to savor this moment?”

“There’ll be plenty of other moments like this for you to savor in the future,” you point out with a confident puff of your chest, pleased by the fact you can say so knowing that your words possibly hold water, but you go quiet and indulgently rub at Suguru’s thigh. He huffs out a laugh, and the first whisper of incisors nicking at you as Suguru’s lips part around a smile makes you shudder.

“I won’t remind you again that this will hurt. But this is your last chance to back out,” he warns.

“I have no plans of doing so.” Your voice is breathier than you intended it to be. “Have you had your fill? I know you’re enjoying yourself, but I’d hate to be kept waiting.”

“My baby is such a nuisance.” Suguru laughs. His shoulders shake with it, bright and airy. “Use some of that patience of yours and wait.”

And you do. Suguru’s fingers curl into your side. You almost wish you had a mirror nearby, if only to watch the way Suguru noses at you, breathing in slowly as he searches for a place to sink his teeth into. Languidly, he laps at the junction between your neck and shoulder, slicking the delicately thin skin with spit.

For a beat, there’s nothing from him. His breathing settles and goes near-silent, as if he’s been lulled into a trance, until you can only hear your own. The chimes at the kitchen window jingle. You feel and hear Suguru’s jeans chafe beneath your palms when you flex your hands. You sit still, patiently and impatiently.

Teeth eventually poke at your skin, like they’re asking you to make way. You suck in an anticipatory breath, Suguru whispers a low “relax, I’ve got you always,” and his fangs finally slide home.

His mouth fully seals itself against your neck as he breaks the skin with ease and lets blood rush forth. You register the odd sensation of being impaled by fangs— it’s kind of like being struck by a needle, only they have more pressure behind them— seconds before the sharpness of them kicks at your senses like a jackrabbit. You tighten with surprise and Suguru’s quick to soothe you with a gentle squeeze at your side; another relax before he hungrily swallows his first mouthful with a satisfied noise.

You aren’t sure if Suguru’s utilizing some secret vampiric trick that allows him to sedate his prey or if it’s simply the trust you have in him, but regardless, you slowly unwind beneath him. First your fingers, which had somehow twisted into Suguru’s pants so hard that your knuckles surely went white with the force of it, then your shoulders, neck, the rest of your body gradually unthawing— the same way the coolness of him begins to unthaw as he draws in your warmth.

Your body submits to his needs without hesitation. You know he could drain you dry if he wanted to (hell, part of you admires that he could) but, feeling completely safe, you just focus on the way he gratefully melts into you.

An oddly soothing feeling seizes you in wake of the fading stiffness. It flows molten through your veins, pools heavily where those blade-sharp teeth dig into you. It clouds your head and makes your eyelashes flutter. There’s a warmth to it that feels strangely good, overwhelmingly so.

All people are a little bit mad. It just so happens that you’ve never been an exception to that fact of life.

Once you gather yourself enough you try to focus on the vampire on top of you. Fine trembles wrack Suguru, noticeable enough that you can feel each one vibrating off of him. You take a steadying breath and stay stock still, wondering if he’s alright— until a broken, muffled noise slips from him.

Your hand darts for Suguru’s hair before you can use your brain. Wincing, you unceremoniously drag Suguru’s teeth from your skin with your heart lodged in your throat. Blood drips from the wound unconstrained, the smell stinging at the fine hairs of your nostril.

All you can think is that maybe, just maybe, you’ve made a grave error. Did you just ruin what you have with him? Was Suguru losing it? Was he disgusted? You have no fucking clue.

A glassy sheen marches across Suguru’s hauntingly beautiful plum-rich eyes the second they open and land on you. He looks beyond wrecked, spit and blood clinging to his bottom lip and eyes wild despite their far-away look. His deceptively soft mouth glistens, crimson; fangs stark white and like marble that’s been sharpened into the spear point shape of blades.

Your mouth parts as you stare up at him, chest heaving. You don't know what suddenly possesses you but your hands curl tighter into Suguru’s long soft hair, an incoherent mumble falls from you, and the rest of it gets swallowed up by his mouth as you drag your bodies impossibly more flush until it’s hard to remember where you end and where he begins. Only then do you kiss him.

The flats of your teeth click with how fast you descend upon each other and it stings and you do not care and you want, want, want—

Suguru’s sinful tongue slots into your mouth with a noise that crawls into the hollow of your ears and destroys you from the inside out. The taste of metallic blood— your blood— that he shares with you should disgust you to no end, but you hungrily lick along the silkiness of Suguru’s mouth to get at more of it. You part for a breath and Suguru snaps his teeth at your bottom lip in mockery of the deeper bite on your neck. Brain fizzling, you eagerly arch up to kiss him again.

Holy shit. Your thoughts buoy back to you, tied down by the tiny strings that keep your mind from floating up to join the singular cobweb blanketing a corner of the roof.

There was something incredibly, deeply intimate about letting your lover swallow down your blood, more so than you thought it would be. Suguru has you lining the softness of his throat, filling the hole in his stomach that has ached for two decades that felt longer for him than they did you. You satiate Suguru’s unquenched hunger with all of yourself.

You groan.

He drags his lips down your cheek, your jaw, chases the scent of your blood further down your neck like a bloodhound and damn near growls. “Little more.” Teeth sink back into your skin with a vengeance but never once does it feel too rough, too painful, and you squeeze your eyes shut, breathing out a sigh as you continue to let Suguru take what he so rightfully deserves. He swallows; savoring rather than devouring.

“Good,” you choke out. “That’s okay. Take your fill, baby.”

You can practically feel how his mind, usually so disciplined, teeters dangerously close to frenzy at your words—but the soft press of your fingers through his hair anchors him. Despite his desperation that swells even further, it remains checked. He flicks the flat of his tongue out to lap up each wet rush of pumping blood with an intense desire that makes your insides do cartwheels.

(For the first time in his life, Suguru understands why drunks lose themselves to their bottles, why vampires lose themselves to bloodlust. It’s euphoric. It’s agony. He wants more. He wants to bury himself so deep in the heat of your veins that he forgets what it means to be anything but ravenous.

The taste is nothing like the animal blood he convinced himself to survive on without ever truly satisfying himself. It sweetens his tongue like cherry wine. This is ambrosia, thick and metallic and alive. It crashes against every neglected corner of his being in gentle waves, filling up that monstrous hollow that threatens to be his ruin. With how good he abruptly feels, Suguru thinks he could almost mistake himself for a human again.

But there’s guilt there, too— his conscience clawing at him despite the pleasure surging through him. Just this once, though, he lets himself indulge— and dream of a future where this is your new normal. Quiet moments in bed where he sucks gently from your wrist or forearm between kisses that he presses there, gazing at you as if wondering how on earth such a flawed being like himself could be touched to his core by someone as special as you.

You trust him. This is you giving him something no one else ever has. Every appreciative swallow is a revelation and a promise, every pulse of your blood against his tongue a brand-new addiction. The sweetest of sins that he’d willingly die once more for.)

Suguru drinks you down like a mortal laying their lips to a goblet of nectar— quickly, messily, greedily, blood pooling too fast for his lips to catch. A tendril of it slowly spools down your neck, catching in the dip of your collarbone. You’re near dizzy with it, but you think Suguru dizzier with the way his lips lazily smush against the skin of your neck as if inebriated.

“I want you to eat well,” you murmur against the side of Suguru’s head, breath puffing over the shell of his ear. He jerks against you, just slightly, and you have to suck your teeth to keep from groaning. “I want you to be full.”

A honeyed melody drips from Suguru’s lips, returning to your skin. Feed, feed, feed, your very blood a siren-song. Suguru kneels over you, swaying, drunk on you, before sobering enough to sink down and lick his spoils back up with a greedy tongue.

He follows the steady stream down to your collarbone, lapping what strayed from the punctures, before returning to the wound with shuddering breaths. Suguru sinks his teeth back in to keep the blood pooling, and this time, you’re the one who jerks. Your hips kick up and you jostle you both.

You can’t hold back the noise you make at the pleasure-pain blossoming like a dragonfruit that’s been shredded into with a knife and left to bleed its juices freely and the way Suguru rolls down against you, almost unthinkingly. Your hands somehow find their way to Suguru’s hair and tangle into the dark strands. He hisses through his mouthful of skin and blood, and you find that you’ve never felt this awed and turned on in your entire life.

“Shit.” Shit. A shudder sings through you in a hot-flash. Words slip between your fingers faster than you can think them. All you know is Suguru. “Suguru.”

He keens in response. Unlatching himself, he’s quick to groan out “Jesus Christ,” all raspily before dipping back down and lapping over you again. You let loose another curse and drag your hands over every crevice of his body, futilely trying to hold onto him for dear life.

You lose yourself to the pull of blood between teeth, the shuddering grind you find yourselves falling into. Time rolls into a small disjointed ball. The fog settled over you starts to take on a different shape. Your neck painfully throbs like a drum, beating faster and faster until the cacophony drowns out all sound, forcing all of your senses to lock onto the overwhelming scent of copper filling your lungs. You claw at his back in prayer.

“Okay,” you manage to wheeze out when it finally becomes too much, voice cracking on the last syllable as your vision washes black. Blearily, you wonder if Suguru can even hear you over the roar of blood as it races through your veins— hell, if he even wants to hear you, but Suguru instantly unfastens himself from the wound with a wet, sticky pop.

The pressure that clung fierce to your skin lets up all at once, and you choke on your stumbling breaths. Your head tips forward dangerously. You think you black out to the sound of Suguru’s labored breaths and panicked mutterings, because when everything filters back in, Suguru’s inhales and exhales are a little more slower, relaxed.

You’re tilted slightly to the side as if you started to tip over and got caught. You drink in the weight of your partner still sitting astride your hips for a moment before gently bumping your forehead against Suguru’s collarbone to alert him to your returning consciousness.

“Hey,” Suguru murmurs, voice rumbling pleasantly near your ear.

“Give me a moment,” you rasp, near apologetic. Suguru merely cups the back of your head in response, promising his presence and patience.

With that, you let yourself soak in the sensations and smells of your shared house for a while longer as you recuperate, then you take stock of yourself. You feel incredibly lightheaded, but not a drop of regret darkens the calm waters of your thoughts. You slowly drag a hand through sweaty hair and find that there’s blood beneath your nails when you go to drop your hand back down.

You stare at the scarlet flakes that fall from them like petals and have to close your eyes at the sight. The phantom sensation of your fingers digging into Suguru’s back makes the tendons in your palm grow stiff.

“Did I hurt you?” You croak, a wave of guilt slamming into you. Your hand moves to do— you don’t know what, but when it ends up hanging uselessly between you both, Suguru gently takes it between his own.

“Not at all. A few drops of blood is nothing compared to the amount I took from you, doll.” Suguru sounds concerned.

You peel your eyelids apart at that, hoping to reassure him that you’re fine, and manage to catch the relief flooding Suguru’s features as you blink a few times.

He stares at you for a long moment, something soft flickering in his gaze when he assures himself that you’re well before he smooths a thumb over your tender puncture marks, wiping away the remaining blood. Calloused palms come up to cup your face, cradling your head and keeping you from listing sideways any further.

“You’re not a monster for that, y’know,” you mumble instinctively, feeling the urge to say it. There’s no way you’ll let him sit alone with his thoughts later and convince himself that the basic necessity of feeding is deserving of penance. Not when he’s finally just now had a taste of what breathing without a weight crushing through his chest is like. “It’s totally fine. I’m fine, see? Still alive and kicking and happy to talk your ear off in the morning.” Almost comically, that’s right when you yawn.

The chuckle that rumbles from deep within his chest makes you beam, feeling all warm and gooey in a way that has nothing to do with blood loss. “I very much look forward to that.”

Looping back a few seconds in your conversation, voice pitching impossibly softer, “I just… you wouldn’t respond for a moment,” Suguru informs you. The tightness of his jaw suggests that it affected him more than he wished it to. You feel a pang, hoping you didn’t spook him. “Nothing crazy, roughly forty seconds. I should’ve stopped sooner. If anything, I’m the one that needs to apologize.”

You’re sure you look a mess, what with the stupid dopey smile on your face as you drift through a fog of aching pain and desire. You attempt to school your face into something more firm. “Ugh, stop with that. You really don’t have anything to say sorry for. But you’re sure that you’re fine?” You toss back at him.

God. Between the two of you, you could easily secure a gold in the ��fussing over each other’ Olympics.

Suguru rolls his eyes but fondly drops a kiss to your forehead, a soft assurance. You tilt into it with something akin to a happy purr. “Seriously, don’t worry about me,” he soothes, smiling slightly all the while. “It’s already healing.”

Letting you lean your cheek into the palm of one hand, Suguru takes one of your hands and guides it to the expanse of his back, helping you search for where your nails bit into him. He drags your fingers over miniscule raises on his back, and you’re pleased to find the skin already stitching itself back together.

“Faster than usual?” You rub your face against him like a cat, eyes threatening to fall shut again. Peering up at him, you admire the gentleness in his gaze that Suguru reserves only for you.

“Definitely. I knew to expect it, but it’s still surprising.” Then, “hold on, let me get you something.”

His warmth vanishes from your lap. You’re momentarily thrown, brain lagging, before focusing on Suguru slipping around the counter and into the kitchen. He returns with a glass filled to the brim with juice.

“You need the sugar,” he explains simply. He cards your hair further away from your face and he gracefully curls in at your side, pulling you sideways onto his lap.

It would be so easy for Suguru to allow his instincts to raze all rational thought, to let himself finish the job and go for your jugular like an unleashed hound and rip your throat out with scarlet-stained canines.

But he’s doting. Achingly so. Even now, even after feeding, his first instinct is to make sure you aren’t suffering for his sake.

He sweeps a soothing hand up and down the scoop of your shoulder and his other comes up to carefully coax your head back as he brings the glass to your lips. Drowsy eyes flicker up to Suguru, who meets yours with a relaxed smile, and you let Suguru trickle the juice onto your tongue.

You obediently drink your fill, taking another sip when Suguru’s pointer finger curls away from the glass and pokes your lips until you let them part again with a sigh. You half-focus on not choking, even as Suguru siphons it out carefully enough that it would be impossible, but all you want to do is drink in his handsome figure.

For a moment, you think yourself truly out of it and stupidly love-drunk until you realize that Suguru does look positively radiant. You blink slowly, once, twice, and squint through the haze.

Color blooms prettily in Suguru’s cheeks and the shadows beneath his eyes have entirely been chased away, his entire being humming with renewed vitality. He looks incredibly loose-limbed and relaxed; more so than he does when dozing off to the feeling of you scratching at his scalp and the smooth tenor of your voice as you read to him after a long day.

Edward Cullen sparkles, you internally giggle to yourself.

Suguru catches you staring and shakes his head fondly. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Glass clinks as Suguru leans over to table the cup before rising. His hand curls around your bicep and he helps haul you from the divan. When you immediately sway on your feet with a disgruntled moan, trying to blink back the twilight creeping in on your vision, Suguru steadies you with a quietly confident, “I’ve got you.”

An arm wraps around your midsection and you return the hold with your own draped lazily over Suguru’s shoulders. The slow shuffle to the hallway and into the bathroom feels like an eternity and a half.

Artificial light blares against your irises and you grumble under your breath. It dims into something less harsh and you peel your eyes back open, your reflection wavering in the mirror before you. Your attention glides down to your chewed lips, a tiny thumbprint of blood pressed along the curve of your jaw, the bruised junction between your neck and shoulder.

You flatten your pads against the dark spot and stare some more. Suguru shuffles behind you and his mouth comes to rest against the back of your shoulder, ghosting over your nape. His eyes, usually deep violet, glow faintly crimson. His lips are still stained a sinful red.

“Mine,” Suguru mumbles.

“You sound like a caveman,” you hum in reply, earning a snort, and you let Suguru kindly direct you around the bathroom, ushering you through fragments of your usual routine instead of the full thing. Something about leaving yourself to Suguru calms you.

“This has to have gone against some sort of protocol,” you mumble as Suguru finally lowers you into your bed, mouth tasting vaguely of the mouthwash he managed to make you swish around and clothes switched out for loose sleepwear.

Blankets tuck up and around your shoulders, and both an exhale through Suguru’s nose and multiple kisses ghost across your cheek. You shiver. “I’m sure there was something in one of the books I read about vampire and donor relationships— professionality and boundaries and whatnot.”

“When have you ever cared about rules,“ Suguru gets out, mostly to himself, then snorts. Somehow, the noise sounds attractive coming from him. “You are so ridiculous.” He presses another kiss against your face and entertains you with a smile in his voice. “I suppose I’m being pretty damn unprofessional then.”

“Oh, no, you’re very professional,” you argue. You instantly whine as the bed creaks when Suguru leaves you, but you’re quickly satiated by his swift return. You have no shame in your neediness.

The rest of your thoughts wash out as Suguru burrows into the blankets next to you and gathers you close to protectively curl around you. You settle in together, face to face and skin to skin. It’s familiar.

Your eyes flutter back open once it occurs to you. You don’t know how many minutes have passed you by.

“Did I taste good?” Comes barreling out of you.

Your partner hums in brief contemplation. A curtain of hair whispers across the punctures in his neck as Suguru props himself up on one elbow, peering down at you. Another kiss presses against your cheek and Suguru’s breath fans over you. “I’d certainly make taste to drink from you again.”

“I’m going to sleep now.”

Suguru shakes with silent laughter.

(Long after you finally doze off, lips adorably parted and legs tangled together like the roots of a tree intertwining with another’s, looking cuter than a kitten in his rolled up flannel pants and old college sweatshirt, Suguru allows his head to fall, cheek squished against the chest cavity that houses your humanity. Your heart thumps steadily beneath his ear. Reassuringly so.

A soft exhale escapes him, half fondness, half awe. “Thank you, baby.”)

author’s note: this old fic of mine fits suguru so well it makes me sickkkktkshrkdja I LOVE YOU VAMPIRE SUGURU I LOVE YOUUUUUU

if you listened to the playlist while reading this… i heart u forever. also I’m thinking of when my mutual of 4 years read the original version of this fic and said she’s never been so turned on and frazzled by smth that was sfw which was truly the highest of compliments. MISS MY BAE!

perma tags: @libr4sonsa @spirit-kat @kaitospo @m1nrrva @enchantinghonymoon @shokogasm @dairyfaerie @pvmpkingod @skz8stay @floriophrastus @originalsaucy @loyalguma @wormplant @amane1271 @oporotheca @teachmehowtodokiaye @dogwhiskey @sunnydayqq

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gurugirl · 1 year ago

Text

Little Flower

Summary: You're startled during a power outage late one night when your co-worker, Harry, is at your door, drenched from the rain. How does he even know where you live?

Word Count: 4,468

A/N: This is a bit dark you guys! It's a classic stalker story so just keep that in mind as you read and only consume what you can handle! xoxo

Warning: smut, cheating, dark elements, coercion, stalking, aggressive male behavior, size kink, breeding kink, and sort of dubcon via manipulation

. .

You always loved rainy, stormy nights. It was the best time to snuggle up on your couch with a blanket and a pint of ice cream and watch scary movies. You were supposed to go out with friends but the weather had changed everyone’s plans. Some streets were even flooded and it just wasn’t going to be worth it to get out in the storm to go to some bar and drink gross, expensive drinks and then figure out how you’d get home.

This was far better, you determined, as you dunked your spoon into your cherry chocolate cheesecake ice cream.

Definitely better.

But then a sudden loud crash of thunder shook your windows, making you drop your pint of ice cream onto the floor at the same time you were suddenly shrouded in darkness when your electricity went out, taking your entertainment of the slasher movie you were watching with it.

You tore your blanket off your legs in annoyance and reached down for the ice cream container when you heard another noise making you still your movements as you listened through the heavy sound of rain and wind. It was coming from your back door. You strained your eyes to see through the dark as you placed the carton of ice cream on your coffee table and reached for your cell phone so you could investigate the noise.

Turning on your flashlight app to the brightest setting (thank god for modern technology) you made your way to the kitchen and peeked out the door’s window. But there was nothing that you could see.

You pursed your lips to the side and looked down at your phone and it was then you realized you had no cellular service at all. Which was odd. Sure the wifi was out with the electricity but cell service too? The storm must have knocked out a tower you supposed.

It was 11:47 pm. And since the electricity was out you figured you’d just go to bed. You couldn’t mindlessly scroll social media if you couldn’t get on the internet. So maybe this night wasn’t definitely better than going out with friends would have been.

You sighed to yourself and shined your cell phone light over the floor to make your way to your bedroom when there was the sound of a knock at your front door. Four harsh raps that had you stopping dead in your tracks.

You certainly weren’t expecting anyone and who would be out in such a heavy storm so late? Turning off the flashlight you slowly approached your front window to peek out but it was difficult to make out who was standing in front of your door. You could tell that it was a man but not much more.

Three more urgent knocks startled you, making your skin chill and putting you on edge.

You took a chance to peek through your door’s window at just the edge, hoping the man wouldn’t see you peering out but just as you did so a flash of lightening lit up the entire space around you as well as your front porch and you blinked as you recognized the man at your door.

It was someone you worked with.

You relaxed as you waved out the window and then opened your door. His hair was wet and his clothes were soaked, making his shirt cling to his body.

“Harry! What are you doing here? What’s going on?”

He looked behind himself and placed his hand on your doorframe, “Can I come in?”

You nodded and pulled your door open for him to enter. His presence felt heavy. Something was different about him. You weren’t sure why exactly. You didn’t know him all that well but he seemed nice enough at work. But in that moment he felt like a different person.

Closing your door you turned to face him, trying to push down the odd feeling you were getting, “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Got caught in the rain and just needed a spot to ride it out a bit. S’okay if I hang out here until it lets up?” He stepped in toward you which put you right back on edge again.

“Uh… I mean yeah. Sure. Were you in the area? I thought you had a car.”

Harry’s dark figure loomed over you as he spoke, “I have a car. It’s down the street. And yes. I was nearby.”

You backed up for some space, “Oh. Did your car break down?”

“Something like that.”

You tried to steady your breaths. Something was off.

“Did you enjoy the flowers I got for you, Y/n?” Harry’s chest was rising and falling heavily as if he’d been running just before.

“Um…” you looked down at the cell phone in your hand and back up to the man as your eyes began to adjust to the dark, “Was that you? I didn’t realize… I thought they were delivered to me by mistake.”

You’d gotten flowers sent to you at work on Friday afternoon. A gorgeous bouquet stuffed with lovely flowers in a pretty glass vase. At first, you thought your boyfriend had sent them but when you texted him he got upset that someone else had sent you flowers.

The card read “To my little flower.”

You chalked it up to being sent to the wrong person because there was no name on anything.

Harry shook his head as he moved closer, “Those were from me. So were the chocolates the week before. And the gummy bears before that. But I was disappointed to find out you had a boyfriend.”

You swallowed and felt your back press into your door. You wondered if you could make a run for it but Harry twisted your deadbolt and then placed a palm flat on the wood next to your head, “How long have you been seeing him?”

You nodded, “Umm. For almost a year.”

Harry turned his head to look around your living room. You were feeling all kinds of weird things in that moment.

The first was fright. Harry’s sudden aggressive behavior was a shock to you. You were also feeling very curious about what was going on. Why was he in your home? How did he know where you lived? What was he planning on doing? But the most concerning thing you were feeling was that trickle of adrenaline and excitement.

Because that was another thing. Harry was probably the hottest guy you’d ever seen. All the girls at work gossiped about him in private. Talked about how fit he was, how handsome, his hair, his eyes, his voice… You did find him quite alluring, you’d just never gotten the chance to really get to know him. Plus you had a boyfriend to think about so getting close to another man wasn’t a good idea anyway.

“A year? Really?” You could see the outline of his face and the slope of his nose as he licked his lips, “And he’s not here right now with you?”

Shaking your head you kept your eyes on his. You didn’t know what his next move was going to be.

And when he lifted a hand up to delicately run his fingers over your cheekbone a shiver was sent down the knobs of your spine and you closed your eyes, “No. He’s at home. He doesn’t live here.”

You heard a small laugh press through his nostrils, “I know he doesn’t live here. I’m just fucking with you.”

You opened up your eyes in confusion and you saw a smirk on his face, but he didn’t back away from you to give an inch of space.

“See I’ve been keeping track, Y/n. I know almost everything there is to know about you. Pretty little flower needs something her lame boyfriend can’t give her.”

A shuddered breath left your lungs, “What do you mean?”

Harry’s gentle fingers at your cheekbone lowered to your jaw, “I mean look at what’s going on right now for example. You’ve got the big bad wolf standing in your living room, ready to do ungodly things to you, and your shithead boyfriend is safe at home, probably with his sidepiece because he never cared about you in the first place.”

You swallowed and shook your head, “What? Sidepiece?”

Harry’s dark chuckle vibrated out of his chest as his thumb ran up the side of your neck, “That’s right, little flower. Marco has been cheating on you. Some skinny girl with ratty hair. God only knows what he sees in her when he’s got you at the helm. A shame you’ve chosen such a loser. I would worship the ground you walked on if you were mine.”

“What are you going to do to me?” You had a hard time keeping your thoughts in a straight line. Marco was cheating? It could be a ruse. Perhaps Harry was lying. But also the stroke of his thumb at your neck was pressing harder into your skin and it was causing your head to go dizzy and your limbs were heating up.

Harry’s pink lips curved up into a wicked grin, “I have a few things that I’d like to do to you. Would you like to hear them?”

Did you want to know? Was he going to hurt you? That, you didn’t want. You weren’t much of a fan of pain. But if he were to force himself on you somehow… Maybe if he were to take you to your bed and do something ungodly to you… well, what would that entail?

“Yes.” You squeaked out pathetically.

That dark smile on his face widened, “That’s a good sign, flower. Honestly, I kind of expected a little more of a struggle from you. But you seem to like this so far. That’s going to make this so much easier. So much better for us.”

He moved in toward your face and then you felt his breath on your jaw and down your neck before he spoke against your skin and you felt that icy prick of exhilaration cover your body, “I’ll be soft with you as long as you let me. If you fight me it’s going to be a lot less soft, understand me?”

You knocked your head up and down in an affirmative nod as you held your breath.

His plushy mouth pressed over the side of your throat and you felt his tongue drag upward to your jaw, “First I want to taste you. Need to know what you smell like. Find out how thick your arousal gets and what your flavor is on my tongue.”

You gulped down the moan you nearly let out as you closed your eyes and his lips nipped over your skin to the front of your neck, “But then I want to know what you feel like, Y/n. Want to know how it feels when your insides are wrapped around my cock. Want to hear your pretty voice saying my name when you come. Want you to forget all about Marco. Because I want you for myself. Yeah?”

You felt like you were in a dream. Maybe it was just a dream. One of those strange fever dreams that feels like it’s happening but then it feels too weird to be real. And if it was just a dream… well what was the harm in it?

“Yes.” You whispered, your voice hitching up an octave.

“Yeah? You want that flower? Because if you do there’s not going to be any turning back. I won’t be able to let you go after this.”

You lifted your shaky hands up to his chest, feeling the moisture from his shirt under your palms. His heated skin underneath was taut and well-muscled. But of course, you knew he was strong and fit.

Harry kissed up your jaw and then his mouth was pressed against yours and the sizzle of your bodies pressed together was like an electric shock to your system as your mouth opened for his with ease. You smoothed your hands up his pecs, to his shoulders, and then to the back of his head into his wet hair. You allowed a moan to fall from your mouth against his and he shifted his hips before lifting you up by the back of your thighs and making you wrap your legs around his waist as he walked you to your bedroom, like he knew exactly where he was going.

He dropped you down to your bed and peeled his shirt off. So many tattoos that you had a hard time making out in the dark but you saw the inky designs, some blending together, some letters, numbers, drawings…

You felt his hands tear down your night shorts, taking your cotton panties with them in one quick tug, and then he began to undo his pants, pushing them down his sturdy legs as he kept his gaze on yours.

You felt like a different person. Like this was happening to someone who was taking over your body. The darkness of your room lit up with a lightning flash and then the heavy roll of thunder shook your house.

Harry crawled over you, his bulky frame covering you completely as you felt his fingers pulling your t-shirt off until your breasts were bare and the cool air of your dark room covered you in chills.

But he dipped down and placed his warm palm on one of your breasts while his mouth suctioned at the other side, pulling gently at your nipple and then lapping at your skin until he moved to the other side, warming your skin with his lips and his saliva.

“Gah!” You panted as you felt his teeth dig into your bud and you lifted your head to peer down at him.

Harry smiled against your nipple and then lifted himself to look down at you, “Sorry. Said I’d be soft. Might just accidentally nip at you here and there. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this to you, Y/n. How desperately I need you,” he ducked his face down between your breasts and dotted hot kisses down the center of your tummy until he gripped the inner parts of your thighs and pushed them apart so he could tuck himself in between.

You let out the loudest gasp you’d ever let fall from your lungs when you felt his soft lips peppering kisses up your labia. Harry’s tongue jutted out between your crease and you felt the warmth of his wet muscle slide up until he bumped into your clit.

“Oh flower…” he breathed against your cunt, “Better than I imagined…”

When he wrapped his plush lips around your clit you sucked in a sharp breath and let your head fall back into your blankets as Harry’s arms caged you in by the back of your thighs.

You’d never been eaten out with such enthusiasm. Marco always acted like he was going to hurt you so it usually felt like a limp rag against your pussy, which did absolutely nothing for you. But Harry felt like a real man with a warm mouth and a big wet tongue going at you like he was frustrated. Crazed.

His moans vibrated over your core and up to your hips as you wiggled under him, softly bucking yourself up against him.

“Oh!” You moaned loudly and reached down to grab onto anything when you felt his hand pull at yours and slide his fingers between your digits as he pressed it down into the mattress. But he did not let up his licking and sucking and it felt like the whole world would crumble around you if he let go of your hand.

The sound coming from between your legs was proof of how wet you’d gotten. He had worked you up into a frenzy without much effort at all. You weren’t sure if it was the way he was eating you out, or the very strange circumstance of him showing up at your place and making some kind of claim on you but you knew you’d give yourself to him if that’s what he wanted. Even if it was wrong. Even if made you a bad person. Even if Harry was a bad person…

“Shit! Oh ffff…” you yelped when he focused on your clit and it stung your flesh in the most salacious way you’d ever felt. You swore he was sucking the soul right out of you and inhaling it whole for himself.

Your whines grew loud as you squeezed his hand and his shoulders pressed harder into the backs of your thighs. He said he’d be soft but this wasn’t soft. It was better. It was hot and twisted and you should have been ashamed at how much you liked it but you were on the cusp of an orgasm and you couldn’t stop yourself.

The world around you went blank except for Harry’s mouth and his hand wrapped around yours. There was no telling how long you were shaking or crying his name or how loud you’d been or even where you were in that moment.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you felt those soft pink lips gliding up your body and then finding your neck, a harsh suck making you coo in ecstasy. Everything in your body felt exactly right. Harry had turned you into another woman and his warm body covered you possessively. You were his and he’d just shown you that.

“Tasted like sunshine and butterscotch,” his lips smeared over your cheek hotly, “My little flower deserves her cunt eaten properly every day. Now that you’re mine you’ll never go without.”

You sighed and then you felt his warm shaft against your pussylips. He still had your hand in his as he looked down at you and lined up his tip with your opening, pushing in only his bulbous head.

You hissed at the tightness of it, arching your back into him.

“It’s okay. I’m gonna go in slow so it doesn’t hurt. Tiny little hole needs worked open, yeah?”

You nodded with a whimper, “It’s so… you’re so big… oh god…”

“We’ll get you used to it. Don’t worry sweet, flower. Gonna take good care of you…”

His fat cock slowly took up inch by inch of your insides. You’d never felt such a full feeling from a cock before. Harry’s dick was thick and the further he pressed inward you could tell he was also long.

He slowly backed himself out to the tip and kissed your mouth with a quick peck before smiling down at you as he drove back in, pushing deeper yet. The kind of stretch he was giving you felt impossible. Even your huge dildo (which you hid from Marco so as not to hurt his fragile feelings of seeing a toy that was bigger than he was) didn’t feel this big, didn’t give you this kind of fullness.

There was the sound of a soft squelch of your pussy getting stuffed as he bottomed out. He nuzzled his face into your neck and panted softly as he thrust deeply. You could feel your insides getting moved around, rearranged, and prodded into.

It did something to your brain to know your pussy was making a man with such a big cock feel like you were. You could feel his cock twitching as he rocked into you. The front of his thighs pressed into the back of yours as he fucked you with his large dick.

“You feel that, flower?” His hot breath cascaded over your neck as he spoke.

“Mmm… I feel it all, Harry…” you moaned in response as you flexed your hand inside of his and brought your other hand up to his broad back to hold onto his outer lat.

“I can tell you feel it too. Feel me way up in your tummy, spreading you open like you’ve never been. Feels like I’m fucking a virgin right now,” he trembled as kept up his languid pace.

And compared to anyone else you’d slept with, yeah… you could say you were like a virgin. You’d never had anything so large inside of your pussy and you knew you couldn’t go back to anything less.

“Gonna get you fucked and filled so nicely every day. My little flower… fuck… feels so tight and wet around me. So warm. Just begging for my come.”

You moaned out breathily. Every stroke of his shaft and dip of his crown into your guts had you reeling. It was so much and so good. You were already addicted to the way he was fucking you and talking you through it.

“I need your come, Harry. I need you in my womb so bad…” you panted your words but you weren’t sure if those words had come from you or not. Maybe you were just cock drunk or cock dumb or whatever it was you’d heard of that happened to some people when they were getting a good dicking but it was something you’d never experienced and you wanted him to claim every part of you. You’d never before asked for anyone’s come. You’d never fucked without a condom. But Harry was the exception to everything.

His slow, deep plunges were driving you insane. Every sticky wet slide of his cock through your walls, every time you felt his balls fit up against your ass, every grind of his hips against yours… it made you feel obsessed. Like an unstable lunatic, hungry for something that no one else would ever understand.

“Need me deep in your womb, flower?” Harry pasted his hips to yours and rocked against you, making you squeal at the press of his tip into your cervix, “Is that what you want? Want me to stuff you with my come and give you babies, make you mine forever? Yeah?”

“Yes! Please!” You gasped when he bit into your neck as the roll of his back and his hips into you suddenly faltered and his rhythm grew sloppy.

Harry trembled over you as he pressed his nose into your jaw, his moans growing louder and his cock was twitching, leaking precome as his balls squeezed into his body preparing for his orgasm.

But the way he was glued to your pelvis and every grind down into you sent glorious sparkles down your spine that spread over your pussy as he was smushed against your clit.

The moment you felt your orgasm start to unfold and burst your vision went black as your heart pounded and your pussy gushed around him.

When Harry felt you squeezing him tight with a spasming pussy and he knew you were coming he coughed out a moan as he allowed himself to pound into you, finally punching through your walls the way he wanted as he fucked you through your release. Long, slick, aching strokes with skin wetly slapping, your bed rocking with each strong thrust, until Harry’s gasps of pleasure finally poured out of his lungs as he came inside of you. Inside of his sweet flower.

He pumped and throbbed as he pressed in deep, stilling his hips against yours with his heart pounding wildly. It was heaven. Bliss. He knew it would be.

Your body was limp under his as you began to come down and you felt him thick and pulsating inside of you as he drained himself into your womb just like you wanted. The grip he had on your hand ached but you loved it as he used your pussy for his pleasure. Deep whimpers fell from his chest.

Everything swirled and sparkled and twisted around you in some divine kaleidoscope. His dark words spoken into your ear, “You’re mine now, flower,” had you smiling and humming in delight. It was all you wanted. He was all you needed.

. . .

You woke up to your phone alarm sounding next to you on the bed. The tiniest bit of light was peeking through your curtains as you sat up and found your phone to shut off the noise. You were in a daze as you looked around yourself and realized you were alone in your bed.

You pulled your brows together and looked around your room. Your clothes were on the floor and memories of the night before began to flood your mind. Harry. Where was Harry?

Throwing the blankets off your naked body you looked down over yourself and felt that warm flush of excitement crawl over your skin at the thought of what had happened. You slid on your t-shirt and walked into your hallway, “Harry?” You called his name but there was no response.

Your living room was left just as it had been the night before. Your front door was unlocked and the carton of half-eaten ice cream was sitting on your coffee table, all melted inside.

You shook your head as you peeked into your kitchen and then went into your bathroom, flicking on the light and there lying on your vanity was a flower. You picked it up as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Two big dark splotches on your neck told you that you weren’t going crazy. That something had happened last night.

Unless you’d done it to yourself somehow? You leaned in to look closer in the mirror as you ran your fingers over the skin on your throat and frowned. Maybe it had just all been a dream. It definitely felt like one.

You sighed as you stepped back and retraced the events of what you remember. But it was hard to recall the details exactly. You were so gone for Harry, your co-worker, and he’d been so aggressive yet so soft at the same time.

Perhaps it had just been a dream. A wild dream that had you coming twice and begging for him to come inside of you.

You laughed as you ran your hands over your face and shook your head. Maybe you were going crazy. It didn’t explain the flower or the splotches on your neck but somehow, in the light of day, it all felt like nothing more than a fantasy. It made more sense that it would have just been a dream. What were the chances your hot co-worker had come to your house in the middle of the night and fucked you so good you were ready to marry him and give him babies? No, that wasn’t real. Because that wasn’t you.

You looked back at yourself in the mirror with a grin. The only thing you knew for certain at that moment was that you’d never think about Harry the same way again.