#They are inseparable your honour | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jordiemeow · 3 months ago

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Two guys for every girl. Once you boys get started you’ll be at it for hours. Come on boys, I know you’re not damn cowards.

pairing: art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig

summary: vying for one of the bridesmaids at their best friend's wedding gets a little out of hand, but they're tennis players. they aren't above some friendly competition.

warnings: smut, threesome, a trip to paris, throat fucking, drunk sex, tbh i'm lazy just generally 18+

Acting as bridesmaid for a girl you grew out of in college wasn’t really how you planned to spend your summer. Attending dress fittings, rehearsal dinners, bachelorette parties… but hey, free booze is free booze. And Megan’s fiancé Adam (soon-to-be husband) splashed out to pay for all the matching dresses. You reassure yourself you would have felt bad turning her down when she asked you to be a part of her bridal party.

Sure, you hadn’t talked as much over the last few years… but you were inseparable, once upon a time. She clearly hasn’t changed, considering the several breakdowns about table placements and flower arrangements you’ve witnessed over the last few weeks. And you doubt you’ll be best friends after this, but it’s nice to rekindle with someone who was a major part of your life, even if it’s not permanent.

The ceremony itself is beautiful. A beautiful stone chapel, austere lines evoking the early Christian churches of Rome; warm lights bathing the princess gown-sporting bride in an amber glow, stained glass windows glinting behind the wedding party as they read out their “I do’s.” The only modern element of the ridiculously elaborate wedding (yeah, Adam has to be fucking loaded) is the absence of any organ to reflect Megan’s aversion of them. But really, the harp just makes them seem that much more pretentious.

It’s the type of wedding children dream of. But there’s two people who clearly couldn’t give two shits about the white roses or the music being played as your friend walks down the aisle: the groomsmen. One blonde and one brunette, the latter of which is clearly bored of this entire thing, tuning out what the priest has to say and letting his eyes wander.

“Patrick, pay attention,” Art hisses under his breath from where he’s standing behind Patrick, and in clear view of his friend’s lack of interest in the upcoming vows. Considering the congregation makes up of several hundred people (who are definitely just here for the reception and Instagram stories), it’s embarrassing for him to be associated with a disinterested fool.

“Oh, I’m paying attention,” Patrick mutters back, with a low whistle that makes Art wince. “Just not to Adam and his gold-digging bride.”

Despite initially feeling the need to jump to their friend’s defence and insist he was perfectly capable of finding a wife—Megan was lovely, as far as Art was concerned—that train of thought vanishes as soon as he follows Patrick’s gaze to the opposite side of the altar. Standing behind the bride and her maid of honour, one of the most beautiful women he’s ever had the privilege of laying eyes upon… you.

He’s not sure how you manage to pull off the bridesmaid dress that the rest of the poor ladies seem to be drowning in, but god, you look gorgeous. A vision in pastel pink, even with that hideously large flower embellishment clinging to your left shoulder. Maybe Patrick had been right about Megan being a bitch for the last two years; nobody who loves their friends willingly puts you in something like that. And yet, against all odds, he’s ready to drop to his knees and worship you right here on the chancel. A true angel, illuminated by the mural of Mother Mary shining through the window. How anyone is paying attention to the bride when you’re standing right there clutching your bouquet of flowers is beyond him.

Patrick’s thoughts are far less pure, of course. Daydreaming about the sound your dress would make when he tears a slit up the back to see what colour your panties are. Fisting his hand in your hair and pulling those ringlets out of your pretty little flower pins, because why would you need those to hold it up when he has a perfectly good hand right here? Bent over the altar, crying out his name like he was your god, and not the Christian deity Father John was currently droning on about watching over Megan and Adam’s nuptials.

Both of them are half-hard in their slacks by the time they hear the priest rejoice, "You may now kiss the bride." Neither of them mention the way they adjust themselves in sync while stepping down to congratulate their friends and take wedding photographs.

Art gets to stand beside you in the pictures. He tries to make small talk about the happy couple, but his throat feels like it's closing up and he already knows he's going to look flushed in the picture album by the end of this. He swears he almost passes out from embarrassment when you regard him with a pitiful look as he stammers over his words trying to tell you he thinks your hair looks lovely.

If the looks Patrick keeps sending his way are any indication, he's royally screwed this up. And that little smirk he flashes as you rush off to gush at the viewfinder suggests he is absolutely going to pay for that fumble later.

He does.

—

"Dibs," Patrick announces, nursing a champagne flute and eyeing you from the opposite side of the reception venue.

Another intricately decorated hall with a local, well-known DJ Adam has connections with. Neither of them would care about the music if it weren't for the fact you looked so fucking good swaying your hips and grinding against another woman to Don't Cha by The Pussycat Dolls. They don't have girlfriends, but yeah, if they did... they'd wish she was hot like you.

"I talked to her first," comes Art's instant protest. He's already downed three glasses by now to quell his nerves, but it's only serving to make him more antsy. At least he probably won't remember any of this come morning.

"Yeah, and look where that got you," he snorts in return, mimicking the pity grimace you had given when Art restarted his sentence for the fifth time. That deflates Art's sails somewhat, and he mutters something about his friend being a dick under his breath.

"Fine. Go talk to her, then. I'll just sit here all by myself and wallow in my own self pity at a celebration of love. Knowing I am forever doomed to be alone."

Patrick shoots him a flat look for that, and Art visibly deflates. Yeah, that was a little dramatic, but he's tipsy and moping about how socially inept he is when it comes to pretty women at weddings. Give him a break.

"Nah, she'll talk to me first. We've been making eyes at each other for thirty minutes. I don't have to do anything."

"So... you aren't going to go talk to her?"

Given Art perks up a little at that, Patrick should probably be a little more sceptical. But he just shakes his head, sipping from his champagne and watching you laugh and excuse yourself from twirling around the floor with that other bridesmaid.

"Cool. Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool…” Art hums in reply. Patrick doesn't even get the chance to reply before he's shooting off across the venue to catch you by the refreshments table.

Oh, that's how he's playing this. But Patrick said he wasn't going to talk to you, so it's his fault, really. That's how Art justifies it to himself as he dodges and weaves through dancing couples, tripping over his feet a few times in a bid to get to you.

"Does dibs mean fucking nothing to you?" Patrick hisses as he catches up to Art, just as the pair reach you.

"Hey," Art slurs, a lopsided smile on his face as he pointedly ignores his friend's complaint. "You look... really beautiful. I know I told you that earlier, but you're like... an angel."

Smooth, Donaldson. That's Patrick's queue to swoop in and save him from embarrassment, while hopefully pulling you in the process. He's not above knocking his friend down a few pegs if he really has to, though.

"We've never seen you before," Patrick says, giving you a quick once over that's far more appraising than it ought to be. It's hard not to blush and match the pretty pink alcohol-induced flush on Art's cheeks. "Friends with Megan long?"

"Uh... yeah," you reply, a little sheepish, plucking a h'ordeuvre from the table as you glance between the pair of them. Art isn't sure if you're wary or just amused. "We go way back."

"Really?" Art says, blinking. "Adam's never mentioned you before. Which is weird because he never shuts his—"

"So she's been keeping you a secret from us, then?" Patrick cuts in. God, his best friend gets so mouthy when he's tipsy. He's more of a lightweight than his fucking grandma. At least Nana can tolerate a few eggnogs without running her mouth.

"We just have conflicting schedules," you smile. "Not teenagers anymore, you know?"

You don't mention the fact you've hardly had contact with Megan since her twentieth birthday, where she deemed your gift lacklustre and cut you out of her social circle over the following weeks. Maybe that attitude is why she had been so desperate to have you as a bridesmaid in the first place—nobody else would stick around to deal with bridezilla.

"What about you and Adam?" You add a moment later, when both men giving little hums of acknowledgement. You pretend not to notice the way Art downs the last of his champagne as liquid courage before he gives his answer.

"Well, Adam's been our—"

"My friend since I was a kid," Patrick interjects again. Art sends him a look of inebriated betrayal, but the brunette is too busy eyeing up your cleavage as he talks to take much notice of it. "Our parents work together. Art's a groomsman because he's an extension of me. Fire and Ice, right, bud?"

A little nudge to Art's side, who looks thoroughly dejected at the depiction of his relationship with Adam. And the fact he's just come off as Patrick's little sidekick. So fucking unfair.

"... Right," he mutters.

"Fire and Ice? What's that?" You offer, in the hopes it'll brighten his spirits. It seems to work.

"We're tennis players. That's our nickname. A little childish, but we've been called that since we were kids."

"So you've known each other a long time?"

"Since we were twelve. Bunkmates at tennis camp," Patrick chips in helpfully, crooked grin permanently plastered on his face as he eyes you intently.

Well, they certainly have the build for it. Not that their suits leave much on display, but you can still see the way Art's muscles strain a little against the sleeves—his suit clearly isn't as tailored as Patrick's—and the way Patrick's ditched his bowtie to unbutton a few buttons of his shirt to give you a peek of his chest hair. And if the way he keeps reaching for h'ordeuvres to give him a peek of your ass every time he leans around you is any indication, that view is definitely intentional.

"So... which one's Fire, and which one's Ice?" You ask, glancing between the pair with a tilted head. Art seems eager to reply with a genuine reply, because he's just tipsy enough to actually be comfortable with you now, but Patrick speaks up before he can open his mouth.

"Why don't you find out?"

And, despite your better judgement, you intend to take him up on that. Spending the next hour at the reception taking candid photos and alternating between dancing with the pair of them; two gorgeous men on your arm, each equally as eager for your attention as the other. Suddenly, the last few months of Megan's temper tantrums feel worth it.

Not to mention you never expected Art to be able to breakdance. Five champagnes in and he's tearing up that floor, a far cry from the man who blushed crimson when the photographer asked him to place his hand on the small of your back after the ceremony.

—

When you all get a little too tipsy, they offer to walk you back to your hotel. You're all staying in the same one, anyways. It's no hassle. No point in sticking 'round here. Party would be boring without you. You can't remember which one of them told you that, but it was flattering nonetheless. Adam placed all of the bridesmaid's on the same floor, insisting it was the least he could do, but Patrick... well, apparently he has a presidential suite, so how could you possibly deny him when he offers to show you? That's the only reason you're going up to their room. Couldn't be anything else.

You trail in after them, heels hanging from your hand as you take in the sight. You're pretty sure this place is bigger than your entire apartment. Hell, the complimentary wine and gift basket on the table probably cost more than one month's rent for you.

"You look like a kid in a candy store," Patrick remarks, lips quirked up into a little smirk as he watches you ogle the sight. Both of them shrug off their jackets and abandon them on two armchairs, leaving you another sight to ogle.

"This place is... nice," you manage, eyes trained on the way Art is removing his cufflinks and rolling his shirt up to his elbows, muttering something about it being way too hot in here before collapsing into one of the arm chairs.

You almost make a remark about how it'd be considerably more tolerable if he just took the shirt off entirely, but Patrick beats you to that idea. Peeling off his own shirt and grinning to himself like a fucking idiot when he catches a glimpse of you admiring the way the muscles in his back flex as he moves. He even gives an exaggerated stretch and a groan to really seal the deal.

You have to take a seat and squeeze your thighs together after that.

"Nice is an understatement, babe," he replies. Babe? He's ballsy. Art is just drunk enough not to mask the exaggerated roll of his eyes he gives at Patrick's choice of words.

The three of you pop open that expensive bottle of wine and pass it around for another thirty minutes (with Patrick gradually giving Art less and less time to hog the bottle the drunker he gets), chatting about Adam and his stupid wife Megan and their stupid wedding. About tennis, and your own career, and who you think is going to win the Olympics this year or whether there are really aliens in the ocean. The kind of stupid shit drunk people discuss just because the conversation is as seemingly bottomless as the wine bottle you're drinking. You somehow manage to persevere throughout it all without staring at Patrick's chest too much.

"Well, I should probably go," you say, standing up (just a little wobbly on your feet) and offering a grateful smile to the pair of them. "Definitely going to be nursing a hangover in the morning."

"Wait—" They both protest in sync, sitting up.

You tilt your head at them, questioning.

"Aren't you going to sleep with one of us?"

Well, that's tactful, Zweig. Art reaches over to smack him up the back of the head, sending you a wordless apology in the form of a wide-eyed look, like a dog that's about to be scolded. But you take it in your stride, laughing as you pick up your heels.

"I don't want to pick between you. Seems mean," you reply. And you don't think you even could choose.

"You don't have to pick between either of us," Art says hastily. Even Patrick seems to be surprised by that. They've joked about sharing girls for years, ever since the Kat Zimmerman incident, but he never thought Art would be the one to actually suggest it. He averts his eyes when Patrick is searching for a towel after the shower, for Christ's sake.

But Patrick recovers quickly.

"Yeah," he chips in. "Don't you wanna find out which one of us is which?"

That gives you pause. Right. Fire and Ice. And judging by the victorious look they share at your silence, all of you are aware of the decision you've subconsciously made.

Your clothes don't take long to disappear. A tangle of limbs backing up into the master bedroom (Patrick's), hair pins discarded in a bid to yank your head back and mouth along the expanse of your neck, both men in just boxers before long. Touching each other in ways that are far from platonic but they'll both blame on alcohol and wanting to get the three of you undressed as quickly as possible.

"This is really ugly. I'm sorry," Art tells you candidly, as you straddle him on the bed. His fingers are tracing the large pink rose pinned to the shoulder of your dress, and you bark out a surprised laugh. The pair of you are giggling like idiots between kisses, insulting Megan's taste in bridalwear before there's a loud tearing sound, and suddenly you can feel the humid air hitting the back of your thighs.

That's Patrick. Doing the things he's fantasised about since he first saw you at the altar and ripping up the back of your dress to reveal your underwear. God, they're even better than he expected.

"Patrick, what the fuck—" Art starts, but his friend makes a kissing sound through his teeth.

"What? She said Adam paid for it. It's fine," Patrick mutters. "Besides, it was so fucking worth it. You should see the view back here, man."

His fingers trail over the dampness of your panties, the lacy white just as pure as Megan's wedding dress. If he wasn't already hard in his boxers (he has been since you entered their hotel room), he certainly is now. Pushing the fabric of your dress further out of the way and leaning in to lick a stripe over your panties, a low groan slipping past his lips at how soaked they are just from kissing. You would be embarrassed but... double the men, double the wetness, right?

Your hips jerk involuntarily at the sensation, a pair of matching moans escaping you and Art as it grinds you down against his clothed erection.

"I don't think Megan would be very happy you wore white on her wedding day," Patrick says, smiling against your clothed cunt as you push back against him.

"Fuck Megan," you reply breathlessly.

"No, fuck you," he shoots back. And he very well intends to. Both of them do, actually, given the way Art is whining and arching his back off the mattress in an uncoordinated attempt to get any friction against you. He's pretty sure he might cum untouched just from the sheer anticipation of it all.

Your panties go next, lost to the heap of the rest of your clothes on the floor. It doesn't take long for strong, calloused hands to rest on your ass, spreading you open so he can tongue-fuck your pussy. Mumbling something unintelligibly about how you taste even better than the wedding cake while your whines synchronise with Art in between sharing lips and spit. Stubble grazing your face and your ass, all three of your mouths too busy for any more wisecracks.

At one point, Art tries to snake his hand in between you and rub your clit, but the front of your dress is still in the way. He still makes the effort to roll his fingers against it over the fabric of your dress, and the sound you make in reply tells him he's at least contributing somewhat to the mess Patrick is making of you. He's content enough to just lick into your mouth greedily and swallow the keening sounds you're making.

"Cumming—" is all you manage to gasp out between kisses before you're clenching around nothing, and Patrick is lapping dutifully at your release. All three of you are groaning like the orgasm is shared between you. It's only when you're bordering on overstimulation and letting out pathetic little whimpers that Art realises he's still circling your clit on autopilot, and his hand falls back to grip the sheets.

"God, she's so fucking pretty when she cums," he moans, and you'd be offended by the fact he's talking about you like you're not here if you weren't so blissed out. "You should have seen her face, Pat."

"I'll see the next one," Patrick says.

Next one? Both a promise and a statement. Just hearing that has you whimpering as Art eases you off of him. Both of them help you out of your dress, a little more gently this time, and you have to ignore the comment Patrick makes about no bra, just for me? You don't have it in you to explain built-in cups and the power of pasties to a man right now. You just want to get fucked. It's only then, when you're all spread out and wanting on the bed, that you realise the wet patches in their matching black boxers (cute, you think) are just as vivid as the one that no doubt stains your lost panties.

"Jesus, you're big." You didn't mean to say that out loud, but you're in too deep to be ashamed about any of the events transpiring right now.

"Which one?" They both ask. The question goes unanswered when you start palming them both through their boxers, a chorus of moans elicited from the pair of them. (You all know the answer, anyways.) Hands grabbing at whoever they can touch, whether it's you or each other, until Patrick has the sense to yank down Art's boxers.

The protest dies on Art's tongue when he sees the way Patrick is eyeing his cock, flushed red tip glinting under the harsh hotel lights with the amount of pre-cum smeared across it. There's a moment where you all think he's going to touch him, wrap a hand around his closest friend's pretty pink dick and jerk him off, but then he simply shrugs off his own underwear. You aren't sure which one of you is more disappointed.

Everything is a haze from then onwards. You can vaguely hear them discussing positions as you kiss at Art's neck, red lipstick mottling his pale skin until it's hard to tell which stains are makeup and which are hickeys.

"We can't ask her to do anal, man. We hardly know her."

"Why not? I bet she'd like it. Fucked in both at once."

"Because that's... it's violating!"

"Oh, right. Because whatever else we're about to do won't be. Real innocent, vanilla sex with three drunk people in our fucking hotel room."

Fucking hotel room. The double-meaning of Patrick's own words makes him snort. The only reason they stop whispering back and forth is because you pull away, settling on all fours. Back arched in a silent invitation, pretty little ass stuck up in the air and arms braced against the silk sheets. They glance at each other, before scrambling to follow, with Art shoving Patrick aside to press himself behind you.

"Why do you get her pussy?" Patrick protests, sitting up and fixing his best friend with an indignant look.

"You said you wanted to see her face when she cums!"

Fuck. He did say that. Stupid logic. Well, it's not as if your throat would be unpleasant; he wonders if your mouth will be as welcoming to his cock as it was his tongue.

"C'mon," you whine, pressing back against Art's throbbing arousal. "Can one of you just do something?"

"D'you want me to use a condom? 'Cause my wallet is in my jacket in the next room—" Art starts, but you're already reaching back to guide his tip between your slick folds. Well, that's an answer if he's ever witnessed one.

Patrick is too busy getting situated in front of your face to make a comment about filthy girls taking it raw. Art's almost disappointed—he'd never be brave enough to make the comment himself. One large palm cupping your face, tilting your head up while the other slaps his cock against your lips. Whatever gloss they'd kissed off was replaced in a new sheen, one that makes him give a soft hum of approval.

"You look pretty," he tells you, and your thanks dies on your tongue when Art pushes into you. Easing himself in inch by inch, until you're practically drooling onto Patrick's tip. "God, what a fucking sight." For a moment, his eyes are on the way Art's face contorts in pleasure at the tight warmth surrounding him. It's even hotter than the way he looked when they used to jerk off in the same room at night.

"Open wide," he instructs, eyes flitting down to you. Smiling down at you with that shit-eating little grin and talking to you like you're at the dentist, not getting spit roasted after your friend's wedding. "Big girls take it all, right?"

You oblige, though—how could you not, when your senses are clouded by Art drilling into you from behind? A few more slaps of his cock against your tongue, and he's pushing himself in, too. His breath catches in his throat as the warm wetness of your mouth envelopes him—yeah, definitely just as welcoming.

You can hardly tell who's moaning at this point. There's something almost beautiful in the synchrony, the way your hands and bodies move against each other. Clutching at Patrick's hips, while he fists your hair, admiring the way the ringlets spill through his fingers like a waterfall as he pushes you down further; gagging at the intrusion in your throat while Art whimpers behind you like this is his first time getting pussy. Each of you are in your own individual heaven, while simultaneously in ecstasy together.

"Good fuckin' girl, just like that—"

"Oh, Pat, she's so tight—"

A hand slaps against your ass, and you can't tell who it belongs to. Patrick seems like the most likely culprit, given how sweet Art had been earlier, but with the way he's ramming into you like a jackhammer leaves you doubtful. It doesn't really matter, though—they both know you enjoyed it, given the way you garble out a moan around Patrick's dick. You don't know if you're praying for mercy or for more.

He lets you come up for air occasionally, telling you how pretty you look taking Art's cock. Such a good girl, before you're being degraded for letting him fuck your throat like a slut. There's no time for arguments before his tip is at the back of your throat again, the sound of your gag reflex going off hardly audible over the sound of moaning, wet slapping and skin hitting skin.

You think you know now. Fire and Ice.

Art reaches around to rub your clit at some point, slurring, "want you to cum first. You deserve it. So fucking good for us."

Patrick makes a sound of disagreement, tightening his grip in your hair as his hips begin to stutter. Not because you aren't being good for them—you're so fucking perfect—but because he wants to be able to see and hear you properly when you cum. He doesn't have the vocal capabilities to voice that aloud right now, though, so he just continues to thrust eagerly past your swollen lips until his climax hits him. You'd be worried about the obscene slew of noises coming from Patrick's hotel room if it weren't a presidential fucking suite. God, why does that make this so much hotter?

He groans out your name—or maybe it was Art's?—as he releases, holding your head in place to ensure it's all aimed down your throat. The salty taste isn't foreign to you, but you still grimace. Patrick takes it as an expression of pleasure, though, withdrawing from your mouth and leaning down to press his lips against yours in a fleeting kiss.

"You can cum," he murmurs. You weren't asking for permission, but you nod anyways. Art's grunts of exertion are the loudest sound in the room, the occasional whine slipping past his lips when your cunt squeezes harder around him. Slick fingers circling your clit until he feels you convulsing around him.

You mewl with pleasure, bowing your head forward, your arms and legs threatening to give way from your arched position. But Patrick catches your chin and tilts it upwards, watching the way your eyes roll back as Art fucks you through your orgasm and your spit-slick lips part around his name. “Art, fuck, yeah—“ It's only after Art announces his own climax with a low moan and collapses on top of you that Patrick is kind enough to wipe the drool coating your chin away.

It's all a bit of a blur after that. Shared kisses between the three of you in the darkness when the light has been switched off—sometimes between Art and Patrick, though neither of them have any intentions of acknowledging it. Gentle caresses against sweaty skin as you lay tangled in Patrick's queen-sized bed, praises whispered aimlessly into the quiet of the humid night.

—

You're gone by the time they wake up. A walk of shame back to your own hotel room in a shirt borrowed from one of their suitcases (you don't know which), mourning the loss of that ugly dress you wanted to sell on eBay afterwards to cover dinner for the month. Neither of them speak of the events that occurred the night before until after breakfast has been ordered and Art has taken several pills for his hangover, eating room service on the same chairs you all sat on last night, their jackets still strewn across the back of them.

"I think that was better than either of us getting laid alone," Art comments, poking at his egg with his fork. Both of them are littered with hickeys, but Art bears the worst of it. He's pretty sure most of the marks came from cuddling with Patrick in bed afterwards, but he’s too afraid to mention it. Not a can of worms he wants to open right now.

"Yeah?" Patrick prompts, with a knowing little smile. Even tired and hungover, Art has enough wits about him to know that something is up. He narrows his eyes, dropping his cutlery onto his plate and sitting up straighter.

"What?" He demands.

"Nothing."

Art leans forward. "There's obviously something, Pat."

"Just... when have I ever not approached a girl I wanted?"

It takes a moment for Art to really process what that means. Last night was a pleasurable, drunken haze, but he does remember Patrick's words in the reception hall. It makes sense now—that bullshit about Patrick waiting for you to approach him.

... Manipulative little bastard. That doesn't stop Art from replying with:

"Fuck you, man." A pause. "... But I think we should do that again some time."

#jo writes ⋆˚࿔#challengers 2024 #art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut #art donaldson x you #patrick zweig x you #art donaldson x patrick zweig #challengers fic #not proofread and wrote this in a 2 hour sitting so. apologies for quality #wanted to get it out there before it rotted in my drafts #saw those pictures and my brain just instantly went. groomsmen artrick

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mrskokushibo · 1 year ago

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Wrong?

Muzan x fem!reader x Yoriichi

Warnings: Smut, rough sex, dub con, threesome, watching corn, very NSFW, 18+. Modern AU. 7k words.

Summary: Your boyfriend Muzan is a star, and you love being his girl. But the man has needs that you have been neglecting for a while. Tonight will start a chain of events that will have you asking yourself if sex and love in a relationship truly should be inseparable?

A/N: I loved creating this storyline. This is a request from a friend. The only thing she asked for was Muzan's girlfriend falling for Yoriichi. It's one of my favourite stories to write - I got to spread my creative wings.

Masterlist

The club was full tonight, hosting the release party for a new book by one of the most prominent writers in the city. The venue was an old factory building, stylishly renovated with a mixture of white rendered walls, exposed brick, and steel structure, decorated with an eclectic and carefully curated selection of furniture ranging from sleek Scandinavian design armchairs to rococo sofas and chandeliers.

A place that quickly became a favourite with the cultural circles of the city. It was also the home of a popular nightclub on the weekends as well as the venue of choice for a society hosting slightly, well, different types of events, namely invitation-only orgies, that your boyfriend and subsequently yourself were always invited to, but had to decline due to your unwillingness to participate in anything like that.

Tonight’s event was the kind you gladly accompanied him to. As always on such occasions, your boyfriend Muzan Kibutsuji was one of the guests of honour. He was a young star writer, specialising in dark horror and fantasy, having sold over a million copies of his first novel at the tender age of twenty-three. Now, five years later and with another few million books sold, he was among the literary elites. He also had a background in acting, although there was a veil of mystery as to what type of movies, he was in.

You too were a writer and the two of you met at a seminar hosted by your favourite Japanese superstar novelist. Well, you would be lying to yourself if you thought you actually were a professional writer, more of an aspiring writer, really. Your studies and work took up most of your time, so the only writing you did was manga and anime fanfiction. Yes, you felt very inadequate at these parties, but you quickly adjusted to assuming the role of the supportive and devoted girlfriend of the literary star.

And tonight, was no different. You wore a brand new, figure-hugging little black dress and high-heeled thigh-high leather boots. Simple, but sexy. For the last half hour, you were standing idly sipping your champagne, while Muzan was involved in a heated debate with some older, seemingly unimpressed author and his artist friends. You were a little tipsy and were hugging Muzans arm all the while he was busy talking.

He was such a hottie, you thought, you saw the envious looks on the faces of his female colleagues every time he brought you with him to any event. Yes, you could consider yourself lucky. His looks were striking, as he was essentially an albino, meaning his eyes were red and his hair white and wavy, but he always coloured it black. The monochromatic colour combination together with his masculine yet defined and delicate features gave him an exotic and almost out-of-earthly aura. His muscular arms were covered with intricate black gothic tattoos (he had tattoos in other, more intimate places too) and he sported a tongue piercing. His style was a bit steampunk blended with hard rock, he looked good in suits and ripped jeans alike. And he stood almost six feet tall.

The boredom of just standing around was slowly leaving room for thoughts other than literature, you were getting a little horny, to be completely honest with yourself. You were into your third glass of champagne and were slightly tipsy, the ambient rhythmic music, warm dimmed lighting, and the buzz of people talking were putting you into a pleasant lull, making your senses pliable and receptive to new impressions.

Out of nowhere, you started to imagine what it would be like when an orgy is hosted here… the throaty moans and high-pitched squealing of female pleasure mixed with the deep raspy grunts of the men, loud screams of people climaxing and the wet, squelching pounding of flesh against flesh. You could picture naked bodies, bodies in provocative lingerie, illuminated and glossy in the warm light of the chandeliers. It is almost as if you now suddenly were curious about it…

And that is when you noticed him. That other man. He was standing in the middle of the room deep in a conversation with a group of young people. His appearance stood out in the crowd, he was very tall, probably well over six feet, maybe six feet three, with an athletic build. His hair was long and black, tied in a ponytail with cascades of shorter bangs framing his face. Red highlights illuminated his layered hair. He was dressed in tight black jeans and an equally tight black t-shirt, and was wearing long earrings with what looked like the rising sun. There was a strange red mark on his left temple, a birthmark maybe? You could not help it, but you found yourself staring at his bulging biceps every time he lifted his beer to his lips. You were amused with how boredom brought out such primitive instincts in you. You were interrupted by Muzan who nudged you gently,

‘Would you like another drink?’

‘Yes, please’ you replied.

He walked away to the bar while texting someone and smirking. He came back with drinks only to find a new group of colleagues taking his attention. So… you proceeded with your little dirty pastime. Suddenly, the man looked in your direction, a dark maroon gaze piercing straight through you. You froze, and at the same time, a familiar heat was starting to spread in your belly. Wetness was pooling between your legs and you were thanking yourself for wearing panties tonight.

He looked away again, but then his gaze was constantly seeking yours for the rest of the evening. When it was time for you and Muzan to leave, while walking past the group with the gorgeous object of your attention, he suddenly looked you up and down and gave you the most lust-filled gaze you could imagine. You were so stunned you kept on staring at him, your head turning back in his direction while you were leaving the room.

The ride home proceeded in awkward silence; you have never seen Muzan in such a strange mood. When you entered the penthouse, you slouched on the sofa and closed your eyes. You were a little tired from all the impressions, especially that specific one… You opened your eyes feeling the presence of your boyfriend. He was standing in front of you holding handcuffs. ‘Move to the armchair’ he commanded in a deep, raspy whisper, the way he almost hissed the words sent a chill down your spine. ‘What now?’ you thought puzzled.

‘I saw what you were doing all night. You were staring at that man like a shameless slut.’

His words were true, you were indeed staring, but so what, this came from the man who suggested attending orgies in the past.

Perplexed, you retaliated: ‘Am I not allowed to look at people anymore?’

‘Oh, my love, you were not just looking, you were eye-fucking him. Do you think I cannot tell the difference?’

You swallowed and obediently moved to the armchair.

He placed your arms on the rests and slowly cuffed each of them to the furniture. Then he picked up the remote and turned on the projector. What was instantaneously visualized on the screen went straight to your sex. It was a close-up of a man and a woman fucking, with loud, obscene moans serving as the soundtrack. The camera started slowly to move away from the copulating pair and the back of the male came into full view, intricate tattoos spreading over his back like a veil of black lace and long, wavy white hair snaking down his neck and shoulders while his hips were rhythmically moving back and forth to slam his dick into the woman. When the camera moved to show the front of him your heart nearly stopped, the red pupils staring intently at the woman he was railing, that face…. It was Muzan. So that was the acting career he was so mysterious about.

In the meantime, Muzan was in the kitchen part of the open-plan living space, texting someone. You were both completely silent while the sounds of sex were filling the space. A few moments later and a pair of now completely soaking wet panties, the doorbell rang. Muzan walked over to open it. His face was adorned with a mischievous smile as he glanced your way. What happened next was something you did not expect and that started an unstoppable chain of events.

The person Muzan let in the apartment was a woman, a petite blond with hair all the way down to her round ass, dressed in a sleeveless skin-tight latex dress, that showed off her large (most presumably) fake silicone breasts. A real little sex kitten. Muzan led her to the sofa and sat down spreading his legs so that she could kneel between them.

He parted her pouting pink lips with his index finger and slid it deep into her mouth while she released a throaty moan, he then pulled the finger out stroking her bottom lip, only to pump the finger back into her mouth even deeper this time while rotating it. His other hand slid down her dress off her breasts and started slowly caressing them, making her moan even harder. He was pinching her nipples, making her perfect little body arch in pleasure, and looking even hotter. All the while her small manicured hands were stroking his crotch and after her back arched from overstimulation, she unzipped his pants and gently pulled out his now fully erect, hard cock. She was stroking it gently and licking the sensitive tip.

Eventually, she sank her head down on the full length, stretching her shiny, pink lips, gagging a little, and continuing to bob her head up and down on his thick length. His dick was large, so that most of the time she was only getting half of it in her mouth with the rest of the shaft treated to a pumping motion by her delicate hands. He threw his head back; you could tell he was close. Her moans were getting louder too and a few moments later he grabbed her by her ponytail and the back of her head and shoved her down into his groin while bucking his hips upwards. The woman gagged heavily, the sound wet and sloppy. He climaxed.

Once he was finished, he let her head go and she slowly pulled away, gasping for air, with spit and cum connecting her mouth to his penis. She looked him in the eye with a submissive almost grateful look. He was still stroking her breasts, while she was licking up all the cum from her lips and sucking his cock clean. And then, just like that she adjusted her clothes, got up, threw him a little kiss, and walked out of the apartment. The porno on the screen was playing all the while this was happening adding to the already surreal and loaded atmosphere.

You were too stunned to even think, let alone say anything. ‘What the fuck did you just witness?’

Without a word Muzan got up from the sofa and walked up to you, his dick still hanging out of his pants. He knelt in front of you and put his hands on your soft thighs, slowly kneading them up towards your crotch. His hands were getting closer and closer to your wet lips and finally they reached your soaked g-string. Muzan started rubbing you through the wet fabric with two fingers.

‘Fuck you are wet. Such a whore you are, getting wet from watching other people fuck. You are a dirty little kitten, aren’t you?’

You were too ashamed to answer, ashamed that something so wrong and apparently hurtful aroused you. You should have been turning your head away, yelling at him, crying even. But all you did was watch… and get wet.

‘You see, my love, when people get jealous, they sometimes stop thinking, they do stupid things. Do you think, what I did was stupid? Hm? But, you know, I got jealous, very jealous. And when you have been such a prude with me for so long, never wanting to do the things I thought we should do and then go drooling after other men, what do you think I should have done?’ His voice was raspy and menacing, but also filled with lust.

Muzan’s fingers were now slowly spreading your labia and rubbing up and down between your slick-soaked folds. You were so wet, his actions created small squelching sounds. He added another finger and slowly worked his way into your dripping pussy, crooking a finger and pumping in with small circular movements that made your muscles clench around him. He then spread your labia and moved in to lick you between your legs. His was giving you long and slow, gentle licks all the way on the very inside of your labia, you could feel the metal of his tongue piercing leaving a streak of extra pressure and thus enhanced sensation on the thin strips of flesh it was touching.

Gradually, he started to increase the force with which he was working his tongue on you. Wherever the piercing pressed on your sensitive flesh, it was exerting extra pressure on your nerves. When he finally reached your clitoris and started circling around it and occasionally skilfully flicking his tongue so that the piercing would hit the sensitive nub, your thighs were sent into convulsions of pleasure. You were starting to edge, your climax so close yet his actions not decisive enough to grant you release. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably, while he was flicking his tongue over your clit while all the while pumping his fingers into your pussy. You were so close; you were drooling and tears started to form in your eyes.

‘Muzan, please let me come, I’m so close’ you were moaning and squealing and when you thought he was increasing his pace, he suddenly pulled away and started uncuffing you.

‘Go down on all four for me doll.’

You did what he asked you to, as you were so greedy to come. You now had the porno in full view in front of you and there he was on the screen fucking two women now, one riding his face and the other his dick. Watching that made you so fucking aroused. It was wrong, but you could not help reacting to it in the way you did. You felt like an animal, driven only by instinct at this point.

Without a word, he spread your ass cheeks and aligned his hard tip at your entrance, and soon his thick girth was pumping in and out of your pussy, wet, sloppy, indecent sounds of the two of you fucking on top of the vulgar sounds coming from the porno were filling the otherwise so elegant and relaxing space of your shared apartment. He was thrusting so hard that with every move you were being sent forwards with so much force that eventually your whole upper body was flat on the soft rug with him pressing down your back with his hand. He increased the pressure, supporting himself almost fully on you, and leaned down to whisper in your ear.

‘I will now come inside you my little whore, I will breed you, because you are my very own whore, I bet you would like to carry my little brat, would you?’

With that he increased the pace and strength of his thrusts, you were clenching around him, desperate to come. His hips and lower abdomen were now pressed flush to your round soft ass and you could eventually feel his lower abs contract indicating his release. His orgasm must have been a big one as he growled while pushing himself in you and releasing a huge load of cum into your fluttering insides.

‘Fuck you were good, kitten. I will sleep so well now.’

He pulled out, stood up and grabbed the remote to turn off the movie, and left for the bathroom. You were left high and dry, or so you thought anyway…

When you entered the bedroom Muzan was seated in the chair lounge next to the lit fireplace and opposite of your shared bed, fully dressed sipping on a glass of single malt whisky. The flame was making his eyes look almost devilish.

‘Here you are. I think you do deserve to come after all, we do not want you to lose sleep, do we?’

There was something so menacing in his voice, something that was hitting all the submissive notes in your entire being.

‘Undress for me, doll’

Without hesitation, you started to take your clothes off.

‘All of it, now!’ He commanded.

You did as you were told.

‘Now. Lay down on the bed so I can see between your legs. Play with yourself for me, make yourself come.’

There was nothing else to do, but to obey and you already felt like you were in a trance, as if nothing of this was real. You laid down and started to flick your nipple and got your imagination ready, and the fantasy that was helping you get off involved the tall man from the party, your only invisible act of defiance against your boyfriend. You imagined him seated on a sofa at the party, with everyone watching while you came up to him and straddled him shamelessly. What followed made you move your hand down between your legs and masturbate. Your fingers were doing their skilled and experienced work and very soon you came. Your orgasm was intense, with waves of pleasure causing your body to arch and convulse, you released a small scream and when the waves of pleasure finally flowed away, you were just lying there, limp with soaking wet fingers and pussy. You licked your fingers dry and closed your eyes.

A harsh yank to your chin shook you out of your bliss. You opened your eyes and the only thing in your line of sight was Muzan’s cock.

‘Open your mouth for me now, sweetheart’

The gentle words were in such stark contrast to what he was about to do because as soon as you opened your mouth, he grabbed you by your neck and shoved himself fully into your mouth, making you gag. He stayed like this for a few seconds, savouring how deep inside your throat his dick was seated, and rotated his hips a little. Then he slowly pulled out, only to slam himself into you again, and again and again, until you were a gagging, drooling mess with tears and mascara running down your cheeks. He pulled out, drool connecting your mouth to his dick, and lifted your head up by yanking you up at your ponytail.

‘I think this is a good look for you, isn’t it, doll? My submissive little kitten, so sweet and obedient. ‘

He shoved himself in you again and this time kept on going until you could feel his muscles spasm and the warm, salty liquid filled your mouth and throat. He pumped into you a few extra times before pulling out. You swallowed most of the cum, but there was still some left on his cock.

‘Clean me up.’

You licked his dick clean and he lifted your head by the chin, so very gently now.

‘Hm, we will both sleep well after this, won’t we?’

And he placed the gentlest of kisses on your lips and went into the bathroom to clean himself up. You followed suit, but you knew you would most likely not sleep all too well, still trying to come to terms with what he has done in front of you with that woman, as well as trying to grasp how in the hell was it your fault. Was he really the jealous type?

The following day began with Muzan getting up and making you both coffees. He behaved as if last night did not happen, something that confused and infuriated you even more. Since it was your day off, you decided to head over to the gym to clear your head and hopefully figure out your next move. Both you and Muzan frequented the same gym in the neighbourhood, the gym was large, but with a relaxed atmosphere. There was also a martial arts dojo in conjunction with it that Muzan went to occasionally, but you never showed any interest in.

As soon as you entered the gym, you nearly froze in your steps. There, next to the reception desk was the man from the party, chatting casually with one of the personal trainers. You stalling in your movement caught his attention and he looked straight at you and waved. As if hypnotised you started slowly walking toward him and finally stopped in front of the man. He was so tall, you had to tilt your head up to look at his face.

‘Hi,’ you blurted out.

‘I didn’t know you went to this gym?’

You kept on rambling as if the two of you were already introduced. He looked at you with slight amusement.

‘Yes, I do, and I believe I saw you at the party last night, yes?’

‘Yes.’ You nodded like the idiot you were. For every minute feeling more and more awkward.

‘Well, I guess we should have a proper introduction then. My name is Yoriichi’. He stretched out his hand.

‘Y/n’ you said with overdriven courage as you placed your hand in his large one for a courteous handshake.

‘Excuse me, boss, can you please sign this?’ the two of you were interrupted by an employee of the gym coming up to Yoriichi with some papers. You looked at him and asked surprised.

‘Oh, you work here?’

‘Yes, actually I kind of happen to own the place’ he answered shyly, scratching his head and blushing a little.

While he was busy flipping through the pages you could not help yourself but eye him off discretely and what you saw was waking up the most basic instincts in you. He was wearing cotton tracksuit pants and a singlet in a thin functional material, that showed off his huge toned arms. The outline of his pecs and abs were visible through the thin fabric, you also noted he had powerful, strong thighs, as the fabric of the track pants was stretched at the thickest part of his thigh muscles. You could not help to throw a glance at his shapely glutes and strong hips. When you thought about it, he really had the appearance of some ancient warrior, a samurai maybe. You swallowed quietly, an action he caught you in the middle of.

‘Well, I am done here. I will be taking the rest of the afternoon off today, so I guess I will see you around sometime?’ He spoke.

You just could not let him disappear like this. You gathered your courage and asked

‘Would you have time for a quick coffee then? I changed my mind and will work out later today.’

He studied you for a moment and answered.

‘Why not, actually? I do have the whole day to myself. There is a good café nearby’

You nodded and the two of you started walking out of the gym, him courteously opening the door for you. Luckily, the café really was nearby. You were enjoying your coffee and the casual conversation, but when your fingers met when reaching out for napkins, the two of you went silent almost simultaneously. The truth was that all through the friendly, harmless exchange you were imagining fucking Yoriichi, riding his cock, and touching him in a way that was anything but just friendly. The look in his maroon eyes was starting to reveal something more as well now.

And maybe he could pick up on your feelings because the tension between the two of you was becoming palpable. You were soaking wet between your legs and your breathing was becoming heavy, your arousal was powerful: the contraction of the muscles of your vagina started to feel more and more like a rope being tightly twisted into a knot, and this sensation was now spreading up to your cervix making your insides feel like they were on fire.

He sucked in his lips before finally speaking up.

‘You know, I live just around the corner if you would like to have … some lunch with me.’

As if in a trance you answered

‘Yes, I would like that’

But you already knew what you really would like and sensed that this was something he would like as well…

As soon as you stepped into the elevator, he came closer to you and kissed your lips. Very lightly at first, but as soon as he felt you reciprocate the action, he drew you closer to him and the kiss became deeper, with tongues swirling deep in each other’s mouths. He was holding his hips away from yours for now, most likely due to an increasing hard-on, he was a gentleman after all, and did not want to impose that soon.

His hands were caressing your back and your body started tingling in pleasure. He was so big, you felt cradled and sheltered, and his warm smell was like a feast for your senses. The elevator reached his floor and he led you into his apartment. It was a bright and beautiful space, cradled in light from the large windows, decorated in oriental, presumably Japanese fashion, with tatamis, low large futon like sofas, beautiful prints of Sakura trees and diverse martial arts weaponry adorning the walls.

He closed the door behind him and swiftly had you up against the nearest wall. He lifted you by your buttocks and you wrapped your legs around his hips. All the while you were entangled in a passionate kiss. He lifted you up and started walking toward the bedroom. When he sat you down on the bed, you began to remove each other’s clothes. His body was even more magnificent naked, and the cock looked… huge. Almost uncomfortably huge.

Yoriichi started crawling on the bed and on top of you, his large body towering over you and making you gasp. His warmth, his smell, it was all so close to you and all you wanted was to drown in him, let him devour you and fuck you senseless. He lowered his hips so they were flush with yours between your legs and started rubbing your wet folds and clit. You were moaning in pleasure. With the other hand, he started massaging your breasts and playing with your hard nipples. You were arching your body and moaning shamelessly.

‘Please fuck me, I want to feel you inside me.’

He did not hesitate to fulfill your plea. Aligning the tip of his cock with the entrance to your sopping-wet pussy, he started to enter you.

He was big, almost too big for your small body to take. Slowly and steadily, he was prying his way into you. Every nerve in your core was pulsing, welcoming this new intruder with increasing wetness and spasming muscles. Your pussy was clenching on him so hard that he was quietly groaning while pushing on into you. He finally bottomed out and lifted himself off you slightly to meet your gaze. His gorgeous maroon eyes now clouded in pleasure, he said softly,

‘I will start moving now, do you feel ready?’

Did you ever… ‘Of course,’ was all you could say in a weak voice.

Slowly, at a languid pace, he began to rhythmically pump into you, his hips hitting yours every time he was bottoming out. You have never been this stretched out in your life, his girthy, long cock literally moulding your velvet walls to its shape, hitting your cervix with every slow pump. You were starting to edge, with the sensitive spots deep inside you being stimulated nearly constantly now. He kept on going like this for a while making your eyes roll to the back of your head and drool running down the side of your mouth.

‘Yoriichi, can you go a little faster? I am about to come’ you moaned out to him, as you could not control yourself any longer. The knot inside you running all the way from your opening to the tip of your cervix, was about to burst.

He picked up the pace and soon enough you were slowly dissolving into your climax, your whole body shaking and spasming from the intense pleasure you were gifted. You were so wet now, your cum seeping down your thighs onto Yoriichi. He shuffled himself up slightly and put you in a mating press. His cock was even deeper inside you, he started chasing his own release. His pace increased and soon it was ruthless and fast, abusing your cervix and every overstimulated spot deep inside you. You could feel his heavy balls slam into you with every powerful thrust. The man had the stamina of a god and went on in this unforgiving tempo for quite a while.

Gradually, his thrusts were getting sloppy and when he finally came, filling you up with his warm semen, he bottomed out deep inside you, his hips pushing you up toward the headrest of the bed and staying like this for a couple of seconds. He then pumped into you a few times, following the movement of his spasming abdomen muscles. When he stopped, he sank his head, still hovering over you supported on stretched-out straight arms. Sweat was running down his chest. He slowly rolled over on his back, taking you with him in an embrace that placed you laying down straight on top of him.

And that is when you noticed a presence in the room. You turned your head around towards the doorway and to your shock and surprise you saw your boyfriend stand there, leaning on the door frame with arms crossed and head tilted backwards in a brattish manner. His hair was out and cascading down his shoulder in black ringlets.

‘I hope I am not interrupting. Do you mind if I join in?’ He asked with a smirk. You instantly wondered how long he was there watching you and Yoriichi fucking.

‘Please do, unless y/n has some objections?’ Yoriichi said and tilted your head up to look at him. ‘Are you ok with this, y/n? ‘

‘I guess I don’t mind’ You did not really know what to say, your sex seemingly dictating your choices for you since last night.

‘Good, this will be fun.’ Muzan said and started to get undressed.

In the meantime, Yoriichi moved to his side and let you down on the soft mattress, so that you were on your side facing him. With an already erect dick bobbing in front of him, Muzan walked over to where you and Yoriichi were and crawled into bed to lie down behind you. He kissed and licked your neck, you could feel the metal of the piercing dragging on your soft skin, and grabbed one of your breasts, squeezing it gently, eliciting a quiet moan from your lips. He then leaned into your ear and with a deep, soft whisper asked:

‘How did you like him, doll? Was he big enough for you?’

He kept on kissing your neck and dragging the pierced tongue along it and massaging your body with his hand while pressing his erect cock in your soft ass. Yoriichi at the very same time started kissing your mouth and rubbing your breasts.

You did not think it was at this stage possible to get more aroused, but you did. Your pussy was aching so badly now, all you wanted was for the men to give it to you. Rough, fast however they wished to fuck you. You wanted to feel full, the craving growing for every minute making your insides burn with need. The sensation of both these attractive men being so close to you, their hands touching every part of your body, was making you feral, totally wild with anticipation. Seeing and feeling the athletic, tall, and big Yoriichi, with his smooth and glossy skin and your exotic-looking, tattoo-covered and pierced boyfriend so close to your own body was a sensation that was driving you crazy. It was almost as you were a goddess worshipped at the altar of lust.

‘How do you think we should proceed?’ Muzan asked Yoriichi in a playful tone.

‘Hmm, where we are is good, no offense, but I am the bigger one here, so I think it is best if you go in the backway’ Yoriichi answered.

Muzan sighed and smirked. ‘Good point, do you happen to have lube around here?’ Yoriichi stretched an arm behind him to reach under the bed and pulled out a bottle of anal lube.

‘You dirty fuck, this looks like you have been having some fun’ Muzan noted as the bottle was only half full.’ Yoriichi did not answer to that but his smile said it all.

While Yoriichi was working on your pussy and breasts, Muzan poured a fair bit of lube on your opening and started to massage your puckering hole. Slowly and gently, the sensation was so different from anything you ever experience before, but so delicious at the same time. He slowly pushed in a finger and was circling it gently. A second finger came in and he was scissoring them inside you. Yoriichi was now lining himself up to enter you again. His hard tip rubbing between your folds as Muzan added another finger and was whispering sweet, honey-glazed words in your ears in order to get you relaxed.

‘Be a good kitten for me now, such a gorgeous little obedient doll, I will spread that tight little ass for you and you will beg me for more’

The sweetness in his voice was almost demeaning. He kept on pumping his fingers in you, but you just could not relax.

‘Baby, I can’t do it. Not today. Can we do something else?’

Muzan pulled out his fingers out of you and nodded at Yoriichi

‘Well, doll, in such case you will have to take that huge dick of his down your throat, because I want to be in one of your holes, no matter what.’

You shifted to all four and Yoriichi knelt in front of you offering you his cock. You started licking the leaking tip and pumping the shaft with your small hand, barely getting a proper grip. In the meantime, Muzan positioned himself behind you and all of a sudden slammed his dick into you. This propelled you forward and you almost speared yourself on Yoriichi’s cock, swallowing nearly the entire length. He groaned from the sensation and you gagged heavily. Once the two of you adjusted positions so that you could comfortably work on his dick, Muzan started moving his hips into you again. You worked with the rhythm he was setting as there was no use trying to stay still and resisting his movement from pushing you forward. Every time his hips slammed into you, you sank your mouth over Yoriichi’s cock and you continued like this for a good while.

Your mouth and throat were stretched almost to the brink of discomfort from the huge girth and length. The pleasure you felt from Muzan repeatedly hitting your g-spot was making you moan louder and louder and your moans were sending vibrations through Yoriichi’s dick making it twitch and grow.

‘I’m going to come soon’ he groaned.

He pulled out of you, gave his cock a few pumps and unloaded the content of his balls in your face, warm cum spraying into your open mouth and down your chin and throat. Neither you nor Muzan were far off from your orgasms either. It took a few more fast thrusts from him to make your knot burst and you reaching your release. And a few more thrusts later and Muzan was spraying his cum into your still fluttering walls. The amount of pleasure you experience this afternoon was overwhelming and you collapsed exhausted, but utterly satisfied on the mattress.

Yoriichi got up and came back with a few towels. He helped you clean up your face and handed a towel to Muzan who then cleaned you and yourself up. Yoriichi was the first one to go to the bathroom and have a shower and after him, it was Muzan’s turn. Once the two men were decent again, Yoriichi informed you that they would prepare lunch so that you would have some time to yourself to recover and relax. You spent half an hour in the bedroom and went out to them, still in a complete state of confusion.

‘Hi there. I hope you are hungry.’ Yoriichi said.

‘I seem to have cooked too much pasta, but hey, we need the energy’ he grinned broadly. ‘By the way, I think you owe your lovely girlfriend an explanation’ he said turning to Muzan.

‘Yes, you are right. It is about time to clarify the situation. Sorry to have confused you and sorry for the bit with Amber, I might have gone a bit too far there. You know when I got up to get the drinks at the party? I noticed that you were eyeing off Yoriichi for a while, and out of the blue, and boredom, I came up with a wicked little plan. Something to shake you up and make you more, adventurous. I really wanted to get you out of your shell. So, I texted him quickly what I had in mind and off we went. I am storyteller, after all.’

You turned to Yoriichi, slightly disappointed

‘So… you were not really attracted to me, hey? It was just a game?’

Yoriichi responded ‘Oh no, not at all. Muzan showed me picturess of you many times before and I must say I was envious of him being with someone so smart, kind, and attractive. So, when he suggested this, the idea went straight to my dick.’

Muzan now continued: ‘Amber, that girl, by the way, is a porn actress and married to a friend of mine. They own an adult movie production company together and I have known them both for a while. But back to the story. As I said, I wanted you to see that there is so much more to life than being a prude, that sex is one of the most indulgent pleasures gifted upon mankind and not immersing ourselves fully in that gift is, well, a sin in my eyes.'

'I do believe that deep emotional love, a connection of souls runs deeper than any physical connection ever can. We are all animals and sex is dirty and amazing at the same time, the ultimate tool to express love, yes, but love can exist without it if you know what I mean. I will love you forever, for all eternity. I believe we are soulmates and we are connected and will always be drawn to each other in every world we are born into. Even if we never have sex again, I want you to be mine and mine only. When you want kids and a house with a white picket fence or whatever dream you may have, we will do it, of course. But for now, while we still are young let us indulge in what this carnal world has to offer. I want you to lose all restraints, and fulfill all your desires. When I saw you looking at our glorious friend here, I knew that if that is what you are into, I will make sure you get what you desire.’

When Muzan finally went quiet, it was Yoriichi’s turn to speak and he suddenly went serious.

‘I have known Muzan for a long time, but our friendship blossomed after my wife died. He was there for me all the way through my lowest. And believe me, it was an epic low. She was pregnant with what was to be our first child when she died in a car crash. Some drunken asshole drove into her car on the highway. My beloved wife and I started the gym and later the martial arts dojo together. These were our passions and I will never love anyone like I loved her ever again. All I have left is the gym and dojo and they are like babies to me. I am no monk and need sex, a lot of it, but only for recreation.’

All the time Yoriichi was speaking, Muzan held his arm around your back, his embrace tightening when Yoriichi mentioned the tragic story of his marriage.

‘Well, enough of the seriousness. Let us eat’ Yoriichi interrupted himself now.

You could not help to notice, that he was not the best of cooks, the pasta was slightly overcooked and the sauce too salty, but it was a sweet gesture of him to cook for his friends and by the way you were starving after everything that was happening for the past twenty-four hours. The wine he served with lunch was on the other hand fantastic and after a couple of glasses, the warm, fuzzy feeling of slowly getting tipsy was putting you in a relaxed state.

Looking at the two amazing men, you now started to understand what your boyfriend was talking about and wanted for you all the way. The normal scenario would involve you having to choose one of them, there would be drama, heart-brake and the euphoria of new love would eventually dim by the negative effects of it all. Thanks to Muzan’s approach, however, you never needed to choose now. The love the two of you shared was just as he described, transcending space and time. But the basic, carnal desire you felt for Yoriichi was also real. Being able to have it all, and more… was indeed the best you could ever wish for. Assured in this new discovery, you closed your eyes and let yourself daydream now finally receptive to visualise desires without any more restraints…

Banners by @cafekitsune

Tagging: @doumadono @muzanbloodgalore @muzansfangs @horror4themasses @cursetopia2 @anarcho-satanism

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startanewdream · 9 months ago

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A small Harry and Minerva moment, set after the final battle, in honour of Minerva's birthday.

*****

"I am not coming back," Harry blurts out. Next to him, Minerva's only reaction is a flicker on her spell: for a moment, the broken chairs of the Transfiguration classroom get extra pairs of legs that make them look like spiders.

When the chairs go back to normal, she turns to Harry with an impassive look.

"I imagined so."

Harry blinks. "You did? You never mentioned anything."

Minerva shares his surprise. "It was not my place to say anything. You are of age now."

"So all this time I've been helping here at Hogwarts, you just knew and went along with it?"

"Would it please you if I say I do not agree with your decision?"

"Yes, actually."

There's a hint of a smile on Minerva's lips. "I think you should come back to school."

"Oh." Harry looks down at his feet before moving to fix the bricks on the wall. Despite what he just told her, it's undeniable that this was not what Harry wanted to hear. "You think I am not ready?"

He sounds young. It's difficult to match this adult Harry — nearly eighteen-year-old, tall like his father, and spotting too many scars for his age — with the eleven-year-old who was sorted into her House, but that's the memory that resurfaces: Harry is eleven and he was caught out of his bed at night, losing 50 points to Gryffindor. He'd looked upset at the idea of being a disappointment.

That's how he looks now.

"You are of age," she repeats, her voice more tender than she allows herself around him, lest she betrays her soft spot for him. Harry's eyes are hungry as he turns to face her. "You faced more than any exam could measure — you faced things that cannot be measured." She thinks about the unconfirmed tales of a sacrifice and master of death, and it's not easy to match this with a boy worried about homework and deadlines. "From an educational point of view, I believe your time at Hogwarts has concluded."

Harry watches her. "But?" He guesses.

She allows herself a little smile. "But education is not all Hogwarts has to offer." She remembers seeing that scrawny kid laughing as he first took flight on a school broomstick; three friends sitting outside on a winter afternoon, bundling up next to a warm blue fire and sharing tales; a boy and his girlfriend, walking hand-in-hand through the halls, oblivious to any gossip. "I would be glad if you returned only to enjoy your Seventh Year as a common student. No threat. No drama. Just school."

"Just school," he repeats, his gaze far away now as if he could see it. Then Harry blinks. "Hermione and Ginny are coming back. Ron is not, though."

Minerva nods. She won't say it, but sometimes she wonders if the fact that Ron Weasley isn't returning isn't what's weighing most on Harry. Inseparable like brothers. Like father, like son.

"Do you think my parents would be okay with it?"

This time, the question baffles her; she's glad she wasn't transforming anything because it might have been disastrous.

"I do not believe I am qualified to answer this, Harry," she says.

"Ah, it's just —" He holds the back of his head, ruffling his hair, unaware that this was what James did when he was embarrassed. "You are one of the last people that knew them."

And this, as far as Minerva is concerned, is a terrible thing. James and Lily would be only thirty-eight if they were alive. She has lived now nearly four times what they did; how is it that there are now so few people that knew them?

Harry looks young once again. She knows he's made up his mind — and like Lily, he's adamant once he's decided something —, so this need for validation isn't what she associates with the young man she saw standing up to Voldemort one month ago.

But for all his deeds, Harry is just a boy who grew up longing for his parents — parents who had loved him fiercely, she knows. She doubts Harry might ever do anything that James and Lily wouldn't support — God knows Minerva supports him, and she isn't even his relative — but she also thinks they would insist that Harry return to his final year.

Seventh Year. That had been the year when James and Lily were Head Boy and Head Girl, and the future had looked promising to both. That had been the year when they had started dating; when the darkness of the war hadn't yet tinted their lives. When they had been the happiest. How could they not want the same for Harry?

But that's not what she tells him. "Yes," she lies calmly. "James and Lily would approve it."

Harry breathes easily. "Thanks." He moves to fix another desk, not noticing how, a long time ago, someone carved JP+LE in the wood.

Harry's spellwork is good. He might enjoy some refinement, but she doubts he will be fixing desks in his future job, so instead of commenting on it, she just lets it slide.

"Of course," she notes with a hint of humour, "if you came back, it would not have been all fun. I would have high expectations for you."

"Quidditch?" Harry guesses. "I'd say that Gryffindor is safe in Ginny's hands."

"I enjoy the Quidditch trophy in my office," she agrees. "But alas I was thinking about another responsibility. A Head Boy badge would suit you." Harry's eyes widen; she is once more sorry for not insisting harder with Albus that Harry should have been made prefect. "As it did your parents."

Harry smiles. "I would enjoy that."

"There are tons of paperwork, I might warn you — though not unlike being an Auror." Harry chuckles. "But either way, Harry, your parents would have been proud."

As I am proud of you, she thinks.

#minerva mcgonagall #Harry and Minerva #gen fic #dh missing moment #for minerva's birthday

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tyunniebbang · 3 months ago

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keep dreaming , swan | y.jw

a dancer dies twice — once when they stop dancing, and this first death is the more painful.

jungwon finds you again to bring his dancer back to life.

content: taekwondo player!jungwon & ballerina!reader

warnings: small mentions of blood, mentions of a past injury. i did not do ballet, i apologise in advance if the technique names are off...

♪ playlist: xo (piano version) - enhypen (from the ending of r:u concept film)

the day you lost your ability to dance, was the day your world fell apart. it all came crashing down, sitting in that hospital chair. it felt paralysing, helpless, lost.

what do you do when someone tells you that you can't continue your life's calling anymore?

to create art, to perform on stage. just like a fallen swan, destined to never succeed and fly.

ballet class on friday evenings were replaced by physiotherapy. getting into that white suffocating room every week was your worst living nightmare, watching your body detach from itself. your feet doesn't move like how you could anymore.

you can't do it.

it's easy to lose love and passion for your art.

"one, and a two! beautiful, continue~"

you watch jungwon skim across the wooden floor, his leaps graceful and elegant. his eyebrows slightly furrowed from focus, yet a little smile plastered on face. when he lands a good jump, his satisfaction shows as the corner of his lips pull up even more.

jungwon moves like a butterfly, so light and precise. he matches the music with the pianist as his toes pad on the wooden floor.

tap, tap, tap.

a spin, a run across the stage, pose and that's the end of this variation.

you know it all by heart.

as he finishes up the moves and scurries off to the applause of the other dancers, jungwon finally notices you. standing at the other end of the room, panting with both arms on the side, his eyes meet yours and glimmer bright.

"noona, so you came." the boy plopped down beside you, flashing you a toothy grin. he swipes off the sweat running down his forehead, catching up his breath from the previous dance. "mrs lee was happy with our progress today. she even asked me if i had you teach me about today's variation!"

it hurts so much to know how some people still have trust in you. when you were in your glory days, mrs lee was your instructor who wanted to see you dance for years and years to come. she was this old lady with a young soul inside her, and a brimming passion for ballet. watched you danced from a small child and never gave up on you.

jungwon was your inseparable twin. he was the brawns and you were his beauty. well on his way to become a national taekwondo player, winning competition by competition. growing up, you always came home to find him in his white uniform, sometimes stained with blood, stepping into a shower after a day of practice.

for every competition of his you attended, he came dressed to the nines for every recital of yours.

and at the door always sat your pair of worn out pointe shoes, and his black taekwondo belt.

so when you fell on that fateful day, jungwon came rushing into the emergency room, eyes pink and uniform frazzled. he had to find you. his other half suddenly felt so empty in his heart, like he lost you so quick.

"what? jungwon, you can't!"

"y/n, love. i'm in pain seeing you yearn for your dreams on stage. let me do this for you."

"who suggested this to you? is it mrs lee?"

"it doesn't matter, noona. i made the final decision myself." jungwon assured you, "i chose to dance. i want to honour your dreams."

his arm reaches out for you, softly dabbing away your salty tears brimming out of your widened eyes. in a cold harsh hospital room, he makes it feel so warm in his embrace.

how did we grow up so fast?

deep breaths.

in, out, in.

your feet feel so uncomfortable.

not in that way in which it's too small, or it doesn't fit. these shoes haven't had their owner worn them for a year. the pink has washed out, ribbon slightly loosing up with its individual strings. you feel like a vintage doll trying on her parts for the first time in decades. and your ankles are equally as rusty, not finding back its original flexibility and reach.

"come here, noona."

jungwon, in his full black tights and his graphic band t shirt, he had no class for the day. he offers you a hand previously on the bar, waiting patiently for you.

grabbing his hand would mean opening back the doors of your past, embracing ballet again. jungwon, the boy who wants to bring you back.

so you take a leap of faith.

"see, that wasn't so hard. now plié."

you aren't sure if your thighs tremble, as you try to bend down and feel the chills run up your spine. the warm grasp on your right hand is everlasting, holding you steady and reliable. the blonde boy hums as you finish your simple movement, watching over you as if his life absolutely depended on it.

his gentle voice starts, "what goes after that? you know, noona. the basics, hm?"

you glance back at him, wide eyed. how he had so much trust in you to finish it, even if you had just recovered. giving yourself slow, small steps off the bar, raising your arms up to gain back that familiar feeling.

"last one, noona. just an en pointe for me?" he boldly steps out into the center of the room, a prince waiting for his princess to dance ball. his swan, his beauty.

he's never tough on you, always so loving. your feet approach him, lifting up to feel that familiar, slight flash of pain between your toes and the shoe box. little steps turn into little wobbles.

jungwon holds you like his special musical box ballerina. his elbows lock against yours, making sure to hold on tight so you never trip.

as you glance into the mirror, you dance in tandem with jungwon, feet never clashing, hands touch with affection and love. the moment feels like the starting of a disney movie, two lovers dancing their hearts away from the crowd. your silhouettes merge beautifully, and you watch how jungwon manages to tenderly spots you as you dance as a pair for the first time.

he makes a wonderful dance partner, and you've never felt this safe dancing. everything feels just right. it reignites a past emotion, unlocks what you've buried in your heart months ago. it was ready to stay hidden forever, yet the answer to all your worries was right here. just like he promised: he let you spread your wings again.

so when jungwon sets you back down on your flat feet, both of you feel the shift in the air. you watched your cloth-clad feet, watched how they worked again and felt how the cold practice room air feels when you dance. how the strain of your muscles, how every pant feels so satisfying again when you finish a good move.

jungwon looks at you nervously, his eyes swirling with lots of anxiety and hope. both of you join in a tight embrace, tears escaping, and sniffles through each other's chest.

"thank you," you hiccup. "t-thank you, wonnie."

"never stop dancing, noona. never stop dreaming, i'm always here to hold you."

a/n: this fic is purely a passion piece, something written from my heart :'). i've recently found back my love for dance, and losing it can be very very scary (don't worry, i didn't get injured). partly why this fic took so long (5 months since mama happened... whoops) was because of how emotionally draining it was to write something so similar to what i feel. but nothing makes me happier, so like wonnie said, don't stop dreaming <3 thank u so much for reading.

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pankowcrumbs · 2 months ago

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The three of us X Will Poulter (Requested)

Plot: Your twin brother is getting married and your ex-friend and kind of ex-flame Will is the best man and he brings his new girlfriend to the wedding.

MasterList

Will Poulter Masterlist

8.8K words

AN: This was soo cute to write I spent all weekend doing this one cause I loved the idea I had to make it a super long one! Thanks for requesting this!

They say you don't remember much from when you're five. But I do.

I remember the day I met Will Poulter like it was etched in soft, golden light on the inside of my mind. I’d been holding my twin brother Josh's hand a little too tightly, as we were led into our reception classroom at Little Elm Primary. Mum had tied my hair back with a blue ribbon to match my dress, and my brother had grass stains on his knees before the bell had even rung.

And there he was Will with a lopsided grin, teeth too big for his face, and hair that couldn’t decide whether to stick up or lie flat. He looked like mischief wrapped in a school jumper.

"Hi," he’d said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Do you wanna build a fort out of books?"

That was it. That was the beginning.

From that moment, the three of us were inseparable. Will, my brother, and I were a trio of chaos and scraped knees, best friends in the most innocent, uncomplicated sense. We shared packed lunches, dared each other to jump from the tallest climbing frames, and spent entire weekends building dens in our garden or his, depending on who had the better biscuits.

Will always brought bourbons. I loved bourbons.

Growing up, our triangle of friendship was the kind that made other kids jealous. Teachers would separate us in class, but somehow we always managed to pass notes across the room. When my brother got in trouble for drawing superheroes in his maths book, Will took the blame without hesitation. And when Will was teased for his eyebrows or his dramatic impressions of teachers, I was the first to march over and tell the others to back off.

We were fiercely protective of one another. It wasn't until secondary school that things started to shift.

It wasn’t dramatic there was no single moment that pulled the thread loose but I started noticing things. Like how Will would glance at me a second longer than necessary when I laughed. Or how I found myself seeking him out in a crowd, even when my brother was right next to me. We pretended not to notice. We were good at pretending, Will and I.

By Sixth Form, the edges between friendship and something more had blurred so much we could barely see the line anymore.

We lost our virginity to each other on a rainy Saturday afternoon in his bedroom, just weeks before our A-Levels. It wasn’t planned, and yet somehow, it felt inevitable. There was no awkwardness, no overthinking. Just two people who knew each other better than anyone else, trusting one another completely. We didn’t talk about feelings not properly. We framed it as practical.

"Bit of practice before uni, yeah?" he said with a smirk, though his eyes searched mine like he was hoping I’d say something else.

"Exactly," I replied, forcing a smile, pretending my heart wasn’t thrashing wildly.

We hooked up a few more times after that. Always in secret. Always with that unspoken ache hovering between us. We told ourselves it didn’t mean anything that it was just experience. But I knew I was lying to myself. And deep down, I think Will knew he was too.

Then came results day. He got into drama school. I got into Oxford. We promised to stay in touch.

But we didn’t. Will and Josh did however.

I watched him from afar on telly, in films, his name growing louder, his face on magazine covers. He watched me too, I’d later learn, when I made headlines for winning a high-profile case at twenty-seven. We were both doing well. Successful. Busy.

But we hadn’t spoken in twelve years.

Until now.

Because tomorrow, Josh is getting married, and Will Poulter is the best man. And lucky me I am the maid of honour.

I hadn’t seen him yet. He was due to arrive tonight for the rehearsal dinner. I’d already made peace with the fact that he’d probably moved on, grown up, maybe even forgotten about us. About me.

But the truth was… I hadn’t forgotten a thing.

Not his laugh. Not the way his hands had felt tangled in mine. Not the weight of everything we never said.

And tonight, all of that was about to come rushing back.

The Cotswolds estate looked like something plucked out of a fairytale or a period drama at the very least. All weathered honey-stone, climbing ivy, and enormous sash windows that let in the kind of soft light that made everything feel slightly unreal.

It had ten bedrooms, three sitting rooms, a sweeping staircase I’d nearly tripped on twice already, and grounds that went on for what felt like forever. Josh and Jenna had outdone themselves. It was tasteful, elegant, and just posh enough to make you forget you were still in England.

It was also, inconveniently, the location where I was about to see Will Poulter again.

Everyone had arrived that afternoon. I'd been in my room which was a lovely little thing with a window seat and way too many cushions. Id been unpacking when Josh knocked on the door.

“You good?” he asked, peeking his head in.

“As good as I can be when you’ve put me in a rom-com and forgotten to tell me.”

He grinned. “Oh come on, it’s not that dramatic.”

“Josh,” I said, standing with a raised brow. “Your best man is someone who I haven’t seen in over a decade, and we’ve got a head table to share all weekend. That is exactly how every rom-com starts before someone gets pushed into a fountain.”

He laughed, full-bodied and easy, like always. “Look, Will’s not even here yet. And anyway, he’s bringing his girlfriend. She’s nice. Quiet. You’ll hardly notice her.”

That made something twist unpleasantly in my stomach.

“Great,” I said. “Quiet girlfriends. Love that.”

He gave me a look. “Just be cool, alright? For me.”

I nodded, exhaling slowly. “I’m always cool.”

Josh snorted. “You once tried to throw a scone at Will because he said Keira Knightley couldn’t act.”

“That was Year Nine and it was justified.”

By the time the rehearsal dinner rolled around, the house had transformed into a warm, golden-lit dream. Fairy lights zigzagged across the main dining room’s exposed beams, candles flickered in mismatched holders, and a long wooden table had been set for thirty, covered in eucalyptus, white roses, and name cards written in Jenna’s dainty handwriting.

I was already seated when I felt it.

That presence.

The kind of shift in the room where the air pulls tight and you just know someone has arrived.

I turned my head.

There he was.

Will.

Older. Taller. Somehow even broader. His hair was longer, more controlled than it had been when we were teenagers, but his face those eyes hadn’t changed. Still so expressive. Still the kind that made you forget what you were meant to be thinking.

And then there was her. Clinging to his arm, poised, sleek, and achingly beautiful in that I-model-in-Paris-and-do-yoga-in-Bali kind of way. She looked like she smelt expensive. Probably did.

His eyes scanned the room, laughing with someone as he shrugged off his coat. And then, he saw me.

It was like time folded in on itself.

Twelve years gone in the space of a heartbeat.

His smile faltered for just a second barely noticeable unless you were watching as closely as I was. Then it was back, all charming and polite as he leaned down to greet someone else. But I’d seen it. That flicker.

That “bloody hell, it’s her” flicker.

“Don’t stare,” Josh muttered from beside me, nudging my arm with his wine glass. “You’re being obvious.”

“I’m not,” I lied.

“You are. And oh God he’s coming over. Be nice.”

I looked down at my plate and tried not to think about how many times I’d seen him without a shirt on.

When I looked up, he was right there.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low and familiar in a way that made my heart lurch. “Hi.”

“Will,” I managed, standing to give him that awkward-but-necessary hug. He smelt like cedarwood and memory.

“You look...” he started, then glanced at his girlfriend and cleared his throat. “You look great.”

“So do you,” I said, voice entirely too formal.

She smiled politely. “Hi, I’m Cinthia.”

I shook her hand. “Lovely to meet you. I’m Y/N. Josh’s twin.”

“Ohhh,” she said, tilting her head like she was piecing something together. “Will’s told me so much about you.”

Has he now?

Will shifted beside her, clearly regretting ever speaking my name.

“Good things, I hope,” I replied sweetly.

“All good,” she said, oblivious to the tension thick enough to butter toast with. “He said you were the smart one.”

That startled a laugh out of me. “Well, that checks out.”

Eventually, they moved on, greeting the rest of the table, but my mind stayed stuck watching his hand on the small of her back, the way his laugh still tilted slightly to the left.

When dinner began, I found myself placed of course directly next to him at the head table.

Josh is so dead.

“Fate or sabotage?” I muttered as I sat down.

Will smirked. “Josh?”

“Obviously.”

“Right,” he said, unfolding his napkin. “So... twelve years.”

“Twelve years,” I echoed. “You’ve done alright for yourself.”

He huffed a laugh. “I try. You’re a barrister now, yeah?”

“Top one in London, apparently.”

“Of course you are.” His eyes flicked to mine. “Always knew you’d run the world.”

Something in my chest tugged. That old softness I thought I’d outgrown.

“You always did know me too well.”

He looked down at his plate, then back at me, more serious now. “You look amazing, Y/N.”

I smiled tightly. “So does Cinthia.”

And just like that, the wall went back up.

“So,” I said, pouring myself a very full glass of wine, “actor of the year and still turns up late?”

He grinned. “Some things never change.”

Neither do you, I thought, watching the way his eyes creased at the edges when he smiled.

The dinner was as lovely as it could be, all things considered. There were toasts Josh’s friend Callum cried over dessert and laughter, and Jenna’s dad told a story about mistaking Josh for a hotel employee when they first met. I laughed at all the right moments. I clinked glasses. I didn’t look at Will unless I was absolutely sure he wasn’t looking at me.

After the meal, people spilled into the sitting rooms, lounging on velvet sofas with brandy or retreating out to the patio for air. I made my way into the library, a quiet little room tucked off the hallway. It was empty, save for a dying fire and a leather armchair too inviting to resist.

I sank into it and closed my eyes for just a moment.

“You always did escape to the quiet rooms,” came a voice from the doorway.

I opened my eyes. Will stood there, hands in his pockets, watching me.

“Old habits,” I said.

He stepped inside, slowly, shutting the door behind him.

“Didn’t think I’d get a proper chance to talk to you all night,” he said.

“I figured we’d keep it polite. Casual. Avoid the part where we awkwardly acknowledge our past in front of your girlfriend.”

He winced slightly. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence passed between us.

“You look good,” he said finally, voice soft.

“You already said that.”

“I meant it.”

I looked at him properly then, really looked at him. The same boy who once nervously asked if it was really okay that we tried again. The same boy who’d whispered “this doesn’t mean anything, right?” when we both knew it did.

“So do you,” I said, and it was the truth.

“I’ve thought about you,” he said quietly, eyes meeting mine. “More than I should’ve.”

I swallowed hard.

“Does Cinthia know that?”

His jaw clenched. “Not really.”

I stood, suddenly too aware of how close the air had gotten. “Then maybe you shouldn’t be saying it.”

He reached for me, gently, fingertips brushing mine. “Y/N”

“Don’t,” I whispered. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

I turned, walked past him, and left the room without looking back.

The quiet ache followed me down the hallway like a ghost.

And I knew then despite the years, the distance, and all the things we pretended weren’t real Will Poulter still had the power to ruin me with a single look.

And tomorrow… I’d have to watch him stand by my brother’s side. Smile for pictures. Toast the bride and groom.

While pretending my heart wasn’t splintering all over again.

There’s something cruel about how perfect the morning of your twin brother’s wedding can look while your insides feel like they’ve been spun in a washing machine overnight.

The Cotswold sky was pale blue and cloudless, the grounds misty and golden in the early sun. Birds chirped with smug optimism. Somewhere downstairs, a coffee machine hissed into life and someone probably Jenna’s cousin from Leeds laughed at something far too early for human humour.

I rolled over in bed and let out a groan into my pillow.

“Just get through the bloody day,” I muttered to myself.

But of course, it wasn’t just any day. It was Josh’s wedding. And I was Maid of Honour. And Will Poulter my childhood best mate turned teenage mistake turned heartache I’d buried in the darkest corner of my memory was Best Man.

And last night… last night he had the audacity to look at me like I was still his.

Nope. Not today, Satan.

I dressed with purpose, picking the least flattering blouse I owned (to discourage flirtation, obviously), and scraped my hair into a low, tight bun. I added barely-there makeup, then decided I still looked too approachable, so threw on my big tortoiseshell sunglasses despite the fact we were eating indoors.

By the time I made it down to breakfast, most people were already gathered in the glass conservatory that jutted out from the house like a suntrap. A long table was covered in croissants, pastries, fruit platters, bacon, scrambled eggs, little jars of jam, and a jug of what looked suspiciously like mimosas even though it was barely 9 a.m.

I could see Will the moment I entered.

Unfortunately, he saw me too.

I darted behind Josh, who was mid-mouthful and completely unaware of my crisis.

“Morning,” I said brightly, practically shoving a bread basket in front of me as a makeshift shield.

Josh raised an eyebrow. “You alright?”

“Peachy,” I said through a tight smile, then immediately busied myself with cutting a slice of sourdough that I had absolutely no intention of eating.

I could feel Will’s gaze from three seats down, burning a hole through my left cheek.

“Y/N,” came that stupidly familiar voice. “You sleep alright?”

I didn’t look up. “Like a log, thanks.”

“You left pretty quickly last night.”

“Long day. Needed a shower.”

Josh snorted. “You always were a dramatic sleeper. She once fell asleep on the kitchen floor after a law school exam.”

“Because I deserved to,” I said, eyes still locked on my toast. “And it was cool. The tile helped.”

Will chuckled, that low, warm sound that used to make my spine melt. I gritted my teeth.

“Cinthia said she was going to head into town,” he said, trying for casual. “Get her hair done. She left early this morning.”

“Mmm.” I took a large sip of coffee.

“I thought maybe you and I could...”

“Nope.”

He blinked. “Sorry?”

“I’ve got things to do,” I said crisply. “Jenna’s dress needs steaming. I’ve got to write a toast. And I’m supposed to help herd the flower girls later, which is about as fun as wrangling caffeinated squirrels.”

Josh laughed. “She’s not kidding. The smallest one bit someone at the engagement party.”

“Only lightly,” I added.

Will looked at me like he couldn’t quite decide whether to laugh or lose his mind. “Y/N…”

But I stood, grabbing a peach from the fruit bowl like it was a grenade and I needed an escape route.

“Lovely chat, boys,” I said sweetly. “See you at the ceremony.”

I was halfway out of the conservatory when I heard his chair scrape against the stone floor.

“Y/N, wait”

I stopped dead in the hallway, his footsteps quick behind me.

I spun. “What, Will? What could you possibly need to say to me now, the morning of my brother’s wedding?”

He stared at me, exasperated. “Can we just talk? Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Why?” I said, eyes flashing. “So you can tell me again that you’ve thought about me? That you’ve wondered what might have been? That you had feelings but, oops! You’re taken?”

He flinched. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?”

He shoved a hand through his hair. “Cinthia and I aren’t. We’re not.”

“Oh, please, don’t do that thing where you pretend your relationship is suddenly ‘complicated’ now that I’m here in a blouse you probably associate with GCSE revision nights.”

He tried not to smile. Failed.

“Y/N”

“No. I can’t do this with you. Not today. You had twelve years. Twelve years to pick up a phone. To send a bloody postcard. And now you want to hash out our non-existent unfinished business before Josh says I do?”

His face softened, quiet for a moment.

“I just miss you,” he said.

And for a second, my heart stopped.

But I steeled myself.

“No, Will. You miss who I was. And that version of me doesn’t exist anymore.”

He stared at me like I’d just punched him in the chest.

I turned again, my heels clicking like gavel strikes down the hallway floor.

The ceremony was being held under a grand oak tree that had stood for over two hundred years, its limbs arched like nature’s cathedral. Rows of white chairs lined the manicured lawn in gentle symmetry, guests already seated and chatting in hushed voices, the sunlight filtered through a canopy of late spring leaves.

I stood just behind the flower girls, heart thudding as they tossed petals down the makeshift aisle, trailing giggles and chaos. I couldn’t hear them over the pounding in my ears.

From somewhere in the distance, the quartet began to play a soft, swooning instrumental version of Can’t Help Falling in Love. I stared straight ahead, willing my face into calm neutrality.

Jenna stood behind me with her father, radiant in lace, beaming with joy.

I felt like a fraud.

“All ready?” came the soft voice of the wedding coordinator.

I nodded, barely.

“One step behind the girls. Walk slow. Smile if you can.”

I stepped forward.

The guests turned. I kept my chin up, back straight, fingers curled delicately around the bouquet Jenna had picked. Pale blush roses and eucalyptus. It smelled sweet. Unfairly gentle for what I was feeling.

But the second I rounded the hedge and saw him standing beside Josh under the tree in a fitted navy suit with a pale tie I almost faltered.

Will.

God help me, Will.

He didn’t look at Jenna. Didn’t glance at the guests. Didn’t even register the petals beneath my shoes or the wind shifting the hem of my dress.

He only looked at me.

And the expression on his face was… devastating.

His eyes were wide, brows pulled ever so slightly, mouth parted like he’d been caught off guard by something holy. Like I was a memory returned to life.

Or maybe a regret.

He looked at me like he’d just realised I was the one.

That all along after school trips and shared childhood birthdays, after kisses stolen behind the sports hall, and every moment we claimed didn’t matter I’d been it.

And now it was too bloody late.

I wanted to look away. I didn’t.

Our eyes locked for what felt like a lifetime.

And I saw everything there, plain as day.

The heartbreak. The confusion. The what ifs. The silent ache of twelve years spent apart and never quite unhooking from one another.

He blinked hard, jaw tense.

I passed him slowly, heart in my throat.

And for a split second, our shoulders almost brushed.

The music swelled behind me.

I reached the front and turned to face the aisle, standing just beside the altar. I could feel him feel him, inches to my left, stiff with the weight of unsaid things.

Jenna began her walk then, the true bride of the moment, and the crowd stood to watch her come.

But not Will.

Will didn’t turn. Not right away.

His eyes lingered on me.

Just one more moment.

As if memorising the outline of me.

As if trying to figure out how he’d ever let me slip through his fingers.

Jenna’s voice rang clear and sweet through the garden, full of warmth and sincerity, speaking promises she’d carefully written and no doubt practised in front of her mirror. Her hand trembled slightly in Josh’s as she told him how he made her feel safe, how he made her laugh, how he made her believe in love.

I stood just beside her, the soft breeze tugging at my dress, my bouquet now slightly wilting in the heat, and I didn’t hear a single word.

Because Will was looking at me again.

And I couldn't stop myself from looking back.

It wasn’t subtle, either. It wasn’t a stolen glance or a shy flicker of recognition.

It was a stare.

A plea.

His blue eyes locked on mine like they had something urgent to say. Something he couldn’t hold in for another second. Not with me standing there in a fitted pale sage dress, not with the sunlight glinting off my earrings, not with the soft outline of twelve years of distance evaporating like it had never existed.

Josh was laughing now probably at some shared memory Jenna had slipped into her vows but Will didn’t smile. He didn’t blink.

He just looked at me like I was everything.

Please, his eyes said.

I swallowed hard, my throat tightening as I shook my head ever so slightly.

Not now.

He tilted his head, just a fraction. His brows furrowed. There was so much urgency in his expression it made my heart physically ache. That was the look of a man coming undone in silence. A man who’d let time and fame and fear rip the seams of something rare and real and was only just now realising what he’d lost.

Don’t do this, I warned him silently, gripping my bouquet tighter.

It’s the middle of your best mate’s wedding.

His jaw flexed. His eyes dropped briefly to the grass, as if ashamed. As if sorry. But when they lifted again, he was still there, still asking with every ounce of unspoken emotion on his face.

Was it ever really over for you?

I blinked rapidly and looked away, focusing on the lacy edge of Jenna’s veil fluttering in the breeze, my stomach twisting violently. I could feel him watching, waiting.

But I didn’t look back.

I couldn’t.

Because the moment I did, I would answer him.

And the answer was yes.

Of course it had never been over.

Not when I’d watched every film he’d ever done, even the ones I had to stream at 2 a.m. because I was working 70-hour weeks in court. Not when I heard his voice unexpectedly in an interview clip and it made my hands tremble. Not when I opened old drawers and found crumpled notes he used to pass me in Year 10, teasing me about my obsession with strawberry laces.

Not when I saw him again after twelve years and all it took was one look to turn my world upside down.

But this wasn’t the time.

And it certainly wasn’t the place.

Josh was saying his vows now steady, grounded, in love.

And still, Will watched me.

I didn’t cry when my twin married the love of his life.

But I nearly cried because Will Poulter looked at me like I was the only girl in the world… while sitting in the front row watching him was the woman he’d brought with him.

The garden had been transformed.

Fairy lights twisted through the trees and along the beams of the marquee now strung up beside the house. Long white tables dressed in eucalyptus garlands and flickering candles stretched under the soft golden canopy. Champagne flutes chimed. Laughter floated between courses. Jenna’s cousins were already a few drinks in, and Josh was mid-speech with a napkin tucked into his shirt collar like some kind of Victorian lord.

The head table ran straight down the centre like a wedding runway. I sat in my assigned seat to the right of Jenna, with Josh at the end and tried not to notice who was directly beside me.

Will.

Of course it was Will.

Cinthia, his picture-perfect girlfriend with her razor-sharp cheekbones and glossy red lipstick, sat beside him on the other side. She was chatting animatedly to someone from Jenna’s uni days, not noticing a thing. Not noticing the way Will’s body was angled toward me, or how stiff I’d gone in my chair, like one wrong move would split me down the middle.

The waiter set a plate in front of me something mushroomy and posh that I couldn’t begin to eat.

Will cleared his throat softly beside me.

I didn’t look at him.

“Y/N,” he said low, nearly a whisper, the deep timbre of his voice sending a horrible, familiar chill across my skin.

I turned slowly, met his eyes. Only his eyes.

“Don’t.”

His brows twitched, surprised.

“Not now,” I said quietly, my voice sharp but steady. “Not here. This is their day.”

He looked like I’d slapped him, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he pulled back slightly in his seat.

“I just want to”

“Will.” I turned to face him properly, just for a moment. “This is not the time. Or the place.”

He looked at me really looked at me and for once, said nothing.

Not sorry. Not ‘I know.’ Just… nothing.

I turned back toward Jenna, who was glowing as she chatted to her mum, blissfully unaware of the chaos simmering beside her.

I forced my fork through whatever was on my plate and tried to remember how to chew. Across the table, Cinthia was laughing at something. She touched Will’s arm. He didn’t flinch, but he didn’t turn toward her either.

He was still facing me.

Still watching.

Still silent.

I drank half a glass of wine in three gulps and refused to meet his eyes again.

The lights dimmed.

The air inside the marquee shifted, soft and golden, as fairy lights blinked to full brightness overhead. A hush swept through the guests like they all knew this was the moment.

Jenna and Josh took to the dancefloor hand in hand, and I could see the tension in my brother's shoulders melt away the moment her arms wrapped around him. The music started a gentle, lilting classic they both loved, something about growing old together and gardens and home. People swooned. Phones lifted. Cinthia clapped softly beside Will, already filming on her phone.

I watched my brother’s grin stretch ear to ear, his head tilted against Jenna’s like he still couldn’t believe he’d got this lucky. My heart twisted with happiness for him.

Then the DJ’s voice broke in, smooth and warm:

“And now, we’d love to invite the happy couple’s parents, and the maid of honour and best man to join them on the dancefloor.”

My heart sank.

I froze for half a beat, praying someone might intervene. That the floor might open. That anything else might happen.

But Jenna turned her head with a beaming smile and beckoned me forward with a bright, excited wave.

I forced my feet to move.

Across the floor, Will was already making his way to Josh, slipping his suit jacket off and setting it on a nearby chair, his sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the strong curve of his forearms. His tie was slightly loose now. He looked casual, unfairly handsome, and completely unbothered on the surface but I knew better.

I stepped into the lights. Into the centre. Into the open.

Josh pulled me into a hug as I reached him, pressing a kiss to the side of my head. “You alright?”

“Of course,” I said, smiling tightly. “Perfect.”

But the moment he turned back to Jenna, Will was there.

I don’t even remember how our hands found each other but suddenly, his right hand was at my waist, and my left was resting gently on his shoulder. His touch burned through the silk of my dress like a brand.

I didn’t look at him.

I couldn’t.

“Y/N,” he said under his breath.

“Don’t.”

His fingers flexed at my waist. “Please, just look at me.”

My jaw clenched. I focused on Josh and Jenna, on the spin of her skirt, on the dim sway of the lights.

“Everyone’s watching,” I whispered.

“Let them.”

That broke me.

I looked up.

And there it was again that look.

Like he’d finally figured it out. Like twelve years of missed chances had all funnelled down into this one moment under golden lights, and he was begging for a way to undo the clock.

His blue eyes searched mine like they might still hold the answer.

I felt it. All of it. The pull. The ache. The ghost of every kiss we swore didn’t matter. Every lie we told ourselves when we said we weren’t in love.

“I’m still with her,” he said quietly, guilt curling in the edges of his voice.

“I know,” I said, softer than I meant to then I said “We can’t do this now,”

He stepped just a fraction closer. “Then when?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I didn’t know.

Because I wanted him to be mine again desperately and it terrified me.

So I kept dancing.

And he kept holding on.

The song ended with a soft decrescendo and a wave of polite applause.

I stepped back the moment it was acceptable to do so, breaking away from Will’s hold like it burned. Because it did. Every inch of him, every look, every breath near me tonight had lit a match inside my chest.

Josh clapped his hand on Will’s back, thanking him for “putting up with my sister’s terrible two-step,” which earned a round of laughter.

I smiled politely.

People began trickling onto the dancefloor. The bridesmaids grabbed Prosecco and squealed as someone shouted for ABBA. Jenna’s mum was already pulling one of her younger cousins into a ridiculous waltz to Dancing Queen. Everyone relaxed. The lights shifted again party mode now.

But I couldn’t stay.

I stepped back from the group, heels crunching softly against the gravel just outside the marquee.

I didn’t make it far.

“Y/N.”

I stopped, eyes shutting tight at the sound of his voice.

“You can’t just walk away after that,” Will said quietly.

I turned to face him. He was standing just at the edge of the light, hands in his pockets, the top button of his shirt undone.

“Actually,” I said, crossing my arms, “I can. Because you’ve got a girlfriend. And I am not...I will not be the reason you mess her about.”

“I’m not messing her about,” he said, stepping closer. “I didn’t plan any of this”

“Oh, what, you accidentally fell in love with me on a wedding dancefloor?” I snapped.

He blinked. “Don’t say it like it’s not real.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “You have no right, Will.”

“I know.”

“You brought her here.”

“I know,” he repeated, more forcefully now. “I thought I’d moved on. I thought you had too. We haven’t seen each other in twelve years and I thought...” He stopped, voice cracking.

I swallowed hard. “I tried.”

Silence stretched between us.

I could hear the music shifting again, a slow track bleeding into something faster, the sound of laughter and glasses clinking in the background like static.

“You looked at me today like you’d only just seen me for the first time,” I whispered. “Like you’d forgotten what we were.”

“I never forgot,” he said. “I just buried it. Because it hurt too much to remember.”

I felt my eyes sting, but I wouldn’t let myself cry. Not now. Not in heels and mascara and the dress I’d picked to match Jenna’s colour scheme.

“I can’t do this,” I said, voice shaking. “Not while she’s in there thinking you’re hers.”

He didn’t argue.

He didn’t stop me when I turned.

Didn’t follow when I walked away.

But I felt it the weight of his eyes, the crackle in the air, the truth hanging between us like an unfinished sentence.

And I knew something had changed.

Not tonight. But soon.

The clinking of glasses quieted the room.

Josh stood, slightly flushed from champagne and dancing, and tapped his knife gently against his glass again just to be sure all eyes were forward.

“Alright,” he said with a grin, “you lot have already heard me waffle through my vows and butcher Ed Sheeran on the dancefloor, so it’s time we let the real speaker of the family have a go. My twin, my other half, the maid of honour Y/N.”

A cheer went up and I rose slowly, smoothing down my dress, heart hammering inside my ribs.

I glanced at Jenna, who beamed at me from across the table, her hand tucked in Josh’s.

Will was beside me. I didn’t look at him.

Not yet.

I cleared my throat and held up my cue cards slightly wrinkled from being clutched too tightly most of the day.

“Hi everyone,” I started, forcing a small smile. “If I haven’t had the chance to meet you properly yet I’m Y/N, the very lucky sister of the groom, and lifelong partner-in-crime to the man who, somehow, managed to convince a goddess like Jenna to marry him.”

The crowd laughed a warm, relaxed sound. Josh gave a little bow, which earned him a nudge from his new wife.

I took a breath and continued. “Josh and I… we’ve shared every milestone. First bike rides, first broken arms from said first bike ride” That got a cheer from our cousins. “first exams, first heartbreaks. He’s always been the first person I’ve wanted to tell good news to. And the first one I’ve turned to when everything’s gone wrong.”

I paused, blinking back the heat in my eyes.

“Seeing him today… standing there in front of all of us, looking at Jenna like she’s the answer to every question he’s ever asked; I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud in my life.”

Josh's eyes were glassy. I looked at him deliberately now, grounding myself.

“And Jenna,” I said, smiling warmly at her, “I knew you were the one for him the moment I met you. The way you look at him… the way you see all the messy, complicated, brilliant parts of him, and still love him so fiercely. Thank you. Thank you for loving my brother the way he deserves.”

She sniffled. Josh kissed her knuckles, and a few guests quietly dabbed at their eyes.

I cleared my throat. “I know it’s cliché to say, but when you grow up with someone like Josh, you set the bar high. And I used to wonder if I’d ever find someone who saw me the way he’s seen me my whole life. Who’d know all the bits of me, even the ones I try to hide, and stay.”

There was a beat.

Will stiffened beside me.

I kept my voice light, even as my heart trembled. “I still haven’t quite found it. But after watching you two today… I have hope. Real hope. That maybe one day, I will find what you two have.”

Silence.

For just a moment, it felt like the air shifted taut and fragile.

And then, movement.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him. Will.

Pushing back his chair quietly.

Standing.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t make a scene. He just walked.

Past the tables. Past the twinkle lights. Out into the dusk.

A few people glanced around, some whispering, but I didn’t let it stop me.

I turned back to Josh and Jenna, smile firmly in place. “To my favourite person since the day we were born. And to the person who made him even better. May you never stop being each other’s first call, last dance, and soft place to land.”

I raised my glass.

“To Josh and Jenna.”

The room echoed it back.

“To Josh and Jenna.”

And I sat down.

Even if half of me had just followed Will out that door.

Later that night the clatter of dessert forks had faded into the soft hum of music drifting from the string quartet in the far corner. Fairy lights glimmered from the wooden beams above, casting a warm, golden glow across the reception hall.

I needed a breather.

I’d stayed at the head table long enough to be polite long enough to hear the toasts and answer the sweet congratulations from extended family and friends I hadn’t seen in years. But now the soft ache in my cheeks from too many forced smiles and the tension in my shoulders from pretending I hadn’t noticed Will leaving the table begged for release.

I stood, slipped away, and found myself near the drinks table, nursing a fresh glass of champagne when a familiar voice caught me off guard.

“Y/N.”

I turned. Callum.

Callum Hart had been one of Josh’s mates since Year Seven a towering, kind-hearted type with an easy grin and the uncanny ability to charm every aunt in the room within minutes of arriving. He looked sharp tonight navy suit, pale gold tie, glass of whisky in one hand.

“Dance with me?” he asked, nodding toward the floor where couples had begun to gather beneath the low, romantic lights.

I hesitated.

He lifted his eyebrows. “Come on. We both know this is safer than you loitering by the bar pretending you’re not avoiding Will like the plague.”

My laugh cracked out before I could stop it, too tired to fake indifference.

“Alright,” I said, setting down my glass. “One dance.”

He offered his arm with a little flourish, and I took it, letting him lead me into the soft swirl of bodies on the floor.

It was easy with Callum natural. We didn’t speak much, but we didn’t have to. He spun me playfully at one point, catching me as I stumbled back laughing, the fabric of my dress rustling between us.

I let myself enjoy the moment the music, the calm. I could pretend, for just a second, that nothing else mattered.

But then I glanced over his shoulder.

And saw him.

Will.

Leaning against a pillar just beyond the edge of the dancefloor, arms crossed tight over his chest. That jaw clenched. Eyes locked not on me. On Callum.

It wasn’t subtle.

It was the kind of look that could've cracked glass.

My breath hitched for a moment, and I faltered in the rhythm. Callum noticed and looked over his shoulder.

“Ah,” he said mildly. “I see. That explains the daggers in my back.”

I rolled my eyes. “He has no right.”

“Didn’t say he did,” Callum replied, gentle. “But he’s burning holes in me all the same.”

I turned my gaze away.

But the second time I looked back not even a full minute later it wasn’t me Will was watching.

It was her.

Cinthia.

She was standing before him, eyes wide, lips moving fast as she gestured towards the dancefloor pleading, almost. She reached for his hand.

He shook his head.

Twice.

Firm.

She tried again.

He said something short and clipped. She dropped her hand, face falling.

I looked away, heart a little louder in my chest than it should’ve been.

“You alright?” Callum asked softly, giving my fingers a light squeeze.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“Liar.”

I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes.

“Come on,” I said, nodding toward the edge of the floor. “I need air.”

He didn’t press, just led me gently away.

And as we walked off the floor, I didn’t look back.

But I could still feel his eyes on me.

Three weeks.

That’s how long it had been since the wedding.

Since the speeches and the looks and the tension so thick I could’ve carved it into slices and served it for dessert.

Three weeks of silence. No messages. No missed calls. No doorstep declarations or surprise pop-ups in the office lobby. Just the still hum of my life continuing and me doing everything I could to pretend I wasn’t constantly aware of the absence of someone who’d once known every corner of me.

So when Josh texted about a “little games night” at the new house he and Jenna had just moved into, I almost said no.

But he was my twin.

And I missed him. And I missed her, too. Jenna had been lovely sending me photos of the honeymoon, tagging me in silly Instagram reels, checking in like the sister I never had.

So I agreed. Told myself I’d go, make an appearance, hug them both, maybe sneak out after two rounds of charades.

I didn’t ask who else was coming.

Which is why, when I stepped through their brand new Noth London apartment arms full with a bottle of red and a packet of posh crisps I froze.

Because I saw him.

Will.

Sat on the sofa.

Already looking straight at me like he’d been waiting for the door to open all night.

My stomach dropped.

But before I could even register how to breathe again, I heard a familiar voice at my shoulder.

“Oi,” Callum whispered, appearing from thin air and swooping to my side like a proper knight in shining armour. “I’ve got you tonight, alright?”

I turned to him, grateful beyond words. “You’re a saint.”

“Don’t I know it,” he said with a wink, taking the crisps out of my hands and nodding toward the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s get you a drink before the staring gets unbearable.”

I followed, weaving past the others already gathered in the lounge. A few new faces, a few old ones friends of Josh’s from school and some of Jenna’s uni lot. But Will was the only one who made the room feel smaller by simply being in it.

Callum poured me a glass of wine without asking, sliding it across the counter like he’d been rehearsing. “You doing alright?”

“Fine,” I said.

He just looked at me.

I sighed. “Trying to be fine.”

He nodded once, then leaned in a little. “You should know… he came here hoping you’d come too.”

I blinked. “He told you that?”

“Didn’t have to. Bloke’s been twitching every five minutes since he got here. Kept asking Josh if you RSVP’d.”

I exhaled slowly, steadying the glass in my hand.

“He’s not with her anymore, you know,” Callum added, gentler this time.

My eyes snapped to his. “Cinthia?”

He nodded.

“When?”

“Week after the wedding.”

I swallowed. The wine suddenly tasted stronger.

But before I could say anything, Jenna swooped into the kitchen, radiant as ever, arms open. “There she is! Come here!”

I let her hug me, grateful for the temporary distraction the warmth of her, the normality of it. We talked briefly about their honeymoon, the chaos of moving, the games night schedule (yes, there was one), and who’d already sneakily voted themselves Game Master (Josh, obviously).

Eventually, we were all summoned into the lounge. People grabbed seats on the sofas or the floor, some perched on the edge of the coffee table. I sat cross-legged between Callum and a girl I vaguely remembered from uni drinks.

Will sat opposite me.

Close enough that when our eyes did meet and they did, despite my best efforts; I could see every flicker of conflict on his face.

But Callum stayed close.

He nudged me with his knee every time I looked tense. Cracked jokes when Will was too quiet. Kept the attention on me in a way that felt safe but light. And I was so, so grateful for it.

Because no matter how hard I tried to ignore it… every time I looked up, Will was still watching me.

And even from across the room, I could feel the question hanging in the air between us.

Are you still mine?

We were playing a game called “Most likely to…” When it reached me, I pulled one and unfolded it with a grin.

“‘Most likely to accidentally start a cult.’” I read aloud, laughing. “Right. Be honest. Who’s got that in them?”

The room erupted with overlapping voices.

“Josh!”

“Definitely Callum.”

“CALLUM!”

“No way,” Callum said, faux-offended. “I haven’t even got a proper Twitter following.”

“You don’t need one,” I said, nudging him. “You’ve got charisma, questionable philosophies, and that weird devotion to oat milk.”

He feigned betrayal, pressing a hand to his chest. “Wow. Alright. So we’re throwing each other under the bus now?”

Josh got up quickly to get something he forgot in the kitchen.

Laughter surrounded us, but I caught the way Callum’s eyes flicked quickly, deliberately over my shoulder. Then he leaned in again, voice just for me.

“He’s on the move.”

I blinked. “Who?”

“Will.”

I didn’t even need to turn.

Because a second later, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him. Will, standing slowly from the other sofa, drink in hand, eyes fixed on me like I was the only person in the room.

But before he could cross the space between us, Callum sat up straighter, blocking Will’s path without even trying. “So,” he said to me, launching into an exaggerated story, “Did I ever tell you about the time I accidentally ended up in a Swiss yodelling competition?”

I choked on my wine. “You what?”

And just like that, I was laughing again even as my heart thudded like a warning drum in my chest.

Will halted, still a few steps away. I could feel him lingering, a magnetic pull I tried to ignore, but Callum didn’t give him an inch. He kept talking, gesturing, leaning in at just the right moments to make it look natural. Friendly. Effortless.

By the time Josh re-entered the room shouting about the next game and dragging people into new teams Will was still standing alone jaw clenched so tight I swore I heard it creak.

And Callum? He just shot him a polite, infuriating little nod.

I pretended not to see the exchange.

I definitely didn’t notice the way Will’s eyes narrowed.

But I knew it was coming.

And it did in the very next game.

Articulate. High energy, competitive, and basically an excuse for everyone to shout over each other.

“Right,” Josh said, dividing us into two teams. “Let’s go with girls vs boys, since it’s mostly even and yes, before anyone gets clever, we’ll rotate um Callum and Jenna to keep it fair.”

Will and Callum ended up on opposite sides.

And that’s when it happened.

Every time it was Callum’s turn to describe a word Will challenged it.

“That's not specific enough,” he muttered when Callum said “animal” for the word giraffe.

“Actually, that’s not how you pronounce that,” he corrected on another round, interrupting Callum mid-guess.

At one point, Callum looked directly at him and said, deadpan, “You alright, mate?”

Will just smiled. Tight. Icy. “Peachy.”

I stayed quiet, cheeks burning, doing everything I could not to look at either of them too long.

But the tension was radiating now. Practically humming through the floorboards. I wasn’t the only one who noticed it.

Even Jenna leaned over at one point and whispered, “Are they having a testosterone-off or is that just me?”

I laughed awkwardly and shook my head, but something had shifted.

Will wasn’t just frustrated anymore.

He was glaring. Like every time Callum made me laugh, it scraped against something raw inside him.

And I… didn’t know what to do with that.

Because suddenly, the room felt too small again. Like every second was building toward something inevitable.

And I wasn’t sure I was ready for it.

The living room slowly emptied into the kitchen and garden, the chaos of Articulate leaving everyone buzzing and in need of a break. Bottles clinked, someone put on music something low and vibey and the heavy night air drifted in through open doors.

I stood by the fireplace, sipping a fresh glass of red and trying to will my heart rate back to normal. It was like I could still feel Will’s gaze burning between my shoulder blades, even with the room half-full and no longer playing games.

Sure enough, I heard him before I saw him.

A low voice, deliberate footsteps. My stomach twisted.

“Y/N.”

I didn’t turn around yet. But Callum appeared beside me like he’d apparated, all calm and casual, drink in hand but eyes watchful. He saw Will before I did, his whole body subtly shifting in front of mine like a wall.

“You alright, mate?” Callum asked, not unkind, but with a definite undertone. “Think you lost your team the last round.”

“I need to speak to her,” Will said plainly. No bravado, no politeness. Just a statement, quiet but steady.

I stepped slightly to the side, touching Callum’s arm. “It’s okay.”

He didn’t move. Just looked at me with that soft, questioning furrow between his brows. “You sure?”

I nodded. “Promise.”

For a second, he hesitated eyes flicking between us before he sighed and gave Will one last glance that said I’m watching you, then disappeared toward the patio muttering, “I’m having a vape with Josh. Good luck.”

And then it was just us.

Will stood two paces away from me, hands in his pockets, jaw tense.

I took a breath. “You’ve been glaring at Callum like you’re planning to bury him in Jenna’s new herb garden.”

Will didn’t smile. “Can you blame me?”

“Actually, yes.”

He moved closer. “You think I wanted to bring her?”

“Your girlfriend?”

“Ex.” He said it quickly, firmly. “We broke up two days after the wedding.”

I blinked. “Oh.”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he said. “I still can’t.”

“Will…”

“No,” he said, cutting across gently. “Let me. Just this once, don’t shut me down.”

I looked up at him at that face I’d known since we were five, and yet, tonight, he looked entirely unfamiliar. Like the boy I used to sneak kisses with under the bleachers had grown into someone haunted. Someone who had been waiting twelve years to finish a conversation we never got the courage to start.

He took a step closer. I didn’t move.

“I shouldn’t have let us drift,” he said. “When we left for uni… I told myself it didn’t mean anything, what we had. I told myself it was just timing, just hormones, just… preparation.”

“It was supposed to be simple,” I said softly.

“But it never was.”

I exhaled. “You had a girlfriend. You brought her to Josh’s wedding, Will.”

“I thought I was over it. Over you.” He gave a dry laugh. “You walked down that aisle and I felt like I was eighteen again, trying to figure out how not to fall in love with my best friend’s sister.”

My heart lurched.

“You’re not saying this because of nostalgia or wine or...”

“I’m saying this because it’s true,” he said, eyes locked on mine. “I’ve messed up every relationship I’ve had because none of them were you, and it took watching you give a speech about hoping to find a love like Josh and Jenna’s to realise that I already had it once. And I let it go.”

My fingers tightened around my wine glass.

The air around us felt heavier than the storm clouds forming in the distance outside. Like the sky was holding its breath too.

He stepped even closer, voice dropping.

“I came tonight because I needed to know if you felt it too. If you still...”

“Will.”

He stopped.

My voice was barely above a whisper. “I can’t do this here. Not in Jenna and Josh’s house. Not with everyone five feet away.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“But… I’m not sending you away, either.”

His throat moved as he swallowed.

“I need time,” I said. “To think. To decide if this is real or just… leftover feelings from another life.”

He gave me the softest smile I’d ever seen on him. “Take all the time you need.”

We stood there for a beat longer, the hum of conversation spilling from the kitchen, laughter floating through the cracked back door.

He didn’t try to touch me.

Didn’t try to kiss me.

But the look he gave me before turning to go said it all.

This isn’t over.

I didn’t sleep much.

Even with the wine haze and the late-night chatter, my mind wouldn’t quiet. Will’s words kept echoing through me, bouncing around my chest until they settled somewhere beneath my ribs, pulsing like a second heartbeat.

By the time morning came, grey and drizzly over London, I was sat on the edge of my bed with my phone in my hand, thumb hovering over his name.

I stared at it for a long time.

Then, I pressed call.

He answered on the second ring.

“Y/N?”

His voice was soft. Rough with sleep. He sounded surprised but not shocked. Like he’d been hoping I’d call, but didn’t quite believe I would.

“Hey,” I said, trying to swallow the nerves in my throat. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” he said too quickly. “Well… yeah, but I don’t care. I’m glad it’s you.”

I smiled despite myself. “I wanted to talk. Properly.”

He exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath all night too. “Yeah. Me too.”

I curled my legs underneath me and stared out the window, the rain painting streaks on the glass. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Wherever you need to,” he said.

There was a long pause. Not awkward. Just… full.

“I think I’ve been in love with you since I was sixteen,” I said finally. “And I think I spent the last twelve years pretending I wasn’t. Because you were off becoming Will Poulter, and I was terrified that if I said it out loud, I’d be holding you back or embarrassing myself.”

He was silent on the other end, but I could feel him listening. Could feel the weight of every word land.

I took a breath. “And then we slept together, and it was supposed to be simple, and it never was. It was never just sex for me, Will. Even when we both pretended it was.”

“I know,” he said, voice low. “It wasn’t for me either.”

“I watched you walk around that wedding weekend with someone else and it felt like being gutted,” I admitted. “And I kept telling myself I didn’t have a right to feel that way.”

“I ended things with Cinthia because I realised I’d been lying to both of us. I kept chasing versions of you in other people,” he said. “But they weren’t you.”

Another pause.

“I’m scared, Will.”

His voice softened. “Of what?”

“Of this,” I whispered. “Of getting it wrong. Of falling so hard that I forget how to land. Of you waking up one day and realising I’m not enough.”

“You’ve always been too much for me,” he said. “Too brilliant, too fierce, too you. That’s why I didn’t try before. I didn’t think I deserved you.”

My throat tightened.

He continued, “But I’m not that boy anymore. I’m not going to fumble this or run from it. If you let me in… I’ll do everything in my power to show you that you’re safe with me.”

“I don’t need perfect,” I said, quietly. “I just need honest.”

“You have it. All of it.”

I closed my eyes. Rain tapped gently against the glass like a soft metronome. My heart felt louder.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do this. Let’s try.”

There was a stunned beat of silence on his end. Then, “Are you serious?”

“I’m saying yes, Will.”

He let out a quiet laugh, disbelieving and a little teary. “You’ve just made me the happiest I’ve ever been before ten in the morning.”

I laughed too, wiping my cheek.

“We’re going to mess up, you know,” I warned gently.

“I know,” he said. “But this time, I’ll be there when we do.”

And somehow, I believed him.

#fanfiction #reader #x reader #one shot #requested #will poulter imagine #will poulter one shot #will poulter fanfic #will poulter x reader #will poulter #will #poulter

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opheliachoii · 6 months ago

Text

Meet Me on the East Side ❥𓂃𓏧

FEATURING : Yukimiya Kenyu, Itoshi Sae, Oliver Aiku, and Nagi Seishiro

ABOUT : They were your highschool sweethearts, puppy love to be exact, but time changes when you graduated highschool. Cheat incidents, Fell out of love, focusing on priorities, or basically just ghosting you out of the blue. But years past as your paths met once again, will you give them a chance?

note : this a multiverse AU, the plots were inspired by two songs ; Eastside by Benny Blanco, Halsey, and Khalid, and Knees by Bebe Rexha. Choose any of the two to listen to. Enjoy!

❥･• Yukimiya Kenyu

— Many students knew that you were inseparable. Kenyu, being the star player in the soccer team of your school, and you, being the head of the student council. He had many fangirls, as much as many fanboys you had as well.

You supported him 24/7 when it comes to their game, you were his number one cheerleader. Everytime you shout his name, his ego becomes unstoppable, resulting him scoring as much he could.

But then as graduation came, you were alone in the bleachers, the day was about to end. The breeze was so soothing, that you took a deep breath, waiting for the love of your love to come over. Since he was the one who wanted to meet you in that certain spot.

The empty soccer field gave you nostalgia, you knew you couldn't see him play in this field again. Instead, you'll see him play in a bigger field. You knew he's going to another city to chase his dream.

"Yuki!! You yelled "Baby! Congrats to us! We finally made it to the end of high school!" You hugged him.

"Y-yeah.." He stuttered worryingly "Is there something wrong?" You asked "I called you here to tell you something.."

You gulped because you were nervous, the vibe seem to drop "I'm breaking up with you.. I need to focus on my career for now.." He coldly stated "W-what?" You stuttered "Is it really necessary? Sure we'll be far apart but we can still contact each other! I don't care how many days you will reply, as long as you update me.. I understand you're focusing on your career but.. Am I the reason who's pulling you down?" He couldn't answer, so he went silent. You started crying "Yuki please.. There must be some other way—"

"I made my decision. I'm sorry. I truly love you but, it's for the best.." He caressed your cheek one more time before he walked away.

You were stunned, couldn't move at all. Everything happened so suddenly. Your knees went weak, and you cried so hard, that your voice echoed all around the empty field and bleachers.

— 15 years later —

You're now a CEO of your favourite organization, Blue Lock. It's been your dream to be the head of your favourite sport, well.. Used to be..

But you still grasped that dream because ever since, your passion was to lead. Even though you couldn't do the certain things, but you were insanely amazing in leading them. You graduated from Business school with latin honours, in which led to where you are now.

It's been 15 years since you two lost contact. The last conversation you had with Yukimiya was during graduation, which was tragic.

But you did see him on television, and he indeed. Became one of the best strikers worldwide, representing Japan. You despised him a lot, but deep inside, you were still that little highschool girl who was proud of him wherever he was now.

You still loved him..

Sure, you dated some dudes in college, but he was that guy where you would give up everything for him. Well, it's sort of true where first love is indeed irreplaceable.

Your secretary Anri, gave some news for you "I GOT NEWS! Ego brought some amazing soccer players! You should check their profiles out!" There she handed a USB filled with all the players' profile.

"Thanks Anri, I'll check these out! Would you mind bringing me more coffee?" She agreed and politely left your office.

You sat down and plugged in the USB on your computer. There were around 300 players in Blue Lock "Hmm they sure are talented players here, wow.."

You scrolled and saw the Top 11 best players in Blue Lock, and froze as you saw who was number 5.

"Y-yuki.." You gently pressed your mouse to open his profile, he definitely became more attractive. You analyzed all his personal info, it seems his eyesight was getting worse.. You suddenly feel worried, because you knew his eyesight was already bad during highschool, but it didn't stop him from playing soccer. You saw his favourites, likes and dislikes. You simply chuckled "I guess he never changed at all.." Then you stumble across the "my type" section.

Type : [ Someone who laughs a lot and will always watch over me, support me, and love me for who I am. Someone who's really good at leading me. ]

A tear dropped from your eye "H-he.." Suddenly Anri barged in with the coffee you asked her to fetch for you "Here's your coffe— Hey? Are you crying? Is everything alright?" You immediately wiped your eye and smiled as if nothing happened "N-no! I'm all good!" Anri had suspicions but she just brushed it off.

"Hey, we'll be meeting the top 11 later on, we'll train them before the U-20 tournament will commence" You simply nodded. "Of course, I'll be there." Anri happily left your office, you simply sighed.

"After 15 years I'm finally meeting you again..."

— Timeskip —

"Welcome Diamonds in the rough.. You made it this far.." Ego stated. "Today we'll be preparing for the U-20 tournament.." You noticed there were small amounts of players in the lobby, you simply whispered to Anri "I thought there were around 300 people- only top 11?" Anri whispered back "These are the surviving players. The rest, eliminated." You quietly gasped.

You tried looking for him in the crowd until the door opened. There, Itoshi Rin, Shidou Ryusei, Bachira Meguru, Isagi Yoichi, and..

"Yuki.." You felt relieved "Wait.. No.. Why am I like this- he's your ex!" You talked to yourself "Ex? Who?" Anri gasped "ONE OF THE PLAYERS HERE IS YOUR EX?!?" You covered her mouth "It was way back highschool okay? That was only puppy love-" You defended.

"Oh sure~ wait until I found out who is your ex!" Anri teased "As if-"

"Hey! You two! What the heck are you guys blabbering about?!" Ego angrily called you two out which brought attention to everyone in the lobby.

"Shit." All were eyes on you two "SORRY GUYS! You may continue Ego! Hehe sorry-" Anri pulled you out of the lobby.

But before you got out of the lobby one special person laid eyes on you "Eien..?" He called out, but you couldn't hear him.

( Eien means Eternal means 日本語 ) It was his endearment to you before.

"HE SAW ME-" You panicked. You felt nostalgia because the same feeling where you had a crush on him during your freshman years in highschool "This feeling brings back so many memories-" You mumbled "You still love him don't you?" Anri teased "What if I still am..?"

"BUT I HATE HIM!" You suddenly yelled "He dumped me because he wanted to focus on his soccer career!" Suddenly you had flashbacks and started crying. "Hey.. Look, I don't know the full story, but it seems you really loved this person.."

"I still do Anri, I still do.." She didn't know what to do so instead, she hugged and comforted you until you stopped crying.

Little did you know, some of the boys, and Yukimiya overheard you and Anri. "Dang, she looks so hurt-" Bachira grieved "If I was her friend I would've choked the dude to death "Hiori innocently spoke "Woah- isn't that a bit too far—?" Yukimiya defended "No-? He could've just taken the Long-distance relationship so what?" Hiori added which the other boys agreed.

Yukimiya felt guilt all over him as he saw how hurt you were..

"Had I made the wrong decision?"

— Timeskip —

You went out to get some fresh air. Your eyes were still swollen from crying so much earlier, you decided to head to the open soccer field nearby, and laid on the middle of the field. You let out a huge sigh "Gosh, why are these feelings coming back.. It's been 15 years. Move on dammit!" You fought with yourself.

There was a moment of silence until you got startled as you heard a familiar voice.

"That makes the two of us now, I'm glad"

You sat up as you couldn't believe it "Yukimiya.." "What happened to 'yuki'?" He asked "Do I still need to call you that? We're not together anymore right?" You suddenly went back to your senses, you were furious "Eien, I'm sorry..." "Stop calling me that, we're done." You coldly stated "And what are you doing here?! You're not allowed to get out" You added "Well I escaped, and followed you here.." You went silent.

"Hey, I saw you crying earlier, my chest was aching see you cry, knowing it was because of me... I deserve to be choked by Hiori indeed..." He looked down "You better be! I really hate you so much!" You angrily spoke. "I had a tough time Kenyu.. You left me there, I couldn't get to explain myself properly that time.. You left me without saying a proper goodbye.." You cried "It hurts.. IT HURTS! 15 YEARS! I should've gone to therapy at this point.."

"Hey, don't say that.. I totally understand your pain, I was a jerk that time.. I was only thinking of myself during that moment... I was immature, I'm sorry..." He apologised "Look, I know you can't forgive me, but believe me, ever since I broke up with you, I never dated ever again. If you saw my type in my profile, I was describing you.." He suddenly cried.

"I know. I saw. Why are you crying? Don't prey yourself. I totally understood you prioritizing your career that time, it's my decision to continue loving you until this day." You coldly stated "Can we start over?" He asked "I promise, I won't leave you like that again.. And this time I'll prioritize my career, and you.. Eien.." He cupped your cheeks "I know it's been 15 years, it was so long ago, but.. Can we?" He desperately added.

"Give me time.." You replied "I'll ask you out again, starting from the beginning.. This time, I've changed, I grew." He suddenly kissed you passionately, the breeze swiftly touched your skin, melted from his kiss "Fine, but if you'll leave me again, there's no more chances, I'll definitely move on, even if it takes another 15 years to move on." You both laughed.

On the corner bush, there was Anri and Ego spying on the both of you "Bingo! So Yukimiya Kenyu, Top 5 striker in Blue Lock was her ex.." "What the heck are you talking about-?" Ego curiously asked "Oh, nothing, I just witnessed broken pieces glued back together."

❥･• Itoshi Sae

— You and Sae were both an athlete couple in highschool. Him as a soccer player, while you as a gymnast.

You two were the star in your campus, everyone dreamed to have a relationship like you two, both talented and never declining face cards. As you both graduated highschool, the two of you were given an opportunity to your dream university, you in France, while Sae in Spain. Sure, both of you were headed to Europe, but you'll still be miles away from each other.

But despite that, you two handled the long distance relationship. Updating 24/7, late night talks every night, and daily messaging every morning.

But one night, you tried calling Sae. Usually he would answer in a millisecond, but he didn't tonight. You tried again but this time, he purposely did not answer the call.

Your brows furrowed "What on earth is his problem?" You sound pissed. A few minutes later, he messaged you, but your eyes widen from his sudden message for you.

Love ♡ : [ Hey.. Sorry for not answering your calls, I was trying to type this message for you. I'm really sorry for what I'm about to say to you, I hope you would understand me. I'm sorry but I'm breaking up with you. I can't have too much distractions. I need to focus on my career first, maybe in our next life, we can be together, without any distractions. I'm really sorry again. Good luck on your journey as an gymnast in Paris. I'm sorry. ]

— Love ♡ cleared your nickname —

— Itoshi Sae cleared his own nickname —

— Itoshi Sae blocked you —

You were too stunned to even let out a word. You read his message, again and again, trying to cope with his message he just sent you. All you did was to cry..

"Sae.. Why.." You cried all night, forgetting to train yourself for tomorrow. You cared less about it and went to bed and sobbed until daylight..

Weeks passed since your break up with Sae. You can't seem to keep up with training because your mind was too empty at the moment.

"Mon chéri, what's wrong?" Your instructor approached you "Why the long face?" She added "Oh nothing Madame! Just thinking about something these days" You covered it with a smile "Are you sure? You must focus! Your recital is coming up and special guests will be there, you can't disappoint them are you?" She replied.

"No madame, I won't." You finally got back to your senses and went back on track.

"I don't care about stupid Itoshi Sae anymore, if he's focusing on his career, why shouldn't I?"

— 8 years later —

Roses, tulips and confetti rain over you as you bowed after your grand performance, applauses were echoing the whole auditorium.

As the curtains closed, you let out a huge sigh "What a night!" You went back stage and got greeted by the staff "Mon chéri! You did amazing! I'm so proud of you for making this far! From performing, to competing soon enough! Your tournament is next week, are you ready?" Your instructor proudly asked "Yes! Of course madame! I should bring my fiancé too, if that's alright with you?" You asked.

"Of course! A little support couldn't hurt right?" She chuckled. You smiled in relief, I'll be telling him madame! Thank you so much!" "As you should! That man certainly inspired you does he?" You happily nodded.

— Timeskip —

"Finally! It's over, we won again!! We won against France's star soccer team!" Charles proudly cheered "Indeed, I could use a warm dip in the bathtub tonight with the view of the eiffel tower" Shidou added "I'm going to watch the gymnast competition tonight!" Ness also added "Competition? Tonight? Interesting, I'll come with!!" Charles replied "Hmm, I suppose I should watch too, I love flexible women" Shidou cheekily laughed.

"What about you Sae, aren't you tagging along?" Kaiser asked "No thanks, I should train instead." Sae coldly stated "AWW C'MON BRO!! Just this one time! We deserve this, right everyone?" Ness pleaded. "And besides, the star gymnast is competing too! She'll surely win! I saw her tricks and wow she's spectacular!" Ness added "We should go!" Charles said as everyone followed.

Kaiser's phone rang "Oh, gotta answer this, you should come along Sae, my fiancé is competing too. You should see her, she's too perfect" Kaiser said with admiration with his eyes. "I see, sure, I'll try to come along" Sae answered "Good, gotta go.. Hello? liebe? Yes?" Kaiser closed the door as he left.

Ness was preparing to go but Sae stopped him "Hey, may I know who's the star gymnast who is competing tonight?" "Oh!! Wait here!" Ness showed a video of you performing. Sae paused for a moment. "She's... She's m—"

"Magnificent right!?" Ness interrupted, now let's go! He said as he pulled Sae out of the locker room.

"She was once mine..."

— Timeskip —

You took a deep breath as the whole gymnasium was yours to perform on "You can do it Mon chéri, I know you can!" Your instructor cheered "Thank you madame!" You finally had the confidence to come out the gymnasium and showed yourself, you were glimmering, as your shiny fitting dress has reflected the spotlight.

"Here goes nothing" You motivated yourself.

"THAT'S HER!!! WOOO!!" Ness screamed "Wow, isn't she a beauty~" Shidou flirtly spoke "Damn- she's really flexible, does she even have bones?" Charles jokingly said "What the fuck?" Sae suddenly spoke which startled Shidou and Charles "Chill bro- what are you on" Shidou defended "Yeah- you sounded like you're her boyfriend" Ness and Charles added.

"BECAUSE I WAS." They went silent "Be for real right now-" Charles spoke "No way-" Ness added "Psh- you're joking" Shidou rolled his eyes.

"I'll prove it. Watch me." Sae sat back and continuously watching you.

"Did he went cuckoo?" Shidou asked which Ness and Charles only shrugged.

Sae admired you so much, he reminisced the time when you two were just in highschool.

— Flashback —

"Love! Haha! Look!" You called out to Sae "Okay, wait.. Okay now!" He yelled.

You showed your triple flips then a smooth landing with a split. "How'd I do?" "WOO!! THAT'S MY GIRL! You did so well love! I can't wait to see you performing like that during nationals!" You pounced at him causing you two to fall on the ground.

Laughter echoed the field, you two were so happy, you were on top of Sae, faces inches away from each other. "Let's chase our dreams okay?" You said "Of course my love let's chase them together." He replied then passionately kissed you, you kissed back. It was one of the most romantic moments you two ever made.

— Present time —

He saw you successfully landed on the last move you did and bowed. You looked around the gymnasium, everyone cheered for you, he smiled. He knew he was proud of you. You saw Shidou, Ness, and Charles cheering, so you did the same.

The three turned to you and thought you were weird, but brushed it off after.

You were the last contender. It was time to announce the winners. It was intense, but you remained calm and confident.

On the other hand, Sae was worried and nervous for you, he prayed you would get the gold medal, if you did, then you will be representing France for the internationals.

Everyone cheered as your name was announced as the first place, you were speechless, you had mixed emotions.

You got up on the podium feeling overwhelmed. Everyone chanted your name, you looked around, but your eyes landed on a familiar person.

No it can't be..

You saw Sae happily jumping with his teammates yelling "She did it!!" You didn't know what to feel. But joy overshadowed all your feelings at the moment.

"Wait- Where's Kaiser?" Ness asked.

— Timeskip —

As you were wiping your sweat with a face towel, Sae approached you, which startled you.

"Hey... Congrats.. I-I'm so proud of you.." He stuttered, feeling awkward from the conversation.

"Sae?" You paused "What are you doing here?" Your brows furrowed again, you hated seeing him at this time "We had a game here in France, and my teammates wanted to watch your competition, I didn't want come along, not until Ness showed me one of your performance, you did really good.."

"Don't do this to me Sae, showing up out of the blue after you cut ties with me 8 years ago.. What are you on?" You spoke as you felt pissed.

"Hey, look.. I'm sorry okay? I wasn't thinking straight that time, I was too stressed.. I couldn't tell you what happened to me that time." He defended.

"No need, I moved on. But I'm really thankful to see you tonight, even though it was unexpected." You chuckled "I'm too immature to long a grudge on you right?" You added, he awkwardly laughed "Yeah.." He cleared his throat, "Hey, uhm- how were you? Should we have dinner sometime?"

You simply chuckled "I would but, I couldn't. My fiancé might burn you to pieces, and I wouldn't want that" "Fiancé—?" Sae asked.

"Liebe, ready to go— Sae? What are you doing here? I thought you wouldn't come?" Kaiser entered as he was playing with his car keys. "Kaiser? Wait.."

"Oh? You two know each other?" You asked "Yes schatz, Sae is my teammate. I haven't mentioned, sorry liebe" Kaiser answered "How 'bout you Sae? How did you know my fiancé? Quite unexpected honestly" Kaiser asked.

"Oh.. Uhm- we go to the same highschool before.. Yeah.." Sae coldly replied.

You went silent, knowing that your ex and your soon-to-be husband is on the same soccer team. You decided to take a deep breath and cleared your throat "So~ uhm.. I guess we should get going Micha? Can you grab my bag? Thanks" "Oh sure liebe, I go get it" Kaiser left you and Sae.

"So..."

You both went silent. "Well, at least we finally reached our dream right? Me, being the star gymnast, and you as a star midfielder, and overall your team itself is famous, right?" You awkwardly laugh.

"I'm... Too late am i?" Sae looked at you desperately "Sae.. I-"

"I'm so sorry I left you.. I'm glad Kaiser is treating you better now.. I wanted to be him again, but.. I guess I was too late" He forced a smile.

"I'm sorry Sae.."

"Let's go schatz? See you Sae, call me if we're training tomorrow hmm?" Kaiser said as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

You turned back seeing Sae looking so lost. You mouthed 'thank you, and I'm sorry..'

Sae just watch you disappear from the room, letting out a smile but tears were rolling down his cheeks.

"I love you.. But you're not mine anymore.."

❥･• Oliver Aiku

— You two were an amazing duo, but sometimes you two couldn't get along as well. Some say you were in a toxic relationship, but you didn't listen because you were so inlove with him.

But there was one time where Aiku invited you to go to a KTV bar with him. You simply agreed cause you thought it would be another date.

You wore a beautiful blue satin dress, excitedly you messaged him you were on the way "I can't wait to see him again!"

— Timeskip —

You arrived at the KTV bar and asked the counter which room was Number 308, she happily led you to that room. "Here's the room miss!" "Thank you so much!"

As you were about to enter the room, you peeked on the small window of the door. There you saw disco lights and the room was dim, but you clearly saw Aiku— with another girl..

Your head was boiling as you barged in the room "OLIVER AIKU! WHAT IN THE FUCKERY IS THIS?" You yelled.

"Woah- my love chill, this is Denise. Denise, this is my girlfriend" It seems Aiku was drunk. "Girlfriend? I thought I was your girlfriend?" The girl looked confused.

"YOU'VE BEEN CHEATING ON ME?!?! I DID NOT EXPECT TO BE IN A POLY RELATIONSHIP!" You cried. "We're over Aiku." Before you could walk out, he grabbed your wrist "Wait baby! Don't go! I can explain—" A huge slap landed on Aiku's face "Don't TOUCH me!" You flicked your arm and left the KTV room..

As you left the room, you cried. You couldn't believe what had happened just now..

"They were right, I was in a toxic relationship... I was too blind to see it.." You ran out of the venue and went home.

— 6 years later —

You just got home from work, exhausted. You were working full-time in the office, but your exhaustion disappeared as your 6-year old son ran to you. "Mama!!"

"Aww my baby Ollie, how are you? Did the maid gave you dinner?" You hugged him.

"She did mama! But I don't want to eat without you, I want to eat McDonald's with you! Please please!" You chuckled "Well, I am hungry too so~ let's go?" "Yay!!" He cutely cheered.

— Some time later —

You two were walking home from an alley, bringing take-out McDonald's when you see two men approaching you, they weren't friendly.

"Ollie get behind me." You sternly said as your son went back "Mama... I'm scared.." They were about to steal from you but someone pounced them from behind. "Look out!"

He fought the two men with ease, but at the same time he got injured. "Oh my goodness are you oka— OLIVER?!?!"

"I'm fine— MY LOVE?" You smacked him with your heavy shoulder bag which passed him out. "Oh shit- why did I do that-"

"Mama..? Why did you hit Mr. Hero? He saved us but you hurt him.." Ollie tugged your jacket. "I'm sorry baby, mama seemed to have reflexes-"

You decided to bring Aiku to your home, you carried him, and dang he was heavy. Your son kept laughing all the way home.

— Timeskip —

Aiku finally woke up in a place where he's unfamiliar with "Shit- where am I-?" Ollie was peaking in the door from the outside, checking up on Aiku "Hey little guy, don't be scared, do you know where I am?" Aiku asked gently.

"You're in our house Mr. Hero, mama placed you in the guest room, you were badly hit by mama, I'm sorry mama hit you.." Ollie answered.

Aiku simply chucked "It's okay, little one, your mama must be scared that's why, by the way what's your name?"

"Ollie" He said as he gave you a piece of chicken nugget. "Eat." Aiku gladly accepted the kid's nugget. He noticed Ollie's eyes were just like his, "Hey little one, look, your eyes look like mine, see?" Ollie gasped, you're right! I have heter— het— hetetormia!" Aiku laughed "Heterochemia little one, it's okay, nice try!" The both of them laughed. "Where's your papa?"

"I don't know, mama said, my real papa is nowhere to be found, but, I have a new papa!" Ollie happily said. Aiku went silent, "Really? What happened to your real papa?"

"I don't know, mama does not tell me.." Aiku went silent again.

"Mama!! Mr. Hero is awake!" Ollie happily went to you "Yes, I can see that baby.. Go to auntie maid first if that's okay, I need to talk to "Mr. Hero" here hmm?" You stated "Okay!" Ollie ran downstairs.

"T-thank you—"

"What were you doing in that alleyway?" You inserted "I was gonna ask you that? What were you doing in that alleyway with a child?!? That place is dangerous!"

"It was the shortest way home alright?! I'm too tired but my son wanted McDonald's with me, how could I say no?"

"But you should've at least rode a taxi back-?" "Why are you so concerned Aiku?"

"Answer me. Is that my child?"

You went silent. "Tell me please.."

"And what if he's yours? We're way over now Aiku, thank you for saving us, you may now leave the house now." Aiku grabbed your wrist "Pfft, this is nostalgic isn't it?" You flicked your arm "Nostalgia my ass, now leave."

"Please, if he's my son, can I make it up to him at least? Since when did you get pregnan—"

"THE MOMENT YOU LEFT ME." You both went silent. "H-how?"

"After I broke up with you, as soon as I got home, I felt sick." He went silent

"And when I had a gut feeling, I took the test. And it was positive.. YOU DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH I SUFFERED RAISING A CHILD ALONE.. I never thought of abortion, never ever! Even if the father of the child was a jerk!"

"I-I'm sorr—"

"But I'm happily engaged to someone else now, who's a father figure to Ollie. We're totally happy, he bought a house for us to settle in, got me into a perfect job, a tiring one but still thankful. And a loving man." You cried. Aiku couldn't let out a word.

"My life had been a roller coaster ride, but Ollie was a blessing to me. And I wouldn't trade him for anything in the world."

"Can I at least... Be responsible for the child? For making it up?"

"I'm home!" A man called out from downstairs "That's him." You said as you went out of the room, and soon Aiku followed.

"Papa!!!" Ollie ran towards Barou and he carried Ollie. "How's my sweet boy doing?"

"Me and mama almost got snatched but luckily Mr. Hero saved us!" Ollie happily reported.

"Mr. Hero?" Barou asked as he landed his eyes on you and Aiku "Honey.." Barou knew between you and Aiku

"Love, I know.. Oliver, thank you, for everything. But I think you should leave.." You sternly said. "But I don't want Mr. Hero to go!!" Ollie cried. "It's okay little one, I have to go.. Call me Uncle Oliver, okay?" He said as he pats your son's head.

"Okay Uncle Oliver! When can we see each other again?" Ollie innocently asked.

"Soon, little one. Soon.." Aiku said as he bid you and Barou farewell and left.

As Aiku got out from the house, he looked back and saw your shadows from the window looking so lively, like a small but perfect family.

"I'm glad your doing well, my love.."

❥･• Nagi Seishiro

— You two are quite known as gamer couples during highschool, it may seem cliché, but for you, it's heaven. Imagine, playing your favourite games with the love of your life.

Nagi seems to be the lazy type but he is really good with hygiene and cleanliness. And he's really good in taking care of you. You didn't know why people call him 'lazy', when he's with you, he's the opposite of lazy, I mean he does act like a sloth, but he was never lazy in your eyes. He always come over to your apartment to play games with you, sometimes study date.

You also got used to his way of messaging you, he takes so long to reply. Sometimes he ghosts you, but when he's with you personally, he's really "boyfriend material".

Though recently, he soon joined soccer with Reo, his best friend. He was effortlessly good at it, I mean- he's the boyfriend who can do it all. You were proud of it, and you weren't sad at all, because he always found a way to make time with you by playing games.

But one time, you noticed he wasn't online. Even the online games, RPG, all offline.

"Huh- that's weird" You tried calling him through number and social medias but no answers. You gaslighted yourself maybe he was busy. But those "busy days" you thought Nagi had went for over 2 months now.

You felt betrayed, he ghosted you for 2 months now. Which was weird, because even Reo, you couldn't contact him.

You had enough, you went to the sports office in your school, and ask where Nagi had gone. Their coach said that they had an invitation from a certain soccer school. But usually Nagi would update you if ever where he was. You overthought, maybe the place they went took their devices, which is funny- because it would look like they were prisoned.

— 2 years later —

It's been 2 years since Nagi ghosted you, you're finally a freshman in college. You graduated without him, you felt sad but you had to continue. You never held a grudge over Nagi, because you still love him.

"Wherever you are right now Shiro.. Always remember I am here supporting you from afar.." You spoke to yourself as you felt the breeze brushed your skin.

You're a college student currently taking Computer Science. It's been you and Nagi's dream to develop a game, but you two couldn't figure out what game would you develop. So you decided to study about computer logic for now..

— Timeskip —

You overheard your blockmates about this "Blue Lock", everyone was so hype about it. You were curious so you asked one of them "Uhm— excuse me.. What's this Blue Lock you guys are talking about-?"

"Oh! It's a team of soccer players who are playing against U-20, you know Sendou? Omg he's so hot!" They squealed "Soccer?" You repeated "You heard that right!" The other one replied.

Hmm.. Blue Lock.. Interesting..

— Timeskip —

As you got home, you opened your laptop and checked this Blue Lock thing everyone was so hyped about.

It showed soccer players, who were indeed going to play againt the other team called U-20.

You scrolled through the player's profile, and..

You gasped. "NAGI!?!"

You pressed his profile to see if it was really him. "It really is him... He's going to be playing against the U-20, and he's part of the Top 11 in blue lock? Wow, Shiro... I never knew you went this far.."

Then you saw the other players who will be back-up players for the game, then you saw Reo.. "Mikage— REO?!?!" You gasped once again "How many chapters did I miss?!?!" You noticed Nagi's features matured "He changed a lot.."

You researched on where to buy a ticket for the game and...

"Bingo!"

— Timeskip —

It was time of the game, and soon enough you arrived just in time, and as you were finding a place to sit, you saw someone selling jerseys. Then you saw a Jersey with Nagi's name on it.

You comfortably sat on a seat with Nagi's jersey. "This is cozy-" You surprisingly complimented.

There it was, the players came from from the inner gymnasium and you finally saw your white haired cutie "LET'S GO SHIRO!!!"

The person sitting next to you "Who are you supporting to?" "My boyfriend" You proudly said, they gave you a judging look but you didn't care. You were admiring Nagi from afar.

The game soon started and majority of the people where only cheering for U-20. "Why aren't they supporting Blue Lock?" You asked yourself.

The game was neck-to-neck, but then suddenly Nagi got the ball, and did an insane trick.

"Nice to meet you Japan. I'm Nagi Seishiro!" He kicked the ball and scored a goal for Blue Lock.

Everyone went silent, everyone was too stunned to speak even his teammates.

"Uhh— did I mess up introducing myself?"

Everyone cheered, the crowd goes wild. Blue Lock got up from their bench and cheered on, even U-20 was impressed by the skill Nagi has executed.

You went silent for a moment, as if everything blurred around you.

"That's your boyfriend right?" The person next to you interacted again. You couldn't respond because you were too focused on Nagi.

"Shiro... You've evolved..."

— Timeskip —

It was 3-3, it was tie and only 5 minutes. You were shivering, worried because the game was on the edge of the tightrope.

"Please please..." You manifested.

Suddenly one of Nagi's teammate berserked from the opposing teams blind spot, then he scored.

3-4

Blue Lock won..

Everyone cheered, the crowd went insane. You cried, you did not expect these two whole years, your boyfriend ghosted you because he was intensely training in Blue Lock.

"I'm so proud of you.. Shiro.."

— The next day —

Overnight, you finally decided what game you would develop, a soccer simulation. Where everyone can be a soccer player.

You fell asleep on your desk with the screen with full-brightness. Someone was knocking on your doorstep.

You were too tired to wake up so you didn't care about the knocking on the door, but you soon heard a key unlocking your door.

You wanted to check it out but your body was too heavy to sit up, you only had an hour sleep, because you were up all night developing the game.

You soon felt a kiss on the cheek, and was carried in bridal style. "Hmm.." You groaned "I'm home baby.." You heard a familiar soothing voice. "Hmm.." Is all you could answer.

As you woke up, you noticed you were already in bed, you swore you were sleeping on your computer desk. You saw a glass of milk and cookies on your side bed and Choki beside the food. "Choki?"

You soon turned to your computer desk, a fluffy white hair peeking out on your computer chair, doing some typing and clicking.

You tried to approach slowly, but he turned the chair immediately and pounced on you.

"SHIRO?!!" Both of you made a thug sound as you fell to the floor "Hi baby." Nagi was now on top of you. "I'm home." He calmly said as he laid on you. "GAH!! You're heavy, get off!" You cried.

He assisted you to sit up and suddenly kissed you "I missed you.." He pouted. "You literally ghosted me for 2 years you lazy ass." You rolled your eyes "I thought you never thought of me as lazy..."

"I'm mad at you. Hmph— HEY!" He carried you and led both of you to bed "I saw the game you developed, you knew huh?" He brushed your cheeks "Yeah, I watched your game yesterday, you did amazing out there"

"How did you know? I couldn't update you... Our phones were confiscated" You laughed "I KNEW IT!" You laughed again "I knew Blue Lock because the university I'm in were talking about it, you're literally the topic of the students" You chuckled.

"Oh how I missed your laugh..." He said as he snuggles himself in your body. "Even though you ghosted me for 2 years straight, I still waited for you.." You suddenly felt emotional. "I'm sorry for making you wait baby, how 'bout we snuggle the whole day straight?" He suggested. "But.. The game?"

"The game can wait, for now, I want you.. It's been so long since I scented you... I missed you so so much.." Nagi buried his face onto your chest, you simply chuckled.

"You physically changed, but you're still the Nagi Seishiro I know.." "I grew taller didn't I?" You both laughed "Yes you did Shiro.. Yes you did.."

You both fell asleep in that position, you indeed will be sleeping the whole day, after a chaotic week you just had.

End.

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock x female reader #blue lock x reader #bllk yukimiya #yukimiya kenyu #bllk sae #sae itoshi #itoshi sae #oliver aiku #bllk aiku #blue lock aiku #bllk nagi #nagi seishiro #blue lock au

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tutanchanup · 4 months ago

Text

HOW WOULD VLAD III. DRACULEA BE AS A VAMPIRE?

(look how he still has his wedding ring but it's on his right hand as - from what I learned - in medieval times you'd actually wear it like that! Also did you notice the scars on his wrists from shackles of Corvinus' prison? Eek! 😊)

This question is inevitable. Whether we like it or not, the name of Vlad Draculea has been inseparably linked to that of the literary vampire. But we can at least look at how would the real Dracula, Vlad III Țepeș, voivode of Wallachia, look like in this role.

~•~•~

So, I've decided to listen to you and give you my opinion about Vlad as a vampire (I am honoured that someone wants to hear that, thank you 🥰, I'll answer the call of my people!). It became quite long, so I broke it down to several parts:

First, we'll look what the curse of vampirism would do to a psyche of an average human, and then we compare it to Vlad, who was formed by his mediaeval upbringing (in some future post I'll also discuss that in detail, so if you're interested in that, look ahead 😄). In part 2 (in a future post), I'll look at how he would physically look like - what fashion would he use (you'll be surprised!), his physical behaviour, and what impression would his presence make upon you. And in part 3 we'll look at his personality and the reasoning behind his actions. And, if someone would be actually interested, I am willing to make part 4 where I'd tell you what depictions of Dracula in media that I've seen so far I feel are closest to this and why 😉.

Disclaimer: as I have yet to talk to Vlad Draculea myself (just kidding, I actually have him locked in my closet, bwahaha!), please note that this is all MY OPINION. Feel free to tell me to shove it up my ar*e. But since this opinion is based upon at least some reasoning, please give your reasoning as well 😉.

Should you listen to me or not? Find out here.

~°~°~

So now, when we're done with the formalities, let's finally get into the big question itself:

How would Vlad III. Draculea deal with a curse of vampirism?

Prepare your tea, as this will be long 😄

Since there are many versions of vampiric curses in media, we'll look only at the two most common aspects: immortality and the need to drink human! blood (a.k.a kill humans, no bloodbags or vegan alternatives this time)

Let's see first what would such a curse do to a psyche of a regular human.

There are several huge pressures which could lead to a gradual break down of the former self, eventually opening the possibility to become a sadistic monster (of course everyone is different and would take it differently, but let's now look at the average human).

1. The Constant Need to Kill

The curse forces the vampire to regularly take human lives, gradually normalizing killing. This loss of respect for human life would eventually lead to dehumanization and a loss of empathy.

2. Isolation and Loneliness

An immortal would always end up forever alone, without family, friends, or a true community. Even when they would talk to humans, that would painfully remind them what they've lost since they are not human themselves anymore. This isolation would lead to hopelessness and despair, slowly eroding their psyche. If there would be other vampires, then they could pact with them, but since those would be under the pressure of the curse as well, it wouldn't be a cheerful company, instead making you face every time what have you yourself become, accelerating your loss of humanity.

3. Guilt and Desperation

Every decision about life and death would carry heavy consequences. When you take life once, you can never take it back. And the more power you have, the more catastrophic are the consequences of your failures. Also everyone makes mistakes, but in an immortal life you'd eventually accumulate a huge number of them. This overwhelming weight of guilt could lead one to distance oneself from their conscience, and that could result in sadism.

But what if this curse has happened to Vlad III. Draculea,

the medieval voivode from the 15th century, who's name is irrevocably linked with vampirism thanks to that unfortunate novel of Bram's?

We have to take in mind that he already was a voivode. A role that was always destined to him thanks to his royal blood, and which he was being prepared to carry since childhood

(yes, he was not the firstborn, but given the high turnover of voivodes on the throne, there was a big chance someone would use him to make him a pretender one day anyway. When you were born with a claim to the throne in your blood, you usually became a leader, or you were murdered by those in power who were afraid that you might use that claim of yours one day. It wasn't a choice)

And here comes the big surprise, as you can see:

The role of a voivode already carried exactly the same psychological pressures as the vampiric curse!

Don't believe me? Let's have a look!

1. The Constant Need to Kill

As a voivode, you also had the role of a judge and also a war commander (voivode comes from the Slavic word voj (army) vode (leader)). So the taking of human lifes would be inevitable, even if you didn't take it by your own hands. It was your responsibility to carry out laws and reign justice. In mediaeval times, the punishment for many crimes were deadly. So you already had to cope with that responsibility that you're the one deciding over people's fate. There was really no other choice, too - if you'd decide not to implement punishments according to the law, your own people would be angry at you, as they would see you as someone not upholding the law. And if you'd be too merciful, you'd be seen as weak, which would lead to your downfall and decapitation at the hands of you rivals (no, they wouldn't let you live and become a threat one day)

2. Isolation and Loneliness

The role of a monarch is a lonely one. You're alone in your position. You're the sole leader of the nation and everyone counts on you, which means that you have access to some nice luxury, but you're also cut off from real human connection, because noone will see you as their equal (in their eyes, you're above). Yes, you might eventually be given a wife, but that's an arranged marriage. And what sense is there in falling madly in love when you never know when you'll be called into battle (where you'd be expected to lead at the front), or when will your rivals finally succeed in planting their dagger into your back? I'm not saying that you never could love, but you'd be very careful with that, since if your enemies would see that you actually love someone, they would exploit that new weakness of yours immediately. Your view on love would be the same as that of the immortal vampire - they would know that it can never last forever because their sweetheart will die. You as a monarch know that it won't last forever because YOU'll probably die.

3. Guilt and Desperation

When your every ruling decides the fate of your nation, the consequences of your failures will be massive as well - for example when you make a bad decision and that leads to an Ottoman Invasion, your country will be pillaged, your men cut into pieces, woman raped and children taken into slavery.

So as you can see, for Vlad Draculea, the pressures of vampiric curse would be nothing new. For him, it would only be the continuation of his voivodeship, only in different clothes. And he knew how to cope with them before, so he would also know how to cope with them now. Because in real life he didn't descend into becoming a sadistic monster (#don't believe mediaeval propaganda)

If you're interested in the specific coping mechanisms based in mediaeval psyche that he used to be able to fulfill his role as a voivode, I am preparing a separate post about that, and I promise you you'll be fascinated. And it actually could help you deal with modern problems as well. It certainly did help me massively 😉. I'll link the post here as well when it's done eventually.

Edit: part 1 is already done! Here are some tips useful for mental health from Vlad

This one is more on general coping mechanisms useful for dealing with excessive emotions such a role would bring. In some future part I'll also pick apart how specifically he'd have dealt with the pressure of responsibility of such a role, which is more in topic to this post.

So out of all people, it would be the famous Dracula himself, who would keep most of his humanity intact!

...which is quite ironic when you look at how in almost every traditional portrayal he's a sadistic monster. Yes, the curse could do that to a regular human. But paradoxically not to Vlad III Draculea himself.

Would Draculea descend into a self-deprecating existence, hiding away from human sight in shame like most vampires do?

I would not count on it. Not because he was a voivode, but because he was Vlad Draculea.

Look, even if he might hate what he have become (as becomming a blood sucking immortal would probably go against his christian values), if anything, Draculea has never before let anything define him as a victim.

When the ottomans tortured him as a child, he didn't become a "poor tortured boy". He used it to make himself stronger and became a warrior. And that's why the Ottomans never managed to break him, as opposed to others.

Same would happen now - he wouldn't let the curse make him into "a poor cursed monster". He would be still a "voivode who happened to be under the curse of vampirism, ah well, what can you do, at least now I've got more weapons in my arsenal, nice!"

I am not saying that perhaps he would not disagree with the course, no, I think he even might be angry that this happened to him, the same way as he was justifiably angry when the ottomans tortured him. He might even spend a long time trying to find a cure for the curse. Because he was a man who wanted to always be in control (which makes sense when you look at his childhood, where he as a prisoner had no control at all), and if he was cursed against his will, or if the curse made him do things he didn't want to do, he would try his best to get rid of it (like he tried to get rid of the ottomans).

But in the meantime he would use it as best he could for his own purpose, like he still used an ottoman kilij for fighting, even though he hated the ottomans - because they trained him with the kilij and he wasn't a hateful fool to just throw it away the moment he got free from their captivity. He was pragmatic, he knew that after years of training he will always be better at fighting with kilij than with other swords (and also in some ways the curved sabre IS better than a straight sword, as we can see that it later took over. So Draculea would see that advantage as well).

Yeah, if you want to define Vlad in one single word, it would be: "pragmatic"

He had never let himself be overwhelmed with blind hatred - look how he withdrew his men from the night attack near Târgoviște, EVEN THOUGH he was this close to killing the sultan! But he withdrew his men instead because he knew that they would suffer horrible losses if he didn't withdraw in the right time.

But I also don't mean that he would let himself go and then try to excuse his behaviour like "ah, it's okay for me to murder you all, because you see, I am a vampire, I have no other choice" IF HE ACTUALLY HAD OTHER CHOICES AVAILABLE. He'd still feel obliged to use his power responsibly, as he did when he had power as a voivode.

So, when we take into account all this, we can see that he would probably never descend into crouching in the shadows (if that wasn't a part of some strategic plan of course), trying to hide away from the world so that noone may look at him and see the monster he became.

No, he would still have his honour and pride. He would never 'talk as a low vampire'. He would always talk as a voivode. But he would use his vampiric aspects when it would suit him strategically - for example he would smile exposing his teeth when purposedly trying to scare someone (as pictured).

So the final verdict is:

Vlad would never be a vampire. Vlad would be a voivode who also happens to be a vampire.

#dracula #daily dracula #vlad tepes #dracula daily #count dracula #vlad the impaler #vampire #vlad voda #vlad dracula #vlad țepeș #my artwork #my art #artists on tumblr #draculesti #vlandom #my thoughts on dracula

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