#fanfic ikevamp

[xxsycamore]

❝ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬? ❞

╰┈➤ ⁉️ Everyone is acting so strange today, and Sebastian seems to be the only one noticing it.

Sebastian, Comte, Napoleon, Theodorus, Vincent, Mozart, Jean, Arthur, Isaac, Leonardo, Dazai • rating: G • tags: April Fools' Day; Pranks and Practical Jokes; poor sebas; Humor; Crack • wordcount: 1,682 • masterlist

a/n: HAPPY APRIL FOOLS! After Dazai pranking everyone and then everyone pranking Dazai, it seems like this year's target is Sebas…

It's not every day that Sebastian allows himself the indulgence of enjoying a drink with his masters, even when they so generously invite him to the table in the game room. The events of last night are but a blur in his memory now, as he's not the best at holding his liquor and neither has their immunity to hangovers. But a butler must be prim and proper at all times! While he's on duty, that's it. So that's why he allowed himself the fun of last night, but is readily up and out of his bed early in the morning today.

He enters the kitchen, humming the tune to Mozart's Turkish March in this tranquil moment of being the only soul awake in the whole mansion, on his way to begin preparing breakfast-

"Oh, good morning Sebas. I'm already done with some things here, figured I might help you."

"My! What a nice surprise Monsieur Napoleon, thank you."

Huh.

"M-M-M-Monsieur Napoleon what are you doing here????"

"Helping you with breakfast."

"No, gods, I was wondering why are you awake at such an early hour-"

Napoleon looks at him dumbfounded. And so does Sebas, mirroring him. Granted, there are dark circles under his eyes but that hardly does anything about the vigor with which he moves the frying pan and multitasks with the preparation of another ingredient at the same time.

"Is it that strange that I felt like waking up earlier today?"

Well, yes it is! That's what Sebastian wants to shout at the top of his lungs, but he can only blink mesmerized instead. Fearing that he might offend him in some way if he keeps this up, he saves his confusion to himself and gets back on track with his task.

The breakfast preparation goes on swimmingly with Napoleon's help, even if he strangely seems to have forgotten how to cook all of a sudden so he needs some serious memory refreshment... Sebastian blames it on his lack of sleep, of course that would be the reason.

Soon the dining room begins filling with the real early-bird residents that pose no surprises for Sebastian, and the plates are already waiting in front of them like clockwork.

"Pancakes again? I'm starting to get tired of this. You got something else for me, Sebastian?"

The sound of pots and pans falling to the floor greatly concerns the van Gogh brothers at the table after the younger one's question, but soon after the butler emerges from the kitchen with a haphazardly pieced-together English breakfast. He places it in front of Theodorus who asked for the change, waiting. Waiting to see if he's going to eat it at all.

"Here you go, master Theodorus. Do you need extra jam, or-"

"No need, looks more than enough to me. Why are you staring at me like that? Is it poisonous?"

"Gods, no, how could it be! I'm merely...surprised is all."

Vincent chuckles a little at the exchange, preparing to dig in on his portion of...pancakes, fortunately. But he pauses.

"Theo, would you hand me the syrup? I feel like eating something sweeter today!"

"Stand up and take it yourself."

Sebastian's eyes are about to pop out of his eye sockets.

"Messieurs, is everything alright with-"

The door opens with a bang that belongs to no gentlemen living in this household.

And certainly not to Le Comte de Saint-Germain.

"'morning."

"M-monsieur le Comte, what are you wearing?"

Comte's casual walk to his place at the head of the table with hands in his pockets is rivaled only by the even more casual look he sports today, with a halfway-open shirt and a pair of checkered trousers that don't really match. To finish off the look, his hair is a mess. He lands with a thud on his chair, raising his feet to rest crossed on the table.

"What am I wearing? Since when did you start asking so many questions?"

"I'm terribly sorry."

Comte sighs and snaps his fingers repeatedly in the air. "Coffee. Now."

"I already brew a pot of your preferred morning tea-"

"Don't make me repeat myself, butler."

"I got it."

On his way to the kitchen, Sebastian overhears Comte slamming his fist on the table telling everyone that from now on, they'll be paying rent.

Sebastian must be sleeping. This has to be some kind of nightmare. There's no other logical explanation.

When he returns to the dining room the door opens to welcome another couple of residents - Jean and Mozart.

"Good morning Herr Mozart. Good morning to you too, Monsieur Jean, what a surprise!"

Mozart and Jean both turn to Sebastian...and they give him their brightest smiles. Imaginary flowers bloom in the air around them. They greet in a cheerful voice together as one, and it's the most beautiful melody. "Good morning, Sebastian!"

"We decided to grab a bite before our trip to town today."

"Your... your what?"

"That's right, I'll be taking Jean in town with me. The carriage is already waiting at the gate."

Mozart going to...town?? With a carriage?? With Jean??

"Aha! The trace of this bloody delicious smell seems to have led me to this dining room!"

Now what? Sebastian turns in the direction of Arthur's voice albeit it sounds a little different than usual, as if he's playing a role... and there he is, having just entered the dining room... with a looking glass in his hand and a pipe in his mouth.

"Good morning, Master Arthur. Your observation skills are on point as always. What's with the curious accessories?"

Sebastian doesn't know why he asks anymore.

"Why, I'll be going on a Sherlock Homles book fair later today! You know it's all the hype these days, I figured it's the best place to learn something about my beloved character that I don't know. You know my methods, Watson. Haha!"

Thank god, Sebastian is not the only one about to faint right now. Given how normal everything else was taken by his housemates. Theo says the one thing Sebastian couldn't bring himself to say.

"This idiot has reached rock bottom in his search for skirts he hasn't yet fooled around with."

Arthur looks...grossed out. As if he's been made fun of by Dazai, or something similar. Actually, there haven't been a great deal of chances to see Arthur sporting this expression. It's definitely strange.

"Theo, could you not be so foul-mounted, please? You know I hold no interest in the fair sex."

"A-Are you feeling well, Master Arthur? Maybe when you drink your coffee-"

"Ah no please, tea it is for me!"

"Are you feeling well, Master Arthur?????"

"Sebastian seems really uptight today. Are YOU feeling well, Sebastian? Why don't you sit with us for a while?" Jean smiles at him again. It's a smile Sebastian wants to protect. It should be automatically making him feel better but it only serves to increase his confusion. He even sat next to Comte. Comte doesn't deserve this! At least not with his current behavior. Oh how strange of a thought that is.

"I appreciate your concern, but, I just need to know what is happening with all of you today. I can't be calm until I ensure that you, my masters, are alright, and I demand you tell me what is happening this instant!"

A near dozen pairs of eyes blink at Sebastian as if he's indeed the crazy one. He sits down on the offered chair, then quickly stands up again. "No, please tell me what is-"

The door opens yet again and this time it's Leonardo and Isaac who enter. Sebastian paces left and right, trying to spot empty plates to take to the kitchen before he can witness anything weird again-

"Isaac, mio amico, can you please not smoke in here? You know I can't stand the smell..."

"AAAAAAAGH!" Sebastian yells, breaking his professional image and running straight towards the door. He can't do this. It doesn't matter if he escapes now. It's just a nightmare. Just a nightmare-

He nearly crashes into the person entering at the same time.

"Hello Sebas-kun~"

Through the DOOR?

Sebastian breaks. Like a stone statue slammed by the pressure of a cataclysm despite the decades of stoicism, even if he thought he'd seen everything...

He falls to his knees in defeat.

...

...

"APRIL FOOLS'!"

Before he has a chance to remove his hands from his eyes where he tried to block the world, a wave of residents quite literally falls over him, each embracing him and laughing.

Okay, NOW he's confused.

"April fools? But- But my calendar said it's-"

"Someone had a little too much to drink last night and had to be carried to his room... let's say we meddled a little with it. Sorry, Sebas." Napoleon pats his shoulder. "Okay, can I go to sleep now?"

Sebastian laughs, and despite what he predicted for himself just a minute ago, it's not out of descending to madness. It's a genuine laughter, one he hasn't had in a while.

"I would never guess you could be capable of doing such a thing! Every one of you! My god, you got me quite well."

"Heh, guess you don't know us well enough then, eh? Remember this well, some of those guys are going to remember it for the rest of their second lives." Leonardo says, finally lighting that cigarillo. Good thing they didn't have to put on the act for longer than that.

"Indeed. I hope we weren't too harsh on you, Sebastian. My residents are always such naughty boys." Comte consoles, suspiciously looking as if it was his idea all along.

Sebastian chuckles some more, then he stands to his feet, dusting off his uniform and letting out a small cough behind his fist.

"My masters, that was indeed too naughty of you! I appreciate seeing you have fun, and I have to admit, you got me well. But that doesn't mean I won't find it fitting to flick some foreheads."

"Sebaaas, can we please have our usual breakfast now?"

"Why yes, coming right away!"

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran    @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @galaxyprison @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning ​ @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 @kittygrimm88 @lokis-laugh @judejazza Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[natimiles]

Warmth (Comte x reader x Leonardo)

Summary: You wake up feeling too hot, and your lovers help you cool down.

Words: 664

Tags: fluffy; romance; established relationship; Comte’s real name.

Notes: a little scenario I wrote for @valkyyriia to bring her back to life a few days ago.

The snow piles up outside in the garden, painting it white. The mansion is silent, with everyone likely taking advantage of the cold to stay warm under their blankets. It’s the middle of winter, the coldest night of the season. Or, at least, it was supposed to be.

You wake up because you feel too warm, and the crackling of the fireplace makes you think that must be why. But as you shift your body to turn to the other side, you realize your face is pressed against a firm chest, a warm body snuggled against your back, and two sets of arms holding you close to them. And suddenly, it makes perfect sense why you’re so hot.

You try to move again, slowly, careful not to disturb your lovers. You think you’re successful until you feel the body in front of you stir, followed by a soft voice whispering, “Is everything okay, ma chérie?”

“I’m too hot,” you complain with a pout.

Comte laughs softly through his nose, his hand brushing your bangs back. “You’re really warm.” He leans in and kisses your forehead. “Do you want to uncover yourself a bit? Or take off one blanket?”

“I guess we didn’t expect to make you this hot while you were asleep too,” Leonardo teases from behind you, startling you.

“Leo!” You slap his arm, and he chuckles. Abel’s soft laughter doesn’t help the heat on your already flushed face.

“Come here, I can help you.” His arms tighten around you as he smirks, ready to roll you over him to the other side of the bed, where you could uncover yourself and cool off better than being squeezed between two warm purebloods. But before he can follow through, Comte’s hand grabs his arm, holding him back.

“What do you think you’re doing, Leonardo?” he asks with a smile.

“Helping, cara mia,” he answers, as if it’s obvious.

Abel doesn’t let go of him, and Leonardo doesn’t let go of you. You stay there for a few seconds, staring at each other, with that pureblood aura growing stronger around you. They’re squeezing you even tighter now, and you feel the heat becoming more uncomfortable. You sigh, thinking that maybe if you could uncover your feet, it might help a little while they continue to silently fight for your attention…

Your sigh, however, is interpreted by the vampires as irritation with them rather than frustration with the heat, and their gaze shifts to your face instantly. And as if rehearsed, they move in unison.

“What—” you start to ask, startled by their sudden movement.

Leonardo gets up to reduce the heat of the fireplace, and Comte sits up, moving the blanket to leave only a lighter one over the three of you. When your lover returns, he brings a glass of water for you, and the other helps you sit up to drink it. Abel brushes your hair back, removing the strands stuck to your sweaty skin and holding them in a loose ponytail to cool your neck. It’s always amusing to you how they’re so possessive and jealous of each other, but they set it all aside at the slightest sign that you’re uncomfortable.

After you drink as much as you want and Leo takes the glass back to its place, you lie back down on your back, with Comte still at your side, gently brushing your hair with his fingers. Leonardo returns to his place on your other side and takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers. He brings your joined hands to his lips, softly kissing your knuckles and bringing a smile to your face.

You still feel warm, but it’s not uncomfortable like when you woke up.

The warmth of your lovers envelops you in a soothing way, and as they caress you, you feel your eyelids growing heavy. Abel kisses your temple, and Leo kisses your cheek, and you sigh contentedly, drifting back to sleep for a restful night.

Taglist: @bicayaya @koco-coko @yamarireads @dragon-liquorice @fang-and-feather

• @sh0jun @scummy-writes @valkyyriia @just-a-dodo

Masterlists

[valkyyriia]

Try This On For Size

Words: 2729

CW: Google Translate French, Comte de Saint-Germain’s real name, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism?, Mirror Sex, Creampie, Vaginal Fingering | NSFW

Pairing: Comte de Saint-Germain / Female-Bodied Reader

Prompt(s): Fitting Room, Let Them Play Dress-Up With You

Note: I cranked out another one at work tonight. I'm feeling even less confident with this one than I was with the other, but.. I hope it still makes sense.

Crossposted on AO3 here.

For @xxsycamore's event, Sexy Ikemen Summer!

The sticky summer heat of the French countryside was beginning to get to you. No amount of fanning yourself or loosening your collar was cutting it. 

Of all the things you could be missing from the modern era, air conditioning was not expected to be the crux of all of your issues. 

Just as you feared you would begin to melt into the parquet flooring, a cool hand brushed against the back of your neck. “Are you okay, ma chérie? You seem a little warm.” His voice was soothing, but tinged with concern.

“I’m alright,” you assured him with a content sigh, leaning back into his touch. “It’s just hotter than I’m used to.” 

Comte’s hands dropped to your shoulders and he began to massage them. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head as the tension left your body. “You’ve been working hard lately. I think it’s time you take a break.”

“There’s too much to do for that,” You protested. “Sebas needs help with dinner, and we haven’t even begun cleaning up the book fort Leonardo created in the library.” 

Comte hummed, one of his hands gently caressing the side of your neck. “Should I give it as an order from your employer, then? If a heartfelt plea from your partner isn’t enough.” He moved to kiss your neck under your ear. “Please, mon amour. It wouldn’t do to have you suffer a heatstroke simply because you’re too stubborn to know when to take a break.” His lips moved towards your shoulder, teasing but affectionate. His arms moved to your waist, pulling you back into his embrace. He rested his head on your shoulder and held you close.

You leaned into him, your head draped over his other shoulder. Unlike the stifling heat of the outdoors, Comte’s warmth was comforting and welcome. He nuzzled into the joint between your neck and shoulder. “Let me spoil you today,” he said, kissing your neck again. 

“You spoil me every day, Abel,” you sighed, relaxing further into your partner. He was going to win this and you both knew it; it was just a matter of how long it took you to give in.

“And yet, somehow, I’m still not satisfied that it’s enough. You deserve more, chérie. You deserve the world, and you will get it if I have anything to say about it.” His arms tightened around your midsection, pulling you even closer. 

A cool, inviting breeze suddenly blew through the open window. The air rushed along your face and tousled your bangs. Even nature herself was trying to tempt you. With another sigh, you gave in. “Fine. But you have to let me get up on time tomorrow, okay? I don’t want to leave Sebas waiting again like the last time you took me out for the day.” 

The vampire chuckled into your neck, the reverberations rumbling through your own body due to the proximity. “I seem to recall you left my bed quite satisfied that morning.” 

You flushed at the memory. “I certainly was,” you agreed. “Until Sebas abused my forehead after breakfast. I had a bruise for a week.” 

“Alright, alright,” he relented, stepping back from you with a light chuckle and holding up his hands in defeat. “Let’s get you cooled off.” 

“But it was worth it, non?” He looked up at you from his position on your shoulder. Comte’s golden eyes twinkled with amusement, but they were tinged with a subtle heat. His hands drifted slowly down your abdomen, his gaze never leaving yours. He offered you a coy smile.

You groaned. “It’s too hot, Abel,” you protested. “I will genuinely either melt into a puddle or catch on fire if you continue that line of thought right now.” 

As it turns out, Comte’s idea of “cooling off” was taking a carriage into town and going clothes shopping. For you, of course. His reasoning was that your clothes were heavier than you were accustomed to in your time, so lighter fabric would help fend off the oppressive French sun. Comte’s logic was sound, but you were quite sure he was just fishing for an excuse to buy you even more dresses that you would only wear once. 

As the carriage stopped, he stepped out first, offering you his hand. Taking it, he kissed the back of it before tucking your arm into his. The two of you walked leisurely in the direction of his favorite boutique, the one the both of you frequented. The staff immediately recognized the both of you (you were pretty certain that Comte’s patronage alone could keep this store in business for centuries to come, and potentially push France into the forefront of the modern economy) and ushered you into a large fitting room in the back of the building. 

“How can we be of service on this day, Monsieur le Comte?” 

He looked around the room briefly. “My partner is in need of some lighter summer clothes. The heat is getting to her,” he said, brushing his knuckles against your cheek with affection. You hadn’t really considered it before today, but the dress you were wearing was made of a heavier material that was more suited for the later part of the year. Maybe a couple of thinner summer dresses would be a good idea - you just hoped you could keep your darling Comte from purchasing the entire store this time.

The shop worker nodded in agreement. “The Madame’s dress is much better for the cooler months. Yes, I will bring you some of our best. Un moment, s'il vous plaît,” they said, stepping out to rifle through a few clothing racks.

You looked around the room. Not much had changed from the last time you were here, except now they had frilly sun hats and sunglasses on display alongside the jewelry and shoes. 

“Has anything caught your eye, ma chérie?” Comte asked, tilting your chin up to look at him. 

“Aside from you, you mean?” You ask with a smile. He responds with a chuckle and a kiss to the forehead. 

“You are so.. Séduisant, mon amour,” Comte murmured, amused. “What am I going to do with you?” 

“Many things, I’d imagine,” you said sweetly. “After all, eternity is a long time.”

Before Comte could reply, the shop attendant returned with a large bundle of fabric bunched in her arms. “I selected a few similar to what you’ve purchased for le Comtesse before, along with a couple of other styles I’m sure would look lovely on her.” She smiled at you. 

“I truly think she could make anything look amazing. Merci beaucoup, mademoiselle,” Comte replied with a cordial smile. “We will take it from here.” 

The attendant curtsied on her way out of the fitting room. “If you have need of anything else, please just let us know.” 

Once you were alone, Comte sat on the ottoman in the room and grinned cheekily. “Strip.” 

Your cheeks bloomed a dark pink. “Don’t say it like that!” You hissed, untying the ribbon at your neck at his request anyway. His laughter filled the room. 

You tried on several outfits that day; all of which were far lighter material than what you had on. They were high-quality, lightweight cotton - and definitely outside of your normal budget. Not that Comte cared about price. If you expressed even the slightest desire for something, the vampire would have dozens of the item in question waiting for you within a day, regardless of practicality or expense. One time, you had been playing with Lumière and commented on how cute he was, and the next day you woke up to an entire litter of kittens in your room, courtesy of Comte. You ended up rehoming all but one of them - a little black thing you had named Minerva. She was probably sunning herself in the window right about now, absorbing all the sun she could. Disgusting.

Comte gave feedback on all of them, but he seemed pleased with every dress you tried on. He chose accessories and shoes for everything you tried on. While le Comte de Saint-Germain may not be the most fashionable of individuals, he could at least pick out matching shoes and jewelry. 

Throughout the fittings, Comte’s eyes only left your figure a handful of times, just long enough to grab a pair of shoes or another accessory. The rapt attention from your lover would have made you feel self-conscious if it weren’t so endearing. Your trained eye could tell that Comte grew somewhat more impatient with every article you tried on, but he never once rushed you. You wondered what had him so antsy, but you decided not to ask. After all, you would be done soon enough.

The last dress in the pile was a beautiful, floral-print cotton gown. The base fabric was white, but it was dyed with small daisies all over. You looked at yourself in the mirror and twisted to get a better look. You tried to reach behind you to lace up the back, but you stopped when you saw him come up behind you. Comte’s fingers gently batted yours aside and he began to lace the dress, looking at you in the mirror as he did so. Your breath caught in your throat as you saw the look he gave you - adoration, desire, and hunger. “It looks beautiful on you,” Comte said honestly as he secured the fastenings. He tightened the laces just enough so it would stay on, but not so much your movement would be inhibited. 

“Everything today has looked good on you, chérie,” he added, his now free hands settling on your hips and pulling you flush to him. You could feel his hardness straining against the smooth material of his trousers. He lightly rubbed his hips against yours.

The feeling of his arousal against your backside caused you to bite your lip and make eye contact with his reflection. His gaze had darkened further and you were suddenly reminded that he was a vampire - a predator - and you were his prey. Rather than fear, however, the sight was more arousing than anything. You almost felt empowered, knowing this man craved you so strongly that his control was only hanging on by a thread. 

“I do,” he said, pushing the sleeves down your shoulders and leaving hot kisses on the now bare skin. “I’ve rather enjoyed getting to play dress up with you today, but I have been looking forward to the moment I got to take them off of you. I can’t keep pretending to be a gentleman right now.” He pushed the dress down your hips, the decorated cotton pooling on the floor, leaving you in your chemise. Comte pulled you backwards, still keeping his eyes on you in the mirror, and bent you over the other side of the ottoman. You complied with his direction, your breath hitching when you felt him run his fingers through your already damp slit. You hung your head and inhaled sharply as he slid in one finger, then two, stretching you slightly.

Comte began to tug on the lace he had just tied up, loosening the bodice of the dress. You looked up at him in surprise. “I thought you liked the dress?”

“You’re already so wet,” he teased. “Such a naughty girl, getting worked up like this in public.” You pushed your hips back against his fingers, but he pulled them out and held you still instead. 

When you heard the sound of fabric rustling, your gaze shot up at the exact time Comte began to press the tip of his cock to your entrance. You looked back at him in surprise, but he turned your face towards the mirror once more. 

“I want you to see how pretty you look while I’m inside you,” Comte said, his voice deep with desire.

“What if someone walks back here?” You asked breathily, biting back a moan as Comte pushed in the rest of the way, filling you completely. “Then we let them enjoy the show,” he replied, snapping his hips against your ass once. You could feel him grinding against the sweet spot deep inside you and you bit your lip hard, straining not to cry out. “I have no intention of stopping. But if you stay quiet like a good girl, they won’t have any reason to come check on us, non?” 

Rather than fucking you into the ottoman, Comte instead opted for shallow thrusts deep in your warmth and continued to grind against you. The constant pressure and friction felt so good it was almost painful. You bit your lip harder, tears springing from the corners of your eyes. Comte reached around to your mouth and gently pulled your abused lip from between your teeth with his thumb. He then slipped the digit between your lips instead, giving you something to keep your mouth occupied without hurting yourself. 

Comte was insistent on keeping your attention on yourself in the mirror. Every time you looked away, he would pull out just enough to where you received no stimulation. When you looked back up at the mirror, you were rewarded with the head of his thick length grinding into your sweet spot again. 

Comte’s other hand slipped between your thighs, his fingers deftly stroking the sensitive bud there. He timed his fingers with his hips, setting a gentle yet insistent rhythm. The lack of movement kept the sounds to a minimum; all that could really be heard around the room was a rustling of fabric and the muffled sighs from the both of you. The extra fabric around the room served as a sort of soundproofing as well, masking the sounds as well. You could feel the tension building in your abdomen, and you pushed your hips back against him. Comte’s lips trailed against your neck, his hot breath puffing against the shell of your ear. 

“Come for me,” he whispered, punctuating his command with a kiss under your ear and the insistent motion of his fingers between your thighs. The pressure in your belly suddenly snapped and you leaned forward, forgetting about the mirror; your inner walls contracting around the cock buried deep in you. Comte’s thumb slipped out of your mouth at the motion, but his hand wrapped around your mouth to prevent you from crying out in pleasure and alerting the store personnel to what exactly you were doing in their fitting room.

With a soft grunt, Comte’s free hand suddenly held your hips still as he too found his release. He instinctually pressed himself even deeper into your warmth and emptied himself inside of you with a shudder. Comte’s mouth settled over your pulse point. The urge to bite you was so intense it was hard to resist. His fangs ached with the desire to sink them into the succulent flesh of your neck, but he couldn't - not yet. Comte instead settled for gritting his teeth and pressing his face against you, a quiet groan escaping his throat. With an exhale and a kiss pressed to your shoulder, he pulled out and neatly tucked himself back in his pants. He moved your underwear back into place, preventing any fluid leakage for now, and smoothed out the skirt of your chemise. 

Comte spent the next five minutes making you both presentable again. Your heart was still pounding in your chest. You weren’t sure you would be able to shop at this store anymore for the sake of embarrassment. Once you were both decent, he shot you a cheeky grin and kissed your forehead. Your face flushed. “You have the worst poker face, ma chérie,” he chuckled. 

“Shut up,” you grumbled weakly in response, exhaling and trying to calm the heat rising in your cheeks.

Comte offered you his arm once more and guided you out of the fitting room. “We’ll take everything she tried on today,” Comte told the store clerk. You groaned in exasperation. You’re going to need a whole wing of the mansion just for your clothes if Comte keeps getting his way. However, that’s a problem for tomorrow you, you decide. For today, you’re content to let him keep spoiling you. 

“Je t’aime, Comte,” you murmur, leaning against his arm. 

“Je t’aime aussi,” he replies, kissing the top of your head. “And I always will.”

Taglist: @natimiles

[candied-boys]

📻Country Radio Themed Prompt List🐎

Y'all, it's rodeo season and I'm havin' a hot cowgirl summer!

I know there are at least a few of us out here who love a little small town, texas two-step, roll in the hay, tailgate party, coffee with a sunrise, dusty boots and sundresses kinda slow life. I know I can't stop putting my favs in situations whenever I listen to country music and I hope y'all hop on the bandwagon and join me for my first creation challenge!

So round up your fav cowboys and giddy up, gurl! We ride 'til the end of September! Radio playlists below👇

FAQ:

Can I submit something I already created if it fits the vibe?

HELL YEAH! Old content that fits the theme in anyway and new creations are all welcome! (Honestly even if it doesn't fit any of the prompts, I'll take any country content I can get so please reblog your works and tag me!)

How can I write for the country genre if I'm not familiar with it?

Don't sweat it! If you vibe with anything here that's more than enough! I tried to pick lyrics with a variety of themes - family, love, coming of age, angst, bad boys/girls etc. They all centre around a sense of connection and relationships - universally human themes.

We're all here playing games that locate the characters inside cultures outside of Japan and we're here writing for cultures outside our own when writing for these games, so don't be shy! Just let yourself have fun.

What should I do with lyrics?

Use the prompts however you like; Any and all types of content submissions are welcome — writing, drabbles, head canons, drawing, mood boards, playlists, whatever makes you say, "Hell yeah!"

Examples: You could use the lyrics directly as quotes, indirectly as the premise for the art. Anything! You could incorporate the lyrics from the rest of the song. There are a ton of great lines/ideas in the rest of each song. You're not restricted to these quotes. I just picked ones that speak to me or have a strong image. If you vibe with it and it inspires you, go for it!

What fandoms can I use with these prompts?

Any suitors from games by CYBIRD (Ikepri, Ikevamp, Ikerev, MidCin, Ikevil, Ikesen, Ikegen, Morganatic Idol, ANYTHING)

What kind of content is allowed?

Sfw, nsfw, dark, angst, fluff, suitor x suitor, selfship, oc x suitor — anything is fine. I only ask that you use Tumblr’s built-in content label system to mark content as mature when appropriate. Use tags and warnings as you see necessary.

What tags should I use?

#CountryRadioCC

please at me @candied-boys so I can add your work to a masterlist

Playlists:

Lyrics:

Heart Like A Truck - Lainey Wilson

I got a hankering for four wide tires

And I can't help it, it's the way I'm wired

'Fore you get too close

Boy, you need to know

Turn - Tyler Hubbard

The way she turns 501s into long, tan legs

She can turn a bad day around like she turns those heads

She can turn one little look into turnin' me on

Five more minutes into all night long

Fishin' in the Dark - Nitty Gritty Dirt Band

And it don't matter if we sit forever

And the fish don't bite

Jump in the river and cool ourselves

From the heat of the night

I Grew Up On A Farm - The Reklaws

Why I gotta watch the sunrise

Job ain't ever done till it's done right

I'll tell you what makes me cry about a steel guitar

And why I gotta work so hard

Dirt Cheap - Cody Johnson

That little girl that used to swing right there

I still see her pink bow in her brown hair

Runnin' up after one of them long days

A big smile makin' every little worry fade

Use Me - Dallas Smith

I'll let you go like I always do

Won't hurt as bad 'cause I always knew

That I was just a chapter, no happily-ever-after

Old Dirt Roads - Owen Riegling

Come and find me down where the treeline ends

And the cattails grow

We can be free, livin' our dreams out

Singin' to the radio

American Kids - Kenny Chesney

Sister's got a boyfriend Daddy doesn't like

Now he's sittin' out back, 3030 in his lap

In the blue bug zapper light

Fast Car - Luke Combs

Won't have to drive too far

Just across the border and into the city

And you and I can both get jobs

Finally see what it means to be living

Long Hot Summer - Keith Urban

I wanna see your brown skin shimmer

In the sun for the first time

I gotta be the one who knows just what to do to you

To get me that smile

I Like It, I Love It - Tim McGraw

Spent 48 dollars last night at the county fair

I throwed out my shoulder, but I won her that teddy bear

Cowgirls - Morgan Wallen

And she got a cold heart but she got a warm smile

Cut from the same cloth, she kinda buck-wild

Little bit angel, whole lotta outlaw

She's trouble but I'll tell you right now, y'all

A banner for y'all:

Adorable horse dividers by @/plum98

[aquagirl1978]

Fact or Fable (also known as "How the Heck Isaac Ending Up Wearing *That* Dress)

Arthur: Hey Newt, come in here!

Dazai: Yeah, Ai-kun, come join us.

Isaac: *grumbling* What do you two want?

Arthur: We're playing a little game and thought you could join us?

Isaac: I don't like the way you're smiling.

Dazai: Don't you wanna play this game with us? It's fun, I promise.

Isaac: I don't like the sound of this.

Arthur: *pushing Isaac into a chair* It's really very simple...

Arthur: *ignoring Isaac's glare* Dazai will tell us a statement and we will take turns saying if it is a fact about Dazai or if it is from a Japanese fable.

Dazai: If you guess wrong, you drink a shot. If you guess right, the other drinks the shot. Sounds fun, right?

Isaac: Ehhh...

Dazai: Great, you're in! Let's start with Arthur so you can see how it's played. Arthur, fact or fable - when I was little, I wore a bowl on my head.

Arthur: Fact!

Dazai: Wrong - drink a shot. That was from the Tale of Hachikazuki, I should have a copy of it in my room if either of you would like to read it.

(Isaac shakes his head while Arthur drinks his shot)

Dazai: Very well. Ai-kun, this one is for you. Fact or fable - I was born in a peach.

Isaac: You have to be kidding me.

Dazai: I assure you, I am quite serious.

Isaac: Fable. No human can be born from a peach.

Dazai: And you would be correct, that is from the tale of Momotarō. Arthur, take another shot.

(This went on for a few rounds, each of which Arthur was made to drink a shot)

Isaac: *looks at Arthur* You're drunk.

Arthur: *smiles* So then you don't mind upping the ante on this next one?

Arthur: *pulls out bag he had hidden away* Answer this wrong, and you'll have to wear this outfit

Isaac: And if I answer correctly?

Arthur: I will wear it.

Isaac: *shakes hands with a drunk Arthur* You're on.

Dazai: Fact or fable - I have a koi pond here at the mansion.

Isaac: *spoken quite confidently* Fable!

Dazai: I'm sorry Ai-kun, but that answer is incorrect.

Isaac: *standing from his seat, voice getting louder* What do you mean, wrong? I dont see a koi pond anywhere in this mansion. Not outside. Not inside. Not a single pond.

Dazai Oh, but I do. I never said it was a pond with actual water. I have a painting in my room of a koi pond. Painted it myself, would you like to see it?

Isaac: No, I do not want to see it!

(A very sober Isaac fell back onto his seat, screaming silently knowing his fate)

Arthur: Just sit in the carriage.

Isaac: How 'bout no.

Arthur: C'mon Newt, you lost fair and square.

Isaac: There was no agreement to actually go somewhere dressed like this.

Arthur: Rules change. Now get in the carriage.

Isaac: No.

Arthur: Do you want me to start yelling and then everyone in the mansion will come out and see you?

(Isaac grumbles as he climbs into the carriage)

Arthur: *holds out a shiny red apple* Now take this.

Isaac: What? No, I don't want your stupid apple.

Arthur: You know you want the apple.

(Isaac took the apple and held it for a moment before tossing it at Arthur's head)

Arthur: Hey! That was a perfectly good apple there. You could have fed it to this horse.

Isaac: Are we done here? Have you had your fill of amusement?

Arthur: Yeah, yeah. You can go. I suggest you go in through the back. You don't want anyone else to see you dressed like this.

[shookspearewrites]

Yandere(ish) Comte, "My Charlemagne"

Hello my little ducklings! I'm sorry I fell off the face of the Earth for such a long time - Tbh, there's been a load of changes in my life lately and I am just always so busy now that I'm starting my new career >2< I cannot put into words how fucking much I have missed you guys and writing and ikevamp as a whole!

I've just celebrated 1 year with my partner (Mr JJ says hi, say hey to him in the comments ^^) and I'm doing 9 til 5 every day at my work placement so that's my life update, let me know how you've been!

Anyways, I've fallen in love with the song 'Charlemagne' by Blossoms and I wrote this piece while listening to it on repeat on the train - Hope you like it!

-JJ x

__________

The gentle Comte's sharp golden eyes mirrored his protruding fangs as they pierced through the darkness hanging in cold Parisian air, violence brewing within his usually still core. Usually the lilting, soothing sound of the sweet mademoiselle's laugh would bring a smile to his handsome features, instead now there blossomed a deep scowl, a growl tearing from his throat as another man dared to rest his hand upon his lady's cheek - A man the Count thought of as an old friend, nonetheless. The nobleman snarled at the swirl of cigarillo smoke that hung thick in the air, circling the young lady like a halo as it slowly rose and was no doubt clinging to her clothing, staining it with another man's scent where her delicate, floral perfume should prevail. Where he should be able to smell her delectable blood, like nectar, flowing beneath her impossibly blemishless skin, waiting with baited breath until he could devour her. Her laugh, her blood, her love should've belonged to him, not another - now the dear Comte was no angel, but a Goddess like her deserved nothing less than he and he alone. He didn't like to admit that he was a jealous man, but the evidence was all there: Bloodlust on the tongue, a violent rage brewing in the gut and heartbreak pulling taught the strings within. Comte couldn't bare to watch the romantic scene unfolding by the river bank underneath the sky adorned with flickering stars for another moment. He took a short, sharp swig from the ornate hip flask he carried and turned on his heel, his body heavy like lead, weighed down with torment as he began to return home. Alone.

Time is the only true purgatory.

[violettduchess]

Hello Vi! I have a request for you, only if it inspires

Tutor AU! With one or more of your fave suitors tutoring you for your upcoming exams;

Leonardo, Comte, Gilbert, Leon, Silvio and Clavis!

I'd love to see what you come up with ❤️❤️❤️

A/N: I had a very immediate idea for Comte so I went with him for this request!

Comte x Reader, Tutor AU/ Modern AU

WC: ~1.9k

The library looms large as you hurry up the wide, slate-colored steps under a sky exhaling its last breath of evening color. The stars are slowly blinking into existence, determined to shine before they are hidden behind the slow-moving blanket of clouds heading their way. You would pause to enjoy the ephemeral moment when dusk ebbs into night.....

Except Comte is inside, waiting for you.

You’re still not sure how it’s come to this. Comte as your tutor. Your mind travels back several weeks….

Several weeks ago:

One minute you're balancing an armful of books along with your backpack and several bags of uneven groceries that are seriously testing your stubborn decision to do it all in ONE trip. The next, however, everything is falling onto the polished grey tile floor of your building’s lobby, the objects seeming to leap like lemmings out of your arms. As you stand there, staring defeatedly at the scattered mess, lost in the gravity of your poor decision, the elevator doors you were originally trying to reach slide open and like the pearly gates unveiling an angel, Comte de St Germain steps out, in the process of buttoning his elegant camel-colored coat with one hand.

Before you can say a word, he takes in your forlorn expression, the embarrassing pile of your things at your feet, and he is by your side, kneeling, helping you gather up your stray apples and the mini-boxes of cereal you are probably way too old for but love anyway. Your cheeks flush as you stammer a thank you. 

You know him more by reputation than actual acquaintance. He lives in the sprawling penthouse at the apex of your building, the crowning glory of the gothic structure, and is usually spoken about in whispers and sighs by the other residents:

“Comte? He’s a museum director downtown.”

“I hear he is a world-famous antique dealer who has made millions.”

“He’s gotta be a tech-millionaire with all that dough.”

“Well I know someone who knows someone who swears he’s a member of the royal family of some tiny European country.”

“I don’t care what he does. He’s got to be loaded to live up there.”

“I hear he’s never been married.”

“My cousin’s best friend’s neighbor's babysitter says he’s divorced from someone super famous.”

“You know what he is? I'll tell ya. Drop dead gorgeous.”

This mysterious man with eyes the color of desert sands is on the ground in his expensive suit and coat, helping you gather your plebeian things and oh, do you want to melt into the floor and disappear.

Until……

He stops, holding one of the books you had been juggling, a surprised expression crossing his classically beautiful face.

“‘The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire’ by Edward Gibbon. Fourth edition.” He seems impressed, curiosity flaring to life in the mesmerizing gold of his eyes.

And you take that lifeline, words stumbling over themselves across the knot of your tied tongue as you explain you are a graduate student, majoring in history, mentally preparing yourself for the avalanche of final exams heading your way.

And how he smiles, his long fingers tracing the embossed lettering along the spine of your book, borrowed from the local library. Entranced by the movement, you can't look away from his hand, reverence hushing his voice as he explains how he works for a museum (Points to the woman in Apartment 15B for getting that one), how he also studied history.

And then one thing leads to another and your rambling about the stress of your exams and crunch for time has evolved into Comte St. Germain, the mysterious Bruce Wayne of your building, offering to tutor you.

The Present:

And now here you stand, the night of your final session, heart prowling, turning circles in your chest like an unruly feline.

Taking a steadying breath, you continue up the steps and head inside, enjoying the sound of your heeled boots across the polished wooden floor. Past towering shelves filled with books you go until you reach the narrow iron staircase in the back, the one that spirals upwards to the second floor. Your feet follow the path they have gotten used to over the last few weeks, through the racks, down a narrow gangway until you reach the small cluster of tables at the western corner of the library, the ones underneath the imposing arched window that allows you a clear view of the darkening sky and the pale orange glow of the streetlamp across the street.

Comte looks up from the book he has been reading and offers you a smile, at once familiar and exotic.

“Ah, there you are, chérie. Ready for our final session?”

Something inside you constricts at the thought that this is the last time you will be here with him like this, tucked away in the surprising intimacy of a large public library, listening to his honeyed voice as you discuss not only history, but also the mundane: what music he listens to when he goes on long drives, his favorite type of wine, the best tea for a rainy Sunday morning. And it isn't just his speaking….Comte listens. He really listens when you talk, when you ask questions, when you give an opinion. He rests his chin on his hand, head tilted ever so slightly, his entire attention focused on you, whether you are explaining the fine points of one of the many Treaties of Paris or doing your best to convince him that dipping your French fries in your milkshake really does make them taste better. 

With the glow of remembrance in your smile, you slide into the seat next to him, running your fingers along the soft grain of the elegant wooden chair as you settle in.

“Ready as I'll ever be,” you say, returning his smile while looking at the array of books he has spread out across the table. “Let’s do this.”

“Oui,” he says as his smile curves into a grin. “Tonight we’re focusing on art for your art history final. You already sent me the list of pieces your professor wants you to know for your exam so we can work our way through those.”

You breathe in, trying not to get distracted by the warm, earthy scent of his cologne.

“Professor Leonardo is great but it’s such a long list….” Your shoulders slump at the thought of tackling everything on it. And then you feel Comte’s hand there, on your forearm, warm even through the soft material of your blouse.

“Then let us begin.”

He spends hours, guiding you through Girl with the Pearl Earring, The Birth of Venus, Las Meninas, and Water Lillies. You wander through the great masters like an enamored visitor in an enchanted garden, listening as Comte helps you to remember what you have learned about the paintings as well as unlocking secrets you have never heard before. He leads you through the design of the Colosseum, the Parthenon, Hagia Sofia, Notre Dame, his voice a golden thread that spins you across the architectural wonders. And now, in your final hour of study, he opens the book of sculptures. You visit Rodin’s Thinker, Michelangelo’s David, the Venus de Milo. And finally, you come to the last sculpture on your list: Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss by Antonio Canova.

“Ah…” He pulls the book closer, the photograph of the sculpture filling the page. “This….is a masterpiece of….” He glances over at you, brow lifted as he waits for the answer.

“Neoclassicism…but with strong elements of the Romantic, given the subject matter.”

“Bien joué.” The praise falls from his lips softly, slides over you like melting wax, sends a jolt of heat across your skin. He doesn’t seem to notice as he flattens down the pages with both hands, his bright eyes roaming over the image.

“So you know the story of Cupid and Psyche?”

You try to remember what Professor Leonardo explained in class when he had introduced the sculpture. “She opened a forbidden jar and was put to sleep as punishment?” 

Comte nods. “Venus forbid Psyche from opening the jar. It supposedly held Divine Beauty. Psyche could not resist temptation and instead of beauty, she was overcome by the Sleep of Innermost Darkness.” He grins slowly. “Very dramatic. Cupid sees his lover unconscious and pricks her with an arrow, awakening her. This sculpture captures that moment.”

Outside the library window, the streetlamp glows a soft orange. A light rain is now falling, making the light seem as if it is dancing, shimmering against the night.

“Just look at the lines,” he murmurs. He takes his index finger and slowly begins tracing the line of Psyche’s body. It follows the curve of her torso as she stretches up towards Cupid. “Her arms reach back for him.”

You lean in, closer to Comte, watching the path his finger makes along the glossy page. Your heart is suddenly hammering a woodpecker’s song against your breastbone.

“Her hands are in her lover’s hair, the gesture so familiar, so loving.” He traces down the line of Psyche's neck. “And here….she is bent back to him, so exposed and vulnerable, tilting to look up into his face. What do you see there?”

His voice winds itself around you, wrapping you in golden vines of warmth and want. You need a moment to find your own. When you do, it is only capable of expressing itself in a breathless whisper.

“Tenderness. Joy.”

He nods slowly, trailing his finger down Cupid’s strong arm. “And what do you see in him?”

Your thoughts are bright butterflies, sparks that fly up into the haze of your mind and explode in little pinpricks of light. Blinking, trying to control the overwhelming wave of attraction that threatens to pull you under, you reach out and touch the same page, your fingers scant centimeters from his.

“He’s…..adoring. The way he holds her head, his fingers touching her face. And he’s smiling at her, affectionately. Openly.” Your gaze drops down to where Comte’s finger points to Cupid’s left arm. You clear your throat and continue. “He covers her breasts with his arm, shielding her from the viewer, and yet that one hand holds her in a way that’s….it’s so intimate. It feels somehow more intimate than if we would see her bare.” Your voice is a whisper, soft and woven through with delicate wisps of yearning. “He touches her as if he’s done it a hundred times and still revels in it…..” You trail off, pressing your lips together, unable to go on.

Comte’s fingers brush against yours and you turn your head, startled to find that your faces are so very close. Outside the rain gently rolls down the massive glass window. The streetlamp flickers. Comte’s gaze is a steady golden sun.

“He adores her,” he murmurs, his voice rolling through you. You feel his fingers move, covering yours on the page. 

“She marvels at him,” you answer quietly, your fingers curling around his in response.

He leans down ever so slightly, his mouth so close you can feel the warmth of his words on your lips. “He dreams of her……” 

“.....and he is what makes her waking sublime…” The words are hardly more than the breaths between heartbeats.

His mouth brushes faintly against yours, the softest touch, a silken feather, a velvet caress.

“....He wants nothing more…..” His hand tightens around yours, his chest rising and falling with the contained power of his emotion. “...than to kiss her….”

“He should,” you say, soft as a nightingale welcoming a summer evening. "He should kiss her."

And he does, pressing his lips against yours as the wave that has been looming ever closer pours down upon you both. One hand rises, gripping the nape of your neck with tender ardor. You plunge your free hand into the soft wilderness of his tawny hair, opening your mouth to taste him.

Your other hand? It is still tightly holding onto his, a promise you won’t let go.

An echo of Cupid and his beloved Psyche.

Pysche Revived by Cupid's Kiss- Antonio Canova, 1793

Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @fang-and-feather @bubblexly @kiki-tties

[omkookie]

Guess who hasn't read Charles' route yet...😂 (Oops)

⌈ ⚠️ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⌉ Yandere themes, talks of baby trapping, isolation... all thattt. 15+

As nice and kind he is, he's still crazy on the inside. Because of his lack of care, he doesn't behave normally. His obsessive traits quickly become evident and as easy to spot as black ink spilled upon a white sheet of paper.

Charles is hard to read, mainly because only god knows what goes on through his head. One moment, he's all smiles and everything is normal, the other he's getting mad over a stranger who looked at you for "far too long" according to him. (It was 3 seconds at most but oh welp.)

You see, he loves his darling so much.

She's so precious to him, and he wants to give her everything that she deserves along with so much more. But he has to get violent at times, especially when his beloved darling tries to escape. He doesn't like to hurt her, but due to the circumstances it's sometimes necessary. He has to teach her to not run away, and to remain by his side forever. Alas, he will forcefully suck her blood and leave her covered in bites.

In nis delusional eyes they're meant for each other. She's so beautiful, her sweet and pure smile along with her precious and caring hands. He wants to marry her and he wants to build a future with her where they start a family.

If she has kids with him, she surely won't try to leave, right? What cruel mother would take her kids away from their father.... Everyone knows how important a father figure is to the children and household. She couldn't possibly be some cruel monster that takes her kids away from their father now, could she?

of course she can't.

Charles has so many ideas with which he can trap his darling, he's honestly clueless at what to do and which to use first.

Should he go ahead and get her pregnant? She probably wouldn't be too happy about that, considering she didn't even want to look at him right now. She's locked herself in her room in hopes of avoiding him as much as she can, so she's currently in her rebellious state. It would be so cute to have little lookalikes of her running around the house though! having kids would literally prevent her from leaving him, so that might be his best option right now. It's also the one that brings him the most delight.

Something else that he might do is just keep her isolated from others. it will make her depend solely on him, both emotionally and physically. He's curious about how much her psyche might crumble. How much could she take before it became too much? When will she finally break and start loving him back?

His twisted perception of love might be due to his past and the people he's interacted with all these years while he was alive. His twisted feelings might have spiraled from a place of confusion, because his love itself is pure... it's just overshadowed and cast aside by the unrelenting possessiveness and longing for his darling that's achingly sweet like a pink venom.

Maybe his love isn't so pure after all? could love really get corrupted by any other feelings besides hatred? guess we'll just have to wait to find out and see how far he goes.

[alby-rei]

Growing Pains: Hand-Washing Clothes (IkeVamp; Sebastian & MC)

Prompt: Write a story all in dialogue, must include characters washing clothes. Characters: MC/You, Sebastian Word count: ~350 words Tags: Pre-relationship, Humor, MC is new to the housekeeper life a/n: Wrote this a while back as a warm up. When I saw this prompt, Sebastian came to mind instantly. I imagine they would've had this convo early on in MC's "recruitment". Figured I might as well show I'm still alive and writing! Consider this another entry in Memories of the Mansion. Back to Masterlist

~*~

“Why must Arthur always come back with blood stains on his collar?”

“If the blood makes you uncomfortable, I can do it instead.”

“It’s not so much the blood as it is the implication of what he’s doing.”

“Ah…yes. I can see how that would be unsettling.”

“When did you get used to washing blood of everyone’s clothes?”

“Hmm. Hold on, let me hang this to dry while I think…it didn’t long, maybe two weeks? I started working at the mansion after Sir Isaac joined, specifically because of his…side-effects to his vampirism. Blood wasn’t something that particularly bothered me, but it did take time to get used to the smell of Rouge in the kitchen.”

“I see… Aha! Finally got the spot to come out. Comte doesn’t pay me enough for this.”

“He pays you?”

“Good point. We should both demand a raise.”

“Speak for yourself, I’m perfectly content as I am.”

“That’s because you have access to all of his money as his butler.”

“As do you. You know he’ll never say no to any request you make. You may as well make good use of that.”

“If there’s anything I would ask for, it’s a proper washing machine…were those not invented yet?”

“If they were, we would have our own.”

“Ughhh. No dishwasher, no washing machine. Next thing you’ll tell me, the vacuum cleaner wasn’t invented yet!”

“…”

“…Sebastian, when was the vacuum cleaner invented?”

“For the last time, just because I’m from the 21st century, doesn’t make me a walking, talking Google search engine.”

“…Worth a shot.”

[Bonus scene]

“Now then, back to work. We’ll never get to washing the bed sheets if you’re this slow with the clothes.”

“There’s more?!”

“And then the linens, and then the—”

“And you’re telling me you did all of this by yourself before I came along?”

“Yes, as to be expected. I wouldn’t want our esteemed guests to be burdened by manual labor when they should be focusing on their work.”

“Most of them aren’t even employed! They just sit around and…actually what do they do all day?”

~*~

Back to Masterlist

[xxsycamore]

❝ 𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ❞

╰┈➤ ❤ You're overstimulated, and Napoleon is being a bully.

Napoleon Bonaparte/f!Reader • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Overstimulation; Multiple Orgasms; Creampie; Vaginal Sex; Teasing; Embarrassment; Crying; Dacryphilia; Dirty Talk; Begging; rough but also soft sex; Aftercare • wordcount: 2,048 • masterlist

a/n: I've been wanting to have a napo smut titled Crybaby for SO LONG NOW. Ever since that one event came out where he kept calling MC that. Knowing him, I think he might be into this...

"Napoleon… you're staring…"

Chest still rising and falling in labored breaths, you try to get the attention of the man seated between your legs, as he yet still fails to snap out of the trance on his own.

You know you can do this faster if you close your legs and devoid him of the view that so seems to interest him. But you don't -  on the excuse of the tiredness in your limbs.

The load of cum he'd put deep inside you just moments ago has now began to gush out and Napoleon's clear jade eyes, still clouded by lust, proudly follow the white rivulet down the curve of your slightly raised legs.

"I am."

He's shameless and blunt, knowing fairly well the effect it has on you. The embarrassment you're trying to evoke in him ricochets right back at you, as he makes you self-aware of the fact that you feel a certain way about him staring. At least enough to point it out.

Napoleon chuckles, easily making the tension dissipate as he leans down to place a peck against your pursed lips. He notices you trying to prop up on your elbows and is quick to gently push you back down.

"I'll take care of everything, just rest."

Still pouting because he's unfairly knightly as if he wasn't being a big tease just a second ago, you sink deeper into the soft embrace of the duvet, losing the inner fight too soon and letting yourself be pampered. Your eyes are closed by the time he returns, but you feel his presence as he climbs on the bed again.

You can't help the small shiver running down your lower half as your senses register a damp cloth grazing along your skin. The coolness it brings is not unwelcome on your overheated areas, and Napoleon is so gentle with you. He made a mess, it's only rightful for him to clean up after himself, after all.

You mewl as Napoleon's fingers brush past your clit. The added friction from the cloth makes his touch foreign and exciting to your sex, and you try not to fall too deep into the feeling because that's hardly the point. Even if the rational part of your brain understands that this is not Napoleon toying with you, the psychological part has other ideas.

But so does the man above you, encouraged by your lascivious sounds. He smirks and places his thumb right above the bundle of nerves at the apex of your folds, and drags his finger down slowly.

The moment the very edge of his fingertip comes in contact with your sweet spot, shockwaves strike through your core like lightning, making your lower half rise from the bed.

"Ahh!"

The smirk stays on Napoleon's face as he pretends to carry on with his task of cleaning you. His thumb grazes past your clit once more and you jump again, letting out a prolonged whimper.

He must be enjoying your reactions a little too much. While the sight of you writhing in pleasure entertains him every time he finds you underneath him, this time it's so much easier to pry them out, when you're overstimulated like that.

He knows better than to mess with you when you're spent and too sensitive, having earned his fair share of weak slaps against the arms or across his face for such indulgences.

Except, this time your protest never comes.

In the back of his head, he tells himself he's being way too cruel to you, but then he's reminded of your words. You're the one telling him time and time again not to hold back and to love you with all of his heart's intensity; and in the bedroom you're only more encouraging.

He flicks your clit with his finger once again, and your legs instinctively close against his arm.

And when you're being like that, he only falls harder for you.

The cloth is quickly discarded and forgotten as Napoleon makes himself more comfortable between your legs, like a big cat leisurely playing with its food until it's had enough. You peek from between half-closed eyelids, finding the sight of Napoleon's forearm sandwiched between your tightly shut legs. The muscles on it flexing because of the movement of his fingers where you can't see them; the vein running down the side of it becoming more prominent.

The sounds spilling from your lips are characteristic of the moments where he's fucking you so hard you forget to care about being too lewd; yet now he's doing so little and you're sounding so pathetic. Naturally, the back of your hand comes over your agape mouth in an ill-fated attempt to regain some of your decency. You subconsciously bite into the knuckles of it.

Napoleon eyes you with calculation among other things. He needs to be careful for the signs of you being too caught in it all to judge when it's too much, never taking the trust you put in him for granted.

He loves the way you squeeze his hand, even if it soon becomes numbing. He stokes your clit a little more to his best extent, the sensation now doing the opposite to you and making you part your legs wide, releasing him at last.

That only gives him an opening to attack, resuming his slow, firm strokes that make shockwaves run through you.

"Awww, you got wet again."

Your breath hitches, being caught by surprise despite how obvious it is that your body is bound to get aroused again under his ministrations. You watch in embarrassment as Napoleon cooes and gathers some of the lubrication you secreted and rotates his fingers in the air to show you the web-thin thread between them. With how well he cleaned you just awhile ago, your arousal now becomes only more prominent somehow.

When his thumb returns to your clit, it's slicked and the movement becomes more fluid, leaving you with no room to catch your breath between strokes. You let out more needy sounds as overstimulation and fresh arousal clash inside you.

"You're hurting yourself… Let's put that hand away."

Blinking in confusion, you need a moment to understand exactly what he means. As Napoleon gently guides your hand away from your mouth, you see the teeth marks you left on it. Napoleon's own hand follows your own until it falls safely to the side of your head, and he returns his gaze to yours.

There are physiological tears at the corners of your eyes.

Napoleon lets out a short and sharp laughing noise.

"Crybaby."

You toss your head to the side, only making the shiny dewdrops caught on your eyelashes more obvious to the man above you. Your lips are pursed in a permanent pout.

The warmth of Napoleon's hand on yours leaves you only to keep your left leg spread wide, as he quickens the pace of rubbing your clit. He strokes the overstimulation out of you, as your body gradually becomes more pliant and welcoming to his touch in a familiar old anticipation.

But for what it's worth, the slightly raw feeling at your core nudges those tears into finally spilling past your eyes.

Napoleon cooes at you again, leaning down until you feel his breath fanning over your cheek. He kisses your hot skin, his lips catching the tears. You wonder if your tears from pleasure arouse him.

"Crybaby."

He's such a bully.

Despite the obscene circumstances, he seems to find you nothing short of adorable, with the way he peppers you with kisses.

"My poor crybaby darling. What am I gonna do with you?"

The growing arousal makes you greedy and demanding, as you toss again, but this time in a provoking fashion. No, letting your body's language speak for you is not enough anymore, you need to spell it out for him.

"I feel so… empty…"

The momentary halt of his fingers gives him away, even if he pretends not to hear you. Your legs move frantically, switching between closing and opening in desperation. As horny as you are, your body will need more than that to be pushed over the edge. You have no choice but to try again.

"Napoleoooon… put it in… I need your cock again…please…?"

The small curve of that last word that emphasizes your begging does things to him, you know fairly well. He stares you down.

"How are you so sure that I can go again? Or have you been actually just trying to seduce me all this time?"

For a moment your eyes widen, finding reason in his question. Just because you're burning from the inside doesn't mean that Napoleon is also ready to-

The sensation of something hard rubbing against your inner thigh startles you.

Soothing is not the right word to describe this discovery, as Napoleon barely gives you time to rearrange your thoughts before he positions himself over you properly, guiding his swollen cockhead in.

Believing that your little midday love session was truly ending awhile ago, Napoleon had put on his trousers, even if leaving the belt to fasten only after he takes care of you. Now with the change of plans, he cares little about discarding his pants again, as fucking you on the spot is more important.

As a result, the buckle of his belt repeatedly clashes against the bed, the metal prong making a clinking sound that joins with the noises of copulation. Napoleon fucks you into the mattress, knowing he can go as fast and as wild as he wishes, neither of you bound to last long anyway.

The last traces of tears escape from the corners of your eyes that have watered one last time with the intrusion of his cock. Despite the sensitivity of your walls, your core remembers Napoleon's shape so well, greedily sucking him in as soon as he builds up a steady pace.

Your arms and legs lock around him, as if afraid that all of this is just another one of his tricks.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard— fill you to the brim—"

You all but scream against his chest as you can only receive his rapid pounding and wait for him to fulfill his promise. Your walls clamp down around him, desperately dragging him together with you in the pit of pleasure as you feel your orgasm approaching dangerously fast.

The noises of skin on skin fill your ears along with Napoleon's occasional swearing, cracking the composure of his otherwise not too filthy mouth. He slams his hips onto yours sloppily, losing all demure, and finally erupts inside you.

Reaching your peak together with him, you see stars behind your eyelids as Napoleon's cum paints your insides spurt by spurt. For a second among the euphoria you wonder if you feel so full because some of his cum from earlier was still trapped inside you.

The vice-tight grip of your arms around him turns into something softer, more reminiscent of an embrace. So does the hold Napoleon's strong hands have on your waist. As he settles you back down on the mattress from where you soared unnoticeably, your body tight as a string, you gradually begin to relax once more, melting together with him to a content pile of limbs.

Napoleon rains kisses on your face, from your forehead to the curve of your lip to your slightly damp cheeks.

"Now, what if I wanted to watch my cum leak down your thighs again?"

You can't believe him. Rolling over as if to avert your gaze in disdain, you turn your back to him.

He opens his mouth to bite back, preparing something along the lines of not deserving the cold treatment after how good he loved you, but he pauses. On wobbly legs, you arch your back and tuck your knees beneath you.

The sight is all but scandalous as Napoleon's load runs down your leg.

With forehead pressed against the bed, you let out a faux sigh, seeing how lost for words he seems to be.

"Just try not to get aroused again, Napoleon. Please."

Caressing the curve of your thigh up to your ass, Napoleon lets out a wry laugh, even if there's no actual bite to it.

"Look who's talking."

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[natimiles]

What is that? (a tattooed reader)

Summary: You tied your hair in a high ponytail that morning, and it was enough for the tip of your tattoo to be visible. You've had it for so long that you're used to it, and sometimes you forget it's there — plus, you forgot that they've never seen it before.

Words: 1716

Tags: reader have tattoos; platonic relationships; more like friendships; no pronouns for reader, but you wear a dress and have sort of long hair.

Can you tell I have favorites? Only Isaac, Mozart, Jean, Arhur, Vincent, Theo, Napoleon and Sebastian show up. Le Comte is vaguely mentioned.

If you're curious to see the tattoos, I linked their images in their respective descriptions throughout the fanfic.

“What is that, mademoiselle?” 

You're helping Sebastian with breakfast, moving around the dining room, but you’ve been feeling a strong stare for a while. You're already accustomed to everyone, so you don't mind. You knew that if it was Isaac trying to muster the courage to ask you something, he would eventually do it. But it’s Jean’s voice, and it catches your attention because he usually eats in silence; and he sounds unsure and curious.

You set Arthur’s coffee in front of him while you glance at the table and everything you and Sebastian made. Perhaps there's something he doesn't know, like when you baked him macarons, but today's menu is the same as usual.

“What is what?”

“That thing,” he points in your direction. 

Isaac, Mozart, Vincent, and Theo are already having breakfast too, but they pause to glance at you, curious about what Jean is talking about. You feel a bit self-conscious and briefly inspect your clothes. Did you spill something? Fortunately, no. 

“I don’t follow, Jean.”

“That thing you have here,” he points at his own back. “I’ve seen it since I sat here to eat, but I can’t understand.”

You raise an eyebrow at him and look over your shoulder, Arthur takes advantage that you’re still by his side to lean backwards on his chair and measure you up and down — and definitely stare at your ass.

“Stop it, perv,” you playfully spat the writer’s arm, earning a chuckle from him. 

“Ah, I think Master Jean is talking about your tattoo,” Sebastian tries to help, pointing at his own nape.

Realization finally hits you. Since arriving at the mansion, you've been exclusively wearing long clothes that cover almost your entire body. However, summer started a few weeks ago, and you've been feeling the full force of the heat. It's scorching every day, and at times, you wake up covered in sweat. You've been yearning for an air conditioner or even just a simple fan. So you bought lighter clothes recently — aka Comte bought you a whole summer wardrobe as a gift. What you're wearing today is just an off-the-shoulder dress, so the front and back necklines are a bit lower than usual, but not by much. However, you tied your hair in a high ponytail that morning, and it was enough for the tip of your tattoo to be visible. You've had it for so long that you're used to it, and sometimes you forget it's there — plus, you forgot that they've never seen it before.

“What is that?” Jean is even more curious now, evident from the way he furrows his brow.

“It's a drawing on my body, made with a special kind of paint that never fades. It's a form of art.”

“Really?” You've piqued Theo's interest in art. “And what is it?”

“Music,” and now you’ve piqued Mozart’s interest in music. He doesn’t really show it, but you know him well enough to see when he’s curious. “Well, kinda. It goes a little down my spine, but it’s safe to show. Sebastian, can you help me, please?”

The butler nods and approaches you. You turn your back and move your ponytail to the side for a better view, while Sebastian lowers your neckline slightly so the others can satisfy their curiosity and see it.

It starts just at the end of your nape and goes 5 inches down. It’s an all-black DNA drawing with musical notes on the middle lines, a representation of a metronome pendulum on top, and a treble clef at the bottom. The middle actually has the same number of lines as a music sheet, and the notes can be read as the first five notes of your favorite song.

There’s only silence for a few moments, and as you turn around, you see that they're still staring at you. You think Theo hadn't even blinked until now because he suddenly blinks a lot, and his eyes meet yours.

“It’s pretty!” Vicent smiles like the angel he is. “Is it a real song?”

“It is,” Mozart hums the notes, his eyes conveying that he knows it’s your favorite song.

You've told him once, when you went to the music room to give him an afternoon snack. You were already friends (kind of), so when you saw he wasn't there at the moment, you knew he wouldn't mind if you sat down and softly played it; so you did. The next thing you knew, he was barging into the music room to scold whoever had the audacity to touch his piano, but he stopped when he saw you. He may have asked you to write down the notes so he could play it with you.

“Oh, yeah, you played it for us in the last banquet,” Isaac remembers.

“Does it hurt?” Jean asked, curious again. 

“No, not anymore. It hurt when I was getting it done. Boy, that was one hell of a ride,” you laugh. “But it’s been years, so it’s all healed and okay now.”

“It suits you, hondje. Do you have more?”

“I do!” You beam at them, feeling all bubbly inside. It's lovely how they always show interest in anything about you and remember what you like. “It’s on my thigh.” You use the tip of your toes to put more leverage on your right leg, grabbing a fistful of the skirt of your dress. You lift it to show them your tattoo, but a hand stops you when it's reaching your knee.

“Nunuche, what the hell?” 

Napoleon had just woken up and was joining you in the dining room. Did you say something about your thigh? He was still a little sleepy, so he thought he heard you wrong. But then you grabbed your dress… What the fuck do you think you’re doing? He was at your side in the blink of an eye, gripping your wrists tightly and looking at you with a panic expression. It’d certainly be red in a second, if the loud slap sound was any indication. 

And that’s how you make vampires choke on their foods and drinks. You look at them, a confused expression on your face. Isaac spat his tea all over his plate and is now coughing to clear his throat. Jean dropped his fork, frozen in his chair. Mozart is blinking in a frenzy, his mug in such a tight grip on his hand that his knuckles are white. Vincent is blushing furiously, his mouth agape. Theo is actually amused, and you clearly heard Arthur complaining to Napoleon that it was just getting good. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, startled. 

“MC, just remember we’re not in the 21st century,” Sebastian says, clearly holding a smirk. 

You feel your entire face heat up. Oh my God! That was certainly an uncomfortable situation. But you were so used to them; they made you feel at home, so you didn’t really think about what you were doing.

“Oh, right, sorry,” You chuckle and blush under the intensity of their stares. “But it’s no big deal, really. Sebastian and le Comte have already seen it.”

“Say that again?” Theo asks as his gaze drifts to the butler, just like everyone else's. 

“It’s nothing weird!” You can almost feel the emperor’s grip tightening. Sometimes he was so overprotective — they all were, and it was both endearing and funny. You huff. “We were talking about the 21st century, and I told Sebas that I have tattoos and showed him. Simple as that. Lots of people wear clothes that show a lot of skin in modern days. Do you think I would lift my dress to show the tattoo when I’m right next to Arthur if it wasn’t okay?” You deadpan Napoleon.

“Hey!” The writer complains, but everybody ignores him. You do have a point.

Napoleon frowns, but slowly releases you. You look at the others and just from a look they know you’ll be mad if they freak out again, so they try to act cool. Keyword: try. They’re staring so much you think they’ll open a hole in your thigh, but at least they’re quiet. You lift the dress just a little more and your tattoo is finally showing. It’s colorful and about the same size as the other. There’s white fine lines connecting dots, forming the Leo constellation, with a blue-purple watercolor background.

“Yes, luv! Now that’s a good breakfast,” Arthur smirks and places his elbow on the table to support his head as he looks at you. He’s so glad that Jean started this conversation while you were still beside him. Napoleon purses his lips and glares at the writer, but he knows better than to start a fight. His nunuche wouldn't let him live it down. 

“What the fuck is that?” Theo raises an eyebrow. Don’t get him wrong, he likes the art, but he just doesn’t understand what it’s supposed to be.

“Theo, language,” Vincent scolds his brother. He doesn’t want you to think they don’t like it.

“Is it upside down?” Jean frowns and tilts his head, trying to get a different angle, but it doesn’t make a difference.

"It's the Leo constellation," you chuckle and glance at Isaac, knowing he would understand. He enjoyed stargazing and always invited you to join him, especially after discovering your shared interest — then he started rambling about physics and astronomy, and you were lost.

“Oh, the stars,” Vincent says.

"So," Theo begins, and you can tell from his amused tone that he's about to say something to make you blush, "you have one that resembles Mozart and another that resembles Isaac."

“No, no. It’d have to be an apple for Newt,” Arthur grins when the poor physicist blushes as red as… the mentioned fruit.

“You’re the worst,” Isaac mumbles under his breath.

You chuckle at their banter. “So that’s it,” you say, releasing your dress. “We have a lot of things to do. So finish your breakfasts quickly.” You clap your hands twice.

“Indeed,” Sebastian nods in agreement.

You have moments of silence after that and you go back to work, but you feel the stares the whole day. You know they still have so much to say and ask, but they stay quiet.

You have some “not-so-permanent tattoos” now — and they might have helped do some.

I don't have tattoos yet, but I really want it. I'd make the first one, but with colors.

Crossposted on AO3.

Masterlists

[valkyyriia]

A Study in Green

Words: 2915

CW: Fingering, Artistic Liberties with History | NSFW

Pairing: Arthur Conan Doyle / Female-Bodied Reader

Prompt: Abandoned Mansion (caution!)

Notes: This is I think the third time I've ever written smut, so please bear with me. I also thought the title was rather cliche, but I liked it, so... I also think I got a little carried away. Whoops. And Mo, if you read this - I remembered that comment I left you on your fic about the Paris Green and MC freaking out and it immediately came to mind when I rolled this prompt with my dice.

Crossposted on Ao3 here.

Banners/dividers by @natimiles.

For @xxsycamore's event, Sexy Ikemen Summer!

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You asked, eyeing the abandoned building with suspicion. It appeared to have been an older, late-eighteenth century mansion. Ivy crept up the crumbling mortar like grasping tendrils, giving it a foreboding look. 

“It’ll be fine, luv,” Arthur said, a cheeky grin on his face. “A little urban exploration never hurt anyone.” 

“I would like to see the evidence to back up that stateme-” You were cut off by Arthur tugging you close and kissing you sweetly.

“Come now. I swore to protect you, didn’t I?” He tapped your nose with a gloved finger. “That includes the dangers of uninhabited, derelict places and all the things that go bump in the dark. You have absolutely nothing to fear as long as I am here with you, okay?” 

You exhaled shakily and offered a weak smile. “Okay.” 

“Besides,” Arthur added. “You do make a rather adorable damsel in distress.” 

You stuck your tongue out at him, and he laughed, taking your hand and leading you inside. 

One thing you had never quite gotten used to in this era was the sticky heat and lack of air conditioning. Even though the climate wasn’t too different from what you were used to, the fashion of the day was much more stifling. The summer sun was currently high in the air, beating oppressive rays down on the building. Fortunately, the mansion was still in reasonably good repair; the roof was intact everywhere except the far left wing, where the walls had collapsed in on themselves. It offered some protection from the heat, paltry though it was.

Arthur had, true to his word, faithfully stuck by your side. The vampire hardly even let go of your hand, giving you something to anchor yourself to. You were grateful for his considerate nature. 

The sunlight shining through the cracked stained glass windows cast glittering constellations on the dusty wood of the parlor floor. Furniture draped in age-stained cream cloth was positioned in key places around the room. If it weren’t for the thick layer of dust and the obvious smell of decaying wood, you would almost think the owners were just out on vacation. 

Arthur had done some amount of research on the building before bringing you here, aided by le Comte and his connections. As it turns out, the owners of this mansion had fled to America twenty or so odd years ago due to some sort of legal trouble. The Crown had seized the mansion to repay the family’s debts and it had remained uninhabited since. According to Comte, the left wing collapse happened a few months after the Crown took over the property, and they hadn’t tried to renovate or rebuild the structure. Ultimately, other than the left side, the mansion should have been perfectly safe - within reason for an abandoned building - for a first-time urban explorer. 

He grinned. “Look at this,” Arthur said, using your joined hands to point at the desk in the corner of the room. It was neatly organized, a couple of books stacked on the side. A half-written letter lay on the workspace. A quill pen sat in a long-since-dried inkwell, the bottom of it stained black with India ink. “They really were in a hurry,” Arthur commented, pulling his tortoiseshell glasses from his pocket and setting them on his nose. “Let’s see…”

He blew gently on the surface, scattering the dust. Your eyes watered and you cough into your elbow. “Sorry,” Arthur murmured, rubbing your back lightly as he looked at the letter. 

“To my love,

“I hope the day comes when I can see you again. Father says we must leave in order to stay out of prison, and I dread leaving you behind. I had desperately dreamed of the day I would make you my wife, but I fear we must place those plans on hold for now. Wait for me, my love. I will return for you.

“Forever yours,”

And then nothing. There was no signature. You frowned. “The poor dears.. I hope he was able to stay in contact. Or at least let her know what happened.” 

Arthur studied the paper intensely for a moment, before looking at the books next to it. “I can’t imagine she wouldn’t know what happened. These kinds of things are rather big gossip in the upper echelons of society.” The hand on your back moved to your waist and pulled you closer to him. “Her family likely refused any further contact with him or his family after they left. Even if he continued to write to her, she probably never saw any of those letters.” 

“That’s so sad,” you said, leaning into him. “It sounds like he really loved her.” 

“If he loved her half as much as I love you, he must have loved her a lot,” Arthur replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “If you would like, luv, we can maybe try to deliver this letter to its intended recipient. There’s probably some other correspondence between the two stashed somewhere here, if we look for it.”

You looked up at him in surprise. He had a kind smile on his lips, but his eyes were serious. If it were something you wished to do, he would make it happen somehow. “I would, but,” you started to say. “What if it opens up old wounds? What if she’s moved on and this just brings it back up?” You sighed and laid your head against Arthur’s shoulder once more. He ran his thumb up and down your waist in soothing motions. “I don’t want to make things worse.” 

“Even if she has moved on, it could give her closure,” Arthur pointed out. “But you are right; it could cause more trouble for them. Maybe we should leave it here?”

You mulled it over for a moment. “If I were in her shoes.. And you had moved away for some reason against your will, I don’t think I could really move on. Even if I was forced to marry someone else. I love you too much to ever forget you.” 

Arthur was silent for a moment. “Then we should do everything we can to make sure it’s delivered. Even if it is twenty-something years late,” he said, voice quiet and somewhat choked. You went to move away and look up at him, but Arthur’s hand kept your head against his neck. His free arm wrapped around you and he held you firmly to his body. You gave up fighting him, and just locked your arms around his neck. “Thank you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Arthur finally let go and stepped away from you, looking around the room once more. “Let’s see if we can find out who the lucky lady is, yeah? The game, my dear, is on!” 

The two of you went looking around the parlor for any other correspondence between the pair. Coming up empty handed there, you moved to other rooms. Normally Arthur would have been able to make an educated deduction on which room likely belonged to the author, but with the state of disrepair the house was in it was much more difficult. Or at least, that’s what Arthur said - but you suspected he just wanted an excuse to lead you around the house by the hand for a little longer. Not that you’d complain about that.

The two of you looked inside a bedroom suite on the second floor. The door creaked open, revealing a lavish room, covered in linens matching those in the parlor. A thick layer of dust coated the room as it did everywhere else in the house. You carefully stepped over to another desk, this one facing the window that overlooked the long-overgrown lawn. Spread across it were several letters in varying states of completion. Some were well-worn, clearly having been read over multiple times. Those ones appeared to have a different author than the one found downstairs. 

“Alyssa Bloodwell,” Arthur murmured. “That name doesn’t ring any bells for me, but Daddy Dearest knows just about everyone worth knowing among Europe’s elite. We can ask him when we get back. For now, though…” Arthur turned to you, a devilish smile on his lips.

“Arthur,” you warned him to no avail. He quickly stepped forward and grabbed you by the hips. Your arms snaked around his neck automatically. 

He grinned. “What is it, oh darling love of mine?” He gave you an innocent peck on the lips. 

“Oh, don’t even start, Arthur,” you protested, but made no motion to step out of his embrace. His lips moved to the side of your face and you reflexively tilted your head to give him access. “We can’t - not here.” 

“Says who?” Arthur murmured seductively, nibbling at the shell of your ear. “It’s not like there’s anyone here to stop us.” He walked you backwards to a sturdy chest of draws against the far wall, and easily lifted you up onto it. “You’ve been looking positively delectable all day. I can’t help myself from wanting a taste.” He leaned in and kissed you more insistently, his fingers dancing around the ribbon at the collar of your blouse. 

“You are incorrigible,” You responded weakly, already returning his kiss. 

“But you like it, don’t you?” Arthur replied, grazing your earlobe with his fangs. “You dirty little thing.” He ghosted his lips down the side of your neck, pressing a kiss right over your pulse point, before mouthing the spot and sucking hard. You cried out at the sharp pain of it. 

Arthur ran his thumb over the red blooming there. “Beautiful,” he said. “I would bite you, but then I’d have to carry you back to grab a carriage.” He ran his tongue down the column of your throat, his fingers gently setting the ribbon to the side and dragging the top of your blouse down. His other hand slid up your skirt, the thumb running back and forth over the flesh of your inner thigh. “And I really don’t want to have to explain that one to the constable,” Arthur whispered, his breath coming out in puffs against your collarbone.

The drag of his sharp fangs against the skin of your chest combined with Arthur’s fingers moving higher underneath your skirt caused your breath to hitch. His gloved hand pressed gently against your clothed sex, applying a small bit of pressure through your underwear. You let out a soft whine at the contact. He rubbed his fingers back and forth between your thighs while leaving love bites all over your exposed chest. 

His lips kissed back up your throat, and he pulled away to look at you. Smirking, he pulled his hand from between your thighs and took the glove in between his teeth. Arthur slowly, teasingly, pulled it off of his hand, the now bare appendage returning to its former place between your legs.

“Arthur,” you whimpered as he slid the material of your panties aside. He dragged his fingers back and forth through the wetness gathering there, circling the sensitive nub at the apex of your thighs. 

You threw your head back, a low keening sound escaping your lips as he continued to swirl his fingers between your legs. Arthur shot out his other hand to catch the back of your head.

“Look at me,” he murmured. You bit your lip but did as he asked, and he smiled. “Good girl.” 

Arthur’s thumb brushed against your lips and then he leaned in for a deep kiss. “You’re so cute when you come undone under my fingers like this,” he purred. “You’re normally so put together.” You probably were a sight to behold right now - skirt hiked up to your hips, blouse untied and loosely draped under your cleavage, chest heaving  - you were the very image of debauchery. 

Arthur leaned back in for another kiss, his tongue moving against yours in time with his fingers as they pushed inside of you. 

Your gaze drifted up, suddenly settling on the walls of the room. Your eyes widened and you broke the kiss. “Arthur,” you breathed, voice scratchy. “Is it just me or is that wallpaper green?” 

Arthur groaned and he pulled away with a discontent sigh, his lips forming a frown. “It is, and quite a lovely shade of it. But I don’t see how the color of the wallpaper is more important than my hand.” His fingers deftly continued their work, and you bit back a groan. “Unless you are unsatisfied, and want something more?”

“Because,” you breathed, trying to ignore Arthur’s actions and failing miserably. “Green pigments from around this time period are made of arsenic. It’s poison.” Your thighs trembled as he pleasured you. You were so close-

-and then Arthur suddenly stopped and looked at you, bewildered. You whined at the loss of stimulation. “Really?” He looked away from you, his gaze flitting all around the room that was blanketed in peeling green wallpaper. Arthur’s cobalt gaze met yours again, a light panic to his eyes. “And they didn’t know this?” 

“No! The paint was invented sometime in the early nineteenth century and fell out of use during the mid nineteenth century because people were getting sick,” you sighed, the ache in your belly slowly subsiding, leaving you feeling uncomfortable and wanting for more. “It was later used as a pesticide, until they realized that was dangerous, too.” You were somewhat regretting your choice to stop Arthur at this moment. Curse your brain for being safety-conscious even with an incredibly attractive man between your legs, who wanted nothing more than to bring you pleasure.

Arthur sighed, pressing a kiss to your lips. “We should probably continue this elsewhere, then,” he conceded, removing his hands from your thighs. You shuddered at the loss of contact and watched as he lifted his slick-covered hand to his mouth, sucking on the fingers. The lewd sight sent another flare of smoldering heat right to your belly. “When we get back home, you’re going to have to make up for leaving me hanging like this. I hope you’re ready for the consequences of your actions.”

Bonus:

After speaking with Comte about what you discovered while exploring (trespassing), you and Arthur found yourselves standing outside of a beautiful, well-kept mansion in the Parisian countryside. As you approached the gate, a butler, who was trimming roses nearby, placed his garden shears down and stepped over.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle, Monsieur,” he greeted. “How can I help you?” 

“Is there an Alyssa Bloodwell at this residence?” You asked.

The butler frowned. “Madame Bloodwell does live here, yes, but we were not advised of any visitors today. Was she expecting you?”

“Not exactly,” you replied. Arthur then pulled a time-worn letter out of his pocket and showed it to the butler, explaining, “I shan’t go into the specifics on how, but we came across this letter and believe its intended recipient is your mistress. We simply wish it to go where it belongs.” 

The butler looked at the letter for a moment before nodding. “If you will, follow me,” he said and led you both into the mansion’s entryway, and from there to the parlor. “Please wait here, mademoiselle, monsieur. I will inform Madame Bloodwell of your visit and we shall proceed from there.” 

After a few minutes of waiting, you looked up to see a woman in her late thirties descending the stairwell. “I am Madame Alyssa Bloodwell. I was informed you had correspondence intended for me?” she asked. 

You curtsied and Arthur handed over the letter. She took it, eyeing it, and her hand dropped to her chest. “Where did you get this?” she said, breathless. 

“We recently came into possession of it,” Arthur said, smoothly avoiding giving the details. “We did some detective work, and determined you were the recipient.” 

Lady Bloodwell walked over to an armchair on uncertain legs and sunk down into it. “Louis,” she murmured. “I haven’t heard from him in twenty four years.” Her fingers caressed the fraying edges of the paper. “His family had been found to be embezzling money from one of the royal artisans and was disgraced. They fled Paris in the middle of the night and caught a ship to America. My parents forbade mention of him and the betrothal was called off. I ended up marrying a local lord, but.. I never did stop wondering what happened to him.” 

You smiled sadly at her. “I’m sorry that we didn’t come bearing current news, but I’m glad we could at least bring you the letter. It’s obvious how much he loved you.” 

“Thank you, cherie,” she said. “Please, is there anything I can do to repay you for doing me this kindness?” 

You began to decline, but Arthur cut in. “If you don’t mind, could you answer a question for us as payment?“

She inclined her head. 

“Did you ever move on?” Arthur asked, a serious look on his face. 

Madame Bloodwell shook her head. “I love my husband,” she began. “But no. Louis was - is - special to me. I never stopped loving him, and I doubt I will stop until the last breath leaves my lungs.” She looked between you and Arthur, a content smile on her face. “I see such a resemblance between you two and myself and Louis. Monsieur, whatever you do, don’t ever lose her.”

Arthur looked straight at you and squeezed your hand. “I won’t.” 

Taglist: @natimiles

[writingwhimsey]

How about 13 with Napoleon? 🥺 Did i hear mating season?? 👀

Thank you for the request! This one was fun! Hope you're ready for some super spicy Napoleon who wants nothing more than to mate with you over and over again!

Smut is In the Air Event

Suitor: ikevamp Napoleon

Prompt: "Get back down here, we're not done yet."

NSFW 18+ content

Mating Season

I walked into Le Comte’s study. “Sebastian said you wanted to see me?” I asked as I stepped inside.

“Ah, yes, come have some tea with me, ma cherie.” Le Comte greeted me with a warm smile. “I just had something I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Oh?” I asked, sitting down in a chair opposite Comte as he poured tea for the two of us. “What is it?”

“Well…it’s more of a warning I feel I should give you.”

“A warning? About what? Has there been something happening in town?” I asked, worried.

“No, nothing like that.” Le Comte replied. “I just thought with spring being in the air, I should tell you about something that can happen to vampires, at least for those who have found someone they love.”

“Yes?”

“Sometimes…during spring after, finding a lover, some vampires…experience a…mating season if you will, during the spring.” Comte explained.

“Mating season?” I asked.

“Yes, female vampires will experience a, something like a heat and male vampires will go into …something like a rut. Experiencing very intense desires to be with the one they love and possibly conceive a child.”

“Are…are you saying this might happen with Napoleon?” I asked, my eyes going wide as my cheeks reddened.

“It’s possible, but the desire might not be as strong with a lesser vampire as it would be with a pureblood vampire.” Comte said. “But I thought you should know so you can be prepared.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Comte.” I replied.

Comte and I chatted a few more moments before I was returning to my chores. My mind couldn’t help but to wander to my conversation with Comte. Nor could I stop myself from thinking what it might be like if Napoleon did experience this rut, mating season thing. We had been discussing the possibility of having children recently…and if he really wanted to and had such an intense desire…could I ever really resist? I don’t think I could.

I found myself in the room Napoleon and I shared, putting away the days laundry and changing the sheets. I was bent over the bed, smoothing out the sheets when I felt two strong, familiar arms wrap around my waist. He pulled me closer and I felt his nose nuzzling against my neck.

“Napoleon…”

“Mmmm…nunuche, you…smell extra sweet today.” He breathed into my ear.

I felt a shiver run down my spine. Was this what Comte was talking about. “Oh? I haven’t done anything special.” I replied.

“No, new perfume?” Napoleon asked, sliding his nose along my neck as he breathed in my scent.

“N-no…”

“Then…it must be you, nunuche.” He said, placing a kiss on the side of my neck. “It’s quite an intoxicating scent.”

“N-Napoleon…” I gasped as yet another delightful shiver made its way down my spine. “I-I need to…finish up my…work for the day.” 

“Mmm…you can always get back to that later, nunuche.” Napoleon replied, his voice practically a purr in my ear. His hand moved to undo the top few buttons of my shirt. He was then opening my collar so that he could place nibbling kisses along the side of my neck and shoulder. “I can’t possibly think of letting you go right now.”

“Mmm…ngh…” I moaned with each kiss. “W-what can…you think of doing then?” I asked, my voice coming out raspier than I intended.

“Mmm…you.” Napoleon answered. “I can’t help myself…all I want to do is make love to you…and perhaps…get you pregnant…I can’t help but to think you would be even more beautiful carrying a baby we made together…”

His hand was slipping inside my open shirt then, moving to fondle my breasts even as his lips continued their sweet attack on my neck and shoulder. It seemed he was being affected by the mating season Comte had warned me about…but my mind was starting to become hazy and all I could think about was Napoleon’s hands and lips on me and how much I wanted him. Besides… he was the man I loved…I did want children with him…and he did make it sound rather nice…

His other hand slid down my thigh and then up under my skirt. He pushed my panties aside and then slid his fingers to stroke my sensitive bud. “Ahn…N-Napoleon…” I moaned as I found myself grinding myself into his hand, seeking further stimulation.

“Mmm…you’re already so wet for me.” He murmured in my ear as he moved his fingers back further to slide into my slick heat. “You want me as much as I want you.”

“Yes…Napoleon…yes…please…” I found myself begging, wanting him to fill me and pound me into the mattress.

“Then who am I to say no?” Napoleon said before bending me back over the bed and lifting my skirt. He ripped my panties off and then I heard him unbuckling his pants and then they were hitting the floor. I didn’t have anymore time to think before I felt him slipping inside me.

“Ahn…yes!” I moaned at the feeling.

Napoleon began to thrust, leaning down over me, continuing to kiss me even as he tore my blouse off, allowing him to plant kisses over my back. “You’re…so beautiful…and you feel so good…” He murmured against my skin between thrusts. 

“Mmmnn…yes…ah…Napoleon…” I moaned as I felt that white hot heat building up inside me, winding tight like a coil before finally snapping and sending me over the edge.

Napoleon soon joined me in release, spilling inside me.

I had just started to catch my breath when Napoleon suddenly flipped me over onto my back. He practically tore off the rest of his clothes and mine before throwing my ankles up over his shoulders. I was moaning as he once again slid inside me and began to pound me into the bed,

Again and again, we changed positions as his hands mapped my body and his lips lavished me in affection. Both of us finding release multiple times. I had honestly lost count. I had just rolled over, from having ridden him, lying on my back and panting as I tried to catch my breath.

Napoleon leaned over and kissed my shoulder delicately. “Mmm, I love you.” He murmured.

I smiled. “I love you, too.” I was then turning to look out the window, taking note of the position of the sun. “Oh…it’s getting late. I should go finish my chores…” I had started to get up, but Napoleon grabbed me by the wrist.

I turned to look at him, a questioning look on my face. “Napoleon?”

“Where do you think you’re going, nunuche?” He asked, a devilish grin on his face.

“What…”

“Get back down here, we’re not done yet.” Napoleon said as he tugged on my wrist and pulled me back into bed, his hands moving to my hips and bringing them to meet his own so that he was once again sliding inside me.

“Mmm…Nap-Napoleon…” I moaned. It appeared my emperor wouldn’t be letting me go for at least the rest of the day…chores could always be done later…tomorrow perhaps…or maybe the day after…I might not be able to walk tomorrow.

[aquagirl1978]

All Night Long - Theodorus van Gogh x Reader (Ikemen Vampire)

A/N: Part of Visions of Temptation 2023 hosted by @xxsycamore

Pairing: Theodorus van Gogh x Reader

Prompt: Day 20 - Oral Sex

Word Count: 861

Tags: NSFW; Minors - DNI; oral sex (reader receiving); piv; doggystyle; praise kink; hair pulling; begging; rough sex; breeding kink; overstimulation; creampie; mention of pregnancy; female-bodied reader (no pronouns used, called "good girl", pregnancy mentioned)

“Ah….Theo….”

Your fingers gripped the bedsheets as Theo gazed at you with a mischievous smile. 

“You like that, hondje?” he asked, his hand hidden under your skirt, his fingers pumping deep inside you. He watched as you writhed under his ministrations, enjoying your struggle. “I could make you feel even better,” he added as he withdrew his fingers.

You wanted to grab him. Claw at him. And beg him not to stop.

But you didn’t. Because you knew he was right. He would make you feel so much better. 

So you laid there, like a good girl, and waited for him.

“That’s my good hondje,” he whispered as he lifted your skirt, your thighs parting and falling to either side. 

He placed his hands on the insides of your thighs, his thumb slowly stroking your sensitive skin as he spread your legs further, your core fully exposed to him. 

His blue eyes twinkled like the stars up in the sky as he smirked at you, the last you saw of his face before he dipped his head down to your core. 

You screamed out his name as he ran the tip of his tongue up along your entrance. His tongue  teased your clit, circling your sensitive nerves before covering it with his warm mouth, sucking gently. 

Wrapping a hand in his hair, you pulled him closer, not wanting him to move until you reached your peak, not wanting this pleasure to end. 

He slipped a finger inside your core, curling, coaxing your climax that he knew was so near. 

Removing his mouth from your clit, he blew gently on your skin, your body shivering before he tormented you with his tongue again.

Stars danced behind your lids as every nerve in your body felt electrified. Your toes curled and your back arched  as you cried out his name in pleasure. 

Pressing soft kisses on your thighs, Theo gave you a small moment to recover. Sitting up on his heels, he tugged on your skirt, sliding it off your weak as jelly legs. After discarding it to the side, he began to unbuckle his belt.

"This isn't over," he whispered, his voice deep and husky as he rolled you over onto your stomach. 

*****

“How many times?” Theo grunted, his cock still hard, buried deep inside your core.

“Two…no three,” you moaned deliriously, drunk on his cock.

“That's not enough.” He continued to thrust deeper inside you, gripping your hips harder as he slammed his hips against yours.

“Gentle or rough?” he asked while withdrawing his cock just enough so that only the tip remained inside you.

Reduced to moaning, you couldn't answer. You simply were unable to. All you knew was that you wanted his cock back inside you.

“Gentle, then?” He pushed his cock inside you slowly. Painfully slow.

“No…ahh…!!!” you cried out when he pulled out and slammed back inside.

He leaned over your chest, his lips near your ear. “I like it rough, too,” he whispered, his hot breath licking your skin. 

He pulled out and rolled your body over, his hand pushing your head down against the soft pillow underneath. 

“Still so tight,” he said as he pushed his cock inside you. Your back arched, you cried out as he impaled you with his cock in one swift stroke.

He dug his fingers into your hips, his thrusts hard and rough. “I love watching your pussy swallow my cock.” His dirty words were enough to send you spiraling as your body trembled against his, your fourth orgasm ripping through you like wildfire through a forest.

“Good girl,” he praised, running his palm down your spine. “I love when you cum on my cock…” 

“But we're not done yet.”

Breathless and boneless, Theo easily flipped you on your back. Guiding your ankles over his shoulders, you smiled weakly knowing what was coming.

"Time to be bred. " 

He fucked you harder, his hips slamming against you at a furious pace. “I can't wait to see your pretty face when I fill you with my seed,” he grunted, his cock kissing your womb.

“You like that, don't you. Being bred,” he added while tugging on your hair, his breath ragged. “Even after I breed you, I'll still fill you up every night.” 

“Be a good girl now, and take it all. Take everything. Don't waste even a drop.” His entire body trembled as he spilled inside you, his hot seed filling your womb. You came undone, once again, while squeezing him of every last drop. 

When he pulled out, he raised your hips to minimize the dripping from between your thighs. He grabbed something from the nightstand, and inserted a plug between your legs, allowing your body to rest comfortably without wasting any of his seed. 

He gathered you in his arms, your eyes lidded, your breathing slowly returning to normal. He placed a chaste kiss on the top of your head, his whispered words soft and gentle. 

“I meant what I said earlier, I'll breed you every day. Even after you are with my child, your belly large and swollen, I will continue to breed you, each and every night.”

Tagging: @redheadkittys @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @ikehoe @kpop-and-otome @lucyw260 @queengiuliettafirstlady @kisara-16 @lordsisterxotome @umi-adxhira @crypticbibliophile @yarnnerdally @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @wendolrea @randonauticrap @judejazza @maries-gallery @xbalayage @xenokiryu @nightghoul381

[candied-boys]

If you like Le Comte and sexy times and you have yet to read "It Started with a Dream" on ao3, please go indulge in this top tier masterpiece.

[fang-and-feather]

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Rating: G

Category: F/M, M/M, Multi

Relationship: Jean D'arc x Vincent Van Gogh x Reader

Tags: Jean's POV, Fluff, Relationship Milestones Jean being very emotional over it

Words: 459

Summary: Jean found it hard to sleep the first time he agreed to sleep with both his partners. Instead he finds himself thinking about their relationship and reveling on their warmth.

Written for August's Polyam Shipping Day Prompt: Warmth from @polyamships

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist / AO3 Link

Jean found it hard to sleep the first time he agreed to sleep with both his partners.

You and Vincent had fallen asleep rather quickly, each on one side of him, snuggling close.

He had agreed to this arrangement, not thinking much of it. It was normal for lovers to sleep together, besides you were only sleeping, and he had already slept alone with you, although not with Vincent yet.

But now, between the two of you, he couldn’t help but think.

That you loved him was still a surprise. How could such angels like you care so much for a monster like him? How could you feel so safe and comfortable in his arms like this?

Not that he could say anything. He had allowed you to get close. To sneak your way into his heart.

Your love for him still filled him with such warmth that sometimes it burned. His heart felt so full whenever he was with you that it ached, almost as if it could burst.

He still wished to hide sometimes, but you were there when he did. You dragged him into your radiant light, enveloped him with your warmth. You were like the sun, chasing away the night, until he was warm himself.

This was the happiness he had long ago given up on having.

His eyes burned as he gently pulled you even closer.

All his life, he never realized how much he longed for this warmth. This was like a dream, but it was real. He was loved.

He looked at Vincent on one side, then at you on the other, feeling his cheeks starting to become wet. To his surprise, you reached out, whipping away a tear.

“Are you okay? If it’s too much, we can go back to our rooms.”

Your worry and consideration only warmed his heart further. But these were tears of happiness.

Jean couldn’t find his words, overwhelmed with happiness. He shook his head, smiling at you.

“We will be happy to be here as long as you allow us.” Vincent leaned closer, caressing his cheek, and Jean hugged both of you. “Whenever you need us.”

“Je t’aime, mes anges.” Was the first words he managed to whisper, kissing each of you.

You had tears in your eyes too, and the two of you hugged him back.

It was the first time he had managed to tell you he loved you, wasn’t it? He had struggled with his feelings, even after you confessed yours. After he started to let you get closer.

But saying these words made him feel like he was finally free of doubt and fear.

“Thank you for bringing light and warmth into my life.” He whispered.

“Always. Because we love you too.”

Tag List:

@tele86, @nightghoul381, @natimiles, @bicayaya,

@eventinelysplayground, @queengiuliettafirstlady

If you want to be tagged/untagged on future writings, you can reply to this post or send me a message

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist