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agent-cupcake · 2 years

Text

Asteria

Pairing: Yuri Leclerc x f!reader

Synopsis: After moving to the big city and starting a new job working for the lawyer Aelfric Dahlman, you meet Yuri Leclerc. And then the dreams begin.

Warnings: explicit smut, dubcon (dream sex)

Tags: incubi, modern AU, more plot than porn, manipulation, naïve reader, some light drugging

Notes: @pastrycreams asked for Yuri with the prompt of "Dreams" and specified incubi and this fell out of my fingers. It's similar to Somnambulant with Linhardt but I tried to keep it from being same-y.

Please note that this is wildly inaccurate. Christian Louboutin does not make spiked Chelsea boots in white.

Word Count: 10.9k

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

The smooth voice startled you enough to let out a little squeak, falling out of your crouch beneath the desk where you had been, with middling success, trying to untangle the mess of wires. You hadn’t even heard someone come in. Sitting in an embarrassing splay on the cold tile, you looked at the speaker, scanning from a pair of shiny white spiked Chelsea boots with red soles and up to a set of eyeliner-winged eyes. Long-ish lavender hair tied in a tail, smiling pink lips, and well dressed in what you could only describe as fashionably androgynous, the man’s appearance in the context of a shiny professional law firm was nearly as surprising as the suddenness of his interruption.

“My apologies,” he said, offering you a hand and a warm grin and a distinct lack of contrition. “I had no intention of scaring you.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you said hurriedly, accepting his hand to stand up with no small amount of hot-faced embarrassment. Despite all appearances, he lifted you up with ease, his grip firm and steady. Rather than releasing you right away, his touch lingered, fingertips trailing over your palm as he pulled away. Was that intentional? It made your stomach buzz with butterflies. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure,” he told you. “Maybe you can help me in return. I’m here to see Aelfric, is he in?”

“Yes, he is,” you said, caught off guard all over again. Flustered for entirely non-professional reasons and hoping desperately he couldn’t tell. You pressed the button on the phone to call Mr. Dahlman.

“You have a… visitor, sir,” you said, stammering upon the realization that you hadn’t asked for a name.

“I’ll be right out,” he replied over the speaker.

“I’m really sorry,” you told said visitor. “I didn’t know Mr. Dahlman had any appointments this afternoon.”

“He doesn’t, that’s precisely why I’m here,” he said, giving no further explanation.

You frowned, unsure how to interpret that. “I… see.”

“I’m Yuri, by the way,” he told you, brushing past your confusion with ease. “You’re Aelfric’s new receptionist, yeah?” His eyes slowly gave you a very obvious once over, not so lecherous as it was admiring. Or maybe those two things were a little less defined with people as pretty as him. “I suppose that means we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” He smirked. “Look forward to it.”

“Yuri,” Mr. Dahlman said, coming out of his office just in time to graciously save you from having to answer. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Well I wouldn’t want you to get bored,” Yuri said, smiling at Mr. Dahlman with a friendly familiarity. “You didn’t tell me you were looking for a new receptionist.”

“Yes, it was rather short notice.” Mr. Dahlman looked at you. “Mr. Leclerc is a close associate of mine… Yuri, shall we speak in my office? I'm sure she's still busy getting settled in.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Dahlman,” you readily told him. “If there’s anything you need, please let me know. You as well, Mr. Leclerc.”

“Someone’s eager. You’re new to the city, aren’t you,” Yuri said knowingly, a little dryly.

You blinked at him in surprise, looking at Mr. Dahlman and back again before smiling abashedly. “How did you guess?”

“Stick around a while,” Yuri told you. “I’m sure you’ll see exactly what I mean.”

“Um, alright,” you said, nodding because that seemed to be the right response. It made Yuri smile. There was a mirth dancing in his eyes that seemed distinctly amused, even interested.

The two men disappeared back into Mr. Dahlman’s office and you sat down, attempting to turn the computer on only to remember what you had been doing in the first place. Back onto the floor you went, more aware now of how ridiculous you probably looked and hyper aware of the sound of a door opening. Luckily, you avoided further embarrassment and were back in your seat by the time Yuri left Mr. Dahlman’s office.

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Leclerc,” you told him with a professional smile. Yuri paused, evaluating you with his head titled slightly.

“You too,” he told you. “And if you have any problems here, be sure to let me know. I’ve got some experience living in the city.”

“Oh. Um, thank you very much, Mr. Leclerc,” you said, hoping your surprise didn’t taint the sincerity of your gratitude. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Yuri said with a warm smile. “I’ve got a feeling you and I are going to get along just fine.”

Again with the butterflies, juvenile as they were. “I hope so, Mr. Leclerc,” you told him.

“Have a good night,” he said. “I don’t doubt we’ll see each other again soon.”

The dusky sky outside the windows behind his desk dyed Mr. Dahlman’s office in rich oranges and yellows, reflecting off of the picturesque skyline view as you stepped into his open doorway. People warned you of the city before you moved here, and you understood why, but sometimes the sights were just so heart-achingly beautiful you couldn’t help but love it.

“Is there anything else you need before I go?” you asked Mr. Dahlman.

“Oh, no,” he said, looking up from whatever he was working on with a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, of course,” you said. But you didn’t leave right away, chewing on your lip as you considered if it would be okay to ask. Surely there were taboos about what you could speak to your employer about regarding his work, but it wasn’t as if Mr. Dahlman was just your boss. You knew him through the Church, he was an active member and close friend of your local priest. Since you had experience working as a secretary, he agreed to an interview. Everything after that was, as you liked to think of it, a gift from the goddess.

“Is there something else?” Mr. Dahlman asked. You hesitated, knowing that you had been far too obvious lingering in his doorway yet embarrassed to be called out on it.

“That man from earlier, Mr. Leclerc,” you ventured. “He’s not a client?”

“No,” Mr. Dahlman said. “I retain Yuri’s services. I apologize for not warning you beforehand, he has a habit of coming in unannounced.”

“He does this often?” you asked.

“You must forgive his eccentricities,” Mr. Dahlman said. “Yuri is a skilled professional and, if you will forgive my honesty, a personal friend.” His tone was strange. Tense, putting special emphasis on each word to impart his meaning.

“Oh, I-I wasn’t upset or anything,” you quickly told him. “And I didn’t mean to sound rude, I was just curious. I’m sorry to have pried.”

“The goddess would hardly condemn curiosity, and neither will I,” Mr. Dahlman told you warmly, easing your concerns. “I assure you that Yuri is worthy of your trust.”

That assurance made your shoulders relax, letting go of the tension you had barely been aware of. If Mr. Dahlman said someone was trustworthy, you could believe that wholeheartedly. “That’s good then,” you said. “Thank you. Have a good night, Mr. Dahlman.”

“You too,” he said. “Do try to get a full night’s rest, I shudder to think of what your mother would say if you returned ragged and overworked.”

That made you smile as you left.

“Who are you?” you asked, sitting up to get a better look at the figure standing in front of your window. They were indistinct with shadow, outlined in the bluish light from outside. Seeing a stranger in your room didn’t frighten you. Dream logic made the situation entirely normal, natural.

A dream. You couldn’t define how you knew it was, but you did.

“Your room is cute,” the figure said, speaking in a distinctly masculine voice. He turned around. Faintly, you could see his face, the little smile he wore as he considered you. A part of your mind, fanciful and floating, wondered if he was an angel. A spirit sent by the goddess herself. “I didn’t expect you to be an artist, although I can’t say I’m surprised by your faith. It’s not something I mind, but…” He paused, sighing as he approached your bed. “Hiring a sweet, innocent little airhead to be his secretary just to tempt me into continuing to play along was low. He acted as if he has no idea, it was nearly enough to make me reconsider taking the bait. But then again…”

“Wait,” you said, frowning as you tried to make sense of his words. Confused more than anything. Dazed, sluggish in both thought and movement.

“What am I waiting for?” he asked, his voice low and eyes half lidded. With each slow, measured step he’d gotten even closer.

“I don’t know,” you said, frowning. If this was a dream, and you could only surmise that it was, it was the most vivid dream you’d ever had. “We’ve met before?”

“Very good,” he said sarcastically, kneeling on your bed and easily pulling away your blanket. The air wasn’t cold, but goosebumps covered your bare legs. “I don’t suppose you remember my name?”

In the dim light, his hair was darker, but his purple eyes were luminous as they scanned your body, his skin practically glowing with the subtle shine of a star. A ghost, a vision of beauty.

“Mr. Leclerc?" you guessed.

That made him laugh, looking at your face with a smile not all too dissimilar from the one you had seen in the waking world. Yuri Leclerc. The odd, beautiful man with the nice clothes and butterfly inducing smirk. Not an angel at all, then.

“Is that really what you want to call me now?” he asked, leaning in closer, his fingertips trailing up your neck to nudge your chin a little higher. Your breathing was out of control and unsteady, the only part of your body that seemed to be moving in real time and not in the sluggish trance.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, reaching out to touch his arm. Instead, Yuri entwined his fingers between your own, pinning your hand against the headboard as he crawled fully onto your bed, hovering above you. “Wait,” you protested again, but you weren’t really fighting.

“Why?” Yuri asked, his face so close to your own you could feel the brushing air of that word. You expected him to kiss you, but he didn’t, his lips trailing across your cheek instead. “It’s your dream.”

Did that mean it was okay? You squirmed, all too aware of the weight of his body against your own. It felt real. He felt real.

“It’s… wrong,” you muttered, although there wasn’t much conviction in your voice.

“Do you really think so? I think it’s only natural to dream of what we desire,” Yuri told you. His voice lowered a bit, his eyes hypnotically fixated on your own. “It’s okay to be honest with yourself. The goddess will forgive you for what you can’t control.”

Those words buzzed sweetly in your head, filling you with a floaty sort of warmth. It was okay, that made sense. Just a dream. You used to dream often about all sorts of things, it wasn’t your fault.

“There is something you want, right?” he prompted. You hesitated for a long moment before nodding, a barely perceptible bob of your head. What you wanted. Your eyes dropped down to his mouth, hovering so close to your own, but you couldn’t just ask, the words weren’t there. “A kiss?” Yuri guessed. Your sharp intake of breath was enough of a response for him to smile. “Just a kiss?” he pushed, teasing now.

You squirmed nervously, utterly aware of his proximity and unable to meet his eyes. “What else?” you finally asked, your voice quiet.

He hesitated, and then laughed, pressing his face against yours so you could feel his smile. “You are so very lucky that I’m patient. But you’re right. There’s no need to rush this.”

And then he kissed you.

You had just gotten home from work when your mother called, barely a step past the threshold when you heard the ringtone you’d assigned for her contact.

“Hey mom!” you greeted her on the third ring, toeing off your shoes and dropping your stuff in the entryway. Which was also the living room and kitchen. City living was cramped beyond reason, although you thought your apartment was charming. “Perfect timing, I literally just walked in the door.”

“Oh, that's good! I wasn't sure if it was a bad time, but I called to see how you’re doing,” she told you. Hearing her voice was more than enough to make you desperately homesick, but you pushed that emotion down. “Have you been settling in alright?”

“I am,” you told her.

“Everything’s good at work?”

“Yes, Mr. Dahlman is a great boss,” you responded, dropping sideways onto the little couch you’d managed to fit into the living space. “I’m learning all sorts of things already.”

“And your art?”

“Still working on it, when I have time,” you told her. “I probably won’t have anything ready to submit for a while, but… I love being here, there’s so much to do and see and… But I miss you guys a lot.”

“We miss you too,” she said. Conversation went on from there. She told you about your dad, and about the various goings-on of the small town you had moved out of, and you told her stories of the craziness of city life.

“Have you met any friends?” she asked eventually, an innocent question all things considered. But it gave you pause. Of all things, guilt dropped into your stomach at the idea of meeting someone. It was as instinctual as it was confusing, you hadn’t done anything, had you?

“Uhm—no,” you finally responded. Nerves danced uncertainty within you, causing your eyes to flick from shadow to shadow in search of something you knew wasn’t there.

“Are you okay?” she asked. You blinked a few times, shaking your head at the odd reaction.

“Yeah, just really tired, I think,” you said. “I didn’t sleep very well last night.” Trying to play it off, you laughed a little, although thinking about the night before didn’t help much with the feeling. “Anyway, The people in the congregation are really nice, but most of them are older. You know how it is, I’m sure I’ll meet lots of new people when I start classes.”

Before long, both of you had to leave to figure out the dinner situation. She scolded you about eating too many frozen meals, and you assured her that you wouldn’t be. Boxed macaroni and cheese was completely different.

But that incomprehensible sense of shame returned in full force as you got ready for bed. Focusing too hard on the thought made it scitter away, but you were certain you had dreamed about someone in particular. That didn’t help with the shame, even if it was ridiculous. Obviously you had never entertained a man in your home, let alone in your bedroom. Intimacy was one of those things you expected would come later in life, as a result of being in love, with somebody you cared deeply about. These odd flashes of memory were akin to the strange dreams you had as a child, the nightmares you cried to your parents about.

Not real.

Every time Yuri touched you, your entire body jerked. No matter how lightly his fingertips grazed your skin, how gently he traced little circles over the drenched fabric of your panties, you jolted and strained against your restraints. Whatever bound your arms above your head—in a dream, it didn’t matter, it was merely a part of the set, a part of the hazy unreality—kept you from intervening in his slow torture. And that’s what this was, what it had to be. Torturous.

“Yuri,” you got out, trying to breathe, trying to find purchase in a world crumbling around you, hazy in the overbearing heat of lust. “Please…”

“What’s the matter?” he asked, utterly innocent as his fingers dragged across your clothed slit, pressing the fabric against the oversensitive flesh a little harder. “I’m taking it slow, just like you wanted.”

Vaguely, you knew that was what you had said. To take it slow, to leave your clothes on, to keep from falling truly into the depravity your brain seemed to be reveling in. Was that really what you wanted? At this point, you couldn’t tell. More of this would be your undoing, but if he stopped, your need would burn you from the inside out.

“Unless you’ve changed your mind,” he teased, his hands flattening out across your inner thighs to spread them wider. The way his elegant fingers indented the soft flesh stoked the artist side of you, although that only fed the lust.

“I don’t know,” you said, practically whining with distress.

“There are people who would kill to get an offer like that from me,” Yuri told you, his head tilting to expose his perfectly pale neck. That was all you could see, considering he was still dressed. Even that tiny amount of skin was enough to believe him, to believe that people would kill for this. “But that’s part of why I like you. All buttoned up and proper, oh-so sheltered. Even in a dream, you can’t bring yourself to admit what you want. Of course, I wouldn’t mind a bit more…”

You practically spasmed when he touched your clit, using the extra friction of the fabric to make you shudder, your legs trying to close.

“No?” Yuri asked, forcing your thighs to spread once again. “That’s fine… For now.” He pushed one arm beneath your hips and lowered himself between your legs, ensuring you were watching. You strained once more against the restraints, back arching, muscles so tense you felt close to breaking, but you couldn’t look away as his head dropped. His mouth was warm and wet and you could almost imagine what it would be like without the barrier of your panties in the way. His tongue wetted the fabric further as it traced your clit, refusing to give you pressure where you most needed it.

Yuri just laughed when you tried to grind against his face, pulling away and letting your hips drop back down to the bed. You exhaled heavily, almost like a sob if it weren’t so airy.

“Say the word,” he told you as he sat up, meeting your eyes again. “And I’ll give you exactly what you want.” He hesitated, shrugging one shoulder. “Or, at the very least, I’ll think about it.”

You frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “But this is… It’s my dream, so why…?”

“You’re right,” Yuri agreed, crawling forward until his face was right in front of your own. His eyes were so clear, so perfectly intense, that you felt right then that this couldn’t possibly be a dream. “You have a filthy mind, you know that?”

“He’ll be with you in a minute,” you said, trying to sound professional.

“No problem, I don’t mind waiting,” Yuri Leclerc said with a charming smile, leaning against your desk instead of sitting in one of the comfortable leather chairs to wait. That didn’t make your predicament any easier because the longer he hung around, the more convinced you were that your sinking suspicions were right.

You were going to scramble your brains to be jarred like the Egyptians did to their Pharaohs. You were going to personally reintroduce the lobotomy to the medical world. You were going to never sleep again if it meant you could wipe away the memory you had of Yuri Leclerc in your dreams. Yuri Leclerc, a man you had met once, kissing you, touching you.

How many times? You could only remember little moments, the fleeting gossamer of dream difficult to pin down in any meaningful way. It had been a few days since your first meeting, but you knew you’d been sleeping rather poorly ever since.

“Do you want something to drink?” you asked, doing your best to act innocent, to push those thoughts down as far as you could manage. “We have Coke. I think there’s also juice. And water, of course.”

“Not right now,” Yuri told you. “Although if the offer’s still on the table later tonight, I’d happily take you up on it. Assuming the drink comes with the pleasure of your company.”

You laughed nervously, trying to be a good sport and not think about how striking his silky black shirt looked against his ivory skin. “Well, we close at six usually, so it can’t be too late.”

His eyes narrowed. No eyeshadow today, although he didn’t exactly need it to make the color of his eyes pop. “Do you work at being adorably clueless, or does it come naturally?” he asked, deadpan.

It took you a moment to realize what he was talking about, especially when your brain shorted out at having been called adorable. “Oh, I…”

“Naturally then,” he said. Seeing your nervous expression, he softened. “Don’t get so worked up, I’m just teasing.”

“Right. Yeah, I know, I’m just-”

“Yuri,” Mr. Dahlman called in greeting, cutting you off.

Yuri looked at you. “Think about that drink, yeah? I’d love to get to know you a little better.”

Usually you left Church services feeling rejuvenated, but the week’s sermon about sin had left you feeling heavy and tired.

Sin wasn’t something you had ever seriously considered. It was natural, of course. Mankind sinned. The goddess knew that, which was why she was a forgiving force. But internal sin, the kind that was determined not by action but by thought, had never seemed as important to you as the sin of deeds or speech. Everyone had ugly thoughts that weren’t representative of them as a person, things that they would never say or act upon. The things you thought about Yuri weren’t exactly ugly, and you could accept that it was normal to be attracted to a man who seemed crafted to invite attraction on both an artistic and intimate level, but you knew it was a sin. A grave, vile sin.

When your mom called that afternoon, the last thing you wanted to do was talk, but you didn’t want to worry her either. Most of it went fine. Talking about home and the city, leaving out a few key details.

“Are you doing okay, hon?” she asked, her concern obvious even over the phone. You realized you’d been a little spaced out, looking with a sickened sense of horror at the pages of your most recent sketches. A dream given life. Far too much life.

“No, things are going really well!” you told her, shutting the notebook and trying to sound positive.

“And with your art?” she asked. “You haven’t mentioned that.”

Of course you hadn’t mentioned that you’d been obsessively rendering the same lovely face to paper and canvas, the same pair of royal eyes, the same smirking lips.

“I’ve been too busy,” you told her. “Since there’s so much construction, there are a lot of dispute cases. But Mr. Dahlman said it’ll be over before classes start, so it’s fine.”

“Do you want to be punished?” Yuri asked, obviously making fun of you. He kept distracting you from what he was saying, his fingers lazily toying with your clit. Panties off this time, although you couldn’t recall when that happened. The sensation of direct touch shot hot, blinding need through you. Even the smallest nudge was nearly more than you could bear, worse because he acted so indifferent. “For this supposed sin, I mean. Or maybe you think you deserve it. Should desire be met with condemnation? Even if you’re not hurting anybody? Even if it results in pleasure for both parties involved?”

Paying attention was difficult when you were so hyper focused on the hand between your legs, but you knew that you needed to because Yuri got testy when he had to repeat himself. For all that you ever thought about taking things slow, or not allowing them at all, you very badly did not want him to stop.

“But it… it doesn’t,” you finally told him, gathering together enough of a thought to speak somewhat clearly. “You’re not real.”

Even though you said that, the pleasure certainly felt real. He smelled real, sweet and fresh. Yuri had taken off his shirt at some point. He was as perfect as you imagined, surprisingly muscular considering his slighter frame. Scars littered his body, old but stark against his soft, pale skin. Beautiful, so lovely that you knew you’d never properly capture it on paper. Above all else, his body was solid, comfortably warm against your own, his hair silken and soft between your fingers.

“Oh, you’re going to hurt my feelings, saying things like that,” Yuri told you, feigning a pout. His hand pulled away, but you didn’t have time to mourn its absence as he pushed you onto your back, splayed beneath him like so many times before. The ceiling glittered with stars. No longer your room, then. You yelped in confusion at the shift, squirming, but he easily kept you pinned. Watching your face intently, his fingers finally pushed past the fluttering muscles of your entrance.

You had tested it a few times while awake, only to be met with disappointment at how poor of a replacement your own hand was for his. When Yuri curled his fingers against your inner walls, your entire self reacted, drawing up taut and your mouth falling open in a moan. Physical sensation, psychological arousal, physiological pleasure, he electrified your entire being so easily, so casually.

“Yuri…” you gasped, clawing at the sheets as he pulled his fingers out, thrusting them into you deeper, a little more roughly. Your pussy squeezed his fingers desperately, your body chasing pleasure independently of you.

“You never did answer my question,” Yuri said, his voice lower but otherwise unaffected. Always so aloof, so detached. God like, almost.

All you had as an answer was a moan, low and filthy and needy. You didn’t want to think, you just wanted him to never stop, to enjoy this dream always, to have him always.

“Do you,” Yuri asked, his fingers pumping into you at an agonizingly slow pace, “think you deserve to be punished?”

You swallowed hard, your head pushing back into the pillows and body straining. Whenever you dared to peek at him, the unfairness of it all was alarming. Here you were in a state of sweaty disarray, bared before him, and Yuri looked so casual, so poised. You groaned in frustration, whimpered when he responded with a harsher thrust.

“I don’t know,” you told him.

“There’s something about you that makes me think you’d enjoy a bit of pain, you know? Whips, chains, that sort of thing. Of course, I would never stoop to such medieval methods,” Yuri said, setting a faster, harder pace. He didn’t usually go too far, unraveling you little by little until pushing you over the edge, but this was different. Yuri seemed entirely focused on getting you off, on overwhelming you with friction, with pleasure. “Something to consider, at least.”

You shook your head, back arching. When his other hand descended to play with your clit, the influx of sensation was nearly enough to confuse you, to delay the breaking point out of something like confusion.

“Yuri, I can’t, I’m—”

“Go ahead, then,” he told you warmly, almost mockingly. “Come for me.”

Your entire body seized up, responding to his words as if they were a command. Maybe they were, Yuri could certainly pass for a kind, generous king, touching you and giving you pleasure as he saw fit. Or an angel, like you first assumed. Or a god, as he so often looked above you.

You gasped, opening your eyes, desperately trying to chase that snapped thread of pleasure, of warmth, only to realize that your room was bright with early morning sunshine. Sweaty and tangled up in your sheets, you were still fully dressed and very, very alone. Need pulsed angrily between your legs, demanding satisfaction in full, but you didn’t dare feed into it. Even as the dream faded, its contents covered with the gauze of unconsciousness, you knew that it had been wrong.

Being left wet and wanting wasn’t the worst thing. Even the sinking, sickening idea that you could dream about things you’d never previously considered before now wasn’t as bad as the loneliness. You hadn’t thought you were lonely before, you hadn’t considered that you would want to have a partner at this point in your life. But now you knew what it was to be without, and it was miserable.

The sound of Mr. Dahlman’s office door opening and closing startled you into hastily shutting the notebook you’d been doodling in, realizing with a jolt of panic that you had been drawing the same familiar shapes and figures.

“Did it go well?” you asked Yuri as he came around to the front.

“It always does,” he responded with that heart-achingly handsome smile. “What about you? Don’t you get bored sitting in here all day?”

“Maybe a little,” you told him. “But it’s a good job.”

“Is it? Heh, well, one day, I’ll get you out of this stuffy office,” Yuri said playfully as he pulled his coat on. Fur, probably not real. Most likely designer, if the other brands you’d seem him flaunt were anything to go by. On most people, it would have looked gaudy, but Yuri wore it effortlessly. “Aelfric can’t keep you in here chained to this desk forever.”

“I’m not chained to anything,” you said, your stomach sinking because something about that word felt uncomfortably familiar.

“Haha,” Yuri said dryly, although he hadn’t stopped smiling. Would he still smile at you if he knew the images your brain conjured of him? The unspeakable things your fevered brain had imagined him doing? “You know what I mean.”

“Maybe, but it’s not like I’m unhappy here,” you said. All that could possibly hope to rival the shame and disgust weighing down your heart like lead was the desire. That was the worst of all. You weren’t sure which was worse, the idea of him accepting your advances or rejecting them. Either way would land you in the same awful, sinful spot, give or take some humiliation.

“We’ll see about that.”

Your stomach clenched, your eyes turning down to avoid his because you swore you could combust if you had to look at that mischievous grin. “Have a nice day, Mr. Leclerc.”

You could sense his frown, even if you didn't see it. “You too.”

It had been a slow day. Mr. Dahlman was out most of it, always running errands here and there. Things weren’t necessarily slowing down in general, but time had an awful tendency to drag on and on at a snails pace when you were in the office alone.

If anything, a man entering the office unannounced with a welcome distraction. At first.

“Can I help you, sir?” you asked. He was not someone you recognized, but that wasn’t alarming in and of itself. What did give you pause was the way he marched through the sleek glass door with a furrowed brow and a vein popping in his shiny forehead. Despite that look of rage, his appearance suggested a professional of some kind, wearing a nice suit with his hair slicked back. You got to your feet when you realized he intended to walk right past your desk, heart fluttering at his thunderous expression. “Sir? Can I help you?”

“Is he here?” he asked, looking past you at Mr. Dahlman’s office.

“No, Mr. Dahlman’s not in right now,” you said. “May I take a message?”

The man exhaled heavily, practically exhaling steam through his nostrils. Tense seconds ticked by, they felt like hours. Eventually, he leveled his glare at you.

“Yeah, tell that bastard he’ll get his fuckin’ money, but he’s going to have to wait for it.” He ran a hand over his hair. “I can’t give him what I haven’t got.” He leveled a single, ringed finger at you. “But if he releases it, he’ll get jack shit. You’ll tell him that?”

“I will,” you agreed quickly, nodding fast to appease him. The man huffed a few more times, looking at Mr. Dahlman’s office, before turning on his heel and leaving. You didn’t sit back down for some time, only realizing long after the fact that you should have called building security.

That’s exactly what Mr. Dahlman told you as well, although he seemed almost entirely unphased by your censored version of the man’s message. He carried on normally throughout your stilted recounting, eventually sitting at his desk and looking at you over folded hands.

“I’m sorry you had to experience that,” he told you with a sympathetic frown. He didn’t ask any questions, he didn’t inquire about the man’s appearance or offer any explanation. That felt wrong, somehow. His lack of reaction felt wrong.

“It’s okay,” you told him, trying to believe him. “But… what happened? What was he talking about?”

“It is unfortunate,” Mr. Dahlman said. “But, ultimately, unavoidable in my line of work that I should upset people.”

“But you’re not a criminal defense lawyer or anything,” you said. “I didn’t think people would get so angry.”

“People are quick to anger whenever large sums of money are involved,” Mr. Dahlman told you seriously.

You stared into his comforting eyes for a long moment before you nodded, accepting his explanation as fact. Being on edge was normal after experiencing something so uncomfortable, but Mr. Dahlman had never given you reason to doubt him.

It occurred to you later that part of the nervous energy fizzling out your fingertips and making your mind race was because you wanted to tell someone about it, to talk to them, only to realize that there was no one. Nobody. You could tell your mom, but you didn’t want to worry her. Classes wouldn’t start for another few weeks, so you had no friends. Being so busy with work and living in a new place had left you painfully, abysmally isolated.

There was only one person in the city you knew. Well, two, if you were willing to count your dream-conjured apparition. But going down that road was worse than the idea of talking to your family, and far more dangerous.

“Sorry, I’m a bit… Out of sorts,” you said, ruffling through pages to figure out where you’d written down details of Mr. Dahlman’s schedule.

“Have you been sleeping poorly?” Yuri asked. And it was a natural question, clearly without any ulterior motive, but you could physically feel blood drain away from your face with the blinding force of panic. “I know that I don’t sleep very well in the city,” he continued, ignorant of your reaction. “It’s never quiet. Not to mention the light pollution.” He paused, looking at you. “Where did you say you’re from?”

Swallowing hard against a suddenly dry throat, you tried to compose yourself, finding the page you had been looking for and copying down the information with a shaky hand. “I don’t think I did, but I lived upstate. My family owns a ranch about an hour outside of Gideon.”

“You’re kidding,” Yuri said a smile in his voice. When you looked up at him with a frown, slightly confused and embarrassed for reasons you didn’t understand, he began laughing.

“What?” you asked, far too defensive.

“A plucky young woman escapes her small town family’s ranch to pursue her artistic dreams in the city,” he summarized. “It sounds like the plot of a bad movie.”

You deliberated for a moment whether or not that should have upset you before decided that it didn’t. He wasn’t entirely wrong, either. “Okay, maybe it does,” you conceded, smiling sheepishly. “But if I’m the main character, what are you?”

“I’m far too beautiful to be anything other than a villain,” Yuri said, his head tossing back dramatically.

That made you laugh, impressed by his confidence more than anything. Well, maybe a bit more than impressed, but you ignored that feeling. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Not yet,” he allowed. “Setting that all aside, I’m sure you had an excellent view of the stars growing up there." He sighed. "I think that’s what I miss the most.”

“You’re not from here?”

“No,” Yuri said. “Believe it or not, I am a man of humble beginnings. From a place far, far away in a time long, long ago. But that’s a story for another time, I think.”

“If you wanted to tell me, maybe we could finally go get that drink? Tonight? I’m off in a few,” you said, trying desperately to not sound so pathetically hopeful because that was way too embarrassing. But you were desperate. And you were pathetic.

Yuri looked at you and, for the first time, you got the sense of a mask falling. What laid beneath was dark, and intimidating. He replaced it quickly, smiling. Slightly too sharp to be friendly, not lending any amusement to his eyes. “Sorry, I’m busy tonight. My time is in high demand.”

You nodded, hating the way disappointment and embarrassment swelled up in your chest. Hating the fact that he would make something up rather than just be honest. “Ah, that’s fine. Have a good night, Mr. Leclerc.”

“Yeah. You too.”

Maybe it was just an expression of stress, of growing discomfort, through your subconscious. Maybe you had reached your wits end of pretending the threat of torment was enough to keep you from wanting more. Sin or no sin. Then again, overthinking dreams was the surest path to madness. That’s what your mom used to tell you.

“The worst part is knowing that this is on purpose,” Yuri said, flipping you onto your stomach. You yelped, but Yuri seemed disinterested in your reaction, continuing to mutter to himself. He pushed your legs apart, planting his between. “He all but gift wrapped you for me and you don’t even know it. Like a little lamb, you can’t even conceptualize the danger you’re in.”

“Yuri…” you said, confused. More than a little aroused by the suggestive position.

He let out a heavy breath, his arms winding around you from behind so he could palm your breasts, grinding against your ass. Being held like this was different from anything else he'd done, intensely physical because he was hard. You could feel Yuri's yearning, his desire. “I know what you want,” he muttered, amused again. The shift in tone was unnatural, but you followed along because you far preferred teasing and lustful to dark and annoyed. “I guess I want it too. Just a little.”

“I just want you,” you whispered, shuddering when Yuri kissed your neck. So sweet in comparison to his teasing hands as they pinched your nipples, leaving you tense and wanting. “Please…”

“Fine, but only because you asked so nicely,” Yuri allowed, pushing you down into the pillows. There was no coherency between moments, only that both of you were ready and when he finally—finally, finally—lined up his cock with your entrance, you felt everything else fall away. It might as well have never existed in the first place.

Yuri took it slow, a result of his control and not your own. As soon as you felt the head of his cock press shallowly into your pussy, you realized with a red hot flare that you wanted more. All of it, all of him. He hissed out through his teeth as he slowly sank deeper, making you realize that you hadn’t been breathing the entire time. You didn’t until he was fully inside of you, your inner walls fluttering and squeezing in an attempt to adjust.

“Do you still think I’m not real?” Yuri asked, pulling out just as slowly. You couldn’t articulate words, you couldn’t do much more than gasp, scrambling at the sheets as your brain shorted out with pleasure. The pressure was strange, but it was also right. Like you were meant for this, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

“Yuri,” you sighed, moaning when he thrust back in. “I want to—” You wanted to see him, to hold him, to make this moment special because surely it was. How could something like this not be special? Groundbreaking, revolutionary. Feeling him inside of you was the most complete you’d ever felt, you felt very certain that was a fact.

“Oh no you don’t,” Yuri said, grabbing your hips to pull you back down when you tried to twist around, keeping you in place beneath him. You whined, reduced down to a shuddering mess at how deep he went with each thrust, how hyper sensitized your cunt was to the drag of his cock.

“I want to… to kiss you,” you said, admitting it aloud for the first time. Yuri just groaned, his fingernails digging into your hips as he pulled out slowly only to pull you back down. You could feel the way your pussy tightened around him as he did it again, your inner walls squeezing as if trying to suck him deeper, to keep him from pulling out.

“It’s a nightmare, isn’t it?” Yuri asked, punctuating the softly spoken question with a hard thrust. The sound of skin slapping together was almost as filthy as the moan you let out in response. “To get what you want but not how you want it.” He laughed, although the sound quickly devolved into a groan. "I guess that makes you my nightmare."

You shouldn’t have opened the document, you knew it wasn’t meant for your eyes. It wasn’t like you understood it, either. Nor did you care. A list of names with attached numbers. Referencial material that wasn’t included. You didn’t care, you really didn’t. You weren’t the nosy type. But the numbers were so high. Money. Huge sums of money.

Out of curiosity, you looked up one of the names, wondering if it had something to do with Mr. Dahlman’s practice. It wasn’t as if you handled most of the actual monetary transactions. But the person was a politician, it made no sense that he’d have anything to do with Mr. Dahlman’s firm.

Something wasn’t right. You knew that in your gut. Something wasn’t right, and all you could think of was the man storming in and insisting that he would pay.

Hands shaking, you deleted the document. It wasn’t meant for you anyway.

Another busy day. You were returning to your desk with a caffeinated soda—the thing that passed for lunch—when you saw the glass door open with a whoosh, revealing a familiar face.

“For you, m’lady,” Yuri said, placing a bouquet of roses on your desk. Their beautiful, vibrant red matched his shirt, pairing beautifully with the hair he’d left loose to drape over his shoulders. Considering the uncomfortable way he’d left the last time you saw him, you had no idea how to respond to the display.

“Mr. Leclerc,” you said. “Um… You shouldn’t have.”

He laughed. “I didn’t. I passed a delivery man on the way up and thought I’d spare him the walk.”

“Oh, right,” you said, flushing at the misunderstanding. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dahlman is out at lunch.”

“Is he?” Yuri asked, although he didn’t look particularly surprised. “Guess I’ll have to come back later.”

“If you wanted, I could take a message?”

“And deprive me the pleasure of seeing you again?” he asked, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow. You had no idea what to say to that, looking at him with a stupid expression as you tried to interpret some meaning other than a flirtatious one. Yuri smiled. “That said, it seems like I’ve got some competition.” He gestured to the flowers. “A secret admirer, perhaps?”

You walked over to look at the attached note, knowing that he was wrong yet embarrassed that he'd say it.

“Whoever he is, he must be in love with you.” There was a sharpness to the words, a meanness. “Why is it always roses, I wonder? They’re the flower of the unimaginative.”

“I like roses,” you said, reading the attached card with a growing smile, your heart swelling with affection. “My mom sent them to cheer me up. Here-” You grabbed a rose from the bunch, intending to give it to Yuri, only to realize the thorns hadn’t been trimmed. “Ouch!” you exclaimed, dropping it onto the floor on instinct.

“Careful,” Yuri said, approaching you, trampling the flower beneath his expensive shoe without any concern, grinding it into the clean white tile. “You’re bleeding—let me see.”

You didn’t have time to draw away before he took your hand to admire the way blood formed little beads on your skin—the same color as the flowers that caused it. Although the slender hand holding your wrist wasn’t violent, it was steel nonetheless, keeping you from withdrawing your arm. As if it were perfectly natural, he licked up the blood from your fingers. Then he peeked up at you with his head bowed, violet eyes scorching beneath his thick eyelashes, and you couldn’t move. Enthralled by his eyes, by the tingling memory of his mouth, by the the intoxicatingly good scent of his cologne.

“Beautiful things are often dangerous,” he said softly, his voice low. “I would think you’d have learned that by now.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said softly, staring at him with equal parts fear and attraction. How could you not? Every single feature of Yuri’s seemed design to draw you in, to enthrall and enamor. Even with discomfort squeezing your heart like a vice, you couldn’t help it.

He let your hand drop to grip your chin instead, lips that had just been smeared with your blood meeting your own, as soft as the petals of the rose he’d crushed underfoot. You squeaked in surprise, but your body relented to his without question. At this point, Yuri was familiar. The kiss filled you with this electric sort of heat, with a raging inferno of desire. Every dream you’d had about him drew to a crescendo, night after night of unfulfilled lust raging to the forefront.

But not real Yuri, not in the workplace, not like this.

“You don’t think I’m dangerous?” Yuri asked, spinning you around to push you onto your desk. With a little effort, he got you to spread your legs enough for him to wedge his hips between, your skirt riding up dangerously high. You barely thought to struggle, holding onto his shoulders so you didn’t fall. “Do you ever worry that my generosity will run out and I’ll demand some form of recompense for my patience? I’ve done everything I could to protect you so far, but even I have a limit.”

“Yuri?” you asked, your voice breathy and confused.

“But not yet,” Yuri said, his hand traveling from your waist and over your thigh, his fingers squeezing the flesh in a nearly possessive way.

“I don’t-”

Faint footsteps echoed down the hall, the telltale sound of someone approaching. Blind panic filled you at the idea of someone walking in on this. Whatever this was, you could only imagine how it would look.

But you looked as the doors open with your heart racing in fear and a crease on your cheek from the edge of your appointment book that you had been using as a pillow on your desk, your back sore from the position. Sleeping. You had fallen asleep on your desk.

“Good afternoon,” Mr. Dahlman said with a smile.

“Yes, good… Good afternoon,” you said, wiping at your mouth and smoothing your hair with the fear fading as you realized it had just been a dream.

“Did someone send you roses?” he asked. You looked at the bouquet, shock striking through you coldly. It had been Yuri who brought those to the office, but that had been a dream. Hadn't it?

“Yeah, my… my mom,” you said, checking the note to make sure. To cheer you up, the note said, just as it had in the dream.

“That was kind of her,” Mr. Dahlman said, circling your desk to go to his office.

“It… It was.”

Mr. Dahlman paused, hanging in the doorway to his office and looking at you with a surprisingly severe expression. “You didn’t happen to receive an email earlier, did you? It would have been blank with an attached document. Do you recall anything like that?”

Your heart sunk, a fresh type of fear and anxiety filling you for reasons you didn’t want to think about. “I didn’t,” you lied. “But I could check my spam folder-”

“No,” Mr. Dahlman said, smiling warmly. “It’s not important. Please let me know when my three o’clock arrives.”

“Ye-yes, of course, Mr. Dahlman.”

Despite the lack of dreams, you were more tired than ever. Frayed and sad and lonely. Those were the excuses you clung to, but you knew you shouldn’t have been listening to a private conversation of Mr. Dahlman’s. He hadn’t properly hung up his office phone and you were just so curious. It wasn’t like you had anything else to occupy you. Another excuse.

But it was wrong. What he was doing was wrong and bad and illegal and maybe you were an airhead and maybe you were a fool but Mr. Dahlman was supposed to be a good man. A man of Seiros, of the goddess.

“You were listening, were you not?” Mr. Dahlman asked, staring at you from behind his desk, his eyes just as warm and gentle as ever. Your stomach twisted, a dizzy sensation in your head.

“That was blackmail,” you said. “You’re blackmailing people, that’s what was on the document.”

“I thought you were lying about that, although it hardly matters. You should be careful of making such accusations,” Mr. Dahlman warned lightly. “They could land you in a great deal of trouble.”

“But you’re…” you sputtered, barely recognizing the insult. “You can’t do this, it’s… it’s wrong, an-and illegal.”

“Please, calm down,” Mr. Dahlman told you. “And keep in mind the non-disclosure agreement you signed when you started work here. I fear there would be grave consequences were to you to begin spreading falsehoods about me and my work, least of all with the Church that helped to support you.”

Grave consequences. You stared at him with wide, wet eyes, terror working its steady, brutal rush through your veins. Mr. Dahlman stood up to approach you. Instead of moving, you just watched as if in slow motion as he put a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t move, you barely dared to breathe.

“For your own sake, I ask that you consider what you intend to do next very carefully. Take tomorrow to think about your future. Should you do the right thing, I’ll see you on Monday,” he told you gently. His hand tightened. Not painfully, but enough. “Should you not… Well, I shall pray that you do.”

You swallowed hard. “I understand.”

“Good,” Mr. Dahlman said, smiling kindly and releasing you. “I do encourage you to be careful. The city can hold many dangers for a girl such as yourself.”

What sort of cruel joke did the universe play on you to run into Yuri Leclerc as soon as you were out of the office building? Literally run into him, spilling your cold coffee from that morning all over yourself and toppling onto the ground. From your spot at his feet, you saw his shock become recognition become worry.

“Are you alright?” Yuri asked. Helping you up. Not even for the first time. How humiliating.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, picking up your stuff with your face turned downward to hide from him. “Mr-Mr. Dahlman is still in the office, but you’ll have to hurry if you want… want to catch him.”

“You’ve been crying,” Yuri said, pulling you out of the line of foot traffic. You let him. A little crease had formed between his perfect eyebrows as he looked at you, and it made your heart ache.

“I’m fine,” you said with a pathetic sniff, wiping your face. Everything was covered in old coffee. You’d have to go on the bus like this, and then you’d be home. And you’d be alone. And Mr. Dahlman had warned you of the dangers of the city. He knew better than anyone else in the world how intimately isolated you were, he knew where you lived and who you knew and there was no escape.

“You’re going home, yeah? You can’t take the bus like this,” Yuri said, unaware of your spiraling thoughts. “Let me get a cab to take you home.”

You were already shaking your head too fast, rejecting the idea with the violence of fear. “I can’t go home.”

He hesitated. “You can’t intend to go out like this.”

“No, I-I can’t. I’m—”

Yuri frowned. “What are you doing then?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s not your problem, I-”

“Shut up for a second,” he told you, waving a hand to cut you off. “Why don’t you come back to my place? I can make you dinner. I’ve been told I’m a fantastic cook.”

Your breath hitched. “I couldn’t.”

“Afraid of being alone with a man?” Yuri asked knowingly. “Well rest assured, you’re safe with me.” Was that what you were afraid of? Yuri had never been anything but a perfect gentleman to you, deplorable dreams notwithstanding. If anything, he was the victim of your own twisted mind.

Another pathetic sniff. “If it’s alright with you, then… I’d love to.”

“Thank you so much for this,” you said softly, wiping down a hot, clean plate after he handed it to you. The shockingly domestic act of washing dishes together had done a lot to ease your nerves, somehow. It was just so normal, so mundane.

“This was my pleasure,” he said, shooting you a sideways smile. “It’s not often I get to cook for people anymore.”

“No, I mean… Well, thank you for everything,” you told him, your voice relaxed now. You had been so tense when he let you into his apartment, teetering on the edge of tears and covered in coffee and uncomfortable enough to crawl out of your own skin. But wearing a clean pair of clothes—his clothes, which you tried not to think too hard about—and eating a hot meal had eased a lot of that tension. Besides, you were getting tired. The day had been stressful, and the hour was hitting hard. “Is that all?” you asked, gesturing to the dishes.

Yuri shut off the water, taking the dish towel from you to dry his hands. “Yep. Do you want to sit down? I don’t have much in the way of dessert, but I do have some Baileys.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“This’ll be a fun surprise then,” he said, going to the refrigerator. You stayed put, uncertainly shifting from foot to foot. But, this was what people did, wasn’t it? With friends. Even alarmingly, devastatingly handsome friends. And you didn’t want to be alone.

You went back out into the living area, taking a seat on the couch. The whole place was nice, but sterile. Like a hotel, almost. Unlived in. Yuri followed a moment later, holding two glasses filled with a creamy liquid and a bottle tucked under his arm.

“Here,” he said, handing you one of the glasses.

“Is it alcohol?” you asked hesitantly, looking at it.

“It’s sweet,” he said, sitting across from you. “And it’s barely alcoholic, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You thought about arguing further, but you trusted Yuri. Besides, if there was ever a time to drink, it was now.

“Thank you,” you said.

To your surprise, it was sweet. There was some burn, but not much.

Yuri smiled, licking the liquor from his lips. “See?”

“Thank you,” you said again, forcing yourself to look back down to keep from staring at his mouth. Even now, you couldn’t force yourself to think normal thoughts.

He poured you more, and this time you drank it without question because you knew what was coming and you wanted a little more of that buzz to face it.

“Now… I hate to pry into your affairs,” Yuri ventured, “but I have to ask-”

“I signed a waver,” you told him, staring at your empty glass. “I can’t tell anyone.”

“So this has to do with the firm.”

You looked up, eyes wide. “No, it-”

“Hey, don’t worry. If anyone’s good at keeping secrets, it’s me. More than that, I’d like to help if I can. Against my better judgment, I like you.” Yuri paused, wearing a look of uncertainty, as if admitting something unpleasant. “Quite a bit, actually. I certainly wouldn’t want any harm to come to you.”

The admission made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol, although you weren’t sure it was a good feeling. As with everything you associated with Yuri, it felt wrong. Deeply, truly unnatural.

“Hey, can I have more?” You held up your empty glass towards him hopefully.

“Sure,” Yuri said, pouring you more with a smooth twist of his wrist. How could somebody make pouring a drink look attractive? It was unfair.

You drank quickly, more intent on the buzz of inebriation than the taste. Then, staring at the last few drops lingering in the glass, you forced the words out before you could consider them too intently. “Mr. Dahlman is… He… He blackmails people,” you said, getting it out all at once. “I found out and confronted him-”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Yuri asked, more incredulous than shocked.

“I thought he was a good man,” you told him, your face falling.

Yuri snorted. “The only virtuous lawyer in town, huh? Well, I can’t blame you for that, he fools a lot of people.”

“So you knew?” you asked.

“More importantly,” Yuri said, “did he threaten you?”

Your breath hiccuped. “Not directly, but…” You shook your head, trying to forget that look in his eye. “Do you think he’d hurt me?” you asked in a small voice.

“No, he won’t,” Yuri said, gently taking your glass and placing his hand on yours. His skin was warm and soft, the gesture heart-achingly innocent.

You wondered if you were actually dreaming. Part of it was the alcohol setting in, the warm little blaze blurring your thoughts. No matter how low the alcohol content, you didn’t drink often enough to have any sort of tolerance. More than that, you were tired. Maybe this was another despicable conjuration of your brain, maybe it was going to take a sharp turn and you’d end up on the counter, or against the wall, or on the couch in the other room, or-

“That’s why he pays men me,” Yuri told you, his expression flattening. Blinking sluggishly, the threatening words struck you discordantly, distantly. You tried to pull your hand away, but Yuri clasped it tightly in his own. “Normally I like to have a bit of fun and then move on, no harm done,” he continued, ignoring your confused attempts to escape him. “But that’s not an option anymore.” He sighed. “It always falls on me to take care of things.”

“Yuri, you’re scaring me.”

“I don’t think its even dawned on you that I’ve been lying the entire time. You’re too trusting.” He paused, smirking ironically. “It’ll get you hurt one of these days.”

“Please let me go,” you asked. Your words were slurring a little, the slowly settling exhaustion and alcohol distancing you from reality.

A dream. You had to be dreaming.

“But I see no reason to keep it up now, it’s not like you’ll remember this,” Yuri said. “It’s true that I offer unique services. Very unique. Aelfric and I have a good thing going. I extract secrets from the pliant subconsciousness of the rich and famous; he uses his connections to properly utilize them. For now, at least. If it makes you feel any better, I intend to put an end to our arrangement as soon as I can. Sooner, with your help.”

“You’re joking, aren’t you?” you asked, although the urgency was ruined by the encroaching wilt of exhaustion. Unlike being drunk, the world becoming vibrant and your skin buzzing, it was as if your body itself was shutting down around you. “This is… is insane, I don’t understand.”

“Think a little, yeah?” Yuri prompted, giving you a familiarly condescending look. “Haven’t you noticed that something’s wrong here? Like having nightly dreams of a strange and sinful nature about a certain someone?” You couldn’t help your shocked intake of breath, the immediate shame that filled you. “Yeah, I know all about those. You might say that I am intimately familiar with them. After all, I am the one who put them there.”

Over and over, you blinked to try and wake yourself up. But the disgust and the fear and the shame weren’t enough to keep you focused, the world was fading and dark on the edges, your chest caving in with heaviness. Breathing alone became a tiresome task, let alone holding yourself up.

“Did you… drug me…?” you asked. It seemed so obvious now that you were becoming consumed with the heaviness. Fighting against the pull of unconsciousness physically hurt.

“Our nighttime escapes aren’t over just yet, I still need you. In more ways than one,” Yuri said, moving even closer to catch you from slumping over when you tried to get up. You grunted, squirming to escape, but it was a pitiful display. He smelled so nice. You didn’t want to fight, not really. “To think, Aelfric thought he could bait me into compliance. But, as always, luck is on my side, and I’ve always got another trick up my sleeve. He should have considered the wisdom of giving me a girl so susceptible to persuasion.”

You grumbled something, your words stifled by the exhaustion and his chest. It probably had been incomprehensible in the first place.

“Let’s get you tucked in,” Yuri said, supporting most of your weight as he helped you up. “Your work isn’t quite finished.” You could barely resist, not that you were trying. He smelled so good, sweet and fresh and intoxicating. You nuzzled your cheek against the front of his shirt, your skin buzzing with it.

And then you fell asleep.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” were not the words you expected to wake up to. You didn’t expect to be woken up by words at all, considering you lived alone. But soon after you recognized that you were being spoken to, you realized that you were not in your own bed. Panic set in then, and your eyes snapped open, getting a blurry view of a purple and white smudge.

“Ngh—ah!” was your eloquent response, and you tried to sit up only for gravity to push you back down. Your vision cleared and you realized that the smudge was a person. A familiar person. “Mr. Leclerc,” you said, meaning it as an exclamation but unable to find the energy.

“Now that you’ve spent the night in my bed, I think you’ve more than earned the right to call me Yuri,” he said, smiling.

“Your bed?” you asked looking around. The room was a tidy sort of mess, filled with books and clothes and other clutter. A fur coat thrown over a chair, a pair of shiny white spiked Chelsea boots. This was Yuri’s room, his real room and not a dreamscape domain of twilight and stars. This was real. “What happened?” you asked, more than a little afraid of the answer. Your head felt heavy, your body filled with lead. You remembered very little. Leaving work crying, quite literally running into Yuri, coming to his apartment.

“You had a bad day at work yesterday, so I invited you over for dinner and drinks,” Yuri told you sympathetically, sitting on the by your knees and handing over a bottle of water. You didn’t feel thirsty, and your head didn’t really ache. More than anything, you just felt heavy. Sluggish. But you drank anyway, hoping it would chase away the sour taste on your tongue. “You’re a real lightweight, you know that?” he continued. “I had no idea how drunk you were until you were already passed out.”

“Did we…” you couldn’t so much as finish the question.

“If something happened between us, you would remember it,” Yuri told you bluntly. “Trust me.”

That made you flush. It was fairly obvious. You were still wearing the clothes he’d given you last night, and the other side of the bed looked like it hadn’t been slept in. If there was ever any memory you would retain, you felt certain it would be having sex with Yuri Leclerc outside of your twisted subconcious. More than that, you’d have to assume in that case that he would ever want you in real life, and that was ridiculous.

“I am so sorry,” you said, embarrassment clouding your discomfort. Yuri patted your head, smoothing out your hair. You didn’t need a mirror to know that you looked, felt, and likely smelled like someone who had been crying and gotten wasted the night before, and he had the gall to look as handsome as ever.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Yuri told you. “You told me what Aelfric’s been doing, and I promised to help you. Do you remember that much at least?”

Yes. Mr. Dahlman had been committing malpractice, scamming people out of their land for cheap development. Something like that. Your stomach sank sickeningly. There was something more, wasn’t there? “Yeah. But I—I feel like I’m forgetting something,” you said slowly, frowning in confusion at the blankets to avoid his eyes.

“That’s my fault. I should have known you weren’t used to drinking,” he said regretfully.

“No,” you told him quickly, looking up with a lurch of guilt. “It’s not your fault, I should have…” You couldn’t remember last night, but when you met his eyes, you remembered every other night your brain had manufactured with him in the starring role. Every fantasy, every sin. “I should go.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Yuri told you. You breathed in sharply, the harshness of his words making you tense up. But when you looked at him, Yuri just smiled. “Stay a while, yeah? I’ll make it more than worth your while.”

#yuri leclerc #yuri leclerc x reader #fe yuri #fe yuri x reader #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem three hopes #not sfw #my writing #tw.dubcon

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