#mossy perfume

[theenbyroiderer]

Spring-inspired perfume selection for my tray.

Bravanaris Cala and Maig. Hiram Green Arcadia and Arbolé Arbolé. Parfum d'Empire Eau de Gloire. Slumberhouse New Sibet. Rogue Mousse Illuminee. Geo F. Trumper Sandalwood and Milk of Flowers. Jovoy Lys Epona.

[rabbitrah]

Poring through fragrantica in search of perfumes that smell like dirt and leaves.

[parfumery-wiki]

Salt (eau de parfum) Perfumer H Nose: Lyn Harris

Mossy woods

This delicately gourmand fragrance with a clean twist of leather is almost good enough to eat. Wild herbs of rosemary, coriander and white sage, spices of cardamon and angelica seed are fused with the earthy notes of iris root, patchouli and cistus absolute.

Key notes: Italian bergamot, Lavender, Angelica seed, Red thyme, Cardamom, Rose, Cedarwood, Patchouli, Oak moss

[pluto-boy]

i like the idea of change

[katieaki]

My post-apocalyptic Lesbian Cowgirl Mailman choose-your-own adventure has just updated! Read it here, for free on my Patreon! This is only the third installment of PART TWO, so it's still a great time to hop on board!! I just made a summary of the first part, here, which tells you basically everything you need to know about Lou, her unrequited(?) love, and the ill-advised journey she is beginning as of this update.

In the previous update, we found out (kind of) what the object of Lou's affection wrote to her in that heavily, heavily perfumed letter. In this update, she has to deal with what she learned. Her traveling companion/special delivery, Holliday, is being... quite nice? At least, comparatively? They have a bit of "And There Was Only One Bed" going on, in that they're sharing a tent made for one. That's fun, right? Sleepover!!

Excerpt under the cut!

“I’m sorry to have been the bearer of such bad news, Lou, truly I am,” she said. She stroked the back of Lou’s hung head. Lou was surprised to find she found the gesture comforting, not condescending or overly familiar.

“It’s not all bad,” Lou said, her head still resting face-down on her knees. Her voice sounded pinched and nasal to her own ears and her throat felt almost too tight to speak. The knees of her jeans were thoroughly soaked through with tears. “She said she loves me.”

“Oh,” Holliday said, her brows knitting together. She held her other hand to her chest. “Oh, you poor thing.”

“She said. Right? That she loves me back?” Lou said. “She did say.”

“Oh, honey,” Holliday said. She cupped Lou’s chin and tilted her face up, searching her face for something, but Lou didn’t know what. Her hand was not as soft as Lou had expected it to be since everything else about her was so refined. “Bless your heart.”

Something about having to meet her eye made the tears start back up with renewed vigor. It hurt. It hurt bad. She wanted to say that it wasn’t fair, but that wasn’t how these things worked and frankly, Venus was right. That only made it hurt more. She couldn’t even gnash her teeth and wail against the injustice of it all. Venus was right, she was never around. She was always away. She was unpredictable and unreliable. She’d been so happy to be a rolling stone, gathering no moss for so long and now it was biting her in the ass. Turned out, girls liked when you were a little mossy.

[tiredmamaissy]

Insatiable

Neteyam's First Rut: Special Episode I

This takes place between ‘The Heat Within’ & ‘A Synchronous Fever’ in the ‘Neteyam’s First Rut’ series.

Neteyam's mate's POV of 'Inextinguishable'.

Read Special Episodes: Part II (Twin Flame) & Part III (Ashes) - links are also below.

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Main Characters: Neteyam Sully (20) x Avatar Omatikaya Reader y/n (19) [will be referred to as Neteyam’s mate or n/m]

Supporting Characters: Lo’ak Sully (19) x Na’vi Omatikaya Reader y/n (19) [will be referred to as Lo’aks mate or l/m]

Warnings: extreme nsfw, heavy smut, heat cycle, dom neteyam, lil bit of fluff, profanity, usage of ‘slut’, marking

Word Count: 6k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: This is Neteyam x Reader’s POV of ‘Inextinguishable’. Enjoy ♡

“Oh shit.” You gasp, grabbing Neteyam by the arm. “Neteyam... isn’t that Lo’ak’s mate?” you point, unable to look away from the curled-up figure on the ground.

Neteyam quickly turns around, hearing the fear in your voice.

“What? Where?” he scans the forest in a hurry, finally seeing her lifeless body on the soft flora. “Shit. It is.”

The strong scent of lionberry and mossy wood wafts past you both. For you, the scent is almost calming, if you could wear it like a perfume, you would. But it clearly had a different effect on Neteyam, as you watch your mate rush over to her, scooping her up in his arms and carry her back to his banshee. For a minute you feel something new, something Neteyam has never made you feel before – jealous. 

It was silly; she was clearly not herself. But you had only seen Neteyam act like that for you, act so protective. Granted, it’s what you would have told him to do had he not done it himself. Shrugging it off, you climb up on his ikran, seating yourself behind her, supporting her limp body with yours.

“She is in heat, isn’t she Nete?” you ask him, smelling her scent grow stronger.

“Definitely.” He states through gritted teeth.

It even sounds like he’s restraining himself in some way. As if he’s trying not to pounce on her right here, right now. Your heart feels like it’s caving in, being crushed under the pressure of the weight of his single word, ‘definitely’. You look down, to see her flushed cheeks, the beads of sweat dripping down her chest... the arousal of her body.

You can’t deny it, her scent is enticing – addictive, even. Her wet hair plasters itself against your chest as she leans back into you, snuggling into your bosom. Watching her rub her face into your breast makes your heart thump, hard. Surprised by your own body’s reaction to her carnal state, you look at Neteyam, wondering if he feels the same way.

He must feel the same, right? If not... worse.

Slipping under the trance of her heat, your breath becomes raggedly, and loud. You were practically panting, feeling her feverish body warm yours up, too. It’s all too overwhelming – the warmth of her body, the sweat coating your chest in a layer of sheen, her erotic expression... the little, sweet noises escaping her flushed lips – her scent.

It makes you... tense. To the point where even Neteyam notices.

“Are you alright, my love?” he asks, holding his breath.

The choked-up voice brings you back to reality in an instant. You see his hand reach behind him, searching for your thigh, almost brushing against hers instead. Moving your hand from her waist, you grab his hand and rest it on your clammy thigh.

“Yes. Just... hurry.” You pant lightly. “She - she doesn’t look too great.”

She really didn’t, but the truth is that you’re not feeling all that great either.

“I know. I know. We are almost there.” He reassures you, squeezing your thigh before letting go.

----

Neteyam carries her quickly to the tent, placing her gently on the woven mat. You both look down at her body, glistening from sweat, as she shakes her head from side to side. Her little whimpers are turning into lengthy groans the more time passes. Neteyam is visibly uncomfortable, shielding his nose with his forearm and backing up to the door.

“What is it? Are her pheromones too much for you? Too arousing?” you spit, letting the jealousy overcome you.

He grits his teeth and tightens his brows. “What? Y/n. No.” he snaps at you. “...they are making me sick.” He confesses, backing up even more. “I cannot stay here. I am going to call for Lo’ak.”

As bad as it sounds, you feel better knowing that he feels sick rather than hot and bothered by your sister-in-law.

“Sorry. I – I think she is affecting me, too.” You babble, feeling lightheaded.

“Sorry, ma’ yawne [beloved]. I must go.” He grimaces, walking swiftly out the door.

Left alone with her, you scan her body thoroughly. She’s drenched in sweat, yet shivering violently as if she were cold. Sympathizing with her, you sweep back the stands hair stuck to her forehead and wipe her down with a wet cloth.

Is this what I look like when I’m in heat, too?

You know the cloth is useless and that only Lo’ak could provide any sort of relief for her, but it’s all you could do for her. She’s practically writhing in pain, mumbling under her breath, yearning for her mate. You know the feeling all too well, you could really empathize with her. It feels as if you’re going through it too, just by watching her curl into a foetal position.

It must be burning... there, now. You pity her, staring at her clutching her womb.

Feeling woozy, you mirror her movements, wrapping your hand around your abdomen, too.

“I know what you are feeling. It is not nice. But do not fret...” you ring out the cloth, “...Neteyam has called for your mate.” You whisper, wiping down the back of her neck. “He will fix you right up... okay?” you ask, not really expecting an answer.

“Mmm... mhm.” She moans between pants, leaning into your touches as she backs herself up onto you.

You let out a breathy chuckle, smiling down at her. “Not me, silly. I can’t do much for you. So, sorry about that...” you glance at her tail, coiling around your leg. “Hang in there... Lo’ak is almost here, I am sure of it.” You pat her thigh before dipping the cloth back into the water.  

----

“Lo’ak. Where are you? Why did you leave her alone?” Neteyam shouts, holding the button on his throat microphone.

“What? What do you mean? I was with her an hour ago, bro.” Lo’ak shouts back.

Neteyam doesn’t answer, as he breathes through a wave of nausea, swallowing the saliva that pools in his mouth.

“Bro?” Lo’ak repeats.

“Come quick. She doesn’t look good.” Neteyam states quickly. “She is with my mate... I had to leave the room. Her pheromones are making me nauseous.” he takes a deep breath, hearing nothing but silence.

“Lo’ak.” Neteyam spits.

“Just. Shut up. I’m almost there.” Lo’ak growls.

Just as he said – Lo’ak lands with a loud thump.

Neteyam watches his brother dismount his ikran, embodying that of a very pissed off thanator. He braces for impact, feeling too queasy to properly defend himself from his brother’s uncontrollable temper.

“Lo’ak. Calm, brother.” Neteyam snaps, staggering from the wooziness.

Fortunately for Neteyam, the faint moan of his mate pierces the air, causing the thanator to lock onto a new target. Lo’ak pushes past Neteyam, shoving him out the way. Neteyam sits down and puts his head between his legs, hoping it’ll ease up the light-headedness.

----

Lo’ak opens the door, making you jump in your skin. You watch as he’s overpowered by his mate’s pheromones, covering his face with his hand as he makes his way into the room. He rushes over and kneels before his mate, who’s now under a sheeting, drenched with her sweat. He lifts his head briefly to give you a quick nod – as if to say, thank you. You shoot him a smile, before getting up to leave the tent to join your mate.

“Ma’ teyam?” you call for him, not seeing him in your direct line of sight.

“Down here.” He mutters, head still between his legs.

You gasp from hearing his voice, still on edge from l/m's heat. Looking at your feet, you see Neteyam sitting down on a branch next to the tent.

 “Oh, my baby. Is it that bad?” you ask, feeling sorry for him.

“Mmmn. Feel like ‘m gonna be sick.” He pants, drooling from the excess saliva flooding his mouth.

The sight is like stones in your heart.

“Alright, alright. You’re okay. I am here now, Nete.” You hum as you seat yourself next to him and rub circles into his back. “Take a deep breath with me.” You breathe with him, holding his braids out the way.

It seems to be a thing where you care for others, today.

Not that you minded it, you were a healer in training anyways. But you couldn’t deny your own uneasiness. Your own wooziness.

The scent of lionberry and mossy wood completely inundates you and Neteyam as Lo’ak walks past with his mate in his arms. Before you know it, Neteyam is dry heaving, trying his best not to throw up.

“Okay, okay. We gotta’ go.” you insist, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “Come on. Up we go, Nete.” You grunt, struggling to stand up with this dead weight on your shoulder.

Although you didn’t have the strongest frame, your legs feel significantly weaker. You put it off to this entire ordeal. Snaking your hand around his waist, you pull him up with you, supporting him as you walk towards your shared tent. He really wasn’t carrying much of his weight, or at least that’s how it felt.

“Walk with me, ma’ teyam.” You huff, feeling his braids swing against your face as he makes feeble tempts to walk to the tent. “Almost there. Just a few more steps.”

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut as another wave of nausea washes over him, stopping him in his tracks. You hold your position, supporting him on your wobbly legs whilst he catches his breath.

“Sorry, y/n.” he groans between raggedy breaths.

“For what? Being sick?” you laugh, “Don’t be.”

“No. For earlier... I hurt your feelings, didn’t I?” he looks up at you through his knitted brows, with big glossy eyes.

His eyes always made you fold in two, and he knew it. You brush it off, rolling your eyes and shaking your head slightly.

“Psh. Nah. I have no idea what you are talking about.” You smile, nudging him towards your shared hammock.

“I am serious, I can tell. You are my mate, after all.” He huffs, walking through the doors of your tent.

“Shh. It’s fine, my love.” You mutter, lowering him on the floor. “Who knew a little pheromone would make a big man like you crumble.” You giggle, lightening the mood.

Neteyam pulls you towards him, causing you to fall into his warm chest. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, snuzzling into you as he takes a deep breath, inhaling your sweet scent.

“Yours do.” He hums, rubbing his face against your supple skin. “I crumble monthly... for you.” he glances up at you before moving up to your collarbone.

Maybe it was the jealousy you felt earlier, or perhaps it was Lo’ak’s mates overpowering scent, but Neteyam’s innocent touches are sending shivers down your spine. It feels so good – so right. You can’t help but melt into him, rubbing your cheek against his braids, also inhaling his natural scent.

“Thank you, my beloved.” He smiles into your collarbone, sliding his hands up your waist.

“For?” you moan, feeling dizzy.

“Your pheromones. They are making me feel better.” He mumbles into your chest, feeling an immense amount of relief.

The woozy feeling is too intense to ignore anymore. It’s starting to affect your hearing, making Neteyam’s voice into a low echo.

“Hmm?” you hum, not quite understanding what he’s babbling on about.

“When did you learn how to control your pheromones?” He asks, kissing the fleshiness of your breasts.

“I – I don’t know what you are saying.” You moan softly, pushing your chest against him. “I mean... what you’re talking about.” You swallow your spit, struggling with your words. “Nete. I don’t feel so well.” you confess, now seeing two of him kissing your chest.

He looks up at you, seeing your dazed expression. His eyes bulge at the sight, knowing he’s seen this look on your face before – like two weeks ago to be exact.

“Can her heat make me sick, too?” you whisper, although it comes out more as a soft whimper.

“My love... did you not get your heat this month already?” he questions you, already knowing the answer.

“Mmmn, were you not there my nete?” you moan softly, mounting your mate.

He watches as you crawl on top on him, sitting on his pelvis as you wiggle around to find a more comfortable position. Using the back of his hand, he feels your forehead. Sure enough, you're burning up.

“You feel hot, like you have a fever.” He whispers, dropping his hand back down to your waist.

“Mhm... mhm. Feels that way. Think I’m sick, like you.” you hum, your head collapsing into his neck.

“I do not think so, sweetheart.” He chuckles huskily, sliding his hands up to your breasts and kneading them gently.

“I think you are in heat, my little one.”

Pulling back, you look down at him with heavy eyes. “W-what?” you breathe.

“Mhm.” He hums, bucking his hips into you suddenly. “I can smell it.” He looks down at your pelvises rubbing against one another – sticky from your slick.

“I can feel it.” He growls, snapping his gaze back up to yours.

For a moment, you think about how Lo’ak's mate must be feeling. Is it like how you feel now? Or is more intense? You think back to the banshee ride to hometree, about how her hot body nuzzled into yours, heating you up too... how her little mewls and moans filled your ears – how her scent put you on edge.

“Did you like her scent?” you ask breathlessly, trying to recall how it smelled.

Neteyam looks up at you dumbfounded, to be met with your intoxicated expression.

“Yep. You are definitely in heat if you are asking such a question.” He laughs at the fact that you’ve already forgotten what the last hour has been like for him.

Trailing your body with his eyes, he takes in the sight of your sweaty skin, your stiff nipples poking through your top... your flushed cheeks – your lustful facial expression. It dawns on him that you’re reminiscing about Lo’ak’s mate in heat. Now he’s the one who’s jealous.

What better a thing to cause him to succumb his territorial urges?

“Why? Did you?” he breathes, bucking his hips once more – even harder.

You bite your tongue, afraid to admit your true feelings to your mate. That, yes, you were aroused by another woman’s pheromones. They excited you, just like they put you in heat.

“Hmm?” Neteyam lets out a throaty growl, sliding his hands to your hips to squeeze them harshly. “Did you?!” he thrusts into you, making your tender breasts bounce.

“Ugh! F-fuck...maybe.” you confess through strained whimpers, grinding into the hard imprint under his loincloth.

This riles Neteyam up. The thought of you being all hot and bothered by another person, another woman, in heat at that... makes him – horny.

He didn’t quite understand it, he was confused, even. Just a second ago he was jealous, and ready to fuck the sense back into you. But now? The mere thought of the flesh between your legs dampening due to her scent... drives him feral.

“Yeah? And now I have to clean up this mess...” he growls, shoving his hand between your slick covered legs. “...such a fucking slut.” He mumbles, pushing your loincloth to the side and ramming two digits deep inside your slippery cunt.

Under the trance of your heat, Neteyam surrenders to his animalistic urges, ripping the flimsy cloth that covers your breast off your chest with his free hand. He takes your nipple into his mouth in a hurry, nipping at it with his teeth. You yelp out, feeling pleasure from his rough fingering and from the pain in your breast, causing him to pop off your nipple.

“T-take this off me, Nete.” You moan, tugging at the band of your loincloth as you grind even harder into his fingers.

“I want you to beg for it. Beg for me” he demands, hooking his fingers right into your sweet spot.

“Oh! Oh Neteyam!” you cry out, feeling your eyes well up with tears from how good his fingers feel. “Please... I want you inside me!”

“Fuck. Why am I even stretching you?” he hisses, yanking his fingers out of your cunt. “You don’t even fucking need it.”

He raises his hand in front of his face, pulling apart his fingers to reveal thick strings of slick connecting them together. Hurriedly taking his fingers into his mouth, he sucks your sweet, sweet slick clean off his digits, swallowing it hungrily.

Without wasting another second, he rips your loincloth into two, completely deeming it unwearable. He throws the torn, raggedy cloth to the side, gripping you by your hips and forcibly rubbing your hot slit against his loincloth.

His eager movements make you whine loudly, as you make poor attempts to take his covered cock inside of you – desperate for your release. The itchiness inside your womb is unbearable and too deep for just his fingers to scratch. You just want to ram his entire length inside you and grind your hips into his pelvis to satiate the itch.

“Good Eywa. Look at you...” he grunts, “... trying to fuck me through my loincloth.” He lets loose a breathy laugh, watching you actually get the tip in.

“Please... it’s so itchy. Neteyam! I need it. ‘ts burning... Please. P-please!” you beg loudly, shoving your hips down onto him.

“Always talking about your itch, huh? Always so needy...” he hums, ripping his own into two before throwing it into the pile of torn up rubbish.

His cock springs up, slapping against your cunt, making you jolt from the sudden raw touch.

“I – I, oh! Nete. Ugh... just... ngh! do it...” you sob needily, feeling the heat of your body take over.

It feels like your head is spinning, as the room moves rapidly around you, burring your vision completely. Your raggedy breaths turn into heavy pants, silently begging your mate to hurry. You can’t see properly, much less form a rational thought, or say a proper sentence.

“I said...” he digs his nails into your hips, “... I want to hear you beg for me, little one.” He growls, sliding your hips up and down against his shaft, coating it with your thick slick.

The stiffness of his cock rubbing against your clit is like pure bliss, like you could cum from just this. You’re so focused on the feeling that you can’t even hear the echo of his voice anymore. Picking up the pace with your hips, you rock back and forth, rubbing your hot, sticky clit against his member.

“Beg!” he shouts, bringing you back to reality.

“Fuck! Please!” you sob, tears now streaming down your face. “...please, baby. I’m losing it. I need you.” you quiet down into whimper.

Feeling sorry for you, he squeezes your hips and lifts you high enough for him to position his cockhead right at the entrance of your hole. He lingers there, taking a second to look into your watery, drunk eyes.

“Mawey, my good girl. I’m going to sort you out, now.” he moans, shoving your hips down onto his cock, watching his entire length disappear into your tight, wet cunt.

“Oh, fuck! Yes, yes, yes!” you scream, finally scratching the itch with his cock, rolling your hips around in circles.

“I know. I know, baby.” He hums, allowing you to use him however you see fit.

Neteyam knows exactly how to deal with you - how to calm you, even without his knot, although that’s what you need the most. He’d withhold it from you, until you were a sobbing mess on your knees begging for it.

It usually meant your heat would be longer – more drawn out, but that’s okay because you had your mate with you. He has the stamina to keep up with you, unlike Lo’ak. He worried for his brother and tried to give him a few lessons some time ago in preparation for his mate’s heat, but he didn’t seem very interested.

‘The main thing is to start slow, or you’ll burn up with her.’ His own voice echoes in his head.

He sets a lazy rhythm, pushing his cock as deep as it can go inside you, before pulling out half way and stuffing you all over again. His languid thrusts were enough to keep the emptiness at bay, and deep enough to scratch that maddening itch.

Barely enough.

Your heat’s been induced by another na’vi’s pheromones, jumping starting it a week earlier to sync with hers. It just so happens that this is her first heat – the most intense, hottest heat. It feels like you’re first heat, all over again. The infernal blaze that flickers deep in your chest grows bigger, menacing – insatiable.

“Mmnh! No... ‘tis not enough! Deeper, deeper!” you beg.

You lift your legs to squat on his pelvis, hoping the position will open you up more so that you can drill his hot cock deeper inside of you. Neteyam watches you in shock – brows raised, eyes bulging out his head, lips slightly parted.

You’re panting heavily, grabbing onto his face to pull him into yours as your rest your forehead on his. You search his eyes as you struggle to ram his cock deeper inside, thanks to your shaky legs.

He's astounded by your lewd, insistent body language. He’d only see you act this way so early in your heat when it was your first – when you used him like your own personal fuck toy. You needed leverage, something to hold onto so you could shove more of him inside you.

Wrapping your dainty fingers around his throat, you hold on tightly while you slam your hips into his. The sound of skin smacking against skin and the squelching noises of your cunt permeate the air.

They become louder than your moans, which are toning down into little whimpers as you near your first climax of the day. Your noses brush against one another whilst you pant tiny, sweet mewls into each other’s mouths.

You start to babble, not aware of what you’re saying.

“I love... *slam* this *slam* cock. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Your whisper, your eyes pooling with tears.

“Shit, y/n. Why is your heat so intense?” he lets out a choked whisper, searching your eyes for some trace of you left. "Who knew a little pheromone could make a girl like you crumble?" he laughs.

“I – I don’t know. Just. Shut up. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.” You chant, tears now rolling down your cheeks.

“Woman. You need to slow down. I am going to cum in you... shit.” he breathes into your mouth, pulling back his pelvis slightly.

“Stop. Don't move Nete. I'm almost there.” You chase his pelvis with yours. “More... more, please, more.” You beg quietly, so, so close to cumming.

“Shh... shh, ease up, y/n.” he pleads with you, pushing away your hips.

“Don’t... ngh. Don’t push me away, I’m almost there, teyam!” your soft moans become louder.

“F-fuck. Me too. Ugh - good eywa, you need to... ngh... fucking slow down.” Neteyam whimpers underneath you, dipping his head back as he tries to resist filling you up already.

“...and you need to shove more of this cock inside me!” you cry out, feeling the swell of your sweet spot.

Frustrated with your demanding, whiney behaviour, he decides to put you in your place. You feel his hand snake up your back, grabbing a fist full of your hair and pull you backwards, ripping your hands off his throat.

“Stop – fuck. Stop talking like that!” he raises his voice, on the verge of releasing his essence inside you.

His firm grip has you even more aroused – your body submitting even more to his rough touches. “Just like that! Oh, Eywa. Mark me, already!” you shout, flinging your head back to make space for his teeth.

“Yeah? That’s what you fucking want? Fuck.” he shouts, “Such a needy little thing you are.” He pounces on you, knocking the wind out of you as your back hits the floor.

Grabbing you by your leg, he swings it over to the other side, flipping you on your stomach – cock still deep inside you.

“You wanna be fucked? Hmm? You want my big fucking cock? Yes?” he growls, pinning your head to the ground whilst he shoves his cock even deeper inside you, piercing your bruised cervix with his tip.

“Ohh! Oh f-fuck! Yes Neteyam!” You sob loudly, finally being tamed by his touch. “Mark me... please!” you squeal, backing yourself onto him.

“Quiet.” He growls, giving you a hard thrust.

He crouches over you, panting hot breaths onto your neck, tempted to actually sink his teeth into you.

“One more whiney noise out this filthy mouth of yours and see what fucking happens.” He moves his hand from your head to your face, plunging two fingers into your mouth.

“Make me fucking cum!” You squeal, biting his fingers and spreading your legs even wider, feeling the knots in your muscles unwind.

“Sst!” he hisses, yanking his fingers out your mouth. “Fuck. You earned this, you little slut.”

He holds your hands behind your back by your wrists with one hand, and bites down on your shoulder, hard, locking his jaw onto you as you thrash around.

You feel his fangs pierce through your skin, as you writhe underneath your mate who is now pushing his growing knot at the entrance of your cunt. The pressure is immense – it’s like ecstasy, flooding your empty womb. The itch is being scratched and it feels so good.

“Cumming!” you let loose a hoarse scream, flinging your head back as your entire body shudders under his grip.

He doesn’t let up, he just sinks his teeth even deeper into you, sucking lightly as he holds his position inside you – pinning you down with his bite and grip.

He’s grunting and groaning into your shoulder, closing his eyes to savour the feeling of your pussy pulsating feverishly around his cock, trying to milk its essence directly into your womb. He waits patiently for you to come down from your high, tricking your body into thinking it’s been knotted by staying deep inside your cunt.

As the heat subsides, and the emptiness is filled, you calm down from your high and start to feel the new burning sensation in your shoulder. Your little pants turn into whimpers, feeling the pain radiate down your back. He unlatches from your shoulder and licks the wound with his warm tongue.

“Better, my love?” he pants heavily, still deep inside of you.

“Mhm...” you hum, wincing from the pain in your shoulder.

“I know your little ‘itchy’ sensation is gonna come back the second I pull out of you.” He whispers breathlessly in your ear, moving quickly to lick your wound once more.

Neteyam feels your shaky legs give out underneath you, making you sprawl out flat on the woven mat. He follows your every movement, ensuring to stay inside of you until he catches his breath enough to go another round – he hasn’t gotten his fill yet, after all. Giving you a few more minutes of relief, he slowly pulls out of your cunt, making you whine in the process.

“Ready for round two, ma’ munxta [mate]?” he growls deeply in your ear.

Just like he said, the itchiness comes flooding back in, filling up the deepest parts of your womb. You can’t help but groan from the sensation, frustrated that it’s back so soon.

Pulling out of your gaping hole, he looks down to see a thick rope of your slick connecting you to his throbbing, swollen cock. He yanks you back up onto all fours, smacking your ass as if to say ‘stay put’ while he drops to his knees to shove his nose into your cunt, deeply inhaling your sweet scent.

“Fuck. Everything about you is so... delicious.” He moans, lapping up the juices that drip slowly down your thighs.

----

The days blend as they pass, all consisting of the same things – fucking, cumming, cleaning, sleeping, eating, drinking. The cycle repeats, hour after hour, day after day – night after night. You were insatiable, riding and grinding against his numb cock when he just couldn’t take anymore. In a lot of the moments, he just let you take the lead – but he never allowed you to take his knot. He wouldn’t let a repeat of your first heat happen again.

Neteyam is lying down flat on the mat, completely covered in your pussy juices. He’s panting, unable to take a full breath anymore. His body aches, muscles inflamed and throbbing from carrying you around the tent because you refused to let him pull out.

You cling to your mate, desperate and delirious from the intensity of your heat. It’s still so hot, you wish you could step out of your skin. Not even tsaheylu was helping you.

“Nete...” you look down at your mate through blurry vision, “ah...haah... ha... I can’t take... this anymore.” you sob, tears running down your cheeks.

“Oh, y/n. I’m so sorry... I do not understand why it is lasting so long” his voice cracks, “... but it’s almost over, my love.” He clears his throat, caressing your shaky thighs. “How about we take a break and drink something?” he suggests hopefully, needing a break himself.

You shake your head side to side, struggling to support your sweaty body with your trembling hands on his stomach. The sweat that drips from your forehead pools into the dips of his stomach, mixing with his to form a small puddle. At least your double vision is gone now, and you can hear him clearly.

“Why? Why don’t you just knot me and put me out my misery?” you cry quietly, rocking your hips into him once more.

Neteyam sighs loudly, letting his head drop back into the mat. He stares up at the roof of your tent garnering the energy to repeat himself for the tenth time. He knows you’re not feeling like yourself – that you’re completely out of it.

“My love.” He looks back down at your sticky pelvises, “I cannot. As much as I want to... we cannot. And as the only sane one here... I must be firm with you.” he drops his head back on the mat, still feeling winded.

“Neteyam.” Lo’ak’s shaky, hoarse voice chimes in through his earpiece. “...I can’t keep up with her. There’s no food or water left, and this is lasting way longer than I thought it would. I need your help, brother.”

Finally, a light in the haziness of this torturous three day long heat. Neteyam presses the button on his throat microphone, and lets loose a breathless chuckle, finding this whole ordeal amusing.

“The great Lo’ak! I tried to warn you, start slow or you will burn out.” He smiles to himself, unable to follow his own advice. “...And, uh – I can’t help you.” you grind against his swollen cock, trying to drill it even deeper into you. “...Mmn. I’m tied up myself.” Neteyam looks up into your inebriated eyes. “Thanks to your mate, mine went into heat early. Ask Kiri.” He huffs between heavy pants.

“Kiri? No, bro. You know she’s not going to help me out.” Lo’ak croaks, feeling lightheaded. “Please... Just bring your mate with you.” he begs.

“No, I cannot. She is in heat, are you not hearing?” he responds, using his thumb to rub circles into your sore clit. “Lo’ak - fuck. She’s finally calming down now... if I bring her around your mate’s pheromones, she’s going to milk me dry.” Neteyam curses.

“I don’t care bro, let ‘em at each other. I don’t mind. Please.” Lo’ak begs, out of breath. “Please. I think I’m gonna pass out again... just come.”

Pass out? Shit. I might too. But again? Neteyam thinks.

“Pass out? Again?” he swallows his spit, watching you bite back a moan.

“Bro, you don’t understand. This woman is feral. I don’t even know how many times I’ve knotted her at this point. Please.” Lo’ak pleads desperately with his older brother.

Yes, I do understand. Good Eywa.

“Baby bro. You... you knotted her? I thought I warned you not to.”

 Neteyam covers your mouth, feeling your cunt heat up again as your walls clench around his cock. He takes his finger off the button.

“Fuck, baby. Gonna cum for me again? You better hold it, pretty girl.” Neteyam warns you.

You nod quickly, grunting into his hand as you struggle to withhold your moans. He rewards you with a quick pat on your thigh before he presses the button once more.

“You think I have any say in what’s going on? This woman is using me like a sex toy. All sensation is just gone for me at this point. You don’t understand.” Lo’ak argues, on the verge of tears.

“Agh. I do underst – you know what. Forget it.” He gives up, realizing his brother is also out of it. “Even if I could manage to fly there now, your mate’s pheromones make me sick.”

“Not with your mate in heat too. Hers will keep you calm, just come bro. Hurry... S-she’s pushing me out of her again, hurry... please.” he sobs hysterically.

“Pushing you out of her?” he laughs breathily, watching your hips grind against his.

You hold on to his wrist cups your mouth, picking up the speed of your hips. He looks up at you and sees your eyebrows pinch together – the face you always make before cumming.

“Alright, alright. I need to go. I’ll let you know if I can come.” Neteyam responds quickly, taking his finger off the button.

“Speaking of coming...” he takes his hand off your mouth, “...you can cum for me, now.” he insists, gripping your hips and rocking into you.

“Oh. Neteyam! 'm cumming!” you gasp for air, letting the knots in your stomach unravel as you squirt all over your mate once more.

“Jeez, y/n. I do not understand how you keep making so much cum...” he looks at the mess you made on him before looking back up at you. “Feeling better now, sweetheart?”

You collapse into him, putting all your weight on him as you nuzzle into his chest, inhaling his scent. The itch was insatiable, no matter how many times you came on him, the itch would come right back as soon as he pulled out of you.

“’m sorry Nete...” you pant “...still so itchy... so hot.” You sob quietly into his chest.

“Mawey, my love. You’re okay. It is almost over.” He hums in your ear, drawing circles into your back. “How do you feel about us going to help Lo’ak?”

“Mhm. Mhm.” You moan, closing your eyes.

“Alright, try and sleep, baby. I’ll page Kiri.” He whispers, kissing you on your forehead as he repositions you.

“No! I – I wanna help her, teyam.” You babble, not knowing what you’re saying anymore.  

“Oh? Her? I thought we were helping Lo’ak, not his mate.” he chuckles, sitting up and wrapping your legs around his waist. “Let us go, ma’ yawne.”

Neteyam lifts you up, still inside of you, and wraps a sheet around the two of you. He calls for his ikran, who lands not too far from the tent. The walk of shame there wasn’t too bad, as most na’vi were in their tents by this time.

Only a couple na'vi saw you, and quickly turned their heads when they realized what was going on - especially seeing you two bonded. You cling to your mate, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he mounted his ikran.

“Sorry, my sweatheart.” He apologizes, breaking tsaheylu with you so that he can bond with his banshee.

You whine at the sensation, now feeling the full intensity of your heat. Clinging even tighter onto him, you nuzzle your face into the nook of his neck, inhaling deeply. You sleep on the way there, and wake up to the sweet, sweet scent of lionberry and mossy wood...

Note: Damn y’all. I did not plan for it to be this long, but here we are, lol. As much as I wanted him to knot her, I remembered that in ‘a synchronous fever’ he said “...and somehow, I have been able to restrain myself from knotting you during your heats.” So, I had to stay true to the story line. Sorry the end was sort of abrupt, I’m hella burnt out, I won’t lie. But I will be doing another part to this – if that’s what you guys want. But I think I’m going to take a day or two to reset! I feel like I’m rewriting the same thing repeatedly (r.e. descriptive words/phrases/nicknames/etc.)

Lo'ak's POV: Inextinguishable

Part II: Twin Flame

Part III: Ashes [aftercare]

[palmtreesx3]

Season 1 Steve smells like chlorine and a twinge of cigarettes. He smells like a fresh shower after practice, spearmint gum and just-done laundry. He smells like light dusting of aerosol from his hairspray. He smells like just a touch of Ralph Lauren Polo - all bergamot and cedar and mossy - because his dad bought it for him and told him real men where cologne. He smells like hints of leather, because Harrington's only wear the real stuff. Tucking your nose into his neck smells like a boy trying to be a man, it smells safe and comfortable but a little daring. A little boy next door, but a little trouble all at once.

Season 2 Steve smells like a bit of leather and musk following him around after gym or basketball practice. There's the lingering soft and delicate floral notes of Nancy Wheelers perfume., but that's all quickly overpowered by the nutty, honey scent of his shampoo. He still smells like laundry, clean and crisp. Like fresh air and a fall breeze and a boy who likes to sit outside and think about what comes next. He smells like apple cider and nutmeg and a bonfire before the homecoming football game. He smells woodsy and grassy from his climb up the tall oak tree to get through your window and he smells like pencil shavings and the textbooks he's carrying around trying too hard too late to make something of himself.

Season 3 Steve smells like sweet vanilla bean and with undertones of disinfectant from scrubbing the dishes at Scoops at the end of his shift. It's all cherry chapstick on his lips, making things sweet. He smells like fruity popsicles and there's a buttery scent of popcorn on his jacket that he just can't shake from all his dates at the movie theater. He smells like root beer floats and fresh cut grass and the wildflowers he tucks behind your ears by the lake. He smells a bit like what you would expect sunshine feels like, on a warm summer day by the pool and when he leans in close, you just know he'll taste like butterscotch if you kiss because you already smell it on his tongue.

Season 4 Steve Smells like cherry rope candy and that Family Video vest permanently smelling of Calvin Klein Obsession for Men, all lavender and a little spice. He carries around the faintest smell of crisp apples and peach and maybe a little patchouli - Robin's perfume and shampoo clinging to him from their morning car rides and counteracting the waxy smell of 100 rewound VHS tapes. He smells warm, like a flickering fall fire might feel, and a bit like the coffee he's taken up drinking between dropping Robin off at school and the start of his shift. He smells less put together than before, but more natural, like the cedarwood candle he burns in the living room when you come over and he tries to impress you and the fresh linen smell of his sheets.

[wroteclassicaly]

A/N: We’re blaming Joe for always acting up, and Steve for whining that I cheated on him, so he sent me mega inspiration for this one ☺️😛

Warnings: Language, overall NSFW, sub!Steve to the extreme, spit play, rough sex, leaving marks, cowgirl goes riding position, possessiveness, friends with benefits, best-friend!Steve, mentions scars, consensual smacking (m receiving), finger sucking, e.t.c. This is just no plot with some trash and love poured in ;)

You love it.. Just like this. His baby blue curtains blowing, whipped around by evening’s up and coming Autumn breeze, hints of salty summer trickling through, remaining, a few apple and cedarwood candles mingling with your perfume, Steve’s cologne, and the heavy scent of sopping wet sex. You’ve got a low lamplight to guide your two person show, in your element, unafraid, owning it, protecting him, taking for you. Some song rolls on his record player, one you often prefer over the stereo when you get into these types of moods. His body is your map and you’re the Queen explorer, pleasuring yourself with each and every treasure that he has to offer.

The black gloss of a fresh manicure stares back up at you from where you’re clawing into his hairy chest, chestnut tufts matted down by perspiration and your drying salvia. Okay, so you’d gone a little crazy when you marked him, but it’s not your fault that the little gold chain he wears looks so good laying against his golden baked skin, begging for contrasting shades of magentas and navy blues. You’d done one of Steve’s favorite things, after all: healing his scars by using your mouth to carefully taste each one, every single time. He didn’t have much time to worry about them, because there you’d be, understanding, helping. He whines loudly, a sound that causes you to clench around him, making you struggle to retain your control.

Your bouncing on his thick cock ceases, that creamy squish causing a wet ring to circle his base and smear across his navel. Holy fuck, you’re really wet tonight…

And Steve, god love him. He can’t even look. Mossy eyes blown black, his eyes have rolled up and are caught between clenching shut and closing entirely. Your hand leaves his chest and cracks across his stubble littered jaw, nails pinching in to jerk his gaze towards you. He throbs, jumps inside your walls, that sucks him in deeper.

“Wake up, Harrington! Am I boring you?”

He shakes his head so fast that you bury a snort deep within, humming out instead. “You gonna talk to her again? Look at her again?”

The start of your possessive streak being upped tonight. In the downtown costume store, Bambi Anderson had found Steve with a fascination that gagged, modeling her cat costume and practically draping herself across his arm to ask what his plans were. And he’d crossed his arms beneath that black, vee neck long sleeve, chest hair and chain on display, dark jeans tight and leaving nothing to the imagination, secured by a black belt with a thick silver buckle. He’d worn new black boots, a differing choice for his growing style. A leather jacket was tossed lazily over his shoulder, pissing you off.

When you’d left the store, Steve had taken you back to his. And well, you’d taken him. On your knees against his front door to get him hard, quick enough to have your way with him. You didn’t want fingers or mouth, you needed to show him who belonged inside of.

“No, fuck no —“ Steve stops himself, choking on spit, inhaling and exhaling sharply. “Fuck, I don’t even remember what happened, honey.”

“Walking around teasing me like you do. Wearing tight jeans, smelling like a fucking male model ad, licking your mouth when you put tapes away. And that chain? I mean… showing it with your chest hair, Steve? Jesus Christ… You really do need to be watched at all times.”

He’s nodding, agreeing, that aching heat builds to a wet crescendo, threatening to drench you both.

You lean down a little closer, one hand wrapping around the tendons in his wrist, the other still keeping you balanced on his chest so you can keep moving your hips, dragging his fat cockhead against that spot inside that he’s called his for years. Your mouth is hot when you pant the words by his lips. “You deserve to be sat on. Just pull your pants and underwear down, have a seat on you all day. Cockwarm you so these bitches know where you belong, who you belong to.”

“Baby —“ You’re lifting his own wrist, cutting off his sentence, pulling apart three of his own fingers and pressing them into his lips. “Fucking suck! I’m talking now. I’ll let you know when you can answer me, slut!”

His hips arch off the bed, giving a piston into you, before remembering his place and suckling his fingers onto that hot tongue that’s had you seeing stars and planets. He doesn’t break eye contact, not even as you start to move, holding his wrist there with a squeeze, leaving nail marks, only to release and take it with you, a thick line of spit stringing from his fingertips to his swollen mouth. You swipe down and lick it off, pushing his arms up beside his hand and interlocking fingers. You shift and he pulls, every part of him tugging on your overworked cunt, sore and throbbing. He’s way more than a damned stretch.

“Where’s your fucking lube?” Your vocal language continues to fly free as you raise your hips a little and he struggles to tap beside him on the sheets, eyes glazed over and glossy. Fuck, is his lash line wet? Is he actually crying? His hair is a tousled and damp mess. He’s never been more beautiful, more sacred to you.

You crack open the bottle and let it drizzle onto the part of his cock that’s slid out of you, spreading it around on your own cunt and discarding. You sink back down with an overly squelching echo. “You and this fucking python, Steve. It’s the true monster of Hawkins, isn’t it? This fat cock, always splitting me wide open.”

He vibrates. You’ve never felt him pulse that hard in you, nearly triggering your orgasm. Shattering it apart, fragmenting. Your eyes widen. “If you fucking come, I’ll keep riding you until you’re screaming.”

You break that briefly, raising a brow to check in with him through this, soft and compliant to his needs, because you want nothing more than to fuck him stupid and care for him forever, despite your dizzying haze. He nods, in synch with you. Good to go.

You bend yourself down, hands sliding up and through his chest hair, tugging on his chain, nipples hardening as they brush over, pressing, the fat of your tits squishing when you’re right against him, held. You finger-tap your way up his biceps, fingers unfolding and nails scratching, leaving his upturned palms to cup the sides of his face, nosing him. “Mine.”

And that he is…

// Eat me paragraph //

[samantha-rae-velcher]

The Hunt

Jschlatt x Fem!YouTuber!reader

Requested by: absolutely nobody!

Warnings: Smut, Swearing, Schlatt being Schlatt.

A/n: 18+ NSFW! if you don't like the warnings please don't read! PLEASE KEEP MY COMMENT SECTION AGGRESSION FREE!

Summary: a harmless game of Minecraft prop hunt goes from being PG-13 to rated R once the cameras are out 👀 not much of a summary...but you get the idea

Tag: @goldenstarofthunderclan ❤️

___

"Five...four...three...two...one!" Schlatt yelled, the funny mic distorting his voice.

Y/n and Tommy turned into mossy slabs, they book it for the nearest hiding spot once they see Schlatt's character appear from over the hill. Tubbo flew passed them as a parrot, while Wilbur and Philza slide into place as blocks of sand.

Y/n giggled when she heard Schlatt sniffing close by, "I can smell your perfume, Y/n. I know your around here somewhere."

She held her breath as he ran up and stood on top of her, looking around for any movement.

"Where are you, my love?" He whispered. "Daddy is coming for you."

Wilbur bursted out laughing, "That is genuinely fuckin creepy."

"Yeah?" Schlatt asked. "I bet it got Y/n blushing from head to toe, didn't it?"

"Mhm.." Y/n covered her face, trying not to show her viewers the effect her boyfriend had on her.

"Where are you though. You guys are actually really well hidden."

"You're standing on Y/n."

"Tommy!" She yelled. "Why would you tell him that!"

Y/n took off sliding across the map with Schlatt directly behind her, "Come here, sweetie pie. Daddy has a present for you, all you gotta do is stop running."

"AHHH!" Y/n yelled, racing up a flight of stairs and changing into a watermelon. She slowly made her way over to a patch of melons as camouflage, as Schlatt passed by her.

"Where did you go?"

Y/n giggled, watching his character look around clueless as to where she ran off to.

"I heard that cute little giggle." He growled, making Y/n rub her thighs together.

Tubbo attempted to fly next to Schlatt, but got shot with an arrow.

"How did you know it was me!?" He cried.

"I had a fuckin feeling! Only you would be stupid enough to fly that close to me!"

Y/n took this opportunity to slowly creep away and turn into an ocelot, fallowing Schlatt as he scoped out Philza and Wilbur.

"Come here you little bastard!" He yelled, chasing a block of sand.

"Wilbur." Y/n whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I'm the little kitty next to you, fallow me."

The two of them found Tommy and watch from the roof of a building as Schlatt stalked Philza. unbeknownst to them, Tubbo was coming up behind them.

"Run!" Tommy yelled, making the others freak out and scatter.

Wilbur got caught, Tommy hid as a block of leaves, and Y/n hid in a pond as a sea pickle.

"Okay." Schlatt said. "You guys go after Tommy. Y/n is mine."

His words sent a shiver down Y/n's spine, the thought of being hunted by him was kinda intimidating in a fun way. She hopped out of the pond and hid behind a tree, going into third person view to check where Schlatt was.

"I'm coming for you, Y/n." He whispered. "You can't hide from me."

She let out a moan into the mic, making Schlatt stop and stare at the tree she was behind. There was silence for a second, just the blank stare of his character making her feel uneasy.

"Just you wait till this game is over."

Y/n shrieked, flying out from behind the tree. He chased her passed the other guys, through the lake, and back to the starting point where he finally got her.

When the stream was finally over, Y/n went down stairs and grabbed a soda out of the fridge. She cracked it open, taking a swig and setting it on the counter. When she looked up, Schlatt was standing there leaning against the wall.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" She asked.

"That moan."

"Oh...that? It was nothing."

Schlatt shook his head, slowly walking over to her.

"That wasn't nothin, princess." He whispered, taking her hand and pressing it against his groin.

Y/n's heart raced at the realization of just how hard her moan had gotten him, she bit her lip and pressed her hand down harder.

Schlatt leaned in close, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, "Feel that? You feel what you do to me?"

"Mhm." She moaned, palming at him through his sweats.

Schlatt groaned, pushing her against the counter and trapping her there with his large form. He attacked her neck, trailing hot wet kisses over her skin.

His hand pressed between her legs, making her whimper, "Mmm, so sensitive." His words making her knees weak.

Schlatt quickly turned her around, dropping her lounge pants down to her ankles, a long with her panties, she stepped out of them and kicked them away. He pulled out his cock, bringing her hips back a bit and lining himself up.

"You want this, baby girl? Huh? You wanna feel Daddy's cock inside you?"

Y/n whined, making Schlatt smile and thrust into her. She gasped at his size, after all this time she's never gotten used to how big he is.

"There we go, precious." He groaned, taking a hold of her hips and rutting into her, "Fuck you're so tight, does Daddy not fuck you enough?"

Y/n whimpered, shaking her head.

"Aw, is my poor baby deprived? Do I need to use you more often?"

"Y-yes."

"Finally, she speaks." His voice was dark, and full of lust.

Schlatt pushed her head down against the counter, his thrusts getting harder and faster. Making Y/n cry out when he hit that special spot.

"Is that it?" He asked. "Is that where you want Daddy to fuck you? Is that where it feels good?"

"Mhm...p-please don't stop!"

"I'm not stopping. I'm not stopping till I make my girl cum."

His hand slid down between her thighs, rubbing tight circles against her clit. Her legs shook and her hips jerked back making him hit her G-spot hard. Y/n cried out once again as she felt her orgasm wash over her.

"Ahh! J- Im cumming!" Her knees gave out, she fell to the floor out of breath.

Schlatt chuckled, tucking himself away. He slowly brought her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her so she wouldn't fall again.

"Let's get you cleaned up, Princess."

THE END ❤️

I hope you enjoyed

Reblogs are welcome 🤗

[writingjourney]

Friday Nights at the Cinema Club | Vampire!Primo x gn!Reader

Summary: The handsome old gentleman who attends the late night showings is certainly the best part about your small town weekend job. But as the gentle attraction between you slowly begins to bloom, you realise that there’s more to him than meets the eye – and promptly find yourself chased into the woods by an unexpected monster.

Content: 14k words, vampire!primo, gn!reader, horror, violence, being hunted, harassment, men being assholes, smut (18+ MDNI, biting, blood kink/blood drinking, oral sex r!receiving, penetration, coming inside, unprotected sex)

This was originally intended to fill the “hunted” prompt for the @petrifyingpapas challenge. I am a little late but I hope you enjoy it anyway and give Primo his chance to shine! ♡

Masterlist – Ao3 link – Part 2 | Secondo's story

“This life of earth, whatever my attire, Would pain me in its wonted fashion. Too old am I to play with passion; Too young, to be without desire.”

― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust: Part 1

Now

He’s been following you for weeks.

Primo just can’t stop himself, no matter how many times he tells himself that he’s overstepping. As he watches the hurried pace you set, carrying you home in the early hours of a cool spring morning, he smells your distress like an overly strong perfume. Jacket tightly wrapped around your tense shoulders, your steps quicken whenever you leave the safe light of a streetlamp. You’re always nervous walking home alone, even more so since the incident at work. 

This is the very thought that calms his conscience – his concern is rightful, necessary even. He has to protect you because you have no one else who will. Not that you cannot protect yourself, he knows you can, you hold your own quite nicely, but why take any unnecessary risks? Four eyes see more than two, especially if two of those have preternatural vision.

Suddenly you stop, glancing around with searching eyes. “Hello?”

Primo stops as well. It’s impossible that you heard him, he didn’t make any sounds that a human ear could process. Your eyes dart in a different direction and he’s on alert immediately. A few rapid beats of your heart pass. You seem to decide that you’re alright because you continue on your journey even if your legs move that extra bit quicker, walking as fast as possible without actually running.

No, Primo knows you don’t need him. You never ask him to walk you home and when he offers, you politely decline every single time. You don’t need him. You don’t need him how he needs you, and yet it feels good to imagine that you do. That anyone does. The thought he will not entertain, however, is that his motive is a selfish one. He’s been lonely for so long that he pours all that he has into this… whatever this is. And why should he not? In all the centuries that passed since he was cast upon this earth you’re the most wonderful thing he ever had the pleasure to behold and his time with you is so tragically limited, no matter what happens. 

“Fuck,” he hears you mutter then, effectively distracting him. Again, you stop very suddenly, glancing vaguely into the direction he’s hiding in but without any real focus. “Who the fuck is there?”

Primo doesn’t sense anyone else. Possibly, you just heard a strange noise which wouldn’t be the first time since the incident. You’ve been on edge ever since and understandably so. Of course you don’t know that there is no danger of the same thing ever repeating. Which doesn’t mean you’re safe from other perils. Primo dares to stalk closer, foolishly so, because he’s too close now and you must have spotted his movements in the dark because you start to run like your life depended on it.

To his utter terror, you don’t follow your usual route home but take the shortcut through the woods. With breakneck speed, you run along the mud path that meanders through thick pine trees and mossy hills. Primo has no issue keeping up with you of course but he worries about protruding roots and sharp stones you may not see with your human eyes. 

His fear is misdirected. He’s so distracted, watching your every step, that he doesn’t notice the odd smell at first, the second strong, comparatively slow heartbeat amongst all the quiet and rapid ones of the forest animals. But this is no rabbit, no deer, no boar. When he finally notices the presence of the strange entity, the spike of panic is clouding every other rational thought.

He is after you – and he’s fast.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Four weeks ago

The man has been attending the late night showings for weeks now, every Friday and Saturday. Every week, he shows up exactly fifteen minutes before the screening starts, even though there are practically no waiting times in the small club cinema you’re working at. His attire was what drew your attention to him that first night, even before you’d seen his face, and his choice of clothing seems deliberate. Most evenings, he wears simple black slacks over expensive-looking Italian leather brogues. Tonight, he combined them with a loose white shirt with frills and an open collar that peeks out of a burgundy tailcoat with black lapels and gold embroideries. It looks old-fashioned but not out of place in the similarly dated establishment.

As he approaches you behind the counter, you’re struck yet again, despite being familiar with his almost ethereal looks by now. He must be close to eighty but his deep wrinkles only add to his effortless beauty. His most notable feature, however, is the skull paint adorning his stern face with two uncanny, mismatched eyes – one iris in green and one impossibly white. With his face framed by long blond hair spilling over his shoulders, silky and curled at the ends, he looks like a man who knows exactly how to present himself. An air of easy sophistication surrounds him as he takes deliberate steps in your direction. You’re not surprised that he shows up on weekends when your boss screens his beloved classics. At least that’s what he calls any movie that came out before the year 2000.

“So, Dracula today, yes?” It’s not a question as much as a statement, dripping with distaste. “And the 1992 one at that.”

“Do you not enjoy vampires, sir?” you ask, taking the money for his ticket. Every single bill looks pristine, like it’s been freshly printed, and again, he won’t accept the change you hold out to him, waving off with a gentle smile. Buy yourself a drink on my behalf, tesoro, he’d said once, and you aren’t questioning him anymore, you just pocket the money since there is no one you could split it with.

He regards you with interest. “I enjoy them, sì, though I never found their portrayal in cinema quite believable.”

You chuckle. “Well, perhaps that is because they’re not real.”

“Perhaps, yes,” he says unfazed. “Or perhaps it is the clichés, no?”

“I really like the movie,” you admit. “Though I wish she would just get with the vampire. I certainly wouldn’t hesitate.”

He cocks a curious eyebrow. “Davvero?”

His thick Italian accent makes you blush on any given day, even more so when he speaks plain Italian. There is something about the timbre of his voice that changes, like gold melting in the heat of a forge, the syllables fused together with a flick of his tongue.

“Mhm,” is all you can answer.

“Will you watch it as well, little flower?” he asks and you smile at the nickname he chose for you weeks ago when he caught you arranging a bouquet in the foyer.

“Oh, no, I’m not allowed to leave the register unattended. Or… well, watch movies while I’m supposed to work.”

“I see.” He smiles again, the black lines over his lips shifting so that he looks almost gentle, the severity of the paint watered down by the kindness in his eyes. “That is a pity.”

Is he flirting with you? You can’t tell. Surely, he is just being nice, a polite older gentleman. Would you want him to be flirting with you, though? No, of course not. You couldn’t even flirt back. Your boss might fire you if he found out that you even so much as looked at him the wrong way.

“Can I offer you a snack or a drink, sir?” you ask, remembering your actual job.

“You know, I will take a whisky today,” he says. “If you have it.”

“Of course we do, sir, you can choose your seat and I will serve it in a second.”

The stranger heads off towards the screening room with its soft, polished leather armchairs and moody lighting, jazz tunes wafting from the speakers. You look after him, his long hair gently swaying with every step, and the door to the backroom springs open. It’s your boss, Max, a man in his mid-forties, so unremarkable with his shaggy black hair and his blatant misogyny that he could be any man you ever met. Only that he practically owns you by way of paying for your every bill while you finish your degree. Jobs in small towns are hard to come by, decent men even harder.

“Go serve our customer, come on,” he urges. “I heard him ask for something”

“The register…”

“I take it. Move your pretty ass over, perhaps wiggle a bit when you do, the old pervert is going to love it.” 

You make to leave without wiggling, heading towards the small serving station in the hallway. “Oh, hey,” Max calls after you. “I need you to clean up tonight. Cleaning lady called in sick. Feeling faint or whatever, broke down in the supermarket if you can believe it. They say she’s anemic, that’s their excuse for everything women have these days.”

“Okay,” you reply, hoping he chokes on his tongue one of these days. “Of course, Max. I’ll clean up. No problem.”

“Be a good little thing, don’t forget to check under the seats, always tons of junk down there after the evening showings.”

You nod and try not to run into the screening room and away from him. By now, all anger towards him has been numbed by the sheer amount of obnoxious remarks but you’re never sure if he’s above trying to actually touch you one day. So far, he’s all bark and no bite, but with men like him you never know. Being the only employee who works the night shifts doesn’t help but there is just not enough demand to bring in the others.

You find the stranger in one of the top rows, comfortably seated in what is your favourite spot as well. A smile creeps onto your face. “Here is your whiskey, sir.”

The man peers up at you in what looks like ingenuine surprise, his white eye showing a glimmer of sympathy. He must have heard you and Max but is clearly trying not to show it. You wonder how – you can’t even hear Max outside right now over the jazz music. 

“Grazie mille,” he says as he takes the glass from you.

“Of course, sir. Enjoy your movie.”

“Thank you, fiore.” He smiles, always such a kind smile. “You are a wonderful host.”

You can’t help but smile back, looking at him for just a little longer than is appropriate. But Max must have started the film because the lights dim suddenly until it’s fully dark and you hurry back outside right as the title music starts playing.

Your stranger is the only guest tonight.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now 

You run. You run so fast that your lungs are burning in the cold night air. There is no palpable explanation for why you feel so panicked. For most of your way home you’ve felt almost paranoid in your constant fear of being followed. You felt like someone was watching you right from the start but when you came close to the woods your instincts just told you to run. By now, your legs carry you almost automatically despite the fatigue in your limbs. There is a tiny voice in your head that tells you you’re in danger. Big danger.

Halfway through the forest, the track gets steeper. Less feet have trampled it flat as the usual walking path ends and you struggle to keep up your pace. Unsettling noises grow louder to your right – panting, hurried steps, moans and whimpers. Two seconds later you suddenly hear an echoing growl that puts any wolf to shame. Your head whips around but before you can make out anything in the pitch dark your foot gets caught on a root. The impact is suffocating. Your lungs empty out and you think you’re choking on nothing. Only after a long moment in which you struggle for breath do you feel the sharp pain in your arm where it hit a rock, warm blood seeping into your sleeve until its wet and sticky.

Meanwhile, the steps hurry closer and even in the full moon light it’s hard to tell where you are right now. But then you see the trees swaying at the edge of the path and all you know is that you need to keep going. Everything hurts but you manage to get to your feet. As the world sways around you, you leave the safety of the trail in favour of the cover of the trees, their canopy shielding you from the moonlight and hopefully any following eyes.

But of course the creature chasing you doesn’t rely on their vision to find you. Before you walk another mile you can hear rapid footsteps and panting breaths behind you. Too scared to look around and risk another fall, you just run and jump and run even faster. The woods grow thicker, harder to navigate. You try to fish for your phone but when you finally pull it out, it slips from your grasp. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you mutter but you keep running. You can’t stop. 

A familiar boulder appears somewhere in your peripheral vision and you wonder if you’re running in circles. You’re so lost. Even if the creature doesn’t get you, you’re doomed. But the thought is distant as a branch strikes you in the face like a whip. You run but more fallen branches block your path and as you try to jump, you get caught. 

A shriek tears from your throat, so loud and drawn-out that your voice gives out before it ends. The steps are so close now that you know you’re going to get caught any second now. Cowering, trying to get as small as possible, you slowly shift around, ready to beg for mercy. An enormous shadow sprints towards you and suddenly, a bright streak of moonlight falls through the trees. You cry out again as your eyes take in the sight: Spit-coated fangs, claws, thick rough fur on what you can only describe as a giant made of muscles and the horrors of the night. Its facial features look familiar, shaggy hair falling into its cruel eyes. Whatever it is has no merciful bone in its body, that much you can tell. This is your death, you realise. This is it. 

But before you feel the fangs sink into your skin or the claws tear you open, the monster loses balance. All you can see is a vague human-like figure pushing it aside into the shadows with a strength that is impossible to comprehend, two tall silhouettes wrestling for a moment before the huge hairy creature lets out a bone-chilling scream. The giant body slumps in on itself, lifeless, silent. You breathe in gasps, swallowing air that does nothing to calm you down. You fall over, sobbing silently in short-lived relief.

The monster is dead. But you’re not alone.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Three weeks ago

“So, are you a big movie fan?” the stranger had asked you today when you served him his whiskey. He always orders something now, almost like knowing you serve him permanently changed his ’no thank you’-attitude. Whenever you bring him his order he asks you questions and you end up chatting with him for longer than you should.

“Oh, I like them, yes, but the reason I work here, if that’s why you’re asking, is that it’s one of the few jobs I can do on weekends that pays extra for night shifts.”

“So do you have a day job as well?” he asks, taking his first sip. He’s wearing all black today, black leather gloves, a black shirt and black tailcoat. The only pop of colour is a red rose that he has tugged into a buttonhole of his open jacket.

“Finishing off my degree,” you explain. “I don’t think I’ll work here after that.”

His brow furrows in surprise. “No?”

You chuckle. “No, it doesn’t pay that well. It doesn’t pay well at all, actually.”

“I see.” He turns the tumbler in his hand, the amber liquid twirling inside. “I have to say I am glad. I do not think he treats you well.”

You glance towards the door but Max seems to be busy behind the counter still. “He’s… okay.”

The stranger huffs out a laugh. “No, è un stronzo.”

The smirk that tugs at your lips is hard to shake off, especially with the way he rolls the R in the word. “Yeah, he is. But I have to pay rent and get groceries, so...”

“I understand.” Another sip, slow, barely coating his lips. “Fiore, I do wonder… what is it that you truly burn for? What would you do if no restrictive invention like money mattered?”

You take a deep breath and then you start to tell him about your real interests, your passions. He listens with the avid attention of someone who genuinely cares, who doesn’t just ask out of mere politeness. It’s addicting, the way his intense eyes are glued to your lips, how his whole body is angled into your direction. You get so lost in his gaze, in your explanation, that you forget yourself for a moment.

“Eh!” Max suddenly calls out from the doorway and you jump at the sound of his voice. “Come over for a second, will you?”

You reluctantly leave the stranger in his armchair with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. Enjoy your movie, sir.”

“I will,” he says. “Thank you, fiorellino.”

Max watches you with a scowl, roughly pulling you aside as soon as you’re within reach. “Do I pay you for chitchat?”

“No, Max, I’m sorry. I just…”

“You just what?” he snaps, clenching his jaw. “Flirting with the old men won’t get you higher tips, it only screams pathetic whore. You think he can still get it up?”

You stay silent, waiting for him to calm down enough to notice the impropriety of his words and actions. The urge to kick him is so hard to fight that you have to actively push your feet harder into the ground. Your fists ache with how hard you’re clenching them.

Eventually he simmers down, smoothing out his shirt as he clears his throat. “Anyway, you need to clean up again today. The cleaner still hasn’t shown up.”

“What happened?” you ask.

He shrugs but it’s an ingenuine, uncaring gesture. “Apparently she ran away or something. She’s been missing for a while.”

Missing? Wasn’t she anemic? Before you can ask any more questions he leaves you standing right there to start the movie. You head back to the register even though you know no other guests are going to be coming in tonight. For the whole duration of the movie, all you do is wait, scrolling on your phone from where you’re hiding it underneath the desk. No local news site is able to tell you anything about the missing cleaner other than the fact that she just left over night exactly a week ago and hasn’t been found ever since.

“Oh, did we miss the movie?”

You look up to see two men strolling into the lobby. They sway slightly, probably drunk, and smoke despite the big no-smoking sign at the entrance that’s impossible to miss. They look familiar in how unremarkable they appear, one is blond, the other one dark-haired, jeans and crumpled t-shirts betraying their status even though they move with the confident audacity only mediocre white men have.

“Yes, I’m sorry. The movie is almost over,” you say. “By the way, you’re not allowed to smoke in here, sir.”

“Are you off soon, then, sweetheart?” the blond one asks, taking another drag of his cigarette

“No, I have to clean up.”

“Ah, cleaning up… whatever, can’t be that dirty in there, huh?” He grins. “Unless… we make it dirty.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, a feisty one!” the dark-haired man says. “That’s how you treat your customers?”

“You haven’t bought anything.”

They whistle almost in unison, though their tunes are slightly off-key. This is not the first time this happens, it’s not even the first time these exact men show up here and try to harass you.

“Come on, maybe you can show us where you keep the liquor?” the blond man asks. “Have a drink with us?”

“I don’t think so, sir. If you don’t want to buy anything, I have to ask you to leave.” You try to stay polite, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Please.”

He chuckles, tries to round the counter to touch you but there is a sudden shift in atmosphere. It’s almost like all of the warmth is sucked from the room, like the charged air of a thunderstorm is crackling inside its walls. The men seem to feel it too because they suddenly stop in their movements, giving each other nervous glances.

“You were asked to leave, signori, no?”

You look up to find your stranger entering the lobby. The movie must have ended because the lights are on again and he looks so menacing that even you feel a chill running down your spine. His white eye glimmers dangerously, the other one shimmering almost red now but it could be a trick of lighting. They’re narrowed, the skull paint and severity of his features giving him the air of a predator. When the blond man takes another step into your direction, out of spite or stupidity you’re not quite sure, the stranger is on him in a second. You’re surprised by how agile he appears in his age, wondering briefly if he just looks older than he is or if you’re just prejudiced. But the man backs away immediately, joining his buddy by the door. A second later Max enters as well from the backroom, looking mildly irritated but unbothered by the weird atmosphere as he slams the door shut.

“Any issues here?” he asks, taking in the two loiterers. 

The men slowly backtrack, holding up their arms in pretend innocence. While the dark-haired one slips out the door, the blond man lingers. “No issue, no. Just had a question about your schedule.”

Max gives a dismissive wave of his hand and when the man is finally gone, he turns to you. “Were you rude to our customers?”

“They weren’t customers,” you say defensively, angry that he’d even assume something like that. “They were drunks.”

“Hmpf.” He gives the stranger another glance, still unimpressed, then grabs his bag from under the counter. “I’m off now. See you tomorrow. And hey, don’t forget to clean and lock up.”

“Yeah, see you,” you say, trying to swallow the lump of anger in your throat.

As soon as Max is gone, the stranger’s whole demeanour changes. His expression softens and he reaches out, his hand hovering right by your arm. 

“You are alright, little flower?” he asks.

You nod but it’s hard to fight off the tears. Situations like that make you feel helpless and you hate it. Being at the mercy of these men is frustrating, especially with a boss who just lets it slide instead of protecting his employees. You could have handled the situation, you tell yourself, you’ve had to handle so many similar ones before, but it just feels so incredibly good that someone cares.

“I think so,” you finally choke out. “I just… This is not uncommon and I’m so fed up.”

“I understand,” he says. “Did these men bother you before?”

“Yeah, but other people as well. Even Max treats me like a piece of meat just because I’m young.”

There is a hidden anger in his face, a barely noticeable clench of his jaw, his brow slightly pulled together. You’re not scared anymore, though. The menacing energy he exudes is directed at something else, not you, and you can’t bring yourself to wonder how he manages to command a room like that.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” he asks.

You nod and he reaches out, running a gloved hand up and down your arm in silent comfort. You take a step closer and he lifts his other hand as well, gently cradling your cheek. When a fat tear of anger falls from your eye he catches it, telling you it’s okay if you need to let it out. But you don’t cry, you don’t want to feel weak or fall into his arms like a sobbing child. Nevertheless, his comfort feels like a gentle hug, calming you so easily.

For a moment, he lets you breathe in the same air, a leather-clad thumb swiping over your cheekbone with a calming steadiness. You smile at him and he smiles back, so softly that not even the skull paint can hide the gentleness of his features.

“I have to clean up now,” you say. “Thank you for being here.”

He simply nods, slowly pulling away from you. Only when he’s gone and you smell a faint flowery scent do you notice that he’s tugged the rose from his jacket into your hair. You press it to your chest, right above your fluttering heart, and pray that he never stops coming back.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Their blood tastes like shit. 

Not literally but it’s by far the worst he’s had in a while, certainly worse than that of the cleaning lady he’s been feeding on last month. Admittedly, he did not consider that losing her would prompt your boss to just make you work longer. At the time she was just an easy victim on his way home, sweet young blood that was easy to obtain, the blue veins shining through her pale skin like they were begging to be used. But as he cleans his jaw with a handkerchief, Primo thinks that perhaps he can linger after the movies now. Any more time with you, however long, is of immeasurable value to him.

A groan. Primo looks down at the man, the blond stronzo who tried to touch you. He feels no sympathy, no reluctance. Full moon rolls around in three weeks and if they happen to die before then… well, bad luck for his partner. Though he can’t say he’s very tempted to drink from them again with all the junk in their blood – cheap alcohol, so much nicotine and other poisons. Perhaps he should just end it now, they’re at his mercy in any case. But no, they deserve to be punished for what they did and he knows bleeding out is not a very painful death.

Primo is not a cruel man, he likes to think. The nature of his being prompts him to act cruelly sometimes for self-preservation but unlike some of his fellows he finds no enjoyment in the kill. Not anymore, not after his initial lust for blood was quenched centuries ago. Nevertheless, he has to admit that his obsession with you is testing those limits in ways he’s never felt before. For you, he thinks, he could turn into a killer.

A gurgle. The second man is starting to wake up and Primo decides to leave. He placed the wounds in unobtrusive spots, never using both fangs to puncture their skin, too obvious. They’re going to think they’re hungover and move on but he’s going to find them again, slowly drain them until the next full moon is here and they’ll find their demise in a different way.

Primo is not a killer, no, but he chooses the killer’s victims.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

You’re frozen in your spot amongst the thicket, branches and rocks digging into your body, the throbbing pain in your arm slowly spreading out. The sight before you is absurd. A giant dead body, a monster, a… a werewolf? You can’t bring yourself to properly think the word and yet you know that’s what it is. Not that it matters anymore. The smell of death mixes in with the earthy scent of the woods and spreads out in the air around you. The second figure hovers above the body for as long as it takes you to gather your thoughts. Why, you cannot tell. Are they shocked by their actions? Making sure the creature is really dead? There seems to be a hesitation in their every movement as they slowly back away and move into your direction, their frame blurring with the surrounding darkness.

“Stand back,” you yell. “Don’t come closer!”

Your voice is high-pitched, unrecognisable in its trembling state, hoarse from screaming into the emptiness around you. Your fear has your senses heightened and every snap of a twig, every howl of the wind makes you flinch. The being before you now is smaller than the one before, human-shaped if your eyes don’t betray you. The canopy is so thick here, the trees surrounding you so close to one another that you struggle to see anything. And yet you can feel them moving.

“Stop,” you yell again. “Fucking stop!”

A sudden sliver of light catches their face and you can see two glowing eyes, the one that you know as a deep green shimmering red like it did in the lobby of the theatre the night the two men harassed you and the other one is still as white as bone. “It’s okay, fiore mio. You’re safe now,” he says and you immediately recognize the Italian accent, the nickname. “I’m here to help you.” 

You slump in on yourself, not quite relieved but still a little calmer.

It’s him. It’s your stranger.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Two weeks ago

“It’s nothing personal,” Max says. “But I’m losing money here.”

You nod like you understand. You do understand, just not why it has to be now of all times, so close to when you would have been done anyway. A few more months.

“Just not enough people coming in,” he continues. “And the old guy doesn’t pay that much no matter how often you flirt him up.”

Again, all you can do is nod. Your boss wants to cancel the night showings and lay you off. Supposedly, no other shifts are in need of any more people and he can’t keep you on. It’s a cheap excuse, you know it is.

“So, I’m off then,” he says. “You can manage on your own one last time, right?”

You nod at him once again, watching him whistling a merry tune and twirling his keys on a finger on his way out. The tears come only after you hear his car driving off. You have no idea how to find another weekend job for the next few months and the sheer surprise of his decision has your stomach in knots. If he’d at least given you some time to prepare…

“Buonasera, fiore. Can I… uhm…” You look up into the stranger’s eyes, trying to wipe at your tears but it’s too late, his expression has already changed into what you can only assume is pity. “Scusi, is this a bad time? Can I help you, perhaps?”

“I’m so sorry… I just… Ugh, Max wants to cancel the late night screenings,” you explain, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “I guess this is our last night here.”

“Cancel?”

You sniffle, your voice scratchy when you speak next. “Well, as you may have noticed, you’re kind of our only guest.”

The stranger takes your hand, soft leather pulling you from the desk and towards one of the run-down couches in the waiting area. He’s so gentle when he beckons you to his side, never letting go of your hand.

“He wants to fire you, sì?” 

You nod, staring at your intertwined hands against the velvet upholstering of the couch. His thumb draws lazy circles into your skin, his hand so big it almost swallows yours. You want him to swallow you as well, his whole body wrapped around yours, engulfing you with his safety – but you’re not sure that you could ask him for a hug.

“I’m sorry, it’s really not your problem. I mean, you’ll lose your weekend activities but I’m sure you can just get Netflix or something.”

“Netflix?”

You look up with a smile. “Or… I don’t know, buy a DVD.”

The stranger smiles back, squeezing your hand just a little bit tighter. “Now, my little flower, do you really think I am just here for the movies?”

When your eyes meet it’s like you’re sucked into a vacuum. You don’t know whether to focus on his white iris or the burning need that’s visible in his green eye. The decision is taken from you when he leans in and captures your mouth in a kiss. You reciprocate without hesitation and yet he’s holding back, a suppressed moan bubbling in his throat, despite the tenderness of his lips. It’s not enough, not nearly enough. You press against him, opening your lips for him, and then the moan finally spills out as his tongue vibrates against yours. His free hand pushes into your hair and settles at the back of your head, angling your face in whichever way he wants to taste you. His lips feel surprisingly cold just like his cheek as you bring a hand up to touch him. The makeup smears under your fingers, at your jaw, mingling with your spit.

And yet it’s not enough, not until you’re half in his lap, until his hands roam your body with reverent desperation, searching, exploring. The kiss never loses momentum. He sucks in a breath and you push your tongue into his mouth, running it along his upper lip until you can feel his teeth. You frown into the kiss when you feel something pointy, pulling your tongue back, but there is no time to think before he sucks at your bottom lip. A sharp sting as he punctures your flesh with his teeth. He moans as the taste of your blood settles between your joined lips, sucking whatever he can into his mouth. You allow him to drink you in, offering yourself up in a way you haven’t done with anyone else before.

There is a moment in which you think, hope, that it never ends. But then he pulls away and you gasp for air. You stare at him, traces of red blood fuzing into the grey smears around his mouth. He’s a mess, equal to how you feel, but his eyes are focused, his gaze sharp.

“Do you want to see the movie?” you ask, hoping he’ll say no, hoping he’ll just take you away.

But he just chuckles, his hands slowly disappearing from your body until you slump into the soft cushions on the couch.

“Actually, I think I have to leave early tonight,” he says. “I will see you next week, fiore mio. Please, per favore, do not worry about your job, I will set things right.”

You want to ask what he means, if he’s going to talk to Max for you, but before you realise that he’s leaving, before you even finish blinking, he’s already gone. Furrowing your brow, you walk outside and enter a clear moonless night. Your flushed face soaks up the cool air and you look around, searching feverishly, but there is no sign of your stranger. You expect to see him along the sidewalk, perhaps he’s in one of the cars getting ready, but even after a few more minutes none of them roar to life. Nothing disrupts the soft silence of your sleeping small town and you shake your head in wonder as you make your way back inside, the metallic taste of your blood still lingering on your tongue.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Primo is livid, furious in a way that he hasn’t felt in close to a hundred years. You are not part of their deal and yet this feels like a violation of conduct. Making you cry should be a criminal offense and he wants him to pay for it, in what currency Primo is not sure yet. He knows he can’t let his anger win but when he smells the creature from two streets away, even in his human form, he’s ready to sink his teeth into his throat. And of course he finds him in a nearby bar, nursing a beer while he watches football videos on his phone without a care in the world.

“You won’t fire them,” Primo spits out.

Max looks up in pretend confusion. “Huh?”

“You heard me, stronzo.”

“Your little flower?” He pouts, mocking him, then huffs out a laugh. “It’s business, man.”

“The job is important,” Primo says calmly, trying not to get too riled up. “A few more months.”

“Cry me a river. Just do with them what you want, fuck them, suck them dry. Whatever gets your blood pumping, Count Dracula.” A sardonic smirk. “Oh oops, I forgot.”

Primo won’t be provoked, not from the likes of him. “You’ll give them time,” he says calmly. “Or I have to rethink this… agreement.”

Max sighs in annoyance. “Fine. A little longer. And don’t think I haven’t smelled you on those two assholes yet. I only get to feast once a month and I expect the vampire to have better taste, that’s why I agreed to this in the first place.”

“I do have taste,” Primo says. “And we both know that’s not the reason or why are you sitting here all alone, lupetto, eh?”

Max snarls but says nothing to this painful reminder. Primo doesn’t feel bad. Their agreement serves the sole purpose of attracting less attention and would not work if Max wasn’t an outcast. Their solitariness saves them and keeps their peace intact. For now.

Primo leaves with an aching heart, hoping the werewolf stays true to his word. He comes back to the cinema only to see that you got done in the meantime and left. It’s not like he actually planned to continue what you started earlier but he really wants to catch another glimpse of you, see how you’re feeling after what happened.

He finds you two streets away, hurrying home even faster than usual. You’re scared, he can tell immediately as he hears your rapid heartbeat, the blood rushing through your body like a raging river. Since the two men tried to corner you you’ve been especially on edge. He knows it’s because you expect them to try again and he wishes he could tell you that they won’t, that he’s watching over you, that he’s been slowly draining them ever since despite the awful taste of their blood. He can handle it, he can handle anything if it’s for you. 

Only for you. 

Primo relaxes after he sees you closing the door to your apartment and your heartbeat slows down. That’s when he leaves – always. He’s promised himself that he never lingers, that he doesn’t stalk or overstep, only makes sure you get home safely after your shifts. Tonight, it’s harder to leave. He can still taste you on his tongue and what a taste it is. Never before has he savoured blood quite so sweet, quite so rich in aroma, and the violent hunger inside of him tries to keep him by your house for more. 

But the kiss was a mistake to begin with and he’s not sure yet how to proceed because he never expected you to respond quite so enthusiastically to his advances. Of course he could immediately tell that you wanted him, the smell and taste of your excitement so overpowering that it cut off any reasonable thought while it happened. He hasn’t lost control of himself like that in over two hundred years and now he set things in motion that may cost him this precious connection that he has with you if he’s not careful.

For now, however, he allows himself this small pleasure and lets the happy, giddy feeling settle in his hollow chest. If he wasn’t aware that he was a few centuries old he would promptly assume that he’s a lovestruck teenager. And he could get used to it, he realises, because with you he’s quite ready to start this empty life all over again and fill it with everything that he’s been missing.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

“You’re a vampire,” you state, twigs and stones digging into your butt but you feel to weak to stand up.

The stranger approaches you slowly like you’re a wild animal he’s trying to tame, the roles reversed now in your agitation and his calmness. “I am, sì.”

The urge to back away, to run for your life, continues to simmer in your belly but you fight it because you know there is no escape now. You want to trust him but you feel like you’re in a fever dream. It has to be a hallucination, maybe you were drugged at work today, maybe you inhaled the fume of some rare mushroom when you fell.

Your eyes meet the dead creature again. “Is he-”

“Yes, Max is dead.”

“Max?” Your shrill voice betrays your shock. “My boss?”

“Yes.” He sounds oddly calm, not like he just killed a werewolf. “Please, allow me to take you home with me.”

“Home? Your home?”

“Yes, my little flower. I want to look at your scrapes and cuts. Allow me, please.”

You hesitate, even as you see the shape of his outstretched hand, the same black leather gloves now ripped and torn, revealing slivers of his pale skin.

“I understand you don’t… trust me,” he says. “But I promise, I will explain everything to you in as much detail as you want and then you can decide for yourself. I just want to make sure you are okay first.”

You swallow, your throat still painfully sore from screaming. “Are you going to… I don’t know, drink from me? Eat me?”

“I will not eat you. And I will not drink from you either,” he says. “All I want is to look after you.”

You suck in a deep breath, ready to collapse on the forest floor. He could lure you into a trap, he could have been plotting this for weeks now, and yet you still feel the butterflies in your belly stirring at the sound of his voice, your body aching to be with his, even now in its weak state. Reluctantly, you place your mud-smeared hand in his and when he lifts you up with ease, his arms wrap around you tightly. You have no strength to lift your arms but you let him hug you anyway, slumping against his frame.

And perhaps you’ve lost your mind. Perhaps you should use the opportunity to kick him, to fight, but instead you start to sob into his shoulder. The world you thought you knew comes crashing down around you and he holds you through it, whispering that it’s going to be alright.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

One week ago

You can’t stop thinking about him.

The week passes slowly but you do get a text message from Max telling you he’s extending your employment for as long as it takes you to find a new job. You have no idea how your stranger convinced him but you never wanted to get back to work so urgently before – to thank him, to ask if there is a chance that you could see him outside of this place. 

Any thought you can spare is spent thinking back to your kiss, extending it in your mind for hours and hours, exploring the fantasy alone in your bed at night with your hand between your legs. You ignore any of the worries that this intimate moment conjured up. So what if the stranger has a bit of a blood kink and conveniently sharp teeth? You certainly don’t mind doing it again. He can bite you wherever he wants, you realise, and you’d gladly let him suck on the wound.

He’s back Friday night and you can’t help but feel relieved that he’s not ghosting you after his sudden disappearance last week. Maybe it’s because of your intense crush on him but you swear he looks more beautiful tonight than ever before. His long blond hair is shiny and smooth as it falls into his face, the paint more pristine than usual. He’s wearing his usual black slacks but today he paired it with a deep red shirt under a black tailcoat with a red pattern of embroidered roses. His tall, slender frame leans against the counter as he regards you with a smile.

“So, what am I watching tonight?” he asks.

“Hitchcock,” you say. “The Birds. Max is a big fan.”

“Hm, I haven’t watched that one since it premiered,” he says and then he removes his gloves. You watch as he slides his now bare hand over the counter until it touches yours. 

“Well, I’m afraid I wasn’t born yet back then.”

“No, fiore.” He runs his thumb over the back of your hand. His skin is cold and pale and wrinkly, the lines and bumps revealing a map of his life that you can’t wait to explore. His long fingers slide under yours, surprisingly sharp black nails raking over your palm until he holds you comfortably. They look almost manicured, his hand dwarfing yours as he closes it. “You’re such a young thing and yet our souls have found such a deep connection, no?”

You gaze into his mismatched eyes, a fondness in them that makes your heart beat faster. As if he can feel it, the corners of his painted mouth curl upwards into a smirk until you can see the crow’s feet under his eyes deepen despite the dark paint. 

“Yes,” you finally say. “Actually, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to–”

You’re interrupted by the door to the backroom opening. You jump, pulling your hand from his as you see Max casting you a curious glance. He’s been in a bad mood all evening so you’re not taking any risks tonight.

You cough. “Ugh, here’s your ticket, sir. Enjoy the movie.”

The stranger doesn’t seem offended by your reaction. Instead he smiles at you, accepting the ticket from your shaky hand. “Grazie, fiore. I will let you know if I enjoyed it.”

As he leaves for the screening room he doesn’t even look at Max. You remain frozen behind the counter, watching his elegant form with a rapidly beating heart. Mindlessly clenching the hand he just held in his, you desperately hope you get to ask your question later.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

The werewolf won’t leave earlier tonight. As he lets the movie run in the background, only vaguely paying attention, Primo listens for any signs. It looks like he has to sit it out today, though, even as his patience slowly wears thin. One more week until full moon, so Max must be getting antsy, and Primo made sure to keep the prey alive despite his protests in the bar. Every time he feeds from them, he is tempted to bite into an artery instead of a vein, watch them bleed out, not even drinking their blood. But having Max go hungry will piss him off and since he is already aware of you, Primo can’t risk not providing him with any easier targets.

After the movie concludes, Primo lingers but he doesn’t spot you in the foyer. When Max finally heads out he sees no reason not to look for you and conveniently, the only place you could be at is especially private.

The backroom houses a tiny kitchenette and two desks for computers with displays that are already black. You’re standing in front of the open door of a supply closet to gather your cleaning materials when he approaches soundlessly.

“Don’t be scared,” he says from a safe distance. “It is just me, fiore.”

You spin around, your beautiful face lighting up at the sight of him. “Oh, hello.”

“I owe you the money for the ticket,” he says. “You never gave me a chance to pay.”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry… It’s not… I’m not embarrassed or anything, it’s just that Max…”

“Oh, it is quite alright, fiore mio, I know.”

A grateful smile. You don’t flinch when he steps in front of you, taking your hand in his to press a soft kiss to your palm. How lovely you are, Primo thinks, a pure, honest sort of beauty that he doesn’t deserve but wants with every fibre of his ancient being. He could show you a whole new world of pleasure and he knows it’s always the quiet ones who are so proficient in the art of sin. 

“I was hoping I would have some more time with you,” you say and he perks up.

“Were you?”

“The kiss…” A hint of red dusting your cheeks as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “I really enjoyed it.”

Primo can’t help but smile. “Me too, my little flower. Perhaps we should try it again?”

He can hear your heartbeat quickening at his words, can feel your skin heating up with the rush of your blood. Even now he is surprised by the evidence of your returned affections, struck by how perfect you are for him, your trust just another sign of hope that you can find it in you to love him back if he allows you to.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he says and then he effortlessly pulls you into his arms. To his surprise, you kiss him first, standing on your tiptoes and melting into his body. Your mouth is insistent, soft and sweet and so eager for him. Primo’s hands explore the shape of your body, memorising your curves for eternity. Impatient now, he pulls you over to the kitchenette that consists of nothing but a mirror over a sink with a few cupboards housing a coffee machine and snacks. There is enough space for what he’s planning to do, though, and he grabs you tightly before he removes his tongue from your mouth.

He can’t see his own image in the old silvered mirror as he hoists you up but he can see the dips of his fingers in your ass as it hits the counter. You hold onto his shoulders as he kisses down your jaw and chin. He skips your neck, skips the temptation, and drags his mouth down your chest instead, ripping the button of your shirt open as he goes. No complaint leaves your lips, only soft gasps and tiny whimpers. Primo pauses to pull at his gloves and then at your pants and then at your underwear, impatient, urgent, until he can finally feel your hot skin burning against his fingertips. Goosebumps form where his cold hands touch you and you shiver against his palms.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please.”

He knows what you’re begging for and under different circumstances he might make you beg  until your voice gives out but with the smell of your arousal in his nose there is really no way he can hold back now. His hands on your hips pull you to the edge of the counter and he kneels between your thighs, placing two open-mouthed kisses that leave blotchy grey marks. Your eyes are half-lidded, hazy with lust as he gazes up at you and that’s enough to break his resolve. As he wraps his lips around your most sensitive spot, sucking gently, your head lolls back in pleasure. You’re so hot, so sensitive, reacting to even the softest of stimulations, and it’s addicting in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

You cling to the edge of the counter as his mouth works on you with violent passion, urging you higher and higher with his lips and his tongue, carefully avoiding his teeth. The taste of your arousal is so intoxicating that he can’t stop himself from moaning and he can feel a shudder tearing through your body. Primo increases his pace and you move your hips as well, following his rhythm and chasing your pleasure without shame.

You cum with a scream. Your hand digs into his hair, tugging, holding on with surprising force and it’s the most delicious pain he’s ever felt. He runs his fingers through your cum, licking them clean with a soft hum as he tastes you once again. But he needs more, he needs so much more–

“Do you want to come home with me?” you ask breathlessly as he gets up from his knees, the pain in his joints distracting him momentarily. “Spend the rest of the night?”

He looks at you in surprise but then a soft smile forms on his face. You’re so eager, so fearless. “You should be careful who you invite into your home,” he says. “You may find yourself hosting guests other’s would not deem welcome.”

You huff out a laugh. “What, like the devil?”

A chuckle and he presses a kiss to your forehead, longing to feel your warm skin on his cool lips again. “I wish I could, fiorellino, but I’m afraid my schedule is a little different from yours.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we have to do this another time,” he explains, despite the painful tightness in his pants. “Preferably, I want to invite you to dinner. I don’t like that we did this in here, it is not very… classy. Maybe next Saturday?”

“Oh, okay sure,” you say, a hint of confusion crossing your face. “Of course.”

He stands to his full height, his frame towering above yours and it takes him every ounce of self-control not to just take you right here. You’re pliant, needy for him in ways he’s only ever dreamed of, and while it tempts him to no end he suddenly becomes painfully aware of his responsibility. He needs to get your full consent before he gives in to a possible relationship with you. But right now is not the moment to tell you what he is.

“This… this is not you turning me down, right?” you ask with wide, hopeful eyes.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Oh no, tesorino, this is just the start of what I want to do with you and now that I got a taste, I don’t think I will ever get enough.”

You smile, the bliss of your high still evident on your face, and he rubs your thighs in small circles for a moment, the softness of your skin a gentle reminder of how fragile you are. Primo leans in to kiss you and fights a grin when you lick into his mouth to taste yourself. Maybe not so fragile, he thinks, maybe your hunger matches his after all.

“I will see you next Saturday, fiore mio,” he says. “I’ll be here to pick you up and we can dine at my home.”

You nod tiredly and he feels bad for leaving you like this after what just transpired. He can smell your cum on his fingers even as he waits for you to finish work and probably will for the next few days. But Primo needs to collect his thoughts. This is the start of something big, something messy, and now that he tampered with the forces there is no going back. The regret that comes with it is excruciating. He can invite you to dinner, treat you like you’re the stars in the night sky, make love to you until you both pass out in exhausted bliss – but it won’t change what he is. And what he is might scare you off. The thought pains him but he tries to cling to the small shimmering light of hope inside his heart that perhaps you can accept him.

Until he figures out the logistics of having you over for dinner without giving you the scare of a lifetime, he decides to keep away from you. The temptation is too strong now, his need, his hunger, a quickly expanding black-hole inside of him that might eat you alive if he’s not careful. 

His resolve is strong, he tells himself, and it remains strong all week. Well, that is until he sees you running into the woods a mere day before your date, chased by a starving werewolf.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

He lives in the old castle at the edge of town.

It really shouldn’t come as a surprise but as he carries you through candle-lit hallways and multiple small chambers, old is the last thing that comes to your mind. Everything looks well-kept, orderly, the old-fashioned style of his attire translating to the interior as well. You never stay in any room for too long, the castle so big that you have to climb several staircases until you reach another long hallway. Several men in black hooded robes that look like monk’s habits pass you on your way. They don’t turn into your direction as you pass, some of them carry books, some carry laundry.

“Who are these men?” you ask.

“They’re my ghouls.”

“Ghouls?”

“Mhm.”

You don’t ask any further questions but cling to your stranger’s neck even though there is no need to. You’re safe in his arms, his strength limitless, and he does not seem tired even as you finally enter a chamber that appears to be his bedroom. Big arched windows make up one whole wall of the room and a double glass door that seems to lead to a balcony. The only light source is the full moon outside, casting milky white rays through the old windows. A huge wooden bed with silky white sheets dominates the room from the centre, most of the old hardwood flooring covered by a burgundy rug with a floral pattern, two chests of drawers lining the opposite wall as well as a desk covered in what seems to be his correspondence.

“You’re safe here, my flower,” he says as he sets you down on the bed. “I promise.”

You sit, watch him as he kneels down beside you. His face is nothing but kind, so full of concern and affection, but you can’t help but feel out of place. Knowing what he is now, while it doesn’t change the core of your feelings, still circles in your mind and you have to fight your disbelief.

“You still hesitate?” he asks.

“Are you reading my mind?”

“No, fiore, I do no such thing.” He takes your hand, covering it with his broad ones. “I would not abuse your trust, even if I could. And we have trust, no?”

“I feel like I can trust you,” you admit, tears of overwhelm pricking your eyes. “But I don’t really know anything about you. I don’t even know your name.”

“Primo.”

You exhale and let the word roll off your tongue. “Primo.”

He smiles at the sound of it, a soft, recognising smile, as if he hasn’t been called by that name in a long time. “All I ask is that you let me look after you right now, sì? I will explain and we can talk in depth later, amore.”

“Amore?”

His brow softens, giving his smile a sad quality. “My affections for you have not changed. Though I do fear that yours might have.”

You shake your head at him but before you can say anything profound, two of the black hooded ghouls enter the room. Another one joins right after, rolling a big copper bathtub inside, and you don’t even question their magic when they lift their arms and the tub fills with water. One of the other ghouls lifts his hands as well and suddenly the water starts to steam. The third ghoul places a piece of soap and a washcloth on a nearby stool, then hangs a soft-looking cotton bathrobe over the edge before they all leave without uttering a single word.

Primo helps you out of your shirt and you gasp when you see the blood covering your forearm. The bleeding has stopped but the scrape is still burning, the pain a distant throb. When he sees it, his gaze hardens but he just leads you to stand without any commentary, helping you undress, radiating tension and concern.

“It is okay that I am here?” he asks when he sees you unbutton your pants.

You nod in reply. After everything that happened you can’t say that you feel very embarrassed being naked in front of him and you feel safer in his presence, safer when he helps you. 

The water is scalding and you have to take a moment to get used to it before you can fully let the heat ease the tension you hadn’t even noticed before. Primo pulls up a chair, sitting right by your head, and picks up the cloth. You watch his brow furrow in concentration when he cleans your cuts and scrapes and his eyes meet yours a few times throughout, gazing at you with barely hidden hope. You want to tell him that your feelings are the same, if not stronger, but you can’t find it in you to disturb the silence with anything other than the occasional hiss when he touches a painful spot. It feels too fresh still, too many uncertainties plaguing your mind.

Once you’re clean and the water has cooled significantly, Primo helps you out and immediately wraps the soft cotton robe around you. As you sit back down on the bed, he walks over to his desk and fetches a small brown leather bag. Inside, you find multiple small vials in different colours and an antiseptic that looks just like any modern ones. He uses a cotton pad to clean out your wound before he grabs one of the small bottles, holding it out for you to see.

“Let me apply this to your cut,” he says. “It’s a tonic, it will help you heal.”

You roll up your sleeve to grant him access. “So, are you a healer of some sort?”

“Well, I am more of a pharmacist.” He chuckles and lets a small amount of the white liquid drop onto your arm. “Not a doctor.”

“It feels good,” you admit, the cool tincture sticks to your wound, easing the pain.

Primo smiles and wraps a bandage around your arm, tight but not too tight, like he’s done it a hundred times before. You can’t help but stare at him, his eyes and his whole face so beautiful and mesmerising, barely hiding his emotions in the depths of his features. When he catches your gaze, he tugs his hair behind his ear like he’s flustered and you spot a small cut above his left brow.

“He got you as well,” you say, grabbing a new cotton pad and reaching out for his face.

“It’s nothing, it will be gone within the hour,” he replies but he still lets you clean the scratch with careful dabs. “I suppose that I am not as powerful as I need to be to truly protect you.”

“What do you mean? You seemed very powerful to me earlier.”

“I am not ugh… how do you say? In my best years.”

You furrow your brow. “I always thought vampires stayed young forever.”

“Well, you see, I was turned well into my old age. I am not as strong and agile as someone who is born with it or turned earlier in their life,” he explains. “Usually, vampires do not like old blood, they prefer the young and healthy. But mine was… very hungry and very cruel.”

You lean over and press a kiss to his shoulder. “Is it painful to talk about this?”

“No, fiore mio, this was many centuries ago.” He regards you with caution, letting his eyes roam your body for a moment. “Do you feel better?”

“I do.” You reach out for his hand again, fiddling with his long, spindly fingers. “So are we… I mean, do you want me to stay here?”

“Yes, I do.” 

“But we won’t…”

“No, I will not touch you intimately again before we speak,” he says, squeezing your fingers. “But perhaps you need some rest before we do. You can sleep in my bed, amore. The sheets are fresh.”

The exhaustion is too strong to fight for much longer, he’s right in that, and you crawl under the sheets, careful not to strain your arm. The silky material feels cool and soft against your skin but you keep the robe on for some warmth. Primo sits by your side, watching you with the fascination of a scientist observing the bacteria in his petri dish. You wonder when he last spent time with a human like this, if he was ever intimate with a human before, but that is a question for another time.

Instead you smile at him. “Do you want to join me? Or do vampires not rest?”

“Are you sure you want me to?”

“I would really like you to hold me,” you admit.

He visibly fights off a happy smile as he rounds the bed, shedding his clothes until he’s only in his pants and his white frilly shirt. Hesitating at the edge of the bed he pulls off the shirt as well and you can’t help but stare as he reveals his pale chest to you, speckled with light grey hair that runs all the way down to his waistband. He’s slender, bony around his ribs but with muscular shoulders and a soft belly, his slightly saggy skin the only real sign of his body’s physical age. You wonder how long he has now looked exactly like that. Centuries he’d said but that is a surreal thought you don’t quite grasp.

When he finally joins you in bed, you sink into his embrace, feeling his cool skin against your cheek as you rest your head on his chest. It’s odd, the quiet, the lack of a heartbeat, but with his fingers running along your spine, his nails scratching softly against your skin, you’re lulled to sleep in no time.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

You wake up in cold sweat – and alone. The bed is empty but you immediately spot Primo with a glance through the wide arched windows. He’s right outside the now open double doors you saw earlier, wearing a heavy, dark red robe, his blond hair softly swaying in the wind. You rise from the silken sheets and grab his wide shirt that lies as a puddle on the floor. The frills cover your hands when you slip it on and it’s long enough to cover you, his smell still clinging to the fabric and tickling your nose as you breathe in the fresh night air. 

The doors don’t lead to a balcony like you initially assumed but to a small garden, surrounded by the castle walls and illuminated by the full moon. You have no idea how long you slept but it seems to be the middle of the night. You don’t take the time to fully admire the garden, instead wrapping your arms around Primo and burying your face in his back.

“Oh fiore, did I wake you?” he asks, covering your hands with his.

“No,” you whisper. “I’m not tired anymore.”

“Come here.”

He wraps you up in his robe, pressing you tightly to his chest. You feel his lips ghosting over your forehead, then he presses them more firmly to your temple. His skin feels smooth and you turn your head enough to take in the surrounding area.

“What were you admiring?” you ask, your eyes caught on a plant that’s blooming despite the lack of daylight, long white blossoms opening themselves towards the night sky.

“Datura,�� Primo explains. “They call it the devil’s trumpet. Highly poisonous. Many night-blooming plants are but of course they offer more to see to me than others.”

You smile. “The rose you gave me, was it from your garden as well?”

“Yes.”

He hugs you tighter and the pressure on your arm brings back enough pain to make you hiss in surprise. Primo tenses and you look up, only to find him staring at you with his brows drawn together. His anger isn’t directed at you and yet you feel a hint of anxiety. You know you won’t like the conversation you’re stearing towards.

“It’s my fault,” he says. “You’re hurt because of me.”

You raise a hand to his cheek. “No, no, it’s not. He attacked me.”

“But he attacked you because of my carelessness,” Primo says, leaning into your touch but avoiding your gaze. “I marked you. When we first kissed, I bit your lip and marked you.”

“Marked me for what?”

He swallows as his eyes finally meet yours. “We had an agreement.”

“An agreement? To… to kill people?”

“No, I don’t do the killing,” Primo says. “It is not my style. I am too old for carnage, amore. Or at least I thought I was.”

You furrow your brow, his explanation not helping you understand what he means. “So what is the whole deal with Max?”

“He was a werewolf,” Primo explains. “We ugh… we had this pact, I want to say. My victims, I don’t kill them, I just drink what I need and he… he gets the rest. He can smell me on them, so he knows who to target once he turns and loses most of his rational thinking. When I bit your lip, I must have marked you without my intent.”

You feel your blood rushing through your body now. “So what, he kills your victims?”

“He eats them, sì.”

“So the guys who…” You swallow hard, balling your hands to fists against his chest. “The guys who harassed me who never came back, the cleaner who disappeared… did you…”

“I never said I am innocent. But I did not kill them.” He takes your hand, softly uncurls your fingers before he looks at you with so much sadness that your heart shatters in your chest. “I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore now. I know it is a lifestyle you have to condemn but it is the only way I survive.”

You feel tears welling in your eyes, uncertain whether you can accept the man you love harming other people like this. Of course it keeps him alive but handing them over to be killed is not very different from actually killing them. There has to be a different way, a way without murder.

“If we… if we were together… could you just drink from me instead?” you ask. “No more innocent people?”

“Have you ever donated blood, fiore? They will not let you give it too often, half a litre every three months.” He pauses, smiling sadly as he squeezes your hand. “That is to say… you do not produce blood fast enough. I would either starve or kill you.”

“But you could drink from me? And perhaps a bit from someone else and no one has to die?”

He nods. “I can but you might not like it, you might regret agreeing to this.”

“Try me.”

Primo furrows his brow. “Try you?”

“Show me what it’s like. How does it work? You bite my neck and suck?”

He shakes his head. “I will puncture your vein and drink until the bleeding stops.”

“You won’t suck?”

“Not when it’s you. I will just drink what spills out,” he explains. “Sucking would make the wound very bad, it would hurt you more, even though it is faster and gives me more of you.”

“It’s… it’s okay if you want to suck,” you say. “I want you to do it to satisfy you.”

“No, not this time, but thank you, amore.” A deep sigh as he relents to your request. “Va bene, but if we try this we have to go inside.”

Primo calls one of the ghouls as you settle back in bed and tells him to get you some fruit and a sweet drink for later. You’re buzzing, partly with anxiety but partly with sheer excitement. You remember the intense pleasure you felt when he bit your lip and wonder if this is going to be a similar experience.

As soon as the ghoul is gone again, Primo settles in bed behind you, ridding you of your robe and pulling you between his legs as soon as you are naked. You hold onto his thighs, the fabric of his black slacks rough against your palms.

“I will stop if you tell me to,” he whispers against your ear. “We go easy, I will not drink too much, yes?”

“Yes.” 

You sink against his solid chest, unclenching your muscles. His fingers run along your neck, brushing any stray hairs aside and gently positioning your head how he wants it. A moment passes before you feel his lips trailing over the exposed skin, pressing soft kisses to the tendon at your neck that make you shiver.

“Relax,” he mumbles. “No sudden movements, amore.”

You try your best to follow. Primo positions his mouth so very carefully that you almost anticipate the bite. His fangs poke at your skin and he gently increases the pressure until you can feel them puncturing it. The pain is not unexpected but you’re still surprised by the impact, moaning softly. His hands grab at your thighs, a deep groan leaving his throat that vibrates against your skin. You can hardly feel the blood leaving you with how tightly his mouth is attached to the violated skin. At some point, you can feel his tongue swiping along the curve and his grip tightens, long fingers digging into your flesh.

The more he drinks, the more he’s stirring behind you and then he’s suddenly rutting against you in his chase for more friction. You can feel his hard cock against your lower back and you can’t help but grind back against him. Primo stops to moan, his hands roaming your form all the way over your hips and up to your chest. His cold fingers feel heavenly against your heated skin.

“I’m sorry,” he says breathlessly. “Drinking from your… from your love can be a very intense, intimate feeling.”

You hum in agreement and his tongue laps at your neck again, leaving a wet trail all the way from your shoulder to your ear before he attaches his mouth to the wound. He doesn’t drink for long before his hips buck again. Subconsciously, you follow the movements, gripping his thighs so tightly that your fingertips dig into the firm muscles.

“Can you feel it, fiore? Can you feel how our bodies long to become one?”

You only whimper in reply, your head lolling back onto his shoulder as a sick sort of pleasure tears through you, a throbbing need settling in your core.

“I want you,” he says, his voice resonating deep inside of you. “I want you, my love. Will you let me have you?”

“Please,” you whine.

His mouth leaves you altogether. The bleedings has mostly stopped, his spit and your blood cooling against your skin in the still brisk air. Primo slips out from beneath you, urgently pushing the red robe off his shoulders and his pants from his legs before his weight pushes you into the mattress. He settles between your legs, his now bare cock digging into your thigh, and you moan when his bare skin touches yours. He feels warmer now, not hot but definitely more… alive. 

“You are the most wonderful thing I have ever seen,” he says and it’s beautifully grotesque, those pretty words leaving such a feral creature after he just drank from you, his face still showing the evidence of his attack. 

Your heart clenches with unspoken love for him.

You lift your hand to his jaw, dark red blood dripping from his open mouth and onto your chest. He’s breathing heavily with his fangs bared to you, staring at you in wonder as you cradle his cheek and run your thumb over his skin. His eyes close and there is something so heartbreakingly intimate about the way he’s melting into your touch. A predator, a being who spent centuries on this earth, who hurt and fought and killed for you softens at the mere touch of your fingertips. You’ve never wanted anyone as much as you want him in this moment and you already know that you won’t hesitate to do whatever it takes to be his.

Primo shifts sideways, moving one of his hands between your legs. He probes at your entrance, slowly stretching you open until he can slide two of his fingers into you, careful not to hurt you with his sharp nails. You can see how hard he’s trying to hold back, every muscle in his face clenching. But he holds your gaze, watching your lips part as he curls his fingers, fucking into you until you’re whimpering with every thrust.

“Primo,” you whine.

He nods like understands your need for more but he doesn’t stop yet. Running your hand over his jaw you collect all the blood and spit around his mouth that you can get and reach down to find his hard cock. He gasps at the contact, more blood spilling from his lips and pooling between your bodies. You pump a few times, spreading the wetness, and he unravels, hips bucking into your hand as he moans.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please don’t hold back.”

His pupils dilate and he removes his fingers from you, gathering more blood from your chest to spread on his cock. He aligns himself and slowly pushes in, watching as he his length disappears inside of you. The stretch is incredible. You keen when he bottoms out, one of your hands fisting his hair and then he finally kisses you. The metallic taste of your blood startles you at first but then you can’t help but want more of it, pushing your tongue into his mouth. Primo won’t indulge you for long before you can feel him losing his restraint, battling for dominance over your mouth. He sucks at your tongue as his hips start to move, slow thrusts at first but he quickly loses patience. 

His mouth slips from yours as he speeds up, leaving a mess of drool, face paint and cooling blood behind. He drives himself into you without holding back, just like you wanted, his gasps and moans filling your ears over the sound of his wet skin meeting yours. You tug at his hair, wrapping your legs tightly around him to get even closer, spreading the blood all over your bodies. Primo nibbles at your jaw, not breaking the skin but running his teeth along the edge before they settle at your neck again.

“I want more,” he growls against your skin. “I need more, amore mio, please. J-just a little bit.”

In reply, you angle your head to expose your neck to him. He immediately latches on, sucking the wound back open. He was right, it hurts more this time and perhaps it’s a figment of your imagination but you can feel your blood rushing out of you in a way that is dizzying, intoxicating. Everything feels more intense now, the deep thrusts, his sharp nails digging into your flesh, the throaty moans in your ear as he drinks.

You clench around him and the orgasm hits you without warning. You cry out in pleasure, raking your nails down his back as you ride out your high with a few rolls of your hips. Primo falters, his hips stuttering into yours as he approaches his own release. His mouth leaves your neck with a pop and he pants desperately. You’re overcome with emotion when you hear his needy sounds, when you feel him twitching inside of you, so close to letting go. The last few drops of your warm blood run down your clavicle as the wound slowly closes, stopping right at your heart.

“I love you,” you breathe. “I love you, Primo.”

He shudders, his cock jumping wildly inside of you before he freezes, spilling his seed with a deep, drawn-out groan. You hold him through his high, stroking his hair and back. He gives two more slow pumps, drawing out your pleasure until he collapses on top of you.

“I love you, fiore,” he mumbles, then he props himself up on his elbow, staring into your eyes. “I love you.”

A surprisingly gentle kiss. A hand caressing your wet cheeks. Primo rolls you onto your sides and you can feel your mingled cum, blood and sweat glueing your bodies together. It’s messy and sticky but you’re not ready to let him go either. His gaze falls to your bruised neck and he frowns, grazing the skin with his thumb until you groan in pain.

Primo shakes his head in displeasure. “I am sorry, amore. I made it worse.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “I wanted it, my love, and I have no regrets.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “You want all this, fiore? You want this old man?”

You take a deep, shaky breath, your lungs burning and your head still dizzy, but there is not a hint of doubt in your mind. “I want you and all that comes with it. I’m not scared, Primo.”

“No, you’re quite fearless,” he agrees with a smile. “We will have to take care of your wound, clean up this mess, sì? But maybe we can wait a few more minutes, I am quite exhausted.”

You hum in agreement and pull him closer. He doesn’t object as his head comes to rest on your chest this time. The blood loss seems to register now because your vision starts to swim, and so you close your eyes for a moment to let the wave of dizziness pass. Your thoughts are jumbled, so many questions, so many things to consider.

“Primo?” you ask after a moment.

He hums. “Yes, fiore mio?”

“Will you ever turn me?” 

A scoff, bitter and sharp, like it’s the absurdest thing he’s ever heard. “No, amore, I will do no such thing.”

“But if I wanted you to?”

“No.”

You open your eyes to find him looking up at you and lift a hand to smooth out the stern crease on his brow. “We’ll have to talk about this.”

“No,” he says again, then buries his face in your neck with a deep hum, wrapping his arms around you tightly. A moment passes. Then another one and he seems to mull the thought over in his head. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“We will talk about it but not soon. We have many years to come before this ever matters.”

You’re satisfied with that for now, giggle when he presses a plethora of bloody kisses all over your neck and chest, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. You know he’s trying to distract you and it works. Your feelings for him flutter to live inside of you like a colony of bats and you breathe a kiss to his soft blond hair. As he falls asleep, he slowly exhales with his lips against your windpipe. You close your eyes and savour the feeling of his body wrapped around yours, thinking that if you’re lucky, this is a moment you’re going to remember for all of eternity.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed vampire primo – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Read now Part 2: Friday Nights at the Vinothek | Vampire!Secondo x gn!reader

Masterlist – My Ao3

[midnightlitterateur]

Writhe

Pairing - Gale/ Tav Gale/reader

Warnings - Smut, soft consensual non consent, Illithid sex pollen.

Summary - When ceremorphosis rears its tentacled head Gale comes to your rescue.

You had no idea how this had happened but it had started with heat. Unbearable sticky heat that caused the skin to prickle and itch. Your head had spun and you had thought the worst. That the end had come. You stripped your sweat drenched clothes from your aching body as you stumbled your way into the cool shadows of the ruins and pressed your naked burning skin against the mossy stone, sighing with relief as the cold leached into your bare flesh.

“Tav?” Gale stood in silhouette against the entrance. He leaned against the stone panting heavily. Seemingly in the same state as you. Was this it? Was this the end for all of us?

“Gale, you should leave…I don’t feel right,” you tried to warn him but he wasn’t listening, “I’m not…I’m not dressed.” You felt so dizzy, so disoriented. Only the cold of the stones offered relief from the hellish sensations that drove you to distraction.

You heard him inhale deeply, letting out a shuddering breath as he stepped further into the ruin. He seemed to perk up a little, standing tall as he approached. “What is that smell?” He walked cautiously, sniffing the air like an animal. “Is it…you?” He took another deep pull of night air and moaned under his breath.

The Illithid tadpole in your brain began to writhe sensuously in response to Gale's presence. It seemed to be aroused by his nearness and judging by the throbbing of your sex, so were you and it only got worse the closer he came.

His hands came to a rest on your hips and you quietly gasped in surprise, “Gale? What are you doing?” your words were slurred as they left your mouth, your vision disturbed. You felt him begin to rub his stubbly cheek against the sweat slicked skin of your back like a cat. All the while he was groaning sinfully. Erotically. You shivered and tilted back your head, exposing your strained throat as your lips reached in vain for his.

“I don’t know…but I can’t stop myself,” he whispered intimately, his breath tickling your sensitive skin as he gasped open mouthed against it, his teeth grazing your flesh. “I need to…I'm so sorry about this…but you smell so good.” Gale nuzzled your skin, inhaling your scent like a drug as he made his way down your back. Kissing and licking, tasting you. Letting the euphoria of your perfume completely intoxicate his senses.

His fingertips lit a fire in their wake as he caressed your sides lightly. Making you tremble and gasp in blissful anticipation. “It's alright…it’s alright,” you soothed in a hushed voice, I know.” Your head lolled and swayed as you revelled in his touch. You could feel his cock rubbing against the back of your thighs. It dripped with arousal from your smell alone and it left sticky trails of desperate need upon your clammy skin. “It’s our tadpoles…isn't it?”

“Given… the way mine is reacting…I think you may be…right,” He managed to pant out his words but was becoming increasingly incoherent. His hand slipped down over your belly to your most sensitive places. It found you hot and ready. So ready, it was dripping in tiny rivulets down your legs.

Then, you felt it. His insistent rigid cock pressing fervently at your entrance. “Gale…yes…” his name was honey on your tongue as he slid inside you and began to thrust. Punctuating every slap with a bone deep groan. The most tender and erotic touching quickly turned into debauched copulation. Loud moans and wet slaps filled the still night air. As you thoughtlessly fucked with only one goal. To come. Hard and fast.

Gale's hands covered yours, fingers intertwined as he pressed you against the wall. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, loudly inhaling your smell between savage bites and soft kisses. His hips slapping against your ass hard and fast. The both of you moaning and sobbing with loud careless abandon. Your eyes screwed shut and your mouth hung open as the wizard melted your mind and destroyed your body.

Your tadpole emanated euphoria. Gale's little ‘friend’ felt the same way, the psychic link they shared was being passed on to their human vehicles. Enhancing every sensation, magnifying it and seemingly transmitting it between them as the little worms roiled and writhed inside their hosts respective heads.

His hands slid down your outstretched arms, one stopping to grip your ribs, the other snaking around your waist to hold you impossibly close as he slammed into your body. He growled animalistically, his fingers digging painfully into your skin as he ploughed you possessively. The feel of his cock sliding against your inner walls, hitting your sweet spot over and over was maddeningly wonderful. Your teeth were bared in an unhinged grin, your eyes rolled back beneath fluttering eyelids.

Your belly fizzed and your muscles tightened as your inevitable release approached. The tadpole began to throb inside your skull. The bodily excitement built to a terrifying crescendo, forcing out a scream, long and loud as you came hard. Contracting around Gales thrusting cock. The incredible sensation forcing him to follow you over the edge into a long drawn out orgasm that rolled on and on with yours. The relief was instant for the both of you. The painful prickly feeling stopped and you didn’t quite feel like you wanted to die anymore. You slumped against the wall in a satisfied daze, Gale's body covering yours as the both of you tried to recover from your exquisite ordeal.

“Oh Gods,” you breathed, with a little chuckle, “if that’s how we stave off ceremorphosis, then I’m all for it.” You tried to lighten the mood with a little humour as was your wont in difficult situations but as it turned out you needn’t have worried. It seemed that you and your new companion were quite similar in that regard.

The exhausted wizard was gasping for breath, his damp forehead resting against your shoulder, “I think you’ve broken me,” he groaned with a tone of amusement “but I wholeheartedly concur.”

[the-skull-breaker]

sooo I've played the demo of @fantasia-kitt's visual novel The Kid At The Back and let me tell you I LOOOVE Sol ! he's so adorable and I wish I had a boyfriend like him ! so I've been thinking about shipping him with my OC Mahanie, like usual, you know ?

because I'm not as much as an artist I made her with the MCL sprite so here you go (and yes, she's as similar as her MCL version)

infos about her :

name : Mahanie age : 23 height : 167 likes : dancing, music, snakes, mysterious men dislikes : dishonnest people, bullies

she is known as the Fragrance Lady, as she makes and sells her own homebrew perfumes, she also put on some depending on her mood, mossy when relaxed, floral oriental when flirty, citrus when energetic ect... she is whoever known for her Skunk Perfume™ which is used not only as a pepper-spray but it also has a strong stinky scent that will stay on the assailant. despite being controversial, this perfume is rather popular in the schoolground.

also here's the ship dynamic template :

[stuckinapril]

I want nothing more than to wear my favorite sweater and spray on my favorite perfume in ludicrous quantities and layer all my favorite lip glosses and go (equipped w an apple and a water bottle and a clear conscience) to my local library and sit outside w my textbooks laid out in front of me and study for hours on end while the nippy air shivers along my skin and reminds me I am alive breathing blood lumping able to engross myself in this moment. Then once I’m done studying I’ll take a walk through the park trail and sit on a rock by mossy tree roots while tight-knit canopies dapple the leaf-strewn ground around me and take to my notes app and journal about my feelings and goals and just life in general. When the shadows grow long and the warmth wears thin I will drive back home and curl up in bed and continue reading A Paradise Built in Hell by Rebecca Solnit to imbue my soul w much needed warmth. Also deep-conditioning my curls while studying tomorrow bc my curls need love. November will be kind to me I am so determined

[writermask-0807]

hotaru haganezuka x reader {“sweet as sugar not” or: “of sticky summer days and first steps.”}

A/N: listen, listen, there are so many reasons I shouldn't upload this. First of all, ik there r other requests i should do and I am working on them. Hopefully I'll get them all done soon.

Second of all, the title sucks ass, ik, but I honestly can't think of anything else and my brain literally only has one brain cell rn 🥲 thirdly, this oneshot u see right here is pure selfishness and self-indulgence rolled up into one thing and it's probably messy cus I haven't proofread cus it's the middle of the night and im running on nothing but whateverrr. (I think I had too much apple juice.) Also I couldn't find a decent gif of this bish so rip-

Warnings: implied teacher/student relationship cus I literally put mentions of "master" around just so u know it's nothing kinky 👀

HE’S not a soft man, your master; all red-hot temper and harsh words and growling voice, and often you’re the one to smooth his rough edges down and dull the sharp ends, guide his work-worn hands back to shaping his precious metals into swords and take his attention away from the heat you know is boiling in his chest, ready to spill over and scald in white-hot fury.

It’s just how he is, really, because Hotaru’s not a man to whisper sweet-nothings in your ear and kiss you softly, sweetly- he’s a man of his passions, and although his hands are rough and calloused by years’ worth of dedicated work and sometimes his harsh words stings and so does his indifference- he has his moments, where he makes it up to you in his own way.

As it happens, today’s one of those rare moments.

It’s one of those hot, sticky sort of days under the summer sun where the blue, cloudless sky is brilliant with sunshine and the air is warm and sweet; ripe with something that’s not quite the August-heat, and there’s a drowsy silence settled over the both of you, the droning of the insects long chased away by the whisper of the tall grass and the flutter of the spring-time blooms drifting down like rose-pink snowflakes, creamy petals catching in his long hair and yours, the sweet smell of the petals perfuming the warm atmosphere.

You’ve got a strawberry mochi bulging in your cheek as you peer up at the canopy of blushing petals, back resting languidly on the emerald, mossy bed of grass and awe starring your enraptured gaze as you watch the soft beauty of the sakura blossoms cascade all around you in sheets of delicate fuchsia, completely oblivious to the golden, hawk-like eyes that watches your movements with an intensity force enough to make you want to squirm, if only you’d noticed, that is.

It’s not until you feel his mouth slot over yours and your eyes fly open in surprise that you remember that your Master’s here with you, and he tastes syrupy and sticky-sweet like the mochi he’s been snacking on, his fingers fisting the fabric of your kimono, those rough fingers uncharacteristically soft against your skin.

It’s nothing more than a brush of lips, a simple peck, really, but the kiss leaves you breathless, wanting for more as soon as he pulls away, something unusually thoughtful creasing his eyebrow- like he’s contemplating a serious thought, but he never voices it aloud. He’s unusually reserved and quiet in moments like these; but you’ve learned that his silence speaks far more than his angry words do, if only you learned to read between the lines.

He dips down again and offers another peck, sticky-sweet and unusually soft and wanting, and this time, you smile against his mouth and kiss him back, cheeks flustering scarlet as he hovers above you, hands on either side of your body and your chest heaves, the heat of the summer sun clinging to your skin and his fingers as they brush over the cut of your cheekbones, the slope of your nose, the curve of your mouth and the dips of your collarbones.

And before you can fully register it, his fingers curl around a delicate pink bloom and tucks it behind your ear, its petals cotton-soft against your skin, and you blink, pleasantly bewildered, your face flushing the same pretty shade as the flower.

“What was that for?” you ask, smiling, and he shrugs above you, ebony locks rippling over his broad shoulders with the movement. Your fingers itch to run themselves through those soft, raven-black tufts, but you refrain the urge- you get the feeling it’d only fluster him to the point of retreating and your arms are trapped underneath all his bulk anyway.

“Just because.” is his simple non-answer, short and clipped and it comes out more like a grunt than anything, but as he rolls over to the patch of grass beside you, his calloused fingers slowly, hesitantly, lacing between yours- somewhat rough and scarred to the touch but you don’t mind, never do- and his amber hues averting from your own eyes, you grin, because you notice the faint pinkening of his cheeks- splotches of color you’ll tease him about later and he’ll insist that it was just the heat getting to him, that’s all!

But not in this moment, no. Right now you’re content to stay like this, the both of you, watching the summer-time blossoms twirl in the teasing breeze, the flowery canopy stifling the baking heat of the summer sun.

And he’s not a soft man, your Master, struggles with sweet words and soft kisses because his hands are scarred terrains not meant to be gentle or holding yours, and sometimes his words stings and so does his indifference but for your sake, he tries and you smile because that’s all you ask of him. All anyone can ask of him, really.

(He’s not a soft man, your Master, not really, not even in moments like these; but this- this is a first step, and the fragrance of the petals linger in the air, sticky-sweet and promising of sweeter moments to come.)

FIN-

[archaiclumina]

Because I am such a lucky duck °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ @iron-sparrow and @viiioca °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ tagged me in this banger meme again! So I get to do it for Oli after all \o/ ₊⊹♡ Thank you both for thinking of me!! ₊⊹♡

ｂａｓｉｃｓ

Name: Oliviede Ebrelnaux (Phonetic: OH-LIHV-ee-yee-dah EHB-rel-NAH)

Nicknames: Just Oli

Age: 35

Nameday: 21st Sun of the Sixth Umbral Moon

Gender: Female, although non-binary wouldn't be wrong either, really.

Orientation: Asexual.

Profession: Travelling herbalist/alchemist. Occasional anthropogeologist.

ｐｈｙｓｉｃａｌ ａｓｐｅｃｔｓ

Hair: Black with a few wisps of grey here and there.

Eyes: Mossy green

Skin: Pale.

Tattoos/scars: An assortment of artistic branding and scarification, self-administered. Oli has brands on her palms, sternum, biceps and Achilles heels, currently. She will likely acquire more designs over her body as time goes on.

ｆａｍｉｌｙ

Parents: Father, Astervain Ebrelnaux Mother, Orella Ebrelnaux nee Cordwyk

Siblings: None. Interracial mixing is considered kind of a taboo by the games canon and so I assumed Oli's parents were nice enough not to put another kid through all that.

Grandparents: Grandfather, Fernerin Ebrelnaux Grandmother, Amianne Ebrelnaux nee Contillaud

Grandfather, Wyat Cordwyk Grandmother, Tilla Cordwyk nee Kemp

In-laws and Other: For some context, Most of Oli's family died in the Calamity. Her Aunt on her Mother's side is her only living relative, and Ermina and Orella had fallen out a few years prior to the fall of Dalamud. Her Aunt married a fellow survivor of the Calamity who had lost his wife and became step-mother of his two young children. They live in Eastern Thanalan, and Oli's Aunt is a member of the Alchemist's Guild in Ul'dah. But, thanks to the past difficulties between her Mother and Aunt, Oli has a strained relationship with the surviving members of her family. But, here they are! Aunt, Ermina Cooke nee Cordwyk Uncle, by marriage, Ricard Cooke Cousins, by marriage not blood, Willem Cooke, Edila Cooke.

Pets: None, unless you count Chessie, which you can. However Oli see's Chessie much more like a person than a pet.

ｓｋｉｌｌｓ

Abilities: Alchemy, botany, herbalism, aetherofloraculture and horticulture, conjuration magic, a really mean left hook.

Hobbies: Gardening, baking, making perfume, listening to Cyfrenne gossip and tutting appropriately, babysitting Callineaux on field work assignments, helping Leon name his mammets.

ｔｒａｉｔｓ

Most Positive Trait: Very patient!

Most Negative Trait: Very patient.

ｌｉｋｅｓ

Colors: Oli's favorite colour is yellow, however she wears it rarely. She is more prone to wearing earthy tones, deep browns, greys and creams, greens, a rust red here and there.

Smells: Patchouli, basil, petrichor, fresh bread, copper

Textures: Autumn leaves, river stones, finely spun gauze, heated metal

Drinks: Tea with a slice of lemon, apple juice, Gin Bramble

ｏｔｈｅｒ ｄｅｔａｉｌｓ

Smokes: Not habitually, but yes, she usually has some on her. Primarily herbal cigarettes like clove, or in-universe equivalents of mugwort or coltisfoot.

Drinks: Socially or for ritualistic reasons.

Drugs: Socially or for ritualistic reasons.

Mount Issuance: Oli's mount is a Chocobo named Chessie. An old, barren breeding mare that was among the bo's that fled from Ishgard into the Shroud. As the bird wasn't much use to Bentbranch, she bought her from them, and Chessie has traveled with her just about everywhere since. Chessie is short for Chestnut, and though I haven't gotten around to dying her in-game mount, I headcanon Chessie's feathers have taken on a darker tan as she's aged, which is why Oli gave her that name.

Been Arrested: No, Oli's always kept her head down because she's half-Hyur and that's what her parents and extended family always told her to do. She got pulled up a few times for fighting in both Ul'dah and Dravania during her studies, (because she isn't the best with conflict and using her words to communicate feelings like anger.) But she's never had to spend any time behind bars.

Thank you both so much for the tags! It was fun to do this again with Oli! <3 I will try to tag a few folks who might not have had a chance to do this yet, or who I think have alts they might like to do it with! As always, absolutely no pressure if you've already done it/don't want to!

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖@aislingsurrow, @dumb-hat, @thefreelanceangel, @brazenshieldffxiv, @gatheredfates, @riftdancing, @starforger, @sealrock, @cantspelldragoonwithoutgoon, @shroudkeeper, @starres-stuff, and @houserosaire ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

[cebwrites]

stealing their clothes (Zoro, Law, Killer)

masc reader he/they law, trans zoro word count: 0.8k

Zoro

He’s not very tall, at least in comparison to the average height on the Grand Line, but Zoro is a broad lad

He’s smug about how loose his shirts are on your shoulders and doesn’t bother to hide an inch of it

Zoro doesn’t wear perfume, but he does like catching a whiff of his natural scent on you when he hugs his partner from behind, wearing his shirt

It is Zoro though, and he’s stinky, so you don’t make a habit of it

That said, if you give him an incentive to wash these clothes more by wearing them (the clean ones), mossy might be compelled to swing more in your favor~

Zoro’s pants tend to be very loose for better mobility when he’s running around swinging his swords, and he definitely likes seeing you wearing them - preferably without a top on like him, showing off his top scars - the most on lazy days where the two of you just get to chill, or even during training

Although, you might need a belt if you do decide to rock some marimo joggers, or at least tighten the strings a lot, because Zoro’s a big boy and he’s also proud of that

If you ask him nicely enough, he just might let you use his bandana as an accessory - highly suggest you wash it (thoroughly) first, though, god knows that Zoro doesn’t

Law

They’re annoyed, first and foremost, that you keep stretching out his hoodies - Law’s at the very least relieved that there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that you’d fit into his skinny jeans, unable to even get them past your knees

He’s lanky and you love that about them - long legs, grabbable waist and everything - but the unfortunate circumstance of that is that sharing clothes isn’t always a viable option, or at least not sharing clothes that fit well

That aside, however, there’s a non-insignificant part of them that really likes their clothes on you; it’s cute gay shit, not that Law would admit it out loud that they see it as such and it makes them happy

Law’s jolly roger stretched a little distorted across your chest, their cologne lingering on your skin from his clothes even long after you’ve taken it off, wearing them afterwards and still getting hints of your shampoo on it - it’d be a point of pride for Law and a not-so-subtle claim on you as their own

Not that Law was the type of person to be overly possessive anyway, but if there’s one thing that Law is, it’s petty, and what better way to show everyone that you were theirs than to have you in his clothes?

That said, Law will 100% return the favor, so if you find that something in your own wardrobe’s gone missing, check their office or the bedroom - Law can tolerate a little teasing about it, as a treat, but not a lot

As an added bonus; even if it’s not an item of clothing that’s theirs, Law definitely likes seeing you in animal print like his own - just be prepared for whatever that is to be “borrowed” and may or may not be returned later until you pick it up from Law’s laundry basket

Killer

Another man built like a brick shithouse - what exactly are they eating on the Grand Line and is it testosterone???

Killer likes seeing you in his clothes; wandering into the kitchen for a late night snack with him wearing nothing but one of his oversized shirts that reached your thighs while Killer only had a pair of tatty old joggers on

The kind of domestic shit that Kill never thought would happen for someone like him but here you are, lighting up his life by being a little shithead, getting on his nerves for fun much like your captain does and showing affection to each other through loving banter

Killer’s at least a semi-private person, so he wouldn’t encourage strutting around like that when the rest of the crew could see, but at the same time if you did, that was your prerogative and he couldn’t stop you

Any and all teasing from other Kidd Pirates - or even the captain - though, would be promptly ignored

Just as he is reserved, however, he’s also cheeky, so every now and again out of left field, when you’re wearing nothing but one of his shirts, chatting to someone out on the deck during an early morning when the sun and most rest of the crew have yet to rise - he’ll smack you on the ass as he passes by on his way to make breakfast

If you needle him about it later on asking why, he’ll pretend like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about and that it “never happened” to his knowledge - you then get into a noogie fight with Kill about it that dissolves into sweet, private laughter