I’m Actually Losing My Mind ✨ Please Give It Back

Thong (Obey Me!)

━━━━━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━

You decided on a scandalous thong for the day and decided to have some fun by teasing your ♡favorite♡ demon. At RAD. How does he react?

minors/ageless/blank blogs dni or get blocked :c

»Characters: Demon Bros + Dia + Barb

»Tags: ⚠️🔞NSFW , Possessive, Flashing, Some Humor, Smutty-ish, GN Reader/MC

»Notes: Few days late but I hope everyone had a good Valentines day! You are all loved ♡♡♡

Lucifer:

You visited him in his office and "accidentally" knocked a few papers off his desk. You bent down to pick them up.

His eyes widened briefly

Wondered if you did that on purpose

"Luuucifer? Are you okay?" You smiled slyly

So it was. This human is something else.

He leaned in close and whispered in your ear

"Careful now. If I find out anyone other than me saw what I saw, there will be punishment in store for you."

He smirked and rubbed your ass for a brief moment before giving a gentle smack sending you onto your next class

He saw the flustered look on your face and was quite content

Lucifer: 1 You: 0

He invited you into his study later that night though

Mammon:

You met up with Mammon at your locker. You decided to reach down in your locker to get something.

"H-HEY!"

Took off his uniform jacket and tried to cover you up

He was a blushing red mess

"Whaddya think youre doin' wearin' that! Here of all places! Anywhere even! No! I won't allow it!"

Was conflicted [Mammon cannot compute]

He was so turned on but upset thinking about if anyone else saw your thong!

He was so bothered he made you miss class

You two spent it in a secret cozy closet where he kept kissing/biting you all over while whispering "mine!"

Levi:

Oh poor unsuspecting Levi. You decided to tie your shoe in front of him.

Let out a small yelp

Immediate nosebleed

Wasn't sure if he should say something ...or just keep staring intensely

Okay he kept staring

Let out a small groan when you adjusted your thong and winked at him

Seriously!? Teasing him at school!? He should've stuck to online classes!

Skipped your shared class to go jerk off in the restroom

Satan:

You invited him after school to the library to study. While looking for books, you went for all the ones on the bottom shelves.

Could not stop staring while you browsed

Wanted to tell you your thong was showing but decided against it...since no one else was around he was going to enjoy it

He is a demon after all

Studying was hard after that

He found himself daydreaming

Was a little embarrassed he couldn't focus

"Who knew such a small piece of fabric could affect you?" You teased him

Ah so you knew...

Grabbed your hand and led you to an empty classroom for some fun

Asmo:

You sat in the back corner of class with Asmo. You "accidentally" dropped your pencil and bent to get it.

He gasped

Now that is sexy

He was absolutely mesmerized

He passed you a note complimenting your choice of underwear that day

Kept heavily flirting all of class

He might have convinced you to skip the rest of your classes for the day for other activities

Beel:

You invited Beel to the snack machine (RIP your wallet) and bent down to get his snacks.

Really caught off guard by your thong

Thought it was sexy as fuck but shook his head to clear his mind

Quickly told you it was showing

The growl he made wasn't his stomach but his throat when you said "Oh maybe it was meant specifically for you?"

He jerked off later that night to the thought of you doing other things exclusively for him

Belphie:

You were excited to see how this bad boy would react. You walked up to him and smacked his textbook on the ground, then picked it up in a dramatic fashion.

Well that was obviously intentional

But no complaints here...niiice

He snapped one of the strings/waistband

"Okay you got my attention. It looks good on you. It'd look better on the floor though."

Yeah he wasn't going to hold back his thoughts

"How about we visit the attic later? Just me and you?"

Diavolo:

So calm, so collected. But only you knew what a naughty demon he was. You went in straight for the kill and briefly flashed him in his office before running away.

Ohnononono

-Sighs- That human is completely dangerous.

SOS BARBATOS

Shut down the school while he offered a reward to anyone with your whereabouts

It didn't take long

Collected you in his demon form and carried you to his office

"You know what you do to me. Now look what you've done little one."

Barbatos had to cast a silencing spell and canceled the rest of his meetings that day.

I love an impatient feral diavolo,  sigh

Barbatos:

You guys had a little thing going on, but could you actually affect *the* butler? You were curious enough to try. You saw him heading your way and decided to tie your shoe.

Briefly surprised

Well...that's tantalizing

He cleared his throat and politely told you of your fashion faux pas

He took note of your slight disappointment

Oh so it was meant for him...this will be fun

He leaned down and whispered in your ear, tucking something into your hand

"Maybe nothing is better."

You peered in your hand and it was your thong!

He chuckled at your bright red face as you ran towards the restroom

He sent you a text: "I surely hope my visit tonight will be welcomed."

I like to think we won ?? 😩

⬦You might also like: Submissive & Breedable︱Virginity︱Flirting With Others

Bestfriends| MHA X BlackFemReader

Hi Besties ! I was in a writing mood but, I didn't feel like messing with my current WIP because ✨procrastination✨, so here are some cute, maybe NSFW headcannons/scenarios about the boys reacting to their bestfriend(who they have a crush on) being at their place when they get home from a stressful day! This is literally my fingers moving faster than my brain, so bare with me if it's awful lol.

Warning NSFW (18+) Content| Viewer Discretion Advised

oral sex

fingering

foul language

mentions of blood

penetration (?) - idk, haven't written it yet.

Aged up/ ProHero characters

ProHero! Deku

You met when you transferred into the support course during your second year, he was always coming in to discuss changes in his costume design and the two of you just clicked. It went from casual greetings in the hallways to movie marathons on the weekends.

Whenever he'd go on school missions you'd hug him so tight, lecturing him to be careful. "I'll be fine, (n/n)" he'd blush, but he'd nuzzle against your neck before saying his final goodbyes.

Your protectiveness continued well into adulthood, when he was a full fledged Pro Hero. Always hovering and fussing over him, threatening to jump in if he was ever in trouble. He never complained about you babying him, though. He loved that you cared.

People found your dynamic hilarious, this big ole' man being lead around by little old you. Hanging on to your every word like a puppy. He was enamored with you, but for the sake of your friendship he never mentioned it.

Izuku was dead tired, the day had been brutal. He'd fought several villains, ended up in a hostage situation and fell off a roof. Blood and grit clung to his skin and hero costume. He was desperate to get to his hot shower and warm bed.

Walking through the door, he heard a random R&B song playing over the stereo and smelled fresh baked cookies. That could only mean one thing. She's home, he thought, smiling to himself as he made his way into the living room. Izuku had given you a spare key for emergency's but you honestly you used it whenever you were feeling bored. He didn't mind, he loved seeing you when he made it home.

"(Y/N). I'm home." he called out, kicking his shoes of near the couch. He started to worry when you didn't respond immediately but relaxed when he heard running water. Izuku trudged down the hallway, rolling his neck and stretching his sore muscles along the way. "Puppy. It's me." he knocked twice and cracked the door open, smiling when your bonnet covered head peaked through the frosted glass door.

"Oh my god, Izu! What the hell happened?" He chuckled to himself, not even five minutes into the house and he found himself on the receiving end of one of your lectures. "I had a rough day. Fucking tired." he groaned and you flinched at his words. Izuku rarely cursed, so he must be feeling pretty bad. "You almost done? I'm gross." he peeled off his hero costume, too exhausted to feel bashful. It's not like you've never seen him in his underwear before, you're his bestfriend.

"Friend" he mumbled, rolling his eyes. On days like this it was hard for him to hide his true feelings. All he wanted was to pull you into his arms and kiss the stress away. "I just got in but, I'll get out- "No, no. I'm gonna get in with you."

Before you could protest his was sliding the door open and pushing himself inside 🌚. "Izu!" you screeched, covering your breasts with your hands. It was counterproductive because it pushed them up nicely and gave him a nice view of your puffy cunt. Was she touching her self? he quirked a brow, but shook the thought off "I'm tired. I didn't want to wait anymore". That statement was pretty loaded considering the current situation and his feelings about your relationship. "Just this once, please" he pouted, handing you his sponge and body wash.

With a sigh, you took the items and began pampering your friend, being sure to nag him simultaneously. He couldn't care less, too caught up in the way your fingernails felt scratching his scalp or your soapy hands running across his skin. He didn't even realize you were crying until your voice broke.

"I know you can take care of yourself but, I still worry." you paused, resting your forehead between his shoulder blades and wrapping your arms around his torso. He hummed, rolling his head back and covering your hands with his own, it felt good being with you like this. Nothing could ruin this moment. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Izu. You're my bestfriend."

That did it.

In a flash he had you pinned against the shower wall with your legs wrapped around his waist and his face buried in your neck. "Look at us right now, (Y/N). Is this what bestfriends feel like ?" You felt his tip slide through your folds, picking up the slick that had been accumulating since he'd first gotten in the shower. "i-Izu ?" you stammer, and he pulls back to watch your face as he teases your entrance. "I don't want to be friends anymore, puppy." Your mouth falls open when he starts to push in, splitting you open on his enormous ✨cock✨ and he takes this opportunity to pull you into a bruising kiss.

"We should be lovers instead."

ProHero! Red Riot

The two of you met in the drugstore one day when he was looking for hairdye. The store was out of his usual brand and he didn't know which one would be closest to Radiant Ruby. So he was staring at the boxes having an internal meltdown. Dark roots are not manly.

"Try Very Vermillion, the undertone is different but its the same shade. If you just touch up the roots you can barely tell the difference." Your soft voice caught his attention, and then your bright smile and similarly dyed hair. It was a deeper red than his and it went well with your (l/d) brown skin. "Thanks, cutie. I really appreciate it." he pulled down his shades and winked, enough to make most ladies swoon but you just smirked back. "No problem, Mr. Riot."

"How'd ya know it was me?" he asked, following you down the aisle. He was shocked, it seemed like a pretty good disguise when he left in the morning. "Kinda had to mistake a killer smile like that" you winked, and the blush that grew on his cheeks was enough to put Radiant Ruby out of business for good. "Can I get your name?" he asked, red eyes never leaving your figure as you checked out. He thought he was being stealthy but you noticed. "(Y/N). How about you get me lunch too?"

Henceforth, you were inseparable.

"Yo, Ei. Where's your twin?" Katsuki teased, referencing your similar hair color and the fact that you were always wearing his merch. He called you his "mini me", which is true since he's a freaking giant. "I'm on my way to her place now!" he beamed, "she promised to make me some American food!" He loved when you cooked for him. One of his favorite pass times was watching you move around the kitchen, whipping up different dishes for him to try. "Tch, you two idiots should just make it official already." Katsuki huffed, nudging his friend who was smiling at his phone. Probably because you'd sent him an "adorable" photo wearing some new merch you picked up. "Nah, she's way too good for me." he'd smile sadly, stuffing his phone, and his feelings, in his back pocket.

You were putting the brownies in the oven when you heard the front door open. "I'm in the kitchen, Red !" you called, eager to see his expression when he saw the spread that you'd prepared for him.

Pro Hero! Red Riot had won a major victory today after an intense battle with some huge villain downtown. It was all over the news. He smiled and waved at the cameras, because it was the manly thing to do, but you could see that he was wore out. You wanted to do something special, so you prepared all his favorite foods. Fried chicken, Cajun steak alfredo, meat buns, and brownies for dessert. The man could eat.

"Hey pebble. What are you- wow ! What's all this ?" he smiled brightly as he entered the kitchen, tossing his mask on the counter and reaching for a piece of chicken. "Aht Aht!" you smacked his hand with a wooden spoon, "wash your hands first. You're filthy". He pouted but complied.

"What's the special occasion?" he asked, watching you fix him a heaping plate of food.

"I saw your fight on the news. You did so good, big guy!" You pinched his flushed cheeks and gave a knowing smirk. Eijiro may seem overly confident but he's actually pretty insecure sometimes; you're constantly reassuring him, being sure to remind him how great he is and how lucky you are to have him. It was fun for you because you liked how giddy he'd get after a few compliments. His praise kink goes crazy.

"(Y/N)- , stopp" he whined, but made no real effort to escape your grasp. "Why would I? You're the best, Riot. So big, and strong and manly." His cheeks were super red now and chewing on his lip.

Loose strands of hair fell into his eyes and you brushed them behind his ear . "(Y/N)" he whispered, you were so close and your words had his heart racing. "So brave. So kind." The game you were playing faded away as you gazed up at him. "So pretty." Your fingers traced the lines of his face, his cheeks, his nose, his lips. "You're so pretty, Red."

His resolve snapped. Trapping you between his arms, he bent down and pressed your lips together. An explorative action, kind of testing the waters. He pulled back and rubbed his nose against yours.

"I think you're pretty too."

One thing led to another and now you're sprawled out on the kitchen counter while his thick tongue swirls around your swollen clit with two fingers in your cunt and his thumb in your asshole. When your pussy contracts around your digits and you cum screaming his name, he licks the slick off his fingers and goes back down for seconds.

The man loves to eat.

ProHero! Mindbreak

The two of you met when he came into your new coffee shop in downtown Tokyo.

"Just a large black coffee, extra sweet, with a squirt of chocolate" he sighed, placing his card on the counter and rubbing his eyes. He looked miserable so you decided to cheer him up, or at least try to. "Wow, are you ordering a drink or me?" you giggled, a sickeningly sweet bubbly sound. It made him want to puke. "I don't think I could stomach both." he deadpanned. Ouch.

Too stunned to speak, you walked off and busied yourself with his order. "Nice going, Hitoshi. You hurt the airhead's feelings." he mumbled to himself, watching you pout and chew at your lip. He thought you were kind of cute. At least if you were into chunky little bimbos, which he definitely was.

"Sorry about that" he said as you handed him the cup, "hero stuff". "S'Okay!" You giggled again and leaned forward against the counter, flashing him a nice view of your tits. What a little ditz he thought, eyeing you as he took a sip. "Oh wow" he blinked, "this is the best coffee I've ever had". The smile that you gave him was so bright, he almost regretting telling you. It was way too early for this. "Great!" you chirp. sliding his card back to him. "It's on the house. A small thank you keeping the city safe, Mr. Hero."

Now he was too stunned to speak. He wasn't used to people being so nice to him; most folks were intimated by his quirk or his resting bitch face. It didn't bother you though. He mumbled a "thanks" and headed towards the door. "Come back and see us now." Hitoshi raised his cup and nodded, he'd definitely be returning.

He came in the same time everyday, ready to be met with the aroma of coffee and your smiling face. It got to the point that you had it waiting for him before he even made it to the counter. If it wasn't busy, you'd sit at a small table chat; well you'd do most of the talking. Hitoshi would just sip his drink quietly and listen to you ramble on about whatever ditzy thoughts were swirling in your cute little head.

"I don't that's what it means, sweetheart." He'd smirk whenever you misunderstood something. He loved the little face you'd make when you were confused. Your nose would scrunch up and the dimples in your chubby cheeks would pop out. "But 'Toshi, he specifically said 'those buns look delicious' don't you think they look good?" you pouted, pointing towards the freshly baked pastries. The perv was clearly talking about the way your round ass jiggled in that cute little mini skirt when you reached for something high on the shelf, but you didn't need to know that. "They look amazing, sweetheart. I'll take two."

Nothing particularly bad happened during Hitoshi's shift. He was just fucking exhausted. He'd been working the night shift for the past three weeks with no off day. You'd seen how worn out his was so you stopped by his house sometimes to make sure he was taken care off himself. You knew he kept a spare key above his doorframe, so you just let yourself in.

"Welcome home, Toshi !" you greeted him at the door wearing nothing but one of his muscle shirts. What in the actual fuck? "My clothes got wet when I was cleaning so I just grabbed one of your shirts while they dry. I hope you don't mind." Why would he mind when you were wearing the smallest shirt he owned and it fit your soft curves perfectly. You weren't even wearing a bra, round tits spilling out the sides whenever you moved your arms. And did you say you cleaned? He looked around and the place was spotless, hell you even fed his cat. Could you be anymore perfect?

"Thank you, sweetheart" He pulled you into a tight hug, pressing his body against yours and nuzzling against your neck. You always smelled so good. Like coffee and chocolate. "Thanks for what?" you giggled as you rubbed his back. "For everything" he mumbled and you scoffed, "I'd do anything for you, Toshi. It's no big deal." Hitoshi pulled back and looked down at you, "Anything?".

"Of course I would. I love you, silly."

"C'mere", Hitoshi picked you up and laid you on the couch, you were startled and confusion and you watched him curiously when he laid on top of you and pushed his face between your boobs. "I love you, too" he murmured, pulling the fabric to the side with his teeth and popping your nipple into his mouth.

"T-toshi!" you gasped, grinding up against him but he held your hips down. He flicked his tongue against the bud and pulled off with a *pop*, "You'd do anything for me, right?" One finger swirled around your nipple, while the other slid up your thigh and onto you clothed pussy. "Y-yes" you whimpered, taking a shaky breath when his finger snaked under your lacy panties and into your waiting cunt.

"Be mines."

Nastygirls| @xogabbiexo, @thicksimpx, @plussizeficchick, @namjoonswifeyy, @tenyaiidasslut, @po3ticb3auty, @kaizokuluv, @angwritez, @presidentmonica, @indiecursor, @arielspoem, @xosuki, @dejwrites @gabzlovesu

Stylish Niichan

Yes hi, I just wanted to tell you that your bad boy Aone is PERFECTION. I usually prefer the gentle giants (hence why Aone is one of my favorite characters!) but the way you wrote him as a bad boy had me drooling haha!

i am so happy you liked it! ♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡ i think he’s a dreamboat, gentle giants are my fav too. it was my first time writing so im actually fangirling, thank you!!

Who could ever leave me, darling?

SImon "Ghost" RIley x Johnny "Soap" McTavish x Reader Warnings: guilt, kinda cheating but not really, usual Simon fucked up thoughts, pining, a bit of religious imaginery. Summary: Men only feel good when they're drowning in guilt.

Simon has his alarm set at four hundred sharp; not a minute less, not a minute more. Before the birds and the people, before schools and training camps and the Sun itself. Suspended in time, even if he can hear his watch tick every second.

Activities at base start at five hundred, almost exactly. The big, old speakers blare that horrible music that you can still hear recruits groan at, while the rest just sigh and sit up. Simon hates it, always had. It somehow reminded him of Manchester and dear old daddy, of screams and the door slamming and things breaking again and again. A few weeks into his career, he bit his way through the panic attack he had for breakfast. 

But it isn’t why he gets up before that time. It isn’t because he’s nuts either-although, he won’t deny that one.

The kitchens start at four hundred, just like him. He remembers, back when he still had some baby fat and less baggage to carry, the fights that would break out with the other recruits, just to see who would get the chance to help inside there for the week. 

The kitchen is an absolute nightmare. Everyone is always yelling, fighting, clawing at each other’s throats. He had to dodge quite a few knives when he was the lucky bastard, but he wouldn’t so much as flinch when a glass broke or some plates ended up crashing against a wall. Violence is banned all over base, and especially inside there. But in the unspoken rule book, violence isn’t the same as aggressiveness, Simon-and all armed forces- know that. 

He has never actually asked, but he’s pretty sure some of the staff remember him from when he was younger and wasn’t Ghost yet, just Sgt. Riley, or even before that. Definitely before that. 

They must remember him standing in a corner without getting in anybody's way, washing the dishes peacefully in the middle of a warzone. Get there early, leave late. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he's sure they noticed how skittish he was at first, the sight of a man bordering on two meters acting like a mouse must have stuck. 

Otherwise, he doesn’t understand why they indulge him with the cups of coffee he always asks for, when they’re barely firing up the stoves.

It’s nice, getting the first fresh cups instead of the coffee that tastes like dirt everyone else drinks. Warm, black more often than not. The head chef-if Simon can call him that- always shoves a few of the little packs of sugar inside his pants, not even sparing him a glance before he's already insulting someone's mother for screwing up Jesus knows what. A little piece of Heaven at the price of waking up an hour before.

It’s still not the reason, though. 

“Aye, L.t., that for me? Or for th’gorgeous thing back at barracks?”

The fucker always asks the same shit, with the same smug grin and the sleepiness he hasn’t managed to shake off despite having been awake, too, since four hundred sharp. 

Simon shoves one of the cups at Johnny and rolls his eyes, urging the scalding liquid to subdue the smile he doesn’t want to show. 

He never touches a single pack of sugar. He doubts anyone but you knows it, but he prefers both coffee and tea so sweet it even smells different. He spares himself bitterness when he can. Mornings are not the case. 

“Should just get the one for her, if you’ll be so fuckin’ annoying.”

Johnny tears open three packs and pours them all in one go inside his cup, leaving another three untouched inside his other pocket. You like sweet things too.

Johnny laughs, doesn’t dare say anything else. Both soak in the peace of being awake before anyone else, afraid of tearing apart the little pocket in time that both have made for themselves.  

Simon stands up with your cup and doesn’t look back when he feels a pair of blue eyes following his every step. 

-

Johnny looks at Simon like he saw him make the galaxy itself. Like, with his own eyes, he witnessed satellites and stars and the entire universe come from Simon's hands. It feels overwhelming to look at, somewhat asphyxiating. His eyes shine, deep blue with waves crashing against his pupils. He doesn’t seem to notice, doesn’t do it consciously. Otherwise, he’d stop- or try to, at least. 

But Johnny always acts as if he's paying back. 

He gives Simon his brightest smiles, his best jokes, the best version of himself. He follows him around wherever they are, treasures every bit that Simon allows him to have of his person. You don’t think you have ever seen Johnny shine as bright as when he’s next to Simon. Were Johnny a different man and not the wicked fucking genius he is, you'd swear he does it blindly. 

It's not the case though. He genuinely thinks that Simon is one of the best things on Earth despite-or even with-his defects. 

Again, if it were any other person, or even any other context, you’d probably think he’s borderline pathetic. But the truth is, you’re not much better than him, and neither is Simon.

While Johnny looks at him like the galaxy is his own work, Simon looks at Johnny like he made it all for him. Even though most of the time when they’re together you can’t see his full face, his eyes shine so much it blinds you. It’s like he can’t look away, like Johnny is burning right in front of him with the energy of the Sun and Simon is trying to take in as much of it as he can. He’s not as harsh, not as closed off. The little creases by his eyes deepened in a hurry ever since he's had him in his life. If Johnny were the Sun, Simon would be a sunflower.

Neither of them seem to realize it though. Simon doesn’t realize he looks at Johnny like he looks at you, and Johnny looks at him like you do. Neither catch it, or if they do, they seem content to let things be as they are.

It's hard to be mad at something so intense, so… pure and selfless. What you see in their eyes resembles adoration more than anything else, lust rarely turning things red when most of the time it shines gold. When Simon told you for the first time that he’d die for Johnny, after he had a close call right in front of his eyes, you realized that there was just no way those feelings would go away. 

It was easy to make peace with. Easy to look at Simon walk lighter, easy to laugh at Johnny's jokes when he tries to make him laugh, easy to see their bodies gravitate towards each other. It even came easy, when Simon's nightmares startled you awake with Johnny's name slipping from his lips almost as often as yours.

Simon though, he sometimes looks like he’s playing a choosing game that doesn’t need to exist. Loving Johnny certainly isn’t hard, you think.

-

Johnny hates training the new recruits, which surprised Simon at first. 

He’s so bubbly and social that one would think he’s amazing with new people, which he technically is as long as he’s not the one that has to give them orders and tolerate the disrespect that hasn’t been beaten out of them. He doesn’t want to be the person to do it, afraid of seeing himself in one of their eyes. He can barely look at himself in the mirror some days.

Simon is burning with shame when he asks you to help with the new recruits just to spare Johnny. He expects you to glare at him and tell him to go fuck himself, because he thinks he deserves it, but you just smile and nod. He doesn’t tell you that it’s for Johnny’s benefit, wouldn’t ever dare throw something like that in your face, but you still smile at him in a way that twists his guts up and down. He doesn’t think about what else you might know. 

“Are they brand new, or SAS new?”

Simon grins at you without meaning to. He’s always pleased when you ask things out of nowhere that most people wouldn’t bother to think about. “Who Dares Wins, love.”

You roll your eyes at him, but he can see the smile that threatens to split your face. You haven’t helped him with recruits since the marines visited the headquarters a few months ago, and it hadn’t been pretty. Marines always tend to think they’re better than anyone, but Simon doesn’t think he has the right to criticize.

Standing next to you feels like coming home from walking through snow. Simon used to think that there was no coming back from dying along with Roach, and then dying again with his family. He was no better than a corpse, no better than a man buried deep underground. 

You smile at him, and he’d believe you dug him out of his grave with your bare hands.

"You can handle it, love?"

You shrug. "I can handle you just fine."

He laughs as he watches you walk away, smug grin decorating your pretty face.

-

Johnny doesn’t feel guilty, exactly.

Guilt comes when you do something wrong, when your actions equal damage in one way or another. He knows guilt because he's a common visitor at night, when the screams of innocent people keep him awake for hours on end and nothing he does quiets them down. But how could he feel guilty for the way he feels when he looks at Simon, when it so often feels like the only thing keeping him alive?

But he does think that it’s unfair to you. It’s not like he plans acting on it, he never would and he’s made his peace with that. But he sees the way Simon worships the ground you walk on, and chokes up just thinking about taking it away from you. So he won’t, simply because you don’t deserve that kind of thing and he’s not that kind of man. 

(Or maybe, maybe he is. Maybe he lays awake at night thinking about pale skin and blond hair, about scarred hands and a deep voice saying stupid jokes to pass the time. Maybe he is, but he won’t be just this once. Just to spare you the pain.)

“What’s the plan for today, Johnny boy?”

He laughs. Coming from any other person, the nickname would earn at least an insult to them and their mother. Coming from you? It earns you a hug.

“Don’t know yet, bonnie. Weapons, maybe.”

(Do you know?)

“Sounds like fun.”

He’s not sure if you’re being sarcastic or not. You have that kind of bite, not quite like Simon but more like Price. Simon does it to hurt, to keep people away. You though, it’s more a reflex than anything else. He likes it.

“At least it’s not recruits.”

You give him a soft, understanding smile that he doesn’t fully process before you walk away.

-

Simon does feel guilty.

Despite everything, he thinks you’re the best thing that has ever happened to him. He’s not a man of faith, but it's easy to believe when he's looking at your eyes. Whenever you’re near, it’s like he got a pair of lungs brand new, and he’s breathing properly for the first time. You’re not a magic pill that fixes everything, but carrying a cross would be a daily simple task if you were the one giving him sips of water. 

Feeling something so close to love for someone that isn’t you resembles treason too much for him. 

It's wasted on him, he knows. Wasted when you beam at him, when you touch his face and kiss his nose, when you hug him and grin and he feels so full . You're wasted on him, and he's known that from the moment you caught his eye, standing next to the captain. It's just gotten worse since Johnny got in the picture. 

But he’s selfish. He’s never been shy about that, doesn’t deny it or try to get better. He’s selfish, his hands have scars that show just how hard he holds on. 

He can recognize it’s a matter of choosing, though.

He dated a girl, for a short while. He was seventeen, already torn up inside and bruised. She was sweet, kind. She'd giggle at his dark humour and grab a wet cloth to clean up his split lip, the bloody knuckles. Always shrug it off when she asked, always smiling when she kept quiet and accepted it.

‘You're so calm’ , she'd say, pressed against his side. ‘So peaceful .’

She was also naive. 

He was thankful about it, at first. He'd pray she didn’t realize how wrong she was, how he wasn't anything but chaos. 

Being loved gently was nice. He liked her smile and her touch, how soft spoken she got after a certain hour, how her eyes reflected things he wasn’t sure were real. 

They were both confused, he thinks. She believed him peaceful and he lied to himself about it being a good thing.

But he's never been something remotely close to peace, doesn’t know what it is. Born screaming, grown up fighting, earning a living by killing. 

She loved a part of him that didn’t exist, he would accept later. The rage brewing inside of him kept him quiet because otherwise he'd fear spitting venom. She didn’t see him, and he didn’t love her. 

He thinks often about the artificial lungs from before, the metal bins that didn’t let people have an actual life. He thinks about oxygen tanks and insulin and Ozampic and Epi Pens, and realizes that he won’t ever be able to live without you now that he has a diagnosis. He can’t .

But Johnny? Johnny might just be the thing that throws him into anaphylactic shock. 

–

“What’s your favorite color, Johnny boy?”

He hums, thinking about it for a second. It used to be green before the army, turned into purple when his sister dyed her hair that color when Johnny was fifteen and the youngest had five. She chopped it a few months later and Johnny isn’t a fan of it now. 

“Maybe yellow?”

You snort. “Maybe? So you don’t know your favorite color?” You take a deep breath. “Hey, pick up the pace! This isn’t fuckin’ summer camp!”

Johnny can’t really help it: he laughs. He clutches at his belly, squeezes his eyes shut and laughs his ass off at the horrified looks of the recruits before they start running for their lives. You don’t stop frowning until you turn your gaze back to him and his cackles turn into soft giggles.

“I like it in the sky. Fuckin’ hate mustard yellow, though.”

You nod like he’s spitting the truth about the universe. It may as well be, sitting in the middle of the back camp with a cup of coffee between your hands. The sunrise suits you, he notices. It makes him feel warm inside.

“What’s yours, bonnie?”

You tilt your head. “All of them.”

He doesn’t have it in him to make jokes. It chokes him up, the way your eyes look at him full of trust and something softer he doesn’t deserve. 

“Why should I choose, Johnny? What purpose does it serve? I can see them all, have them all.”

He shakes his head, pulling you close until you rest your head against his and the slight shake of your hands dissipates.

“Jus’ admit ya dinnae what t’ say, bonnie.”

He wishes everything was as simple as not choosing.  

-

“Do you know if Johnny has a girl?”

Simon sits straighter without meaning to.

“I-I don’t- I'm not sure, no?” 

He'd like to think he'd know if he did. God, he fucking hopes so, otherwise his brain might end up splattered inside the-

“I figured. Can’t understand why, he's fucking gorgeous.”

Johnny's eyes are his favorite shade of blue. 

“He's fucking annoying, is what he is.”

He doubts his lack of denial flies over your head. Even objectively, no one could deny Johnny's a fucking dream come true. The big blue eyes and the charming smile make a killer blow, but Simon has watched him sleep and nothing else quite compares. 

“It just adds to his charm, Si.”

He doesn’t like the teasing edge to your words. He's not your friend , you're not supposed to be teasing him about someone else. It makes him squirm on his chair, avoiding your eyes from the other side of the table. 

“To each their own, love.”

It startles a laugh out of you, bordering on cynical. Simon doesn’t understand what the fuck is happening. 

-

“I could very well break your damn arm if I wanted to, McTavish.”

Threats stopped working a long, long time ago, just a few seconds after meeting each other. Johnny has been able to see through him from the get go. 

“And I couldn't?” Simon tilts his head, conceding the point. “But ya wouldn't hurt me.”

God, Simon sure fucking hopes so.

“You're a valuable asset to my team, of course I wouldn't.”

(I can’t live without you. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can't .)

Johnny's hand is pressed to his chest, and Simon forgets for a few seconds that there are other men standing inside the same room, thinking he doesn’t notice them staring as soon as he got inside.

“Ya love me, jackass.”

Simon gulps. “I'd love for you to shut up .”

Johnny pushes him up and to the side. Simon will sustain for the rest of his life that he let him, that he put his guard down on purpose. It's easier than admitting he got lost in complicated living, that things got too real there, that a few words threw him off his balance.

He grabs Johnny's forearm and pulls , sending him tumbling towards the mat with a sneer. He doesn’t waste a second, turning back around and kicking at Simon's feet. He barely dodges it when Johnny manages to grab his shirt to pull him down with him again, and he loses against gravity. 

His arms are big and hard, Simon knows. Sometimes he can see the creases of muscle on his back, when laundry has fallen behind and Johnny has to wear clothes from his rookie days. A few pounds lighter, in every way possible. 

“Y'gonna hurt me, L.t.?”

Simon is on top of him, hot and huge and shaking like a fucking leaf. He can feel the dampness seeping from Johnny's clothes to his, memorizing how he feels pressed against him. 

Simon can’t breathe. 

“I can't.”

And Simon sees it reflected in Johnny's eyes. Something shatters, peeling away the film that separated their skin. He feels the sweat and the pounding inside Johnny's chest, can hear his own drown any noise outside, the tension snapping in the middle of a spar, and Simon doesn’t understand where he went wrong. 

You're looking at them from the door. 

TALK DIRTY TO ME

how konig, ghost, and price talk dirty in bed.

thirsts : open

—

konig is surprisingly vocal when he’s rutting into you, though it’s probably not in the way you think. most of his words come out in hushed whispers laced with obscenities. he seems to lose any sense of shame he usually has because he’s just too drunk on the feeling of your cunt wrapped around him.

“feels s’fucking good—“ he mindlessly babbles out.

his large palms are stretched out on both sides of you, fingers digging into the mattress, while he keeps you caged underneath him.

“such a greedy pussy,” he groans out with another roll of his hips. “keeps suckin’ me back in…”

you can feel his hot breath fanning your face while his darkened eyes are stuck — transfixed — on the creamy white ring that covers his cock. the sloppy sounds that fill the room seem to only grow louder with each thrust, as your arousal practically drips down his balls.

“just begging for me to fill ya up,” he hissed out, as he presses down on your stomach which makes you whimper in response. the noise somehow flips a switch in him and has könig fucking into you even harder.

“s’that what ya want? need me to fill ya up, fuck a baby into this pretty cunt?”

price just exudes dominance in all aspects even with his dirty talk, his words are more praising than anything else though. he’s always coaching you through things and telling you how good of a job you’re doing, he knows it gets you off and he also just can’t help but spoil you.

“mhmm, just like that, baby.” he mumbles out as he lazily guides your movements, helping you bounce yourself up and down on his cock.

there’s a smirk on his face that he can’t even be bothered to hide when he hears you whining at the praise. he thinks you’re adorable when you’re like this, so desperate for him yet so adamant on not asking for his help. you could be such a brat sometimes, he’d have to deal with that later.

“doing so well,” he says with a groan as he thrusts his hips up in time with your movements. “but you don’t think you’re gonna make me cum just from this, do you?”

it doesn’t take much effort for him to flip you over and have you at his mercy. your legs are now lifted over his shoulders while his dick is fucking you even deeper, the tip prodding against your sweet spot just right it has your toes curling.

“feels good, doesn’t it?” his movements are slow and controlled, he knows you’re close — he can feel it — but he’s not going to reward you unless you use yours words.

“come on, princess. all you have to do is beg and i’ll have you screaming for me…”

everything ghost says is absolutely filthy, he is all about the little details. he doesn’t actually notice what he’s saying in the heat of the moment, all he knows is that his words have your cheeks flushing to a pretty shade of red, and he loves it.

“you’re such a fuckin’ slut for me even your pussy knows it.” he practically growls. “look at this sloppy mess you’re making.”

he ruts the tip of his cock against your slit, coating your folds with his pre-cum. “jus’ gonna slip in with how wet you are..”

your arm is slung over your face as a way for you to hide your embarrassment, you know he’s right, there’s no way you could deny it. something about the way he talks to you when he’s pent up like this has your pussy throbbing.

“fuck, need to be balls deep inside this cunt.” he breathes, as he eases his way into you, the fat head of his cock slowly splitting you open as he makes you take in more and more of him.

the veins on his length rub your slick walls deliciously and it’s not surprising that you’re already twitching and creaming all over him as soon as he bottoms out.

“that’s it, there’s my slutty girl.” his raspy laugh fills the silence. “stop using that pretty head, all you need to do is cum for me.”

OMG HI i follow your other blog and i absolutely adore all your stuff <3

i’m just here to request but please don’t feel pressured cause ik you’re really busy with life, college and all your blogs etc.

how about mikey, draken and whoever else you want in a scenario where they hear rumors that the only reason the reader is still with them is cause they’re scared to leave cause yk they be dangerous

angst to fluff pls!

𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃

PART TWO — baji and hanma

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: sano manjiro and ryuguji ken

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: stop bc this is kinda sad like poor boys but also i rly like this prompt omg. i got lazy and only did two but also thank you !! so glad you like my other blog bby <3

✿ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍

draken hasn’t spoken to you in days, and you’re at your limit. it’s the text on his phone he wakes up to that forces him to trudge to your home.

‘it’s over if you don’t explain what’s going on.’

he stares at the text for far too long, can’t find it in him to face you—he doesn’t think he can handle it. but he figures that if he’s bound to lose you, it shouldn’t be like this.

you open the door unimpressed, cold and distant as he walks in with slumped shoulders, sitting on the edge of your couch hunched with his elbows leaning on his knees. for such a large build, your boyfriend looks oddly small as he waits for you to supposedly crush his heart.

“what is going on, ken? why haven’t you spoken to me in days? are you tryna end things?” you ask question after question. “at least do it like a decent person, you coward,” you spit.

he looks up at you, eyes uncharacteristically lost, pooled with so many emotions, you can’t quite read them all. but the one that stands out is defeat.

“i’m not the one who wants to end things,” he croaks, laughing bitterly. “how…how could you think i’d hurt you,” he whispers, voice shaky. frowning, you forrow your eyebrows, shaking your head in confusion.

“what? what do you mean?”

“i heard what people have been saying,” he mutters, glaring at his lap. his fists clutch the fabric tightly, knuckles almost white with the force with clenches them with.

draken’s never known a home, not really, but he likes to think he’s found one in you. and it stings, it feels like a layer of him has been ripped off, leaving him raw and sore at the thought that maybe this hasn’t been home all along.

but he still can’t help but feel like it is, and he can’t bear to lose it. he wants to be enough, needs to be enough for you to stay—wants you to see that he’d hand you his heart while it still beat if he could, if it was for you. but perhaps you believe otherwise, and it leaves him in despair.

“what have they been saying, ken?” you pry gently.

“that you wanna leave,” he raises his voice, staring at you desperately—his eyes beg you tell him otherwise. you flinch slightly at the sudden noise, but it makes him falter, eyes draining of any hope left. “i wouldn’t…i—i could never,” he whispers. “i’d never hurt you.”

there are tears pooling at his eyes, and they shock you, making you quickly come forward, cradling his face in your palms. despite his mind screaming no, he leans into your touch.

“of course you wouldn’t, kenny,” you agree, leaning down and kissing his forehead. “why would i think you would?” he buries his face into your stomach, taking in your words as he hugs you close.

“i thought…i just heard—” you cut him off.

“it’s okay,” you soothe, tracing the tattoo on his temple with your finger. the familiar action makes the tension in his shoulders ease—and you always manage to do that, you’re what keeps him upright. “it was just a misunderstanding. i don’t wanna leave. and i could never think you’d hurt me,” you promise.

it’s warm in your arms, and they cage him so securely—they give him a purpose and a home and a sense of belonging all at once. and he’s not sure how he’ll function without them, but he’s glad he doesn’t have to. the gentle drag of your finger across his temple reminds him you’re here, and he knows he’ll go whatever lengths to keep it that way.

“love you,” he whispers hopefully. leaning down, you peck his lips sweetly.

“love you too,” you smile.

✿ 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐘

mikey wanders through your campus halls with draken beside him, on their way to wait outside of your class to finish when he hears whispers in the halls, turning his head with a raised brow. everyone keeps a distance from him, and he’s used to that, but the words he catches through the quiet murmurs make his heart plummet and mind wander.

“that’s the boyfriend.”

“he’s that delinquent.”

“poor thing can’t even leave him, he’s too dangerous. i’d be scared to if i were dating him.”

frowning, mikey stares down at the floor, fists and jaw clenched. he feels a hand on his shoulder, and before his best friend can offer any words, he’s off, turning and making a beeline for your room, barging in and marching right up to you.

“mikey? babe, what are you—hey! let go, i can’t leave right now, i have a test tomorrow—mikey, are you listening? hello?”

but he pays no mind to your words, bottom lip trembling slightly and shoulders tense as his grip only tightens, making your eyebrows furrow in concern. you let him lead you out of the doors and behind the building, his eyes meeting yours.

and they shock you. they look hurt, betrayed even, there’s hints of doubt and fear behind his irises, and it makes your heart shatter. reaching your hand up to cup his face, you pause when he pulls away, turning his head to the side. you can make out the small tremble in his lips this time, taking a step forward to carefully get closer.

“so, is it true?” he mutters. tilting your head, you stare at him bewildered.

“babe, what are you talking about? is what true?” staring at you with tear glossed eyes, he crosses his arms.

mikey’s always been a bit doubtful of what really compelled you to say yes to him. maybe it really was fear, maybe the only reason you’d indulged him was for the sake of your own safety. or worse—perhaps you’d realized he wasn’t what you’d wanted, too scared to leave him now for fear of his name.

but he could never hurt you, he’d known that from the start. but it dawns on him that maybe you don’t know—you might not know just how much he really loves you. and the pain that you might not love him back as fiercely, or love him at all, is scalding.

“you wanna leave me?” he breathes, voice shaky. “what’s stopping you, huh? think i’ll hurt you or something?” this time, a tear escapes him, and your face softens, hand reaching to cup his face again. he lets you this time—because truth be told, even if you tear his heart to shreds and toss it aside, mikey is still yours to have. it’s always been you, and he doesn’t think it ever won’t be.

“who put that idea in your head, silly,” you smile gently, brushing the tear away with your thumb. pressing a small kiss to his cheek, you bring him into your arms, rubbing his back with one hand and carding through his locks with the other. “‘m not scared of you,” you whisper. “you’re just a big baby deep down,” you tease. but the message is clear, and he’s grateful, clutching onto your shirt tightly as he sinks further into your embrace.

“but the…the people—”

“what do they know, baby? they just run their mouths,” you soothe, turning to press another kiss to his temple this time. “i love you, you know. wouldn’t ever wanna leave.”

“promise?” he whispers—and he should be surprised how quickly you can mend the withering of his heart, but he knows that as long as you’re there, he’ll be okay.

he’ll always be okay if he has you.

“promise,” you murmur.

“kay,” he mumbles. “love you too.” and he does, you know he does, your heart in sync with his, always.

𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 !!

𝓜𝔂 𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓫𝓸𝔂𝓼 💖💕🌷

OOOF grumpy x sunshine trope but spin it around and make it nanami and reader being ta’s to their college prof who has over 600 students in his class rahhh…. him being clueless as to why you’re such a magnet for the younger, more bright-eyed students and have more of them request you to have a peer-review but he thinks it’s merely because of your looks. he, and quite literally everyone on campus, would have rocks for brains if they considered you anything less of lovely and fair when it comes to the eye (he totallyyy says that in a factual sense, not a complimentary one though, trust him), so nanami merely believes the reason as to why his students refuse to meet his eye and ask boring questions is because he’s overshadowed by you—you coddle them all too much and probably give them the answer without much though merely because it’s easier.

he doesn’t get it, even when your students praise you and your teaching methods—which were just elementary simplifications of the material. it’s only when his student furrows their brows and their confusion unwavering, telling him for the nth time that “(y/n) does it this way though, why are you making it more complicated…” that he sighs and gives up, telling them offhandedly that they can just seek you out if that’s what they want. he’s perturbed by how only when he mentions your name, that’s the only time his student actually seems a little happier.

he doesn’t get it, even as he’s staring at you waiting for your coffee in the campus coffee shop—why so many people pass you by with a smile and a wave or why the barista draws a cute kitty cat on your cup that makes you laugh lightly, the sound drawing in a soft pink on the barista’s cheeks. you carry a tray of two cups of coffees, the other supposedly for the professor so you can suck up to him more and get that stubborn letter of recommendation he’ll give only a scarce population.

he doesn’t get it, even as you walk in the classroom after him, a halo of light only invisible to him beaming around you that attracts “hi!”s and “good morning!”s from all over the lecture hall, a stark contrast to his own presence in which his greetings consisted of eye flickers and occasional quiet head nods.

he doesn’t get it, even as you gently nudge a cup of coffee into his hands—wait, huh?

nanami silently turns to you, confusion bespeckling his countenance at the cat-scribbled cup that amused you earlier.

“one sugar with a splash of soy milk, right?” you inquire with a light grin. you’re right… that indeed is his usual order but how did you—

“i overheard you saying to your friend—what was his name? haiba? haibara?—on friday about your coffee order after class, so,” you gesture to the cup in his hands. “i thought you’d might want that this morning.”

“oh,” nanami chokes out, the warmth on his cheeks beginning to replicate the one in his palm. “… thank you, but you didn’t have to.”

you shrugged. “i didn’t, but i wanted to. it’s the little things that matter, y’know?”

you give him one last grin before unpacking your things and making light conversation with your peers about your weekend, detailing “oh yeah! you mentioned that museum awhile ago! how’d it go?” and “i’m not sure visiting a cat cafe would be good for your allergies…” along the way.

and when he sips his gifted coffee, finding there to be a little more richness than usual, the world seems just a tad bit better.

he blames it on the caffeine, though.

ah hi! I love your writing so much so I’m so excited requests are open. Could I request a short fic (if possible) of fem!reader x alucard of them both pining for each other for a long time & maybe one day they just snap b/c it’s too much & make out? (Or… more than that if u want.)

A classic! This is the first ask since I opened requests and here’s a scenario that fell down the hill. It then snowballed turning into a fic that is excruciatingly in Alternate Universe territory *guilty laughter* hope you like some of this, anon.

To be free

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Pairing: Alucard x fem!reader

Rating: T

Count: 1.6k

Tags & Warnings: Mutual pining, Angst, It just happened, Adrian has 0 idea what to do with this, Here's some unsavory Alucard traits, He means well but ugh, Context of battle, Mention of death, alternate universe, dark fantasy AU, unresolved sexual tension, unresolved emotional tension, Second Person POV, Alucard POV, more tags coming

Summary:

The murder of Lisa never happened. Instead, sometime in the future there is strife in the vampire world with an alliance of rebelling war chiefs over territory and Dracula is forced to respond. Reader character is an apprentice learning the doctor trade under Lisa, and a friend of her son.

Will post part II soon but wanted to share this for now

All characters depicted are 18+

I.

Wallachia, 1485

“Faster!” comes the sudden strike, the wooden staff colliding with your shoulder.

“That hurt!” you hiss, ducking your head as a flash of gold gains on you.

“Well for god’s sake, move your feet!” Adrian snaps, falling upon you with frightful ease.

You retreat, movements slower, your legs fumbling. “You... you’re awful...” you pant, “This is too much, even for an average recruit!” you barely parry before being flung aside by another vicious strike.

You gasp as he’s upon you again, leaving you struggling to regain your balance. “I do not train you to be average,” Adrian throws in the tone he only ever uses with the other soldiers. “I train you to stay alive,” he kicks your legs from under you before you can preempt him.

You swear, cry out and grab at his shoulder; a surprised son of Dracula crumbles together with you in a heap to the ground.

Your faces come to be so close you can see the hint of swirling lights in his eyes. “That was unfair,” you whisper, breathless.

“Who ever said war is fair? Do you think the enemy will care for your codes of honor?” Adrian asks, unaffected by the effort—he’s not even flushed—his forearms propped on either side of your head. “Now pay attention and stop wasting my time, else you find someone else to teach you.”

He’s mainly like this, nowadays. Morose, at times even scowling, having little to no patience. His words scald often, and this change came and stayed with him for a while now. When Adrian tries to rise, however, your thighs turn into a vice around him; a sudden shift of unexpected strength, and then you’re sitting atop him, pressing him into the earth.

You grin, holding him down, finding some familiarity in it. You’d slept beneath cold skies back to back, huddled against each other for warmth before; you knew him in a physical way, one demanded of practicality. When you lean closer to his face, you see ice and even distaste, and stupid words gurgle in your throat. “I do pay attention, more than you think,” you say with a hint of satisfaction, which soon fades at the look he’s giving you.

“Rise to your feet, please.”

“I listen. I hear your words, harsh when once they’d been kind. I feel this wall you’re raising higher and I don’t understand why. I’m not your enemy. I’m...” your voice fails when his eyes narrow. “I’m your friend. Come back.” You watch his face, the shape of the mouth you know, down to every detail.

“I am right here, to my dismay. Now rise, don’t make me ask again.” But he does not do so himself, possibly giving you the choice of dignity.

“Tell me why you do it. Why you’re so dismissive, why you seem to make yourself scarce whenever we’re in the same room for long.” Why he acts like this task is something he loathes, even though he was the one who offered to include you in his daily routine when you’d made your wish to train known. You sound wanton in your demand now, you know, but he near always pushes you to the end of your tether lately. Today had been another rushed, supremely uncomfortable sword fighting lesson besides. Why are you like this? The words bite into your tongue, but you dare not ask them, afraid of what they might bring; you don’t want to fight him, not now.

Before, when Adrian welcomed you to stay for the friendship you had, he was open in manner and kind; but lately there is no reprieve, and you sense the tension in him as though it were a living thing. It turns him into a merciless trainer and hard to please—it also makes him ten times more infuriating to be around.

Adrian gazes up at you, inert, but the tension in you seems to bleed into his own body. “I do it for you,” he answers late, his voice gentler like a bleak reminder of before. “I do all of it for you.”

“I should be grateful, then?” you mutter into his shuttering stare. “For this?”

A softness to his eyes, a clench to his jaw; you feel compelled to do something you have not the courage to.

“Move.”

Defeated, you nod and rise, quietly regaining yourself as Adrian comes to his feet. You retrieve your staff, back turned to him. “I think I’ve had enough for today.”

You start when your weapon is roughly pried from your hand. “As you wish,” Adrian says. The hardness in his voice makes you flinch, like talons leaving raw and festering places in their wake.

As you turn, he’s already leaving the practice yard with rushed steps. You fall limply against a tree trunk, covering your face with your filthy gloved hands, wanting more than anything to be free of this.

Having reached the armory, you wipe your sweaty brow with your hand, then attempt fluid movement. The leather practice armor you’re using until a better suited one is ready hinders your motions. You blow a stray wisp of hair out of your face, yet panting from exertion. It has to be done; it has to be done. 

You attempt to undo the fastenings and utterly fail, resenting having to train in full battle gear, but one tireless tutor insists this is the way. With a huff and a pull, your attempts cease. 

A heavy hand is on your shoulder; heavier than it used to be. It urges you to turn.

“You slouch,” come the soft words. Deft fingers aid you out of the constraint posed by the armor and you go still, throwing the speaker a brief, scathing look he cannot see, focused as he is on his task. 

“I try,” you say.

“I need more focus, mere blinks of moments matter here,” Adrian says without looking at you.

Before you reply, he finishes and turns away, arms raised and hands pulling at the tie in his hair.

His aloofness is even more biting than usual; has something happened? You’ll need to speak to him, because you can't help but feel somehow... you can't define it exactly. A heaviness, a weariness over your heart as it beats. You can't but feel he's being unfair.

This familiarity in your concern, though natural now, has taken long to develop. The two of you crossed paths once, had bled to stay alive and became close along the way through a string of unbelievable though unavoidable events. You still laugh at the absurdity of it sometimes: meeting and befriending the son of Vlad Dracula Tepes, meeting Lisa his mother and becoming her aid after Adrian offered for you to stay until you found your bearings. You, finding Dracula with a family of all things.

Having nowhere else to go, you stayed, of course you stayed. This was a household, the semblance of a strong-knit family, or at least—for you—the proximity to one. And if you were being bluntly honest with yourself, you starved for this: a purpose, a goal. It led you to accept the schooling suggestions from Lisa Tepes. It had you deciding to train in arms so you could defend yourself if need be. And you, well… you were apprentice to his mother now, learning her trade, living here, eating and walking and seeing him—though thankfully (or painfully), less and less lately as the days pass.

You stare out the window, to the shadow lengthening across the trees and the horizon, over a scattered front where white smoke billows eerily into the air against the violently bruised sky of evening. Beneath it, two factions will inevitably clash. You shudder, chewing the inside of your cheek. “How stupid. I should learn to save lives, not take them,” you murmur, placing your gloves on a rack in the training hall. 

“Remember, these are vampires. And you may end this, it was your wish afterall,” Adrian looks over his shoulder at you.

“I know.” You turn from him, rummaging in your own things, hiding the flash of pain on your face. “But I have to learn.”

All is prepared, and you overheard the others speaking of it at the recent council. They would start at the following evefall to be stationed along camp lines across the valley. You turn your head left and right, roll your shoulders, grimacing at the stiffness in your upper body.

“Here,” Adrian says, approaching and presenting you with a vial containing a clear liquid.

“What is it?” you reach and take it from his hand. 

Adrian walks away and takes a seat at one of the long tables laden with pieces of armor and weaponry. He rolls the sleeves of his crinkled shirt up to his elbows and reaches for a whetstone, then his sword. His golden flecked stare turns on you, briefly. Cold light creeps through narrow glass windows, finding him. “A salve, did Mother not get to those yet? Use it on your muscles in the evening.”

You swallow. “No, not yet. When are you leaving?” 

He lowers his eyes as a metallic sound scrapes away the silence, and you watch him whet the sword placed horizontally in his lap. “Tomorrow.” Another wail of the stone, like glassy cries of pain.

Of course, you knew; merely wanted to hear him say it. You near as Adrian works, continuing to sharpen and wipe the blade with a cloth in turns. “Are you afraid? Are you well? I know you were reluctant to join this, I—” But it was he who said that in wisdom, we too know fear. It keeps one alive, it keeps one fighting.

“I'm well,” Adrian cuts in. The answer is impassive, his eyes averted from yours, set on the motion of his hand.

His stilted replies leave no room for doubt—the wall is up and you’re more than eager to get out of here. You sling the bag with belongings over one shoulder. “Good eve, Adrian,” you say. “Actually rest, you’ll need it.” And without lingering, you turn, leaving him behind with as much dignity as you should possess.

Part II